Igor rolled his eyes at his human masters. They were perfect examples of selfishness, so wrapped up in their little bubbles that the world could collapse around them and they wouldn't notice.
The Lennox family was prime new-money arrogance. Everyone except Maisie, that is. She didn't come across as selfish. Maybe that was why Igor watched her more than anyone else.
Since 2035, technology has exploded into daily life. Smartphones projected holograms, flying cars were no longer sci-fi, hoverboards zipped through the streets, and voice-activated locks kept homes secure.
Genetic IDs were everywhere, and implanted chips stored money and personal data. And then there were the Alucards.
Alucards had been around for over a century. It started when humanity found the frozen corpse of an ancient vampire in the Arctic. Scientists extracted its DNA and created the first Alucard prototypes in biofoundries.
Engineered to fill gaps in a fractured world, Alucards cleaned flooded coasts, rebuilt power grids, and even died in place of humans on front lines. By the 2040s, governments quietly labeled them "non-human biological assets." The name and the collars, stuck.
Society adapted fast. By the time hover grids crisscrossed the skies and babies were born with neural implants, Alucards were already invisible, obedient fixtures, controlled by strict protocols and behavioral inhibitors.
Igor remembered seeing the term "obedience protocols" in a dusty archive. It stuck with him. He couldn't decide which hurt more: knowing he existed only to obey, or seeing humans treat him like a tool.
The irony: even fully connected by tech, humans were lonelier than ever. True friendships were rare. Family drama and social status consumed them. The middle class split in two: one side scraping by, the other living like the Lennoxes, rich enough to ignore everyone else.
Society hovered between socialism and capitalism, and the gap kept growing. The poor scavenged scraps. The rich had everything they wanted. Education was a luxury; college was even more so. Student loans, impossible to get, or crushing for decades.
Alucards, tagged as sub-human, saw things differently. Wealth was simple: a warm meal and a safe place to sleep. They ran on cynicism and resentment. Humans seemed ridiculous, whining about problems that paled in comparison to their reality.
From Igor's perspective, he was older than most Alucards. Both humans and Alucards had flaws, but humans ruled because they had created him and the others. Gods, playing with their creations. Still, his human masters looked clueless and undeserving of control.
"Igor, fetch my mirror. I left it on the breakfast table again," Lady Lennox snapped.
"Of course, Mrs. Lennox," he said, moving toward it, but his mind lingered on her obsession with appearances. Did humans need that much reassurance?
When he had looked in the mirror, a cracked one above the wash basin, he barely recognized himself. Red hair, red eyes, fangs, wings folded tight. Porcelain skin. A tongue that never felt right. Was that him? He dissociated from his appearance quite frequently.
He hadn't grown up like humans did. No baby pictures, no awkward phases. Just fragments: "You look strong,"
"You clean up well." None of it helped. He looked nothing like them, because he wasn't one of them.
Igor walked across the cold tile to the kitchen. The mirror sat on the breakfast table, small, fancy, gold-leaf carvings curling around the edges. The metal was dulled but still proud.
On the back, a worn inscription read: Mirror Mirror, Corp. Est. 1955. At least two hundred years old. A relic. A family heirloom? A collector's piece? People like Lady Lennox didn't explain things to people like him.
Alucards weren't allowed on the global net. Their implanted chips couldn't pass security gates. No Library of America, no local news. Unless someone spelled it out, they stayed in the dark.
Almost in the dark.
Mistress Maisie's library was the exception. She let him borrow books, but quietly. No one could know. Most were stories: magic, dragons, myths. But hidden at the back were the real treasures: political theory, economics, and unfiltered history.
Those were the books Igor read, stealing minutes between chores. They were his only window into the real world, unfiltered by propaganda or walled-off privilege.
On his way to Mistress Mara's room, Igor paused at the library door. The smell of old paper and polished wood mixed with faint citrus cleaner. His chip technically didn't allow him inside.
No scanner would approve him if anyone checked, but the library had none. No one stopped him anymore.
"Took a little detour, did you?"
The voice was Marlow, the estate manager. His skin didn't seem to age, and his eyes were cold.
Igor turned slowly, expression flat. "I was told to retrieve Miss Lennox's reader from the study."
"Of course you were," Marlow said, smiling without warmth. "Always being told what to do, aren't you, Number Eight?" His shoes whispered on the marble as he stepped closer. "Most Alucards aren't allowed this far without clearance."
"I have clearance," Igor replied.
"From the girl," Marlow sneered. "She may play at rebellion, but the rest of us see what she's done. You think you're special because she reads to you? Because she gave you a name?"
Igor said nothing. He never did.
"Don't forget who owns your blood," Marlow continued, voice low. "That skin might pass for human, but we both know what's underneath."
Igor exhaled quietly, controlled. "Underneath, we all bleed."
Marlow laughed, humorless. "Careful. That poetic mouth might be the next thing someone tears out."
His footsteps clicked down the hall. Igor waited until the sound faded before stepping into the library. Dust, lemon oil, and old leather filled the air.
He let his fingers brush the shelves, stopping at a cracked blue volume: The Metamorphosis. Gently, he pulled it free.
Carrying the mirror, he climbed the stairs slowly, each step deliberate. At the top, he knocked on the carved white door. It opened without resistance.
Mrs. Lennox sat at her vanity. Silk clung to her body, delicate and expensive. Her robe had slipped from one shoulder, revealing her collarbone and the faint sheen of body oil. Loose strands of hair framed her face, and she held a crystal glass of plum wine.
"Well," she said, lips curved, applying lipstick in slow, practiced strokes. "Look who finally showed up. Maisie only needed you an hour ago."
Her tone was syrupy, but her sarcasm cut clear.
"I came as soon as she summoned me," Igor said, eyes lowered, fixed on the floor.
She studied him through the mirror, as if examining a piece of machinery. "You Alucards," she said, "so literal. No imagination. No initiative."
He remained silent. Safer that way.
A long pause stretched between them. Her fingers hovered over a silver tray before picking up a hairpin.
"I forget," she said softly, voice smooth, "do your kind even feel shame?"
Igor stiffened slightly. "We are trained not to react to our employers' behavior."
She hummed softly, amused. Sliding the pin into her hair, she lifted her chin and looked at him calmly. "Yes, that's always the answer."
She sipped her wine and turned fully to him. The robe slipped slightly, revealing more pale skin. Her expression was distant.
"You may go."
He bowed and began to leave, but her voice stopped him. Soft, casual, with no urgency:
"You remind me of someone," she said. "That's all."