Chapter 1 - Clouded Mirrors

As rain hit the floor in an almost rhythmic symphony, a man with a list stood over a corpse, laying in a dark alleyway, hidden from teeming crowds of people who gathered like ants towards an open picnic. In the distance, gleaming, flashing red and blue lights flickered, along with billboards, streetlights, and other street decor which shone in unison. A man, detective, probably, walked over to the corpse, gazing at the emaciated, pallid skin, as flat and wrinkly as crumbled-up paper. The corpse, riddled with primitive cybernetics, had been meticulously assembled. Most notably, two holes lay punctured on the corpse's neck.

Looking at the gaunt corpse up and down, the detective took out a notepad and finally spoke. "Break it down for me. What's going on here, John?" He said to the man with the list.

"You're gonna love this one, Castor." The man with the list, John, said. There was an edge in his tone that gave Castor brief pause, but John continued. "Real gruesome. Right up your alley." John said, in a candid tone. He looked at John's face, impassive as always, so John ignored it.

"You're awfully happy for someone who's been looking at a corpse for at least a solid hour," Castor said, a sly, half-suppressed smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"Are you really here to talk? You're already late." John says, retaining his blank face.

"Rude as ever, huh? Just give me the case details."

"Yeah, whatever. Here are the details; Victim is a 28-year-old male. Cause of death; significant blood-loss due to exsanguination."

"Was it a Vampire, or an external tool?"

"It appears to be from a vampire. Two puncture marks were found on the left side of the neck, penetrating the external jugular vein and common carotid artery. These holes are uniquely shaped but roughly follow the shape of a canine, indicating it is likely a Vampiric incident. Based on lividity and rigor mortis, the time of death stands between 1 am and 3 am last night."

"Do you have any details that could give a clue on what happened before the murder?"

"The blood alcohol level on him was at a very high elevation, likely heavily intoxicated. Additionally, there are very few defensive wounds on the body, indicating that the victim was initially weakened enough so that he could not put up any significant struggle."

"This guy anybody significant?" Castor asks, turning his notepad to the next page.

"Yeah. Hector Davidson, Investigative Unit Chief in The Unity Protection and Security Directorate."

"Right, I'm guessing that's why they put me on the job. If he's from UPSD, could the attack be from PCR?"

"I doubt it. The People's Collective Resistance holds vampires in great contempt. There's no way they would use one of them to pull a hit." John says.

"Hm. You said this guy had a bit of alcohol in him? Probably socially drinking. Let me have a profile of him."

"I'll send it to your HoloRec."

"Thanks." Castor closes his notepad, walking away from the alleyway, under yellow tape. As he walked onto the main street, pictures were taken, but no attempts to interview Castor were made. The bright lights of the neon signs were blurred by misty rain. He pulled his coat collar up higher around his neck. As he walked by, the laughs and chatters of those he passed ceased, broken like brittle bread underfoot. Castor kept walking, a face blank like untouched canvas. He followed an unfamiliar road. McGinty's, the local bar around here, became Castor's best place to start. He walked up to the bar, pushed through the door, and entered inside. The decor offered simplicity.

The rusted sign of McGinty's barely glows with a dim amber light, more smoke and embers than flame. The rough-hewn letters spelling out the bar's name catch what little glow there is, illuminated in patches where the chipped paint still clings to the pockmarked metal. "McGinty's, huh?" Castor says, opening the battered, croak-ish door. As he opened the door, the water leaked off him. The noisy chatter immediately assailed him, with patrons Castor almost certainly thought were nightly regulars. He walked towards the bartender, looking him in the eye, scanning him up and down. Castor spoke. "Evening, Jim."

But Jim just stood there, motionless, his eyes stuck to Castor's face as though transfixed by breaking news. After a minute of this, uninterrupted, Jim spoke "H-how d-did you-"

"Don't worry about that. Just take my order, and let's have a nice chat." Castor said, smiling warmly at Jim, although his smile could not reach Jim's averted gaze.

"What's wrong? Look at me." Castor said, tilting his head downwards in a futile attempt to meet his gaze.

"Nothing's wrong!" Jim lets out a restrained laugh. "I'm fine. Fine."

Castor sat on the stool and gave a confident smirk, the left side of his mouth almost reaching the edge of his face.

"Get me a good scotch. Whatever you've got."

Jim nodded hurriedly and fumbled for a glass with shaking hands. He spilled some of the scotch as he filled it, his nerves clearly rattled. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Let me ask you a few questions, Jim. Try to really focus and give me the correct answer. I wouldn't want to have to come back here."

"O-OK. What do you need?"

"Have you seen this man around?" Castor rolls up his sleeve, activating the HoloRec on his watch. The now-deceased Investigative Chief appeared, projected in hyper-realistic color.

"Y-yes. I saw him coming in at around 1. In the morning. He was drinking with a guy I'd never seen before. Honest."

"Hm. Can you tell me about the man?"

"I'm s-sorry, I don't really know! Around that time, almost nobody is here! It's the only part of my shift where I get to relax... I didn't pay attention!"

"Did he say where he was going?" Castor said, standing up, and shifting his weight towards Jim.

"I'm sorry! I really wasn't paying attention. You'd best ask Talon! He listens in on everybody!"

"Where can I find him?"

"S-St. Pierre's. Down the street. Apparently in room 225." He said, quickly pointing to the door.

"Thanks. How much do I owe you?"

"T-that'll be about 10 dollars."

"Put it on my tab." He says, before walking towards the dinged-up door, entering the elements once again, much to the behest of his friend Jim, I'm sure.

Castor leaves the dimly lit bar, immediately jolted by the cold weather and heavy rain. A small smirk formed on his face as he made his a few blocks over St. Pierre's. Opening the door, a simple bell rings. The lobby has a warming golden glow from the light of the brass lamps and wooden fixtures. Potted ferns and armchairs arranged in cozy groupings give the space a welcoming, lived-in feel.

The hotel receptionist stood at the reception desk. "Hello, welcome to St. Pi-" she abruptly stops upon seeing Castor's face.

"I'm with UPSD," Castor said, taking out his badge. "I need clearance to access room 225." He placed his Cyberkey on the desk.

"O-Okay, just give me a minute to embed the code."

"Thanks," Castor said, waiting for a short moment, before retrieving his Cyberkey and heading up the stairs to get to room 225.

Castor raised his fist and knocked firmly on the door of room 225. A long pause ensued before the door opened a crack, revealing a piercing blue eye peering out suspiciously.

"Talon?" said Castor, flashing his badge. "I'm Detective Castor with the UPSD. I was hoping you could help me with an investigation."

The eye narrowed, then the door opened a little wider to reveal a weaselly man in a bathrobe. Talon glanced nervously up and down the hallway before motioning for Castor to enter. The hotel room, had almost regal chandeliers that were dimly lit, and ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts. The air smelled stale. Talon perched on the edge of the bed while Castor sat in an armchair. "I'm investigating a homicide," Castor began. "Witnesses place the victim at McGinty's Bar just before the time of death. You hear anything?"

Talon eyed Castor warily. "I don't know nothin'. Guy was probably drunk and pissed off the wrong guy."

"Talon," Castor said in a stern tone as he leaned forward, pausing for a moment.

He relaxes, sitting back in the chair. "Let's try again. This is the victim." He activated his HoloRec. "Well dressed, signs of heavy intoxication, beyond social drinking. And the work was meticulous - the marks of a skilled vampire."

Talon hesitated, then said, "I might have heard somethin'. Gonna cost you though."

Castor gave a slight grunt. He hated these types, but they were part of the job.

"How much?"

"2000 USD."

"Don't insult me. I'm not that much of an amateur."

"Fine, 1000."

"Try 500," Castor said.

"800." Talon reaffirmed.

"Fine." Castor opened his HoloRec and sent a digital check. "What's your code?"

"4332."

"Sent. Now tell me what you know."

"The guy you're looking for is probably Malachi Wiltshire," Talon says. "I saw him with your guy, they were both having a real nice time. Malachi offered him a whole bunch of drinks, got him nice and drunk. Eventually, he was too intoxicated to drive, so Malachi offered to take him home. That's the last time anyone saw him."

"Kind of a sloppy hit. Where can I find him?" Castor asks.

"Oh, him? He's probably a city or two away by now. He's not an easy catch. I can fetch his license plate for you for an extra 500?"

Castor's brow furrows. "You're starting to push your luck here, pal. Sent. Do you have a picture, or are you going to charge me for that as well?"

Talon gives a sly smirk, contrasting his rather feeble posture. "No, but trust me, you'll know when you see him. He's got that... 'glint' in his eye. Like you, but a bit less noticeable."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Talon smiles.

Castor swiftly rises from his chair. "I would thank you if you didn't charge me a thousand grand," Castor said, slamming his door shut and hurrying to his car.

Castor descended the hotel stairwell quickly, emerging into the frigid nocturnal air as crisp as a winter's apple. The amber glow of the streetlamps illuminated his path like a candle beckoning a moth, guiding him to the car park where his car awaited, faithful as an aged hound.

He settled into the driver's seat and ignited the engine, invigorated by a sense of purpose as potent as a robust coffee on an empty abdomen. Grasping the steering wheel, Castor merged into the sparse late-night traffic and oriented the vehicle toward the gleaming monolith of UPSD headquarters, towering over the cityscape like a vigilant sentinel.

As Castor navigated the filled late-night city streets, he pondered on the clues he had amassed. A license plate number on the suspect vehicle witnessed absconding from the scene of the hit-and-run, fleeing like a thief in the night. Not much info to go off of, nevertheless, it was a start.

Castor elevated the radio, allowing the harmony of sound to mute his cogitations for a moment as he wove through the stygian city streets. Shortly, the towering presence of the UPSD edifice loomed in the distance, lights ablaze through the night like a thousand watchful eyes. Castor parked in his customary space and alighted from the vehicle, letting out a sigh. It's been a smooth-going case so far, and that always means that there's trouble coming up.

Castor strode to his desk in the UPSD Criminal Investigations office. Taking a seat, he booted up his computer and logged into the law enforcement database.

He typed in the license plate number that had been called into the hit-and-run hotline, belonging to a vehicle seen fleeing the scene.

The database returned the name and address of the registered owner: Malachi Wiltshire, who resided in the North Quarter, a neighborhood known for its vampire residents. A note in his file identified him as a known associate of radical groups.

Castor felt a stirring of anticipation. Finally, a tangible lead - a name and address for the elusive vampire assassin he sought. He printed Malachi's file and set it on his desk.

Rising from his chair, Castor allowed the ghost of a smile to briefly cross his lips. After so many dead ends, at last, he had what he needed to continue his investigation: a suspect with motive, means, and opportunity.

Castor hurried from his office and made his way swiftly to the parking garage. Once in his car, he opened Malachi's file to review the details once more, idly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. After he looked over the files, he put his foot on the gas and made his way to the Gray Quarter.

Castor parked outside the address listed for Malachi Wiltshire in the North Quarter. He made his way to the front door of the run-down apartment building and knocked. No answer.

He slammed through the front door of the dilapidated apartment building, drawing his weapon. No sign of Malachi.

Suddenly, He spotted movement on the rooftop opposite. A shadowy figure swiftly sprinted and recklessly leapt across the rooftops at a dizzying speed. It could only be Malachi.

Holstering his weapon, Castor flung himself over the balcony railing and hit the neighboring rooftop at a run. He hurtled across an alleyway and launched onto the next roof, gaining ground on the fleeing vampire.

Malachi recklessly catapulted across vast gaps between buildings, always barely regaining his balance. Castor closed the gap until almost within reach. He lunged out, fingers snagging the hem of Malachi's coat, but the vampire twisted away and accelerated.

The chase thundered on across the treacherous moonlit rooftops. As Castor leaped to the next roof the lofty billboard in front of the building towering over both of them, loose tiles slipped underfoot, destroying his landing pain exploding in his ankle. His pistol skittered over the edge, lost to the darkness below. Jaw clenched against the agony, Castor pulled himself up to see Malachi, frenziedly glancing around, at a loss for where to go.

Castor yelled. "Hey! The chase is over." Castor pressed a button on his HoloRec. "I know you killed Chief Davidson."

Malachi eyed Castor warily as he limped towards him, clutching his injured ankle. He saw Castor's empty holster and a grin spread across his face.

"Looks like the great vampire hunter isn't so mighty after all," Malachi taunted. He lunged at Castor, fists flying. Castor dodged the clumsy blows and managed a weak punch to Malachi's jaw. Malachi laughed and swung again, connecting with Castor's ribs and knocking the wind out of him.

"Pathetic," Malachi sneered. He grabbed Castor by the throat and lifted him, squeezing. "I killed the Chief. So what?" Castor struggled, gasping for air, he managed a few words. "The... PCR... is just using you!" Malachi's lip curled. "Maybe, but they sure paid a pretty penny to see your Chief die." Malachi tightened his grip on Castor. "Now, die," he uttered with finality, but yet, Castor smirked. Using the last of his breath, he let out a sharp exhale. Headbutted Malachi hard in the face. Malachi cried out and dropped him. Stumbling back and clutching his nose.

Castor lunged forward, grabbing Malachi in a chokehold from behind. Malachi struggled, elbowing Castor in the ribs but Castor held firm.

"It's over! Turn yourself in!" Castor grunted through gritted teeth.

Malachi swung a fist back, catching Castor in the jaw and momentarily loosening his grip. Malachi broke free but as he turned, Castor swung his leg out in a sweeping kick, catching Malachi's feet from under him and sending him crashing to the ground. Castor fell upon him, pinning Malachi's arms and slapping handcuffs on his wrists.

"You lose," Castor says, blood dripping from his cut lip as he subdued the struggling vampire.

Enraged, Malachi struggled against the handcuffs but couldn't break free. Castor bent down, groaning in pain from his injuries, and hauled the vampire to his feet.

"It's over," Castor said with finality. "You're coming with me."

Malachi glared at Castor, fury in his eyes. But Castor stared back, the corners of his mouth upturned ever so slightly in a subtle, controlled gesture of triumph, he gave Malachi a simple thumbs down, which, to Malachi, felt more like an "L." Defeated, Malachi fell silent as Castor led him away.

He pressed the same button on the HoloRec nestled onto his wrist, again.

Castor hustled the handcuffed Malachi across the moonlit rooftops and down the fire escape to where he had parked his UPSD vehicle. Every step sent pain shooting through Castor's injured ankle but he grit his teeth and pressed on.

He wrenched open the back passenger door and shoved Malachi into the seat, slamming the door shut behind him. Malachi glared at Castor through the window, still seething from his defeat. Castor ignored him and limped around to the driver's side, sliding into the front seat with a groan.

Castor started the engine and pulled out into the empty street, heading for UPSD headquarters. The drive radiated tension, permeated by silence, interrupted only when Malachi sporadically pounded the window in irritation. Castor remained stoic and focused, determined to deliver this criminal to justice.

As they neared the headquarters building, Castor radioed ahead to report he had apprehended the notorious vampire, Malachi Wiltshire. Officers were dispatched to meet them at the entrance. Castor parked the vehicle and got out stiffly, his injuries taking their toll. He limped around and wrenched open Malachi's door.

"Out," he ordered gruffly. Malachi complied, still seething but defeated. Castor grasped his arm and hustled him into the building, where awaiting officers took charge of the prisoner. Castor simply gave a curt nod, satisfied with where the case stood. Limping on over to his car, he stared at himself through the window.

As he caught sight of his reflection in the darkened window, a chill crept up his spine. Where his familiar face should have been, two red orbs stared back at him, their glow piercing the inky blackness and a deathly pale visage that served as skin.

"No wonder why everyone was so scared of me... I forgot to get my fix of blood this month."