1 The best way to be accused of theft.

Maybe some creatures enjoy their jobs, but I've never seen it. Maybe the head honchos up in the Ever-Lasting Night might have it pretty easy in terms of manual labour, growing fat off the mandatory weekly blood donations. It would be nice to grow strong and forge my own path through life, maybe even find a partner that would be willing to elope from this cursed city. That's what the blood donations keep in check, they make sure that I have enough fluids to keep operating but not enough to physically commit to any escape attempts.

Security isn't even tight around the slaughter cells, where I work i.e.: paid just enough to continue this worthless immortal existence. Most of the cities' main police forces patrol the streets, intervening in the affairs of troublemakers and covering up the corruption of nobles and wealthy businessmen. Can't say I blame them, I would absolutely take a fresh blood pack to turn the other cheek and continue on my merry way. Our species, by its very essence, is evil. We care very little for the mundane pleasures of the world, no roses, no chocolates, and certainly no sunshine. No sir, a life of darkness, crimson and gore for all inhabitants of Seattle, Washington.

"Get those arms of yours off that cart and back to scrubbing, Dohowski!" A whip crack of a voice started shouting as heavy footsteps made their way down the hall. I might have exaggerated when I mentioned a life with no sunshine, this character was the light at the end of the tunnel, the cherry on the pie and the entire reason for my eternal suffering. He was the most vile mouthed and abusive vampire to ever be allowed to run a slaughterhouse, which was most likely the reason he got the position of quartermaster. "One more unsanctioned break and I'll cut your rations for the month, see how long you'll last before you end up mummified and dead."

"Yes, sir." I would fight back, it definitely is in my nature to do so, but I can't afford the loss in income. I can only lower my head and take out the cleaning supplies from my cart as I start scrubbing down the walls of the recently emptied slaughter cell #1014. It smells like an animal emptied every possible type of fluid out of its body, which was precisely what had happened a few hours ago. The process of extracting blood and meat was not a clean one by any means, but it was what kept 95% of the city fed and operating. I only appeared after the main body had been disposed of by the previous clean-up crew, ready to disinfect and remove any splats and plops that had dripped out of the poor morsel. The job was about as pleasant as the smell.

"I hope that energy isn't a bluff, Dohowski, we are all going to pull a double shift tonight. The boys brought in a whole cattle farm for the last harvest, some kind of event being thrown or something. You're going to sleep well after this one." To say that Clemen Radford stood in the doorway would be to downplay his grotesque form. He occupied every space that he found himself in, made the room almost unbearable with his stench and presence. It was that bulbous and tumescent sack of a ghoul that watched over my every move and dictated my shifts. The days where a shift lasted only 8 hours could be counted on one hand every month, every other day was double duty. He stared at me for a minute, waiting for me to mouth off, but I knew better. "No breaks until I say so."

And with that last pleasantry, he stumbled off to go micromanage another poor soul. It had been like this since the first day I worked at this blood and meat factory, a date that seemed like only a few years ago but was actually closer to twenty years.

I could wish for a whole number of things: Fresh blood instead of canned and rotting sludge would be a good start. I could also wish that I had the heart to just walk into sunlight and burn up, finally quitting this earthly body and seeing what lies on the other side of death's embrace. I was too weak. Too weak to achieve anything meaningful and certainly too weak to motivate myself to do so.

8 hours flew by with the monotony of scrubbing the cells, disinfecting the walls, and lastly, spraying them with water. Turns out I got lucky and Clemen even forgot to come give me my break. That was fine, I didn't want to see the lump of meat anyway. All I would end up doing is playing on my phone for the half hour break, I didn't smoke and didn't have any real friends to talk to. I worked solo and then went straight to bed, rinse and repeat, it did not leave much time for me to make friends. It was better that way, I might get used to company and then I would really lose my head while working.

Imagine my surprise when I was finishing up the last cell that had to be cleaned when my quartermaster squeezed through the door. If the undead could be flushed with anger, this would be the poster for it. Clemen Radford was steaming for some unknown reason. He knocked over my bucket of bloody water, sending it scattering over the floor I was just about to conclude, grabbed the stick mounted sponge tool that was in my cart and pointed it directly at my face, huffing and puffing all the while.

"You've been stealing blood packs from my office haven't you?" It was a question that sounded so rhetorical and accusatory that I almost laughed. Doing so would not have been good for my well being, so I just shook my head slowly, trying to figure out where this was coming from.

"I haven't been near your office in weeks, Clemen." I spoke slowly and carefully, making sure I sounded as genuine as possible. It wasn't difficult as I truly was innocent.

"Don't give me that." He poked me with the gushing sponge on the chest, enough to make me stumble back a few steps. "I know it was you, and I'll beat the truth out of you if it is what it takes."

"Let's not be rash, I haven't done anything." Maybe my wish to walk into sunlight was going to become reality if I had to fight Clemen, he had a good three hundred pounds on me and a foot and a half in height advantage.

"Explain to me why there are 15 cans missing from my safe then, and the last person who went in my office was described as a skinny male janitor with bad posture and was constantly looking at his phone." He had kept up his poking to accentuate his points, forcing me into a corner, my shoes were surrounded by the water my bucket used to contain.

"There are many workers here that fit that description, I swear I wasn't anywhere nea~." My sentence was cut short by a rather wicked slap that left my vision blurry on my left side. The force also caused me to lose my footing and fall on my ass, propping myself up with one arm.

"Admit it!" He wanted me to admit it. I wasn't sure why, but he seemed dead set on it. As I tried to stand up and compose myself, a left handed slap sent me rearing into the wall, fracturing a tile and sending a stream of blood down my forehead where my skin had broken. I couldn't feel my arms and the whole world was spinning. I saw the huge shape of my boss lumber towards the mop on the floor. He broke the wooden handle over his knee, splintering it into two sharp sticks, discarding the one that had the mop head still attached.

"No one will care. I'll just tell them that I was defending myself when I confronted you about the stealing." A stake to the heart was enough to kill even the strongest vampires. I was far from the strongest, I could barely raise my hands to defend myself when I saw the pointed tip being directed towards my vitals.

Time seemed to slow down. I didn't see my life flash before my eyes like many movies portray. I just felt scared. Alone. Sad.

I guess I really was not ready to die yet, no matter how pitiful my existence was.

And that's when I saw his arm plunge down, carrying his force with him. Shifting his unstable body on the slippery blood coated floor. His foot slipped out from under him, causing him to pitch forward. The added momentum of his swing brought his hand directly beneath his chest, when he fell forward, the bottom of the handle hit the floor and speared him straight through the brain.

I saw his eyes twitch in shock for a few seconds as he looked at me, until the visual cortex was sufficiently damaged enough for that to no longer register anything and they both turned foggy.

I knew I had to act fast. New crimson was pouring out into the older brown mess that coated the floor. He was not dead, his heart was still intact. His body would slowly heal itself over the course of days, utilizing the nutrients stored in the blood that circulated through his body to mend and repair the grievous wound.

I needed to get this non-corpse out of here, and my eyes fell on my cart. The cart was loaded with many different cleaning tools and supplies, as well as a very large waste container where I would slosh in all the extra waste water after cleaning up rooms.

The problem was, there was no way I was going to be able to lift his entire body in my weakened state, and an even smaller chance I could fit the whole thing through the hole at the top.

Those issues could wait, if someone walked in here and saw the bleeding body of their boss and only one other person around, I would be executed on the spot. I had to verify I was alone.

Wobbling over to the doorway and poking my head out, I saw no other carts or personnel nearby. This cell was near a slaughter crew work station, maybe only 30 meters away, but their shift had ended a long time ago, and I could make out the alcove in the hallway where tools were placed on racks. A plan started to form in my head.

I went back into the room and placed my cart as best I could in front of the body, trying to hide it from any passersby that looked quickly. I then shut the door to the cell and shuffled my way towards the alcove. My feet made wet slapping noises as my shoes were filled with blood and water.

A dazzling array of dangerous looking blades and saws lined the walls of the alcove, some shiny and some dirtied by dried gore. I grabbed a machete-like blade with saw teeth on the spine, thinking it would serve my purpose nicely. I made my way back to the cell, the adrenaline building as I still saw nobody else in the hallway.

Cutting up the corpse would take an extreme amount of energy, especially if I had to do it quickly. A feat I was not sure I would be able to complete in the damaged and weak state I was in, adrenaline can only push you so far after all.

After closing the door behind me and standing in front of the corpse, a solution entered my mind.

That solution took the form of a crimson puddle that was seeping out of my ex-bosses' head wound.