Friday, January 18, 2008

Old Memories


Funny, I wanted to ask them the same thing. My best bet at information is some time alone with Dingo and the best shot at that is keeping things unproductive. “Next to nothing. They kept me in some hospital the whole time. I just woke up and was human again. They fed me, walked me to the bathroom, and then just waltzed in saying they were gonna let me go. The whole thing was laughable. Just said they hoped I’d learned my lesson and dropped me off two blocks from here. Never do a slurp again,” I fed him. He looked at me and sneered. “Such a thing is both a sin and untrue, making it all the more disturbing to me, Mr. Shade,” he said. I braced myself for another slap and was rewarded for my efforts. My face was starting to ache. I had to get a few minutes alone with Dingo to figure out what was going on and that didn’t seem likely here. “Allow me to start over with a new question that gets to the same point. How much have you told them about vampires?” Malvolio asks. For some reason, an idea from the back of my head pops forward. It’s a story my grandfather told me about when he was captured during the war. I haven’t thought about my family in decades, ditched them as soon as the virus took effect. Most do. He said that the way he stayed alive in the camp was to feed them a little bit of real information and then get bitchy. To just keep leading them on and buying time. Damn, I suddenly wish my body wasn’t mortal because I get the feeling I’m about to be in pain. “Alright, alright, enough bullshit. They hired me as an informant and advisor to their organization. They’re called the Paladins of the Light. I would’ve told them to go fuck themselves as soon as I woke up but there’s a catch to these guys. They can make guns that hurt vampires. Paint them across the fucking walls. So I did the logical thing, I switched to the winning team. I mean, you guys must be the false religion and they’re the right one, si-“ I manage to say before a fist lands on my face. I vaguely get the impression of flying before things go dark.

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