A/N: Alright, so I'm not sure if I'll continue this, or leave it as is or whatever... I was watching the Blade series with my cousin the other day, and -as per usual when it comes to Norman Reedus's characters -I was trying to come up with a semi-plausible explanation for Scud's actions that didn't involve him just being a traitor. This obviously changes it up from the movie a bit, but eh. Lemme know what you think?

Disclaimer: I don't own Blade, or any characters or actors portrayed therein. I make no money off of this story; no copyright infringement takes place.

Warnings: Sexual abuse of a child, language, general and all around fucked-up-ness.

"It's a dud, B."

Scud's quiet, almost sad voice wasn't what Blade had expected. Oh sure, the words were; he'd known for a while that the doped up little mechanic was working for the Vamps. So he'd planned for the eventuality – the inevitability – of Scud betraying him. Hell, kinda knew that the moment had arrived when he opened his eyes in that fucked up blood-pool room.

But it still surprised him when he looked up. When he seen the dead look in the pothead's normally vibrant blue eyes.

Reinhardt chuckled, moving down the steps towards Scud, circling the kid with a predatory gleam in his eye.

"Do you have... any idea... how long it took us to... create... this little walking shit stain?" The vampire asked, giving Blade an evil smile as he finally came to a stop behind the still-unmoving Scud. "Four groups of twenty little human brats. Eighty crying, snot-faced, smelly kids... And Little Joshua here was the only one who survived his training. The only one who became what we needed, without his mind snapping like twig. Hell, he's better at compartmentalizing than anybody I've ever seen. Isn't that right, Scud?"

It couldn't have been an act. Nobody was that good at separating themselves, Blade thought suspiciously, a low growl escaping his throat as Reinhardt stuck his hand between Scud's legs from behind, reaching up to grab the kid's package, and giving it a firm yank. When Blade finally forced himself to meet the kid's eyes, he still couldn't believed the absolute lack of... anything... in those baby blues, no response to the blatant violation of his body.

"Almost twelve years! Twelve years of fucking and sucking, teaching and training, listening to him scream and beg... Got to a point where we had to start keeping him gagged 24/7... unless we needed his mouth for other things of course."

A small whimper escaped those thin lips as Reinhardt's arm snaked around the kid's throat, the vampire's hand coming to rest under his jaw, tilting his head to the side painfully. But after a few seconds – confusion, panic, and fear all warring for dominant emotion in the kid's face – Scud looked Blade in the eye, and traces of life started peeking its way out of his eyes, blinking rapidly as he finally seemed to process what was going on.

Blade, on the other hand, was feeling himself rise to that killing edge. The twenty-four year old stoner had been with him for two years. Take twelve years off of that...

Ten goddamn years old.

"But now... We don't need little Scudsy anymore. We got you... and he's too fucked up to be used for anything else," Reinhardt's voice pulled Blade back from the edge, and when the half-breed turned his gaze back to the young man, he could see that panic had finally won out, even though Scud still didn't move, not even a damn twitch.

"But we kinda figured... since he betrayed you and all... You'd like to watch," Reinhardt said, his voice obnoxious and bright sounding. "So we're gonna let you and Gramps over there watch as a couple of our more... expressive friends... take care of him. You remember Hassam and his brother, don't you, Scud?"

Fear was rolling off the kid in waves, his eyes wide as saucers, and Blade could hear his heart pumping like a piston from across the room. But he still didn't move; didn't struggle, although the hand around his throat, and the other still tugging sharply on his junk probably would've made it a piss poor idea anyways.

Blade kept his mouth shut as two move vampires entered the room, grabbing the young human by the arms, and escorting him through the doors. Escorting, because – and would Blade ever stop being surprised by the kid's reactions? – the kid went with them willingly. Lifted his own two feet to fall into place with the ones carrying him along to his death.

"It's funny," Reinhardt said casually, bouncing the small explosive device up and down in his hands as a piece of the wall across the room vanished, to reveal a brightly lit bedroom. "You know what he asked for to do all this? Asked us to kill him. How pathetic, huh? Could've asked for us to make him a familiar, to let him go... make him one of us. Not that we would've done it, of course, but he never asked. All he wanted was for us to kill him. Well, he's gonna get what he wants. Maybe not the way he wanted it, but he's gonna be dead all the same," The ape-like vampire said with a chuckle. "Gotta tell ya, Day Walker... some of the shit we did to break that kid... Hell, it makes me a little sick. But good ol' Scud. Took it like a champ. Took cock after cock, straight up his ten year old asshole like a good whore."

"Why, you sick sonuva –"

Blade held his hand up, stopping Whistler's rant, and giving Reinhardt the coldest grin he could.

"Two things, asshole... One: I knew the kid was working for you. Two... That ain't a dud."

What had Reinhardt said about him? 'Good at compartmentalizing'? Scud wondered if that was why he meekly and mutely followed the two suckheads leading him to his death.

Almost idly, he wondered how long it would take for Hassam and his brother Assad to kill him. Slow, drawn out, dying of exhaustion or a broken neck? Or fast, brutal, dying of blood loss or sheer pain? Which would be better?

Blade would be watching.

Blade and Whistler.

The only people who'd been decent to him in the last fifteen years.

The two people who'd treated him like a human being, not just a fuck toy.

The two people he'd betrayed with that little bomb.

The part of him that was still Josh had fought hard against that. How long had he sat staring at that stupid little silver nitrate bomb, arguing with himself? He had no real sense of time anymore; even the two years with B hadn't given him back that sense of time that he'd lost as a kid. It could have been days that the two separate parts of his brain had fought for all he knew. Probably wasn't, but it could've been. But in the end – just like always – Scud had won out, the fear of retribution from the Blood-Pack, from Reinhardt, overriding everything else. The thought of going back, and spending another twelve years submitting to the Pack, and their cruelty driving Scud to disconnect the remote signal from the bomb. Josh hadn't liked it, but Scud always won out. Always.

"We've been waiting for this for a long time, whore."

Blinking his eyes, Scud was a little disconcerted to realize he was standing just inside the door to the Play Room, with Hassam and Assad grinning at him, their olive skin gleaming under the bright lights.

This was it. A few more hours of pain and humiliation, and it'd be over. He'd be with his parents again. With the other kids from their experiment, who'd either killed themselves, or been killed.

He'd finally be free.

It was almost relieving to strip off his baggy red jeans, his red jacket, his black vest... It'd taken him almost a month of being with Blade to get used to wearing clothing again, before the impulse to strip to his birthday suit had gone away.

But it was all over. All of the fucked up impulses, all of the screwed up awkwardness... it was all over.

Free.

It was his last thought as Assad's fangs latched on to the back of his neck. As he felt Hassam behind him.

It was finally over.