Morning sun barely pierced the thick fog cloaking the deserted alley in downtown Malibu. Police cars, their red and blue lights flashing, surrounded the scene where a passerby had stumbled upon a body. Officer Decker, a thirty-something blond with tired eyes and light stubble, adjusted the holster on his hip and surveyed the area. His partner, Officer Lila Ramirez, a young Latina with dark hair pulled into a tight bun, was already speaking with the medical examiner hunched over the body. She'd arrived first, though she was already regretting the action.
The corpse lay against the wall, nestled in the shadows between two dumpsters. A woman, about twenty, with long dark hair, paler than chalk. Her skin looked waxy, drained of all life. Two tiny punctures on her neck, barely noticeable, stood out like ink dots on white paper. No blood anywhere—not a drop, as if it had been sucked dry. Her wide eyes were frozen in horror and disbelief, as if she couldn't fathom what had happened. Her face, beautiful even in death, was a mask of silent screams.
"What's the word, Doc?" Decker asked, crouching beside the medical examiner, an older man with graying temples and weary eyes.
"Sofia Lopez, twenty-one, student at Pepperdine University," the examiner began, scrolling through his tablet. "Journalism major, straight-A student, no criminal record. Cause of death… unclear. Total exsanguination, body nearly devoid of fluids, but no blood at the scene. Death occurred around 3 a.m. It was quick. This is unnatural, Decker. Even with massive blood loss, there'd be stains, splatter, signs of struggle. Here… it's like she was dried out while sleeping."
Lila, standing nearby, frowned, her fingers nervously tugging at her uniform's belt. It was her first time seeing a body like this—before, it was just gunshot wounds, stabbings, or accidents. But this…
"How's that possible?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and revulsion. "A person can't just… lose all their blood without a trace. What kind of maniac…"
"No idea," the examiner shrugged. "Thirty years on the job, I've seen a lot, but this… it's new. The neck punctures are the only injuries. No cuts, fractures, or bruises. It's like she… fell asleep while her blood vanished."
Decker stood, brushing off his knees. His gaze swept the alley—the graffiti-covered walls, the scattered trash stirred by the wind. Something about the scene sent a chill through him, though he couldn't pinpoint why. Maybe the silence, broken only by the hum of tires on a nearby street. Maybe the frozen horror on Sofia's face, still screaming about what she'd seen in her final moments.
"Lila, check footage from cameras within a block," he said, trying to focus. "If there's no blood here, she wasn't killed here. Or…" He trailed off, unwilling to voice the insane thought.
"Or what?" Lila's dark eyes glinted with tension.
"Or it's not human," Decker said quietly, immediately regretting it. Lila gave him a skeptical look but stayed silent. She knew Decker sometimes entertained wild theories, but now wasn't the time for jokes.
The examiner closed his tablet and stood, wiping his gloved hands.
"I'll send the body for autopsy. Maybe I'll find something. But honestly, guys, this case smells… wrong."
Decker nodded, his eyes drawn back to Sofia's face. Her vibrant, terrified eyes seemed to demand answers. The world had long known about freaks and the supernatural, but he turned away, shaking off the feeling that this alley held more secrets than they could unravel.
Strength seeped back into my body, drop by drop. Speed, blood manipulation, compulsion—all returning in small steps. A millennium without blood couldn't be undone in a moment. Sofia's blood was… exquisite. Sweet, brimming with youthful energy and fear. After centuries in that cursed sarcophagus, each drop of life awakened my dormant immortal cells. Warmth spread within.
I walked the streets of this strange future city—Malibu. Metal, glass, the hum of cars, and the voices of thousands filled the air. The scent of blood mingled with food, perfume, and exhaust fumes. My world had changed beyond recognition during my centuries of oblivion.
But humans… humans remained the same. Weak. Delicious.
I needed clothes. The ancient garb bestowed by those monsters drew unwanted attention. Passersby turned, some pulling out phones to record me as a curiosity. It fed into their networks, straight to those who sought such information. In my time, such devices didn't exist, and I didn't know how to control them. It didn't bother me much, but it was certainly annoying.
Remarkable. Humans had invented so many convenient words over the centuries.
A men's clothing boutique's window caught my eye. Mannequins wore black suits like those I'd seen on passersby. Intriguing. I pushed open the glass door—a material once a luxury, now commonplace. Strolling through, I marveled at the craftsmanship. This era's tailoring had reached impressive heights.
"Welcome!" A young woman's voice made me turn.
The consultant, a slim brunette with long hair, eyed me with interest. Her heart beat slightly faster—I could sense it from a distance. Her blood pulsed steadily, healthily. A young woman's blood.
"Emily," I read on her badge. In my time, women didn't work in such places, but times had changed. "I need clothes."
She blushed, her pulse quickening. Odd—I wasn't using compulsion, yet my natural charm seemed to affect this era's people just as potently. Perhaps they were more susceptible to my appearance. In my time, people cared less for looks, drawn to strong personalities.
"With your looks, you'll stand out anyway," she said, and I smiled. If only you knew, dear Emily, how much I stand out among your kind.
She led me to racks of clothes, prattling about "fashion trends"—a concept I understood but found uninteresting. In my time, fashion shifted over centuries, not seasons.
"Want to try something on? We have a backroom for privacy."
A backroom. Quiet. Perfect. I nodded.
The room was small, cluttered with boxes. Emily closed the door, her breathing uneven. She stepped closer, her hand brushing my chest.
"You're… so beautiful," she whispered.
Her lips met mine—an awkward, hesitant kiss. Amusing. In my time, women were more reserved yet more skilled in seduction. This girl acted on primal instinct.
"Am I bad at this?" she asked, pulling back.
I studied her. Her neck was exposed, her pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. Her blood's scent teased my heightened senses. But I didn't rush. After centuries of starvation, I wanted to savor the process.
"Kissing mortals… not as repulsive as I thought," I said, letting truth slip through my mask.
She frowned, confused.
"Mortals? What are you—"
Time for questions was over. Hunger won.
My fangs sank into her neck before she could scream. Warm blood flooded my mouth, and I closed my eyes, savoring it. Gods, how I'd missed this.
Each gulp restored my strength. Muscles surged with power, senses sharpened, my mind cleared. Emily weakened in my arms, her life flowing into me. Her final thoughts were a mix of horror and confusion. She never understood what happened.
When I finished, her heart stopped. I lowered her lifeless body to the floor and donned a black shirt, pants, and shoes she'd suggested. A small mirror showed my reflection—now I blended with this era.
But something was off. The reflection… too clear. In my time, mirrors were crude, distorted. These modern ones were flawless. Noticing blood on my lips, I wiped them on her clothes.
Sleep well, Emily. You were delicious.
I left the backroom, locking the door. No one noticed—shoppers were engrossed in their glowing screens. What an era, where murders went unnoticed right beside them.
Night fell, and I walked along the highway, my silhouette barely visible in the sparse streetlights. I raised a hand to hitchhike. From the women's memories, I knew this was common. Thumb up, I walked. Cars sped by, but a heavy truck with a roaring engine slowed and stopped. The driver, a bearded man in a plaid shirt, leaned out.
"Hey, kid, where to?" he shouted.
I smiled, amazed at the audacity. In my time, no one would offer a ride to a lone stranger on an empty road. But now…
"City of Angels," I replied, hopping into the passenger seat.
He chuckled, shifting gears.
"You're not far off. Where exactly?"
"Just… the city," I said, leaning back. "I'll figure it out."
The truck rumbled off, carrying me toward the heart of Los Angeles, where I planned my next hunt. A few more young, vital humans, then I'd search for them. This man, though not young, had strong blood. It smelled of grit, resilience. He'd be a fine boost to my power.
But first, let him drive. The task of mortals—work. Let him work.
Tony Stark sat in his workshop, surrounded by holographic screens. The TV on the wall played local news, his face darkening with each report. A young woman's body found in an alley, drained of blood, no traces at the scene. Police withheld details, but Tony knew. It was his fault. The next story—a shopgirl, another victim.
An APB was out, but cameras in 2008 malls and alleys, unlike Tony's tech-laden mansion, were subpar. He knew who was responsible.
"Jarvis," he said, his voice heavy, devoid of its usual sarcasm. "Play the workshop footage again."
The screen showed the moment the container split, revealing a mummy-like creature. Its glowing red eyes, inhuman strength, its talk of hunger and thirst. Tony clenched his fists, recalling how it drank Pepper's blood. She survived but was still in the hospital, recovering from blood loss. Damn it.
He slammed the table. Rage at endangering his… secretary burned in his mind. His helplessness infuriated him. A cup rattled, then silence returned—no music played in the background.
"I unleashed a monster," Tony muttered, rubbing his temples. "I thought it was just an artifact, a mummy's tomb… but it was him."
"Sir," Jarvis's voice was calm but tinged with concern—an imitation, but enough for Tony. "You couldn't have known. The container was sealed, its origin unknown."
"That's no excuse," Tony snapped. "I should've been more careful. Now people are dying."
He stood, staring out at the dark ocean. A decision he'd delayed was now inevitable.
"Jarvis," he said quietly. "Hold off on calling SHIELD."
"Are you sure, sir?" Jarvis asked. "SHIELD could—"
"Yes," Tony cut in. "Don't call. I made this mess; I'll fix it. Nick Fury said he could help with some things, but that doesn't mean I call him every time. Gather data, and once I handle this, we'll pass it to him. Everything."
"As you wish, sir."
Tony returned to the table, where sketches of a suit lay. It was ahead of its time, theoretical, but Tony needed a protector. No bodyguard or modern weapon could match that vampire's speed and strength. He wasn't Steve Rogers, lost in the war, nor Dr. Abraham Erskine, creator of the Super Soldier Serum. Tony needed something new, something game-changing, something to elevate him to a super-soldier's level.
If that monster was what he thought—a vampire—conventional methods wouldn't work. Myths gave vampires few weaknesses, and sunlight and silver seemed like folklore.
Tony knew he had to create something unprecedented to stop the ancient evil he'd unleashed. These sketches would make it happen.
Iron Man was born ahead of schedule.
The truck swayed on bumpy roads as the driver, Joe, rambled about his life—wife, kids, trucking. A typical American existence. His voice was soothing, like a lullaby. I half-listened, savoring his blood's scent—thick, laced with nicotine and fatigue, yet alive and warm.
"Where you from, kid?" Joe asked, glancing at me. "Not local, that's for sure. Fancy clothes."
"Far away," I replied, watching the passing lights. "Very far."
"Business?" he pressed. "Though you look more like an artist or model. My daughter'd go crazy for you."
I smirked. If he knew his daughter would be just another meal.
Twenty miles from the city, Joe started yawning. His eyelids drooped, head tilting. The truck swerved.
"Hey, Joe," I said softly. "Maybe pull over? You're tired."
Didn't want you splattered across the road.
"Nah, I'm fine," he mumbled, yawning again. "Long day, though. Maybe you're right."
He pulled onto the shoulder near an abandoned gas station. Perfect—no one around, just the empty road and stars above.
"Fifteen minutes, then we go," Joe said, leaning back.
"Sure," I agreed, turning to him. "Rest, Joe."
In an instant, I had his throat. His eyes widened in terror, but he couldn't scream—my fingers pressed his windpipe. Not too hard; I didn't want him dead yet.
"What… what're you doing?" he rasped.
"What I was made for," I said, fangs extending. "Feeding."
His blood was different from the young women's—thicker, tasting of lived years and hard labor. But it held strength, the vitality of a man who worked with his hands. I drank slowly, savoring each drop, feeling it bolster my power and endurance.
Joe died quickly. His last thought was of his family—wife and kids waiting at home. Touching. In my time, people rarely thought of others in death, consumed by their own fear. This era's humans were more emotional, closer to their kin.
I dragged his body from the cab and tossed it into the brush behind the station. It landed with a thud of broken bones. The truck's keys remained, and it started easily. Curious—what's it like to drive?
An hour later, after much fumbling, I entered Los Angeles. Driving wasn't for me.
The city greeted me with neon lights and chaotic sounds. Millions of people, millions of beating hearts—a symphony of life, an invitation to feast. I ditched the truck on an outskirt street—police would find it by morning, but I'd be long gone.
I needed rest. In my time, I'd invade homes, slaughter families, but now I had no urge for a massacre. Too loud.
A skyscraper downtown caught my eye—thirty stories of glass and steel, its upper floors empty, likely under construction. A perfect temporary refuge.
Scaling the exterior to the thirtieth floor took less than a minute. My claws found holds in concrete and steel, my strength defying gravity. A few passersby below looked up, but the darkness hid me.
The floor was bare—concrete, steel beams, floor-to-ceiling windows. The city view was stunning, millions of lights stretching to the horizon like an inverted starry sky. In my time, the largest cities held mere tens of thousands. Here, there were far more.
I settled in a corner, back to the wall, and reflected. Two kills today—not bad for a start. But it wasn't enough. I needed more blood, more strength, to reclaim what I'd lost over centuries.
Thoughts of Tony Stark surfaced. His fear when he realized what he'd freed. His attempts to stop me. A fascinating man. In my time, he'd be an alchemist or inventor. But he wielded knowledge and technology bordering on magic. From Pepper's memories, he was this century's unique genius.
He'd hunt me. Obvious. He might even find me. But while I was weak, I'd stay in the shadows.
Dawn was hours away when I decided to explore my new hunting grounds.
Hollywood's club district pulsed with life even late at night. Neon signs, crowds of youth, music spilling from dozens of venues. The air was thick with alcohol, perfume, sweat, and excitement—a heady cocktail. Beneath it, the sweet scent of fresh blood.
I strolled down Sunset Strip, observing. People had changed—more open, less restrained. Women dressed provocatively, men less aggressive. Alcohol and other substances dulled their minds, making them easy prey.
"Club Vampire"—fate's irony. Its neon sign showed a bat with red eyes. I smirked. If they knew a true prototype of their silly myths stood before them.
The bouncer, a hulking man in black, didn't glance at me. His mind was too simple to resist my influence. I passed, and he stared into space as if I wasn't there.
Inside was controlled chaos. Thumping music, strobing lights, writhing bodies. The blood scent was sharp—young, energetic people, their blood spiked with adrenaline and alcohol. Sickly sweet.
I ordered whiskey at the bar, more for cover than need. The bartender, a young guy with shaved temples, handed me a glass, eyes fixed on my face.
"New here?" he shouted over the music.
"You could say that," I replied. "You work here long?"
"Couple years. Know all the regulars. You… you're different. Got a mystical vibe."
If he only knew how right he was.
"Hey, handsome."
I turned. A woman, about twenty-five, blonde with bright lipstick and a plunging neckline, approached. Her eyes gleamed with alcohol and something else—drugs, likely, popular in this century. Wonder what she tastes like.
"I'm Candy," she said, sidling closer. "You?"
"Vladimir," I replied, using a name I'd borne millennia ago, tied to a brave king whose throat didn't last long.
"Vladimir," she purred, savoring it. "Exotic. Not from here, huh?"
"Very far away," I confirmed.
She laughed, her hand resting on my chest.
"Wanna dance?"
"Why not."
The dance floor was packed, bodies moving to heavy beats. Candy pressed against me, her warmth and blood's scent intoxicating. Too sweet—her blood was tainted by chemicals, spoiling its natural flavor.
"Your skin's so cold," she shouted in my ear. "And your eyes—they change color in the light."
Indeed, my eyes betrayed my hunger. The hungrier I grew, the brighter they glowed red. Surrounded by all this blood, they must've burned like embers.
"Wanna get outta here?" Candy suggested. "I got something better than this music."
I nodded, letting her lead me out.
The walk to her place was quick, just a few streets at a brisk pace.
Her apartment was typical for a young Angeleno—a small studio overlooking the freeway. Magazines, makeup, and clothes were strewn about. A table by the couch held white crystals—drugs, by the smell.
"Want some?" she asked, pointing at them. "It'll make tonight unforgettable."
"I prefer natural pleasures," I said, stepping closer.
She laughed, starting to unbutton my shirt.
"Then let's get natural."
Her lips met mine, a passionate but clumsy kiss. Modern humans seemed to have lost the art of seduction, relying on instinct over skill.
"God, your skin's so cold," she whispered, hands gliding over my chest. "And smooth. You sure you're not a vampire?" She laughed at her own joke.
"What if I am?" I asked, my voice lower, more hypnotic.
"Then bite me," she said, tilting her head to expose her neck. "I always wanted something… extreme."
Her pulse throbbed in her jugular, blood racing with alcohol and arousal. But that chemical taint ruined it. Like wine left too long in the sun. Pity.
"You're not suitable," I said, pulling back.
"What?" She stared, confused. "Not suitable?"
"Your blood's poisoned," I said bluntly. "By that garbage you take."
"What are you talking about?" Her voice turned wary. "What blood?"
I stepped to the window, gazing at the city lights. Too many poisoned their blood with chemicals. I needed pure sources—those untainted by modern vices.
"Centuries of progress—machines, planes, factories, computers. So much potential. Yet you're just drugged-up children, clueless about why you live. Disgusting. But you can still serve me." I turned to her. "Come here." My voice carried commanding tones that bent weak minds like hypnosis.
"What…" She trailed off, her eyes glazing over, focus lost. Like a puppet, she approached.
"Offer your neck." She complied, standing still. I bit gently, then sliced my wrist. "Now, drink."
She latched onto my arm like a parched wanderer in a desert, gulping my blood. I stroked her hair, as one might a dog.
"Good girl. Now…" I gripped her neck, snapping the bones that sustained her tainted life. She died, never understanding what happened.
I left her dead and vanished into the night. Tomorrow, a new vampire would awaken, driven to feed. My newborn puppet would kill. Who would find her first—police or someone else?
By dawn, I returned to my thirtieth-floor refuge. The city stirred below—cars filled roads, people rushed to work. A new day in this strange century. Overnight, I'd killed more, draining bodies. Breaking into homes and slaughtering the sleeping wasn't thrilling, but blood was air, and strength was returning.
But the club discovery troubled me. Too many tainted their blood with chemicals. In my time, blood was purer. Here, I'd need to be selective.
I was in a garden of rotten apples.
A phone call below drew my attention. In the building's lobby, suited men—likely builders and architects—gestured toward the upper floors.
I needed a new hideout. Attention was undesirable.
In downtown Los Angeles' old quarter, I found what I sought: an abandoned church from the early century. Its tall windows were boarded, doors chained. Perfect for a creature deemed a spawn of hell.
The irony? I felt at ease in the church. Crosses didn't bother me, holy water was just water. Another myth debunked. Who crafted these tales during my captivity? And where did "vampire" come from? It stirred vague memories, but I wasn't sure.
Inside, dim light filtered through boarded windows. Dust danced in sparse rays. Pews were cobwebbed, the altar thick with dust.
I settled in the crypt beneath the altar. Stone walls, cool air, silence—ideal for daytime rest. Though sunlight didn't harm me, old habits died hard. I loved hunting in the dark.
As I drifted off, I planned the next night. I needed pure, vibrant victims—students or office workers untainted by drugs or alcohol.
And I needed to learn more about this world—its technologies, its threats. People like Tony Stark, who could become dangerous.
But that could wait until nightfall.
Tony hadn't slept in twenty-four hours. His eyes were bloodshot, hands trembling from caffeine. But he couldn't stop—not when the monster he'd freed was killing innocents.
"Jarvis, what's on the police reports?" he asked, eyes fixed on his sketches.
"More bodies, sir. A truck driver found dead on the city's outskirts. Several sleeping families. All exsanguinated, no wounds except neck punctures."
Tony clenched his fists. Dozens dead. Families. On his conscience.
"Anything else?"
"Some intriguing statements, sir. A bouncer at Club Vampire claims he saw a strange man pass by like he wasn't there. Cameras didn't help identify him."
"So, a club," Tony muttered. "Either he's a drinker, or he hunts wherever, careless about cameras."
"There's also a post from a woman, Candy Rogers, on a university network. She brought a man home but can't recall what happened next. Her last memory was falling asleep mid-conversation. Posted hours ago, no activity since. She hasn't left her home—possibly mind manipulation."
"Hypnosis or compulsion," Tony nodded. "Classic vampire tricks. Jarvis, scan cameras within a mile of each crime scene. Look for patterns."
"Scanning will take time, sir."
"We've got time. This thing hunts at night, hides by day."
Tony returned to his sketches. The suit's prototype was nearly ready—theoretically. A chest reactor for power, repulsor-based flight, titanium-gold alloy armor. Weapons to stop a superhuman.
Or a supernatural being.
"Sir," Jarvis interrupted. "Scan results."
A map of Los Angeles appeared, marked with dots.
"What's this?"
"Locations of deaths in the past forty-eight hours. He moves fast. Deaths occurred around 3 a.m., per coroner reports, but are miles apart."
Tony studied the map. The dots formed a pattern—from Malibu to LA's heart, then the club district, and finally…
"He's heading downtown," Tony murmured. "And getting bolder. Early kills were discreet; now he's hunting in crowded places."
"What does that mean, sir?"
"He's not afraid. He's regaining strength. Getting faster. Soon, he'll be even deadlier."
Tony caught his reflection in a dark monitor—unshaven, red-eyed, like a madman. Maybe he was. A sane person would call the police, FBI, or military. But Tony knew conventional methods wouldn't stop what he'd unleashed.
"Jarvis, start fabricating the first prototype. We have days at most before this thing's too strong to stop."
"As you wish, sir. But this project is highly dangerous. The chance of a fatal outcome during initial testing is—"
"Don't want to hear it," Tony cut in. "Just do it."
He glanced at a photo on the desk—Pepper smiling from a hospital bed, still pale from blood loss. That was all the motivation he needed.
Day waned as I woke in the church's crypt. My internal clock, honed by centuries of nocturnal life, pinpointed sunset flawlessly.
Climbing the stone steps, I entered the main hall. Fading sunlight filtered through boarded windows, painting the dusty air golden. Beautiful. In my time, churches were places of power, where people sought protection from the dark. They didn't pray to one god. The irony? Now the dark found refuge in God's house.
I needed information on the city, its people, places to hunt unnoticed. In the past, I relied on rumors and gossip. Now, humans had new ways to share knowledge.
Leaving the church, I headed to a nearby building with glowing windows—a library, perfect.
Inside smelled of old paper and new tech. People sat at glowing screens, engrossed in flickering symbols.
"Excuse me," I said to the woman at the desk, an elderly lady in glasses. "Can I use a computer?"
"Do you have a membership card?"
"You could say that." My eyes glowed, and she nodded, leading me to a computer. As she walked away, I sensed her terminal illness. Compulsion worked perfectly.
The next hour, I devoured information. Computers, the internet—humanity's knowledge in one accessible network. In my time, such knowledge was worth killing for.
I learned about modern Los Angeles, its districts, youth hubs. Universities with fresh blood. Hospitals with the weak and defenseless.
Most intriguing was Tony Stark.
Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Heir to Stark Industries, an arms manufacturer for the American military. An inventor whose creations bordered on scientific miracles.
And the man who freed me.
His photos filled the screen—at galas, product launches. Cocky smile, sharp eyes, expensive suits. A modern aristocrat.
But I'd seen his true face—fear when he realized what he'd unleashed. He'd be trouble if I let him prepare. I felt no fear, only excitement. The thrill of the hunt.
"Young man," the librarian's voice broke my focus. "We're closing in ten minutes."
"Alright." I glanced at Stark's image one last time, closed the browser, and left, savoring the evening air. Perfect hunting time.
Soon, Tony Stark would come for me. He'd walk into my jaws. And I'd drink his blood to the last drop. The hare was racing to the wolf's maw.