Boo Bar

Victor returned to bed and I resumed my cleaning duties, but in a more subdued manner. The place was scoured and tidied, and when he emerged from the container after sunset, I hoped he would be astounded by the dramatic transformation. However, all he did was gaze around for a mere three seconds before heading towards the door. "There's someone we need to meet with," he said to me.

This only intensified my disappointment. I had waited the entire day for the opportunity to learn and test my skills. I countered, saying, "But you haven't even taught me anything."

"You will learn on the way."

The only thing I realized was that he was unpleasant, but that was already something I knew. Victor guided me out of the dilapidated apartment building and into the alley adjacent to the structure. It was cleaner than the apartment building, with fewer rodents. I trailed behind him until we reached a stack of crates next to a decaying wooden fence that split the alley in half. Victor crouched down and moved the crates aside, uncovering an underground access point. He removed the cover and descended inside. I anticipated the sound of his footsteps splashing into contaminated water, but all I heard was the click of his shoes.

"Stop wasting time," he commanded me.

His voice reverberated through a lengthy metallic conduit, and I winced. "I refuse to descend there," I objected.

Victor burst out of the aperture and seized hold of my leg. He swiftly pulled my foot from under me and dragged me forcefully, as I kicked and screamed, into the depths of a pristine sewer pipe. Hold on, a pristine sewer pipe? I felt utterly perplexed by the broad, dry channel in which we found ourselves. It stretched in two directions, devoid of any illumination. I shrieked as I was swiftly scooped up into someone's arms. "For heaven's sake, Victor, knock it off!"

"That isn't who I am. As the person's head should have been, I stood motionless and cast a peek up into the gloom. Thanks to a faint, otherworldly gleam emitting from the creature's eyes, I could discern the presence of a head. Regrettably, meeting the gaze of those eyes felt akin to peering into the depths of the underworld, and I found myself without a skewer or marshmallows to roast. Its flesh was putrid, decaying in sections, and its attire was tattered and also disintegrating.

"Victor?" I uttered in a high-pitched voice.

"Yes?" The source of his voice was outside the creature.

"What is this?"

"A zombie," he replied.

"We prefer the designation of vitality-impaired, but zombies will suffice," the creature articulated in a voice so refined that it stirred within me an inexplicable yearning for a cup of tea.

"Victor!" I yelped.

"Yes?"

"The thing talks!"

"I am not an entity. I'm Officer Martins Romero of the Paraquad," the creature corrected me.

Attempting to suppress the mounting panic within me, I nervously grinned at the, uh, officer. "Oh, uh, my apologies. Would you mind releasing me—uh, Officer Romero?" I pleaded.

"Certainly, but not until one of you elucidates the purpose of your presence in this location," Officer Romero insisted.

"Victor, what is our purpose down here?" I inquired of my escort.

"Merely moving in the direction of the Boo Bar", He responded

My jaw astonishingly hung open. "Boo Bar?" I echoed. A yelp escaped my lips as Officer Romero placed me back on the ground. I staggered backward, and another set of hands, Victor's slender yet sturdy ones, rested upon my shoulders.

"She's new here?" the officer inquired of Victor.

"Very new."

"Have you acquainted her with the regulations yet?" the officer queried.

I heard Victor scoff from behind me. "I am not in charge of her," he retorted.

I furrowed my brow at him. "Technically, you are," I pointed out.

"Then you should enlighten her on the regulations," Officer Romero insisted.

"I actually intend to do that later."

"Liar," I retorted sharply. He tightened his grip on my shoulders as a precautionary measure.

"Given that Victor doesn't seem to want to update you, let me do so. Refrain from slaying, killing, eliminating, obliterating, or vanishing anyone out of existence," the officer cautioned me.

"Vanish someone out of existence?" I echoed.

"It pertains to the witches. They always attempt to circumvent the regulations, so we designated a specific phrase for them," he clarified.

I blinked. "Witches?"

Officer Romero's vibrant eyes betrayed a concerned expression as he glanced at Victor. "Are you certain you should bring her to the Boo Bar? She seems inexperienced," he pointed out.

"She will handle it," Victor assured him.

"I-I don't think I can. This is becoming rather intricate," I interjected. Victor didn't give me any further opportunity to argue as he scooped me up in his arms. "I am still capable of walking!" I shouted at him.

"That is precisely what I am attempting to evade," Victor responded peculiarly. He inclined his head towards the officer, who reciprocate the gesture. "Good evening, officer."

Victor dashed ahead into the pitch-blackness of the conduit. "Can't we at least retrieve a torch?" I implored.

"No."

I sagged within his grasp and folded my arms tightly across my chest. "You're utterly Impossible."

"I try."

"You certainly accomplish that," I observed, stealing a glance over his shoulder at the receding luminescence emanating from the zombie's eyes. "Care to elucidate why a zombie has assumed the role of an officer?"

"They are exceedingly difficult to eradicate, and they experience no agony when losing a limb," he clarified.

I winced. "The retirement benefits must be rather enticing for them to undertake such a profession."

"They are conscripted into service."

"How are they compelled into service?"

Victor sighed. "They are coerced into becoming officers, or they will be eradicated."

"What kind of existence is that?"

"Sometimes living is worth it."

I was struck by the sentimental undertone of that remark. "Even if it entails becoming a vampire?" I ventured.

He chose not to respond, and we completed the remainder of the journey in silence. It was a serpentine path that guided us through broader and taller conduits until it felt as though we were traversing caverns. The incline of the floor led us downward, occasionally necessitating Victor to wade through water, although the caverns themselves were relatively dry. Torches adorned the walls, and after covering several miles, we were joined by fellow individuals and creatures. While there were a few additional zombies adorned in attire resembling Officer Romero's, the majority of the occupants appeared ordinary in both their garments and physical appearances. The remaining inhabitants emerged from other tunnels that intersected at junctions, and those junctions further converged with other crossroads. It resembled a crossroads-topia that ultimately culminated in a sizable terminal.

The terminal bore a resemblance to a vintage subway station, featuring painted walls and lofty ceilings, yet devoid of any natural illumination from above. We remained below ground, and the expansive space was illuminated by grand chandeliers. The station consisted of two tiers, with the upper level accessible through staircases situated at either end of the lower platform. The entirety of the second level of the terminal stood as a towering edifice, boasting multiple double-door entrances and a glass panel that extended to the arched ceiling. Along the ground floor, encompassing areas not connected to the tunnels, an array of shops lined the walls, their windows filled with an assortment of wares that catered to the desires of ghouls, ranging from apparel to sustenance.

Victor gently released me and guided us towards the colossal establishment on the upper tier. Even before we approached the entrance, the cacophony of slot machines and heated arguments reached my ears. It was a vast casino, and the doors opened onto the bustling gambling floor. Four additional levels loomed above us, each adorned with balconies where elegantly attired individuals observed and gestured towards those who risked their fortunes on the machines and card tables.

With purposeful strides, Victor navigated through the expanse of the gambling floor, ultimately reaching the rear section where another set of double doors stood. Above these doors, a sign bearing the name Boo Bar dripped red letters. "I wonder if they offer Bloody Mary cocktails," I quipped with a hint of humor.

"Keep your voice down; else, someone might hear you", he warned.

I scowled in response. "And what's the harm? I didn't utter anything inappropriate, did—ah!" Emerging from the wall to the right of the entrance slithered a colossal eyeball, complete with fluttering lashes and a lid. It blinked and scrutinized us closely. I let out a squeak and sought refuge behind Victor. He glared at the eyeball and proceeded through the doors, with me clutching onto the back of his coat. Once inside the dimly illuminated bar, I glanced back and witnessed the eyeball reemerge beside the entrance, still fixed on us.

I clung tightly to Victor's arm, grateful that he didn't brush me off. My gaze remained fixated on the eye. "C-could you perhaps provide an explanation for that?" I inquired, my voice quivering.

"Yes."

With me firmly attached to his side, Victor guided us through a multitude of two dozen diminutive, circular tables, and past the elongated bar that spanned the length of the left wall. I glanced around at the clientele, observing their animated conversations and the vivacity with which they consumed their libations at the bar and crowded tables. The majority of the bottles on display boasted potent spirits—vodka, bourbon, whiskey, and the like. What astounded me was the rapidity with which the patrons imbibed the alcohol, without any need for accompanying mixers. Some of them even gulped down straight vodka as effortlessly as sipping tea. A normal, rational individual would typically pause between swallows, allowing for a momentary respite, but these individuals seemed to possess neither normality nor sanity.

Victor's attention fixated on a diminutive man slouched against the distant wall, his arm resting on the table beside his chair. The stranger sported a wide-brimmed hat that concealed his face. Even from a distance of ten yards, the pungent odor of alcohol emanating from his garments reached my nostrils. Moreover, there was a vibrant spatter of desiccated vomit cascading down his shirt. Victor disengaged from my presence, gliding seamlessly into the chair situated opposite the table. This left me standing there, gripped by a sense of trepidation, as I found myself in this peculiar and unnerving setting.

Victor remained seated in silence for a few minutes, until the intoxicated man roused from his stupor. "Whatcha want?" he slurred, his hat's brim still obscuring his face.

"Information," Victor

"Information?" The man let out a hiccup. "Ain't got any, 'less ya happen to have some fine bourbon to offer me," he mumbled.

"I possess something Better," Victor stated.

In response to Victor's remark, the man lifted his head, revealing a single alert eye. "Better? What could possibly surpass the pleasure of a fine bottle of whiskey?"

"Your life."

The eye exhibited no trace of fear, but rather found amusement in the situation. "My life? I already got one of those. Come back with a bottle of whiskey and we'll-"

"Tell me what I really want to know or I will take your life," Victor cautioned, employing his unique brand of diplomacy.

The stranger scrutinized Victor's composed and collected expression and evidently didn't appreciate what he observed, as Victor's seriousness was palpable. "We can't converse here. The walls have ears," the man declared. The inebriated speech and pleas for whiskey were gone. He clumsily rose to his feet and exited through a nearby door. We trailed behind him, or rather, I followed Victor, as we emerged into the rear area of the casino. To my surprise, it revealed yet another subterranean corridor, which branched off into multiple passages. "How big is this place?" I asked them.

The seemingly feigned intoxicated individual cast a quick glance at Victor and nodded in my direction. His hat was lifted, revealing a human visage, albeit unnaturally pale. Even paler than Victor, to my surprise. "Who's the newcomer?" he inquired, his voice remarkably lucid and sober.

"She is inconsequential. Now, divulge the information I seek," Victor pressed.

The man's gaze shifted towards my hand, and a broad smile crept across his face. "She's your new associate, isn't she?"

"That doesn't matter," Victor replied.

"It holds significance not only to me but also to the entirety of existence," the man contested. With a sudden movement, he lunged forward, seizing my hand and pressing a gentle kiss onto my palm. "I go by Mitch Chaney, but you can reach out to me whenever you desire. It is an immense delight to make your acquaintance, and I extend my sympathies for your unfortunate bereavement."

"bereavement?" I repeated.

Chaney gestured with his thumb towards Victor. "Your mental health will deteriorate if you spend too much time with him".

Victor swiftly extended his arm and seized hold of Chaney's collar. The vampire forcefully pulled him closer, suspending him a foot above the ground. "Tell me what I want to know about those who murdered Ben," Victor snarled menacingly.

"Hey, watch the threads!" Chaney yelped. I couldn't fathom how anything could further deteriorate the sorry state of his suit. Victor seemed unfazed as he tightened his grip on the collar, causing the fabric to constrict around the man's throat. Chaney's voice strained out in a choked whisper. "I'll tell you! I promise, I'll tell you!" Victor released his hold, allowing Chaney to regain his footing. Chaney straightened his suit, scowling at Victor. "OMG! You sound like a broken record when you speak. However, I don't possess much knowledge about myself. It appears that whoever eliminated your previous partner did so discreetly. I don't know who, I don't know where, and I don't know why. But I can tell you that his body is at the Third Precinct. I don't know how you plan to gain access, but you might want to retrieve that body before they decide it would be quite useful as a reanimated corpse."

Victor's gaze narrowed, and he strode away down the corridor. I shifted my attention between his retreating figure and Chaney. "Um, I really appreciate your assistance," I said to him.

Chaney grinned and made a sweeping gesture, his hand gliding over his chest in a bow. "It was my utmost delight, Miss-?"

"Collins," I responded.

"Miss Collins. Rest assured that Mitch Chaney proved to be of value in your endeavors."

"I won't." Victor had already reached the halfway point of the passage, so I had to walk faster swiftly to catch up with him. His pace annoys me. Um, could you maybe explain to us why we are speaking with a man who invents his sobriety?

"Because within his charade, he possesses heightened awareness and perception beyond what anyone would anticipate," Victor clarified.

"And now, where are we headed exactly?"

"To the Third Precinct."

"A law enforcement facility?" The name sparked a memory of recognition.

"No. The Third Precinct serves as one of the larger storage facilities for the Crimson Consortium."