VI

Dr. Childs sank in his armchair and compiled his notes, the orange light of dusk seeping through his curtains. He had a report to give to London the next day and he was certain it would please. V-Unit 17, his own creation, would be the benchmark for an endless legion of vampiric soldiers to come for Great Britain. He began writing.

DR. EVAN CHILDS, V-PROGRAM, EVAL-UPDATE #3

I am pleased to report that I have good news this time around.

But first, some bad. We have released V-Unit 11 back to his family. He was still comatose, not a threat to leak sensitive information. The regenerative powers of the vampire, while amazing, has its limits. The V-plasma healed Units 12 and 13's initial traumas, but the subjects had a myriad of issues post surgery, ranging from aneurysms to cardiac arrest. Their bodies simply did not have the fortitude to sustain such a shock to the system and, sadly, they have both passed away.

Now we come to Unit 17, the prototype, who I believe is the future of the British Armed For--

The rotary phone on the wall rang, interrupting Dr. Childs’ stream of consciousness.

"Hello? Childs here." Childs heard faint footsteps in the background, but no response. He tried once more. "Hello?"

Still nothing.

Someone knocked at the door to Childs' office, making his stomach shoot up his esophagus.

"Sir, V-Unit 17 wantin’ to speak with the doctor, sir," 17 bellowed from beyond the heavy steel door.

Was it Childs’ imagination, or had 17 developed an unpolished vernacular all of a sudden? At any rate, Childs preferred his voice to most posh and pampered Brits’.

He opened the door for his prize lab bat. "17, my boy, so good to have you. Come on in, lad, what seems to be the iss-- "

17 stepped past the door holding a Thompson submachine gun. In a flash, the vampire had Childs by the neck.

Childs’ voice strained under the pressure of unit 17's thumb. "17...what the...devil is this?"

17 said nothing and stared at the doctor with bulging eyes and clenched teeth. His cheeks were dotted with drops of blood. As one might throw their coat on the couch after coming in from a hard day's work, 17 tossed Childs 2 meters backwards into his bookshelf. Something popped in his brittle spine as heavy texts rained on him. With a quivering hand, Childs reached for his eyeglasses, which had fallen onto his lap. Every tiny movement shot pain through him.

He fumbled with the spectacles. "Guards! Help me! He's gone wild!"

17 smiled and moved to the side. A dead soldier lay in the hallway, neck broken, eyes wide, and mouth gaping. Even while scared for his life, Dr. Childs found himself once again marveling at 17’s work: silent, brutal, and efficient. How quickly he’d learned to hunt.

17 shut the door behind him with his heel, not breaking eye contact. "I don't know what you twats did to my head, but I'm done! I'm gettin’ out, and you’re helpin’ me!"

"Wait, wait, just listen! Have you been having day terrors?

“Yeah?”

“Do you feel an increase in, ehrrr-- base desires?”

"So, you know about this?”

Childs nodded frantically. Thank God 17 was still capable of listening. Perhaps he could buy some time.

“Vampirologists of old referred to it as ‘the lust’. During the autopsy of V-Unit 6, we found that the vampire plasma had caused the dopamine receptors of her brain to swell in size and functionality, causing increased pleasure sensitivity.”

17 smirked. “We’re horny fuckers, you’re sayin’?”

“Precisely. But it’s not just sex. Vampires are prone to hedonism and addiction. Even violence too can produce a hit of dopamine. I think that’s what’s gripping you now.”

17 grabbed his jewels. “The lust, eh? Got a cure?”

"No. But I’m certain we can't help you if you leave."

"Nice try, but I don't want any more medicine."

"If you flee, the entire British Army will be after you. You'll be disposable. They’ll hunt you down like a dog."

"And if I stay?"

Childs glanced skywards. How to respond? 17 was an asset no doubt, but the chance of him being court marshalled and hung for this seemed high.

17 lifted the doctor by the lapels of his lab coat and shook him. “Well? I don’t have all fuckin’ day!”

Childs yelped and wept hot tears as snot flowed into the corners of his mouth. Bursts of agony informed him of one or more fractured vertebrae.

"Stop! Put me down, please. I’ve always only tried to help you.”

17 ignored his pleas. "Come on, I'll be needing your help doc, and your keys."

He grabbed Childs from behind and jammed the Thompson's barrel into the injured spine, sending liquid-magma pain through Childs’ body. He fell to his knees.

"Christ’s sake, old man, move your arse lest I drag you!"

At gunpoint, the rabid vampire led Childs out into the hall. He had strewn four more corpses about: two dead soldiers: one appeared serene and asleep, but had a snapped neck. The other man’s jugular was ripped open. His eyes bulged out of his face and the occasional stream of blood bubbled from his neck wound.

"You really have lost your mind," Childs sobbed.

The other two bodies belonged to doctors Caulfield and Deloitte. Their corpses leaned against opposite walls, skulls crushed face-first against the white walls, leaving two red streaks running to the floor. He was not a very religious man, but Dr. Childs whispered a passage from the Bible for the deceased's souls, especially dear, sweet Caulfield's, as well as his own, rotten as it may be:

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,” Childs recited, closing his eyes, pissing his pants. “For thou art with me."

17 sneered at him. "Pious man now, are we? Unlock the foyer, muppet, or I'll do you like your boys; and if I hear so much as another Hail Mary, I'll rip your mother-fuckin’ tongue outa your head."