Imitator
Summary: Alfred grew up knowing one thing: that he wanted to become a Slayer, inspired by his childhood hero. But this hero of his isn't quite what Alfred remembered him to be anymore. Vampire!AU, USUK, human names
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Alfred gasped for breath, leaning against the brick wall behind him. His chest heaved with the effort it took to draw breath, and sweat dripped down his face into his eyes. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and his heart pounded in his ears, racing with fear. Though he couldn't hear or see the predator any longer, he knew it was nearby, listening to his pounding heart.
He brought in a few more gasps of air before turning back towards the street, gingerly taking a few steps in the direction of a streetlamp. If he were in the open, maybe it wouldn't follow him?
He felt cold hands touch the back of his neck before he made it even halfway to his destination, he barely managed a strangled yelp when the hand clamped over his mouth. The other hand wrapped around his neck, the long, pale fingers tangling themselves in his hair and wrenching his head to the side, exposing his jugular to long, feral fangs. The vampire smiled, a quiet hiss of pleasure escaping its mouth as it leaned forward to taste its prey-
The predator screamed loudly, nearly deafening Alfred. Alfred felt the creature be ripped away from his person, and he heard a loud crack as it was knocked against the brick wall he had been leaning against just moments before.
"What the bloody hell are you waiting for? Run!" The voice yelling at him had a British accent - not unheard of in New York, but not exactly the norm. Alfred was frozen to where he stood, watching the vampire shake itself off, hissing in rage at the person who had dared to interrupt his meal.
Surprisingly, Alfred's unknown savior was short - barely larger than Alfred himself. Though obviously older - in his late teens or early twenties - the new fighter had a slight build, with limbs that seemed far too skinny to hold the strength necessary to throw a full-grown vampire against a wall. In all his fourteen years, Alfred had never seen someone that small take down an enemy like that. Bright green eyes stared out dangerously from behind messy blonde bangs. Alfred continued to stare at those eyes - the green of a predatory jungle cat, stealthy and beautiful. They seemed to pull him in, entrancing him.
The emerald-eyed newcomer swore loudly, grabbing Alfred around the middle and hauling him away from the vampire. The thin man was surprisingly strong, lifting the teen right off his feet and half carrying, half dragging him into the street. Alfred could hear feral snarling behind them, and saw the vampire leap at them, eyes bright red and hungry.
Alfred's savior threw Alfred behind him, into the light of the nearest street lamp. He turned to face his adversary, drawing what appeared to be daggers. However, even in the low light, Alfred could tell the weapons were made from dark wood, polished, hardened and sharpened to the specifics of steel. The result was an instrument deadly to vampires, as well as useful in fights against any human allies they may have. Alfred had heard of the Slayers' Society having weapons like these, but had never actually seen a set until now.
"Hang tight, kid. And no matter what you do, stay out of the alleyways. They'll attract too much attention in the open."
The vampire hissed in anger, launching itself at the green-eyed fighter, eyes filled with murderous intentions. The slayer reacted easily, bringing his wooden weapons up to defend against the vampire's attack, then lunging into his own, parrying the vampire's arm away as it moved towards him. The sharpened, midnight-dark wood plunged into the creature's chest, making a strange squelching noise as the warrior pulled it out, just to stab the vampire again, hitting its heart.
The predator screamed in pain, weakening with each dragging second.
The Slayer wrenched the wooden blade out of the vampire's chest a second time, and the formerly intimidating creature of the night fell to its hands and knees, gasping in pain. Alfred's savior ended it by beheading the creature in one slice. Nearly instantly, the body began to crumble, turning to dust. Alfred stared, eyes wide, breathing heavily, as the slayer stood straight again, scanning the immediate area for any leftover threats. Thankfully, it had been a solitary hunter. He didn't have to worry about staking an entire coven tonight.
Relaxing only slightly, the older boy turned his attention back to Alfred. "Honestly. If someone tells you to run during a vampire attack, you do it," he stated, voice dripping with irritation.
~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~
The Slayer that had saved him was named Arthur Kirkland. He was one of the top operatives that the Slayer Society had in their ranks. Though he was young and smaller than the average slayer, he was deadly and dangerous, all wrapped up into a bite-sized package. He was known throughout vampire society, both respected and feared on both sides of the war that had been raging between the Vampires and Slayers for as long as anyone could remember.
Now, four years after Alfred had met him the first time, he was finally Arthur's equal. He'd recently graduated the Slayer Society Academy. After being saved by Arthur when he was in his early teens, he had decided that he would pick up the stake, becoming the hunter rather than the hunted. By no means had he graduated at the top of his class, but he was rather confident in his skills. He knew from records that Arthur had been trained as a Slayer practically since birth, graduating at the top of his class two years early. While most Slayers were sent out on their first mission at age eighteen, Arthur had already been on the front lines at the fresh age of sixteen, having killed his first vampire at age fourteen.
Alfred had sworn to himself that he would never again fall prey to the predators stalking the night. He'd become stronger, he'd be the best - just like Arthur.
It had nearly been four years since the fateful night his life had changed. Alfred flipped his stake absent-absentmindedly, throwing it from tip to base, then back again, balancing it in the palm of his hand. In those four years, he'd only seen Arthur more than a few times. Most times had been quick and to the point. Arthur had felt a certain responsibility for the younger teen. Alfred had taken his brotherly affection for granted, getting as much attention and private lessons from the experienced hunter as he could. As a result, Alfred had come to know Arthur's fighting moves as well as he knew his own. The amount of times Arthur had bested him had lessened over the years - while Alfred was easily stronger than the smaller man, Arthur was quick on his feet, striking quickly and with an easy grace that Alfred found amazing.
He hadn't seen Arthur in over a year now, though. He'd been sent out on a mission to Europe, and hadn't come back yet. Alfred assumed he was probably tracking down a coven of vampires somewhere in Eastern Europe, generally kicking ass and taking no prisoners. After all, that's what Arthur did best.
"All right... Let's see..." The secretary of Alfred's division, Kiku Honda, began flipping through his file cabinet with practiced ease. "Ah, here we go." He lifted a manila envelope out of a file, tossing it down on the table in front of Alfred. "There's everything you'll need for your assignment." The Japanese man made himself comfortable at the table, opening the envelope and pulling out several stacks of paper, as well as a plane ticket.
"This," Kiku said, holding up the ticket, "will get you as far as London. After that, you're on your own." He slid it across the table to Alfred, who pocketed it. "There isn't much known about the assignment, unfortunately. But considering the circumstances of the case, I put in a word for you."
"The circumstances?"
"You're taking up Arthur's old assignment."
"What are you talking about?" Alfred's eyebrows furrowed. "Arthur went to Europe to track down some coven that was stirring up trouble... That's all he told me, but-"
"We haven't heard from Agent Kirkland in eight months," Kiku said, voice sympathetic. "I knew he was your teacher, and so—"
"Are you saying Arthur's dead?"
Alfred's heart felt as if it had stopped dead. He'd harbored a soft spot for Arthur ever since he'd been saved by him. Hearing that his teacher, someone he regarded as an older brother, was dead felt like a low blow.
"We're not positive about that," Kiku said quickly, shaking his head. "He may have just stopped contact because the coven was getting suspicious. The fact is we're not sure where he is, what he's doing."
Alfred let out a quiet breath, feeling slightly relieved. But a knot was still tight in his chest. "What was the last message you got from him?"
"He was in Moscow," Kiku said. He handed a small, wrinkled piece of paper. "This was the last contact we had from Agent Kirkland."
Alfred smoothed out the slightly yellowed paper, reading the familiar handwriting of his mentor:
They're in Moscow. Contact must be avoided. I have a train ticket. I'm going under-cover with some of the B.B.'s. Will make contact as soon as possible.
~A.K.
"B.B.'s?" Alfred questioned.
Kiku grimaced. "Slang... It stands for Blood Banks, also called Blood Prisoners or Blood Slaves." Those terms were more familiar. All Slayers were aware of the sudden rise in the Blood Slave trade market in recent years. Blood Slaves were humans who were usually kidnapped into the life, used like cattle as food for vampire covens. Some stayed in the system for years, working not only as a food source but as maids, gardeners, and other odds and ends. The more unlucky ones didn't make it past their first feeding. Strangely, vampire bites seemed to have endorphins similar to heroin or similar drugs - often, if a human had been subjected to vampire bites over an extended period of time, they became addicts, and having their 'fix' taken away from them was usually deadly.
"So Arthur actually subjected himself to pretending to be a Blood Slave?" Alfred asked, unbelieving.
Kiku shrugged. "Agent Kirkland has done many a thing to get a kill, Jones... It's part of why he's such a good operative. I remember one of his kills in the Philippines before he met you..." Kiku smiled, as if amused. "He dressed up like a woman, seduced the poor bloodsucker, and stabbed him while he fumbled with the zipper to his dress."
Alfred couldn't help but find the thought comical - both the vampire being stabbed while attempting to undress someone and the thought of Arthur wearing a dress. For some reason, he imagined it being one of the overly sequined, tight dresses that cross-dressers wore so often.
Kiku shook his head. "In any case," he said, changing the subject, "you will find all known information he managed to collect before his disappearance in this file. Please read it all on the flight to London. I'm not saying all of it will be up to date, however. If Agent Kirkland was, indeed, found out, and has been killed, the coven will have likely changed their location, and anything else mentioned in here."
"It's still worth a try, though," Alfred said, tucking the papers back into the envelope, then under his arm. "Thanks again, Kiku."
Kiku nodded. "That reminds me… Agent Jones?"
"Yes?"
"Good luck."
~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~
Alfred flipped the page to the papers he was reading. He was surprised just how much information Arthur had managed to collect on these guys, but still be unable to stake the suckers. Then again, Arthur had written that they were almost constantly on the move, never staying in one location for longer than a week or two. By the time Arthur tracked down their hideout, they had already left. It had to be rather frustrating - at least, the tone of irritation showed in his letters.
Arthur had listed at least five different mansions that the coven used, as well as several other apartment buildings and townhouses they had used as headquarters. Arthur had managed to stake a few of the lower-ranking members, but hadn't gotten anywhere near the hierarchy. He'd listed the coven alpha as a large Russian male, with a few lower-ranking betas, among them a particularly devoted follower with long, white-blonde hair, and a chilly, violent temper that was matched only by her obsessive nature when it came to her alpha.
Alfred looked up as the plane touched down on the airstrip outside a busy London airport. He tucked the papers back into their envelope, then slipping them into his briefcase, locking it. He was currently under-cover as the everyday businessman on a trip to London for work. He had three separate stakes hidden somewhere on his person, however. While Alfred preferred the traditional stake to make his kills (not that he really had any yet, unless a practice dummy counted), Arthur had preferred a large assortment of wooden weapons, usually daggers and a slightly longer wakizashi that had been a gift from Kiku. Certainly interesting, but the stake provided more maneuverability, in Alfred's opinion. In the end, it really didn't matter – anything remotely sharp and wooden would kill a vampire, provided it pierced the heart.
The blonde vampire hunter easily melded into the crowd leaving the airport, carrying with him only a briefcase containing the last few letters Arthur had sent to HQ, a few assorted odds and ends, and a change of clothes. Keeping up a facade of self-important selfishness that would be enhanced by the designer status of both his briefcase and suit, Alfred left the airport, hopped into a waiting car, and took off for his hotel, already planning his next move.
~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~
Alfred changed out of his suit into his more comfortable "combat" clothes – a pair of jeans, a bullet-proof vest, and a loose T-shirt under a leather jacket. As he laced up his army-style boots over his tucked-in jeans, Alfred had to wonder how many times Arthur had done just this before going out to make a kill. Was Arthur still out there somewhere, fighting the vampires that Alfred himself was now hunting down?
Or had he been killed? Alfred didn't want to think of that possibility, but it was easily there. Arthur had infiltrated their stronghold under the guise of being a Blood Slave, and it was easily possible for him to have simply been killed at a vampire's leisure if they had been hungry enough.
Shaking the pessimistic thoughts from his mind, Alfred shoved a stake in his boot, another in his belt loop, and held the third in the sleeve of his jacket, always at hand – a tactic Arthur himself had taught him. The green-eyed Briton had always kept a wooden dagger in his jacket sleeve as a backup.
Leaving his hotel by means of the back alley, Alfred stalked down the back streets of London. One of the coven's hideouts was in the city, in a flat a few blocks from Big Ben. Though he highly doubted they were there, it was probably in his best interest if he scouted out their other hideouts and get a feel for their usual hideaways, in case a pattern emerged.
Alfred easily pulled himself onto the fire escape outside the aging building. It was nothing like the photographs of elaborate mansions that Arthur had usually tracked them down in, but then again, patterns were a deadly thing in war.
Alfred managed to break a window quietly enough, and, avoiding the broken glass, slip into the building. He looked around himself. Furniture was covered over with sheets, and the place was boarded up. It looked like it had been a nice place at one time, but was now broken down and dilapidated. He assumed the room he was currently in had been a sitting room.
Walking down the hall to his right, Alfred found two bedrooms and a bathroom. Trying the faucet, he saw that the water didn't work. Then again, what need did vampires have for water, or electricity, for that matter? Other than luxuries such as television, that is. They could see in the dark just as easily as not, and had no need to drink water.
Alfred heard the footsteps behind him a moment too late. He spun around, letting out a grunt of pain when a fist pounded itself into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He flew from the hallway into the bathroom, slamming into the shower door. Glass showered down on him, and he could just barely cover his eyes in time before shards cut at his face and neck.
Alfred coughed as he attempted to gain his breath back, momentarily forgetting the weapons he had at his disposal as a red-eyed fiend came at him, screaming bloody murder, tearing at his clothes. The stake in his belt loop slipped out, and the vampire kicked it to the other end of the room.
Alfred punched the vampire as it clawed at him, trying to get to his throat. Survival instincts kicked in, and Alfred began yelling back, using anything at his disposal to get the deafeningly loud creature off of him. After landing a few well-placed punches onto the creatures face, he remembered the stake in his sleeve. He slipped up when it became caught on the leather, unable to rip it.
As sudden as the attack had started, it was over. The vampire's eyes widened, and it looked up in shock before collapsing down on top of Alfred, crumbling into dust. Alfred looked up at his savior, and heard a small gasp escape his throat when he saw who stared down at him.
"A word to the wise," Arthur said sardonically. "Before employing the stake-in-sleeve technique, know what the hell you're doing."