The Gaslight Tavern's namesake lamps cast a fitful glow, unsteady shadows laying across the worn mahogany bar. Two men had been perched on their stools for hours, the evening wearing on around them.

Nathaniel Blackwood, a tall, slender figure with piercing gray eyes and neatly combed dark hair, exuded an air of quiet intensity. His pale skin seemed almost luminous in the dim light, and his fingers, long and elegant, idly traced the rim of his glass. Before him sat a drink of dark, amber liquid with an unusual iridescent sheen—some obscure spirit from Eastern Europe, the label had claimed. Beads of condensation rolled down the glass, leaving a small puddle on the bar's polished surface.

Beside him, Elias Thornbury cut a more disheveled figure. His ruddy face, framed by unruly sandy hair, bore the flush of one too many drinks. His stocky frame swayed slightly as he nursed his fourth whiskey of the night, his once-crisp shirt now rumpled and stained.

"The banks?" Nathaniel said, his voice low and smooth. "Run by vampires. The whole bloody lot of 'em."

Elias chuckled, shaking his head. "Is that so?"

"The government?" Nathaniel continued. "You betcha. Vampires."

"Nathaniel, you've outdone yourself this time," Elias laughed.

Nathaniel's eyes darted around the room as if he was keeping watch for any eavesdroppers. "Revenants, ghouls, demons. Whatever you wanna call 'em."

A barmaid approached, her eyes flicking between the two men. "Another round, gentlemen?"

Elias nodded eagerly, pushing his empty glass forward. Nathaniel glanced at his own untouched drink and smiled politely. "I'm quite alright, thank you."

As the barmaid refilled Elias's glass, Nathaniel's fingers continued their idle dance around the rim of his own.

"So, enlighten me," Elias slurred slightly, taking a swig from his fresh drink. "How deep does this conspiracy go?"

"From high society, to the elites, the ruling class, it's all them," Nathaniel replied, gesturing grandly. "They work in the shadows while their creations soak up the sunlight."

"And what about the doctors?" Elias asked, playing along.

Nathaniel's eyes widened. "Doctors are pretty suspicious too. Just this century, they started saying that too much blood is bad for you? I don't believe that's a coincidence."

"Haven't vampires been around longer than that?" Elias countered.

"Yes, but..." Nathaniel leaned in closer, his breath cool against Elias's cheek. "What if they finally found a way to get blood out of us without raising too much suspicion?"

Elias laughed nervously. "I mean, could be."

"And the black death. What was that all about?" Nathaniel continued, his eyes seeming to harbor myriad thoughts. "Millions of people mysteriously dying? Has to be vampires."

"I wouldn't say it was so mysterious," Elias replied, still smiling. "There is a lot of documented evidence of an actual plague that went around."

Nathaniel's laugh was light and playful. "Sure, but that's just what they tell us. Whoever wrote the documents wasn't there at the time."

"Some of them were, I'm sure," Elias said, playing devil's advocate.

The gaslight above them sputtered briefly, casting momentary shadows across their faces.

Nathaniel's grin widened. "Ehhh, I wouldn't be too sure. Never trust anything. Not the doctors, the government, hell, even me. I could be a vampire for all you know."

Elias laughed heartily, swaying slightly on his stool. "You? A vampire? I've known you for over 15 years, mate. We went to school together."

Nathaniel's expression suddenly turned grave. "No, we didn't."

Elias's smile faltered. "Huh?"

"False memory," Nathaniel said, each word precise. "We only met a year ago."

The playful mood evaporated instantly. Elias stared at his friend, the color draining from his face. "Are you saying you altered my memories?"

Nathaniel's smile was cold and unfamiliar. "More like… adjusted them to fit my narrative."

"You're joking," Elias said, his voice barely a whisper.

"No," Nathaniel replied, his voice devoid of any humor. "Definitely not."

Elias began to plead. "Nathaniel, please. This isn't funny anymore. If this is some kind of joke, just stop it now."

Nathaniel's expression remained impassive. "I ate Sam last week. He didn't die in a tragic bathtub accident."

"Hell..." Elias whispered, his eyes widening in horror. He glanced around frantically. "Someone, please! Help me!"

Nathaniel's eyes flashed, an otherworldly energy pulsing from him in invisible waves. In an instant, the bustling atmosphere of the Gaslight Tavern came to an abrupt halt. Patrons stood frozen mid-gesture, drinks halfway to their lips, mouths open in silent laughter. Their eyes remained open, but vacant, like dolls in a macabre tableau.

The world around them continued its natural course. Cigar smoke still curled lazily through the air, the gas lamps wavered, and moisture beaded on glass surfaces. But the people were as still as statues, trapped in a moment of time, oblivious to their surroundings.

"What have you done to them?" Elias asked, his voice trembling.

Nathaniel's lips curled into a cold smile. "I've simply... paused their awareness. They'll have no memory of this. Now, where were we?"

"What do you want?" Elias bargained. "Money? I-I can give you money. Or blood! I can donate blood, as much as you need. Just please, don't kill me."

Nathaniel sighed gently before speaking, "I want what any vampire wants. To survive. To feed."

As Nathaniel's teeth extended, revealing sharp fangs, Elias made one last desperate attempt. "I won't tell anyone, I swear. I'll keep your secret. Please, Nathaniel. We're friends, aren't we? Doesn't that mean anything?"

Nathaniel paused, his eyes flickering with a mix of emotions—hunger, regret, and something darker. For a moment, it seemed as if Elias's words had reached him. Then his expression hardened, a cruel smile crossing his face.  

"Oh, Elias," Nathaniel said, still smiling. "It means everything. That's why I chose you. And believe me, I'm going to feel absolutely dreadful after I'm done with you."

Elias's eyes widened in horror as the full implications of Nathaniel's words sank in. He shot up off the stool, trying to run towards the door. But he found his limbs freezing mid-stride, only his eyes able to move. His gaze darted frantically around the room, seeking help from the living statues, finding only blank stares.

Nathaniel was upon him in an instant, moving with inhuman speed. His fangs sank into flesh with a sickening squelch. Elias's muffled cry was cut short as Nathaniel's hand clamped over his mouth.  Within moments, Elias's body went limp in Nathaniel's iron grip as the life ebbed from him.

With a satisfied gasp, Nathaniel released his hold. Elias's corpse hit the floor with a dull, hollow thud. Nathaniel stood over his victim, blood dripping from his chin onto his shirt front.

With practiced efficiency, Nathaniel hefted Elias's body over his shoulder. He moved swiftly to the back of the tavern, where a trapdoor led to a hidden cellar—a convenient feature he had noted during previous visits. The vampire unceremoniously dumped Elias's remains into the damp space, knowing the rats and other vermin would take care of most of the evidence. He'd return later to dispose of any remaining bones.

Nathaniel then stood in the center of the tavern, his eyes closed in concentration. The patrons remained frozen, suspended in their oblivious state. Slowly, methodically, Nathaniel began to work his influence through the room.

His fingers twitched in intricate patterns, as if weaving an invisible tapestry. With each gesture, he seemed to pluck at the very threads of memory, unraveling recent events and restitching them to his design. 

Only when the last patron near the bar began to stir did Nathaniel allow himself a small, satisfied smile. He composed himself, then turned to the newly-awakened barkeep with an air of casual concern.

"Barkeep," he called out, his voice tinged with worry. "My friend seems to have vanished. Did you see where Dr. Thornbury went?"

The barkeep looked up from his cleaning, brow furrowed. "Dr. Thornbury? I don't recall seeing anyone leave, sir. Are you sure he was here?"

Nathaniel's eyes widened in feigned surprise. "But we've been talking all evening. Surely you remember?"

The barkeep shook his head, confused. "I'm sorry, sir. I could have sworn you've been sitting there alone all night."

Nathaniel's face fell, a perfect mask of concern and bewilderment. "How strange," he murmured. "How very strange indeed."

As he turned to leave, Nathaniel's gaze fell on the mirror behind the bar. For a split second, he saw not his own reflection, but a vision of glowing crimson eyes and lips set in a sinister smile. Then the image was gone, the mirror once again reflecting only the ordinary scene of the tavern behind him.

Nathaniel stepped out into the foggy London night, disappearing into the shadows. Behind him, the Gaslight Tavern continued its bustling trade, patrons blissfully unaware of the predator that had walked among them.

In the dark alley beside the tavern, Nathaniel paused. His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing against cool metal. He withdrew a pocket watch, its gold surface gleaming dully in the dim light. The watch face was cracked, the hands frozen at 11:17. Engraved on the back were the words: "To Elias, with love. May your healing hands never falter."

For a moment, the vampire stood motionless, his thumb tracing the engraving. Then, with a barely audible sigh, he returned the watch to his pocket and continued on his way.

The fog swirled around his feet, obscuring the cobblestones beneath. In the distance, a clock tower began to toll midnight, its deep, resonant chimes echoing through the empty streets of London.