Thank you everyone for the reviews! This one has a little bit of a slow build to establish the character - she'll get to the Castle and meet Alucard eventually, I promise. :) And to answer a question, Alucard is Dracula's son in this story. I'm going with a combination of lore from the original Bram Stoker novel to the games themselves.

Enjoy!

Isabel wasn't a great artist by any means. Well, she didn't think so anyway. Years of sketching, doodling, and erasing pencil lines had made her 'pretty good' by most people's standards. Isabel had remarked once to Tex that in her opinion, the measure of an artist could be found 'in the distance between what they see in their heads and what they can put down into reality.' And if that were the case, she was a horrible artist.

Tex's response had been: 'Well I only see naked ladies in my head, and porn already exists. So my niche as an artist's already been filled.'

Isabel smiled as her pencil worked over the paper, remembering her friend. Her memory turned bitter sweet as the fresh pang of loss hit her. She would get over it, in time - they all would. He would always be a friend who was lost, but he wasn't the first. And he probably wouldn't be the last.

Isabel wasn't even entirely sure what she was drawing - just something that she could see in her mind's eye, for now. It would make itself clear eventually. It looked like a sword? Held by someone - but not the sword that they had recovered, and not the thing she saw in her dream. This felt different. Younger. But it wasn't clear.

Flipping the page, she decided to try something else.

She was sitting on the floor of the warehouse, her back up against a giant steel i-beam that ran up into the darkness of the warehouse. She had taken off her long coat, and folded it up underneath her to sit on. The goons and several scientists had offered to bring her a chair - but she declined, actually preferring to sit on the floor.

She had pulled her hoodie up over her head again, wanting to hide her face as best she could. Sitting ten feet from the glass cell, it also helped shield the garish flood lamps that were pointed at the corpse.

'Daylight spectrum lamps,' Doctor O'Hare had boasted proudly. Eric had asked why the corpse wasn't bursting into flames, then. The short, middle aged doctor scoffed at Eric's apparent idiocy. 'Only young vampires are burned by the sun,' he had answered, as if it were obvious. 'One like this… is only weakened by it.'

'Sorry, I must've missed the memo,' Eric had grumbled as he walked back to the table where he had set up his things. Him and Adam were trying to run analysis on the sword. They had quickly jumped into 'go' mode. Her job was less defined. And to be honest, less desirable.

'See what you can learn from him…' Dr. Harold Brass had instructed her, and gestured to the corpse in the cell. She wondered why he didn't have her touch the sword to learn what she could - but he was hiding something. Something sizable.

Both doctors - O'Hare and Brass respectively - had a sick fascination with the vampire in question. It buzzed around them like a hive of bees. Every time either of them approached the cell or talked about the imprisoned corpse, she could feel their adoration, their jealousness - their need.

Idiots.

Isabel had wanted to turn tail and leave. But Eric and Adam couldn't resist a good mystery, or a 5 million dollar payday, so they both opted to stay. She was outvoted. And they were sworn to do everything as a team. And so… here she was, sitting on the floor, sitting on the other side of a glass wall from a monster that had threatened to kill her - and kill her slowly.

"Can you speak to him?" she heard from near her.

"Huhn?" she looked up to see Dr. Harold Brass looming over her - the 'client.' He was looking at her eagerly, and peered down at her sketchbook as if it would reveal some scandalous secret. "No. That's not how this works-" she continued. "I only get feelings from people when they're having them - and he's not conscious or dreaming."

"What if you went in there? And touched him?" he asked, eagerness still pressing at the surface of his mind.

"First - no. I won't. And second, no. That's not how it works. That's not how any of this works," she finished bitterly. Some of her frustration with the mayhem of earlier leaking through. None of this should have ever happened, she grumbled in her mind. No crazy vampire who could move around in the memories and chase her, no murder of her friend, none of it.

"What're you drawing? And.. why?" Dr. Brass tilted his head to see what she was working on. "An odd time to doodle."

"I need some way of getting the things in my head - out of my head." Isabel looked down at the sketchpad. It was the vampire at the piano, playing. She had focused most upon the gas lamps and the reflection against the wood of the piano. The vampire's figure was mostly in shadow.

"Ah - so, is this what you saw when you entered his mind?" Harold asked, curiously - silently begging for any detail she would give him.

"Mostly," she responded, not giving him anything. She wouldn't - no matter how kind he looked, how friendly he seemed. She could feel the river of venom underneath.

Brass waited a long time for her to keep talking - but she didn't. "Nothing else?"

"I saw nothing else." Lies were easy for her.

"And you won't go in there to find out more?"

Isabel looked up at him, and tilted her head to the side slightly. "Are you after him? Or the sword? I thought this was about the artifact… not the vampire. But you seem far more interested in him, than the blade."

Brass smiled, and shrugged slightly. "Both. The blade is a thing of great power that I want to unlock - and so is he. If I can benefit from both at the same time, why wouldn't I?"

"Because you haven't once asked me to go and touch the sword. But you really want me to go in and find what I can from that thing," she pointed at the dangling corpse with her pencil. "That seems really, really odd to me. And seeing as he's unconscious, there's nothing I can do anyway, even if I agreed to go in there."

"Well," Dr. Brass started, and grinned down at her, and pointedly ignoring her comments about his priorities. "I suppose then we'll just have to wake him up."

Isabel pulled one of her feet closer to herself, reflexively becoming defensive. "I don't think that's smart. If that thing is what you say it is-"

"He is."

"-then that's an enormously stupid idea."

Brass walked away from her without responding, and called over Dr. O'Hare. She couldn't hear what was being said, but felt O'Hare's excitement swell like a hot air balloon. Isabel felt her own dread well up within her in response. He was serious. He was going to wake that thing up. And there was only one way to do that, she figured…

They were going to feed it.

'Shockingly,' nobody volunteered. Vanderbilt finally, and reluctantly, agreed to be the first. He had decided that none of his men should be expected to do what he was unwilling to. The scientists were 'off limits' said Dr. O'Hare, as they were 'crucial and already understaffed.'

The heavy, sealed door to the glass cell was popped open with a hiss - and a medical table was wheeled in along with another machine that looked like some sort of medical readout on wheels.

Vanderbilt was now sitting on the table, his military tak jacket removed, and now in just a standard white t-shirt. O'Hare was bustling around, setting up the machinery. Two men tied the corpse's wrists up over its head to the chain, both making audible noises of disgust as they handled the dry, flaking body.

Although - much to Isabel's chagrin - the corpse looked healthier than when she had last seen it. It's skin was now largely attached to the bone, the tendons and muscles slowly having re-stitched back together. But that hardly meant it was whole again. A large gaping cavity still dominated its face, revealing the side of its jaw. Bits of rib and dry, dessicated flesh fell loose from the cadaver every time it was moved. Whatever good the blood had done for the creature seemed to have run its course.

The stupidity of the situation didn't seem to phase Dr. O'Hare as he stuck circular pads with wire leads to the parchment paper of its skin. Then, it was time to do the deed. He took a long rubber tube with a valve in the center and a needle at both ends, and fed the needle into the side of the monster's neck. He swabbed Vanderbilt's arm, and inserted the needle into the crook, and into the vein.

"Just get it over with," Vanderbilt grumbled, grouchily. Isabel sensed the fear radiating off of him in waves.

O'Hare, as excited as a kid on Christmas, flipped the valve and watched the crimson liquid wind its way through the rubber tube from Vanderbilt's arm, past the tube, and into the corpse.

It twitched, just barely, as the blood entered its body. Other than that, it didn't move… the EKG machine sitting next to it remained flat. O'Hare fiddled with the readout, then the pads, then sighed in frustration. Moment after moment went by as the blood ran slowly out of the older merc and into the vampire.

Isabel felt something - some twinge of something, and she stood up. Putting her sketchpad on the floor, she walked towards the glass, unsure. She wouldn't enter the room - didn't dare. But there were three inches of 'explosion proof' glass between her and the vampire. And it wasn't enough to damper what she suddenly felt.

"I don't feel good," Vanderbilt complained. "Enough, turn it off."

"He isn't responding," O'Hare complained. "He needs more."

"Well it ain't getting it from me!" the merc yanked the tube out of its arm, stood up off of the table, and out of the cell.

"Wait!" O'Hare cried, whining, but sighed. There was no getting him back. Vanderbilt walked steadfast towards his men, and then half-staggered at the last step. They had bled quite a bit out of him - more than was normal, that was for certain. His men helped him to sitting.

Interesting - she observed. Vanderbilt's men were loyal to him, and him alone. Not to this weird operation. They must be a team for hire, she deduced. A security team, maybe? So who is this Dr. Harold Brass - who only had money, but no loyalty?

"You-" O'Hare was talking to her through the glass. Isabel snapped back to reality as she looked back at the little man across from her through the glass. "I need another donor. Come here."

"Oh fuck that," she said through a laugh. "Are you kidding me? Do you know what'll happen?" If touching the man flashed her into some lucid dreamscape, she didn't want to even contemplate what being connected by blood would do.

O'Hare sighed, disgruntled, and stormed out of the glass cell to complain to Harold, no doubt.

Isabel stood up from where she sat, watching as O'Hare stomped up to Harold as predicted, and began animatedly complaining. Harold did his best to soothe the angry little man, and she could almost hear the promises, his gestures were so cartoonishly typical.

Isabel felt a twinge in her mind as something - a flicker of something. Turning, she looked at the corpse, strung from the ceiling and waited. Listened. Waited. Nothing. Isabel sighed, relieved. The last thing she needed was that thing awake.

She approached the glass of the cell, and took off the glove from her hand, and let her palm rest against the cool surface of the reinforced 'blast proof' chamber. She felt… nothing. No flicker of anything from the inside. Thank god. Pulling her hand back, she slipped the glove back on.

As she looked back to O'Hare - he saw him walking back with… Eric. "You're fucking kidding me," Isabel said, stunned. No. No way. Her mouth actually opened in surprise.

"One more million to play blood donor? Sure," Eric shrugged. "A few CC's of blood to see if it does any good, that's all. Then I stop."

"Eric," Isabel grabbed his arm as he passed her. "That thing ate our friend," she said quietly, barely above a whisper. "And you're going to volunteer for this?!"

"One million. All mine." Eric shrugged. "Payday." Eric tried to step forward again, but Isabel refused to let him keep walking.

"Greed? You'll feed yourself to that thing for money?"

Eric paused, looked at the floor for a long period of time, then looked at her, his eyes meeting hers. Sincere. Truthful. Exposed. That's what she got from him. "Izzy… I'm done. This is it for me. Watching Tex… almost losing you… I can't… I wanna make what I can, and go the hell home. I'm retiring. So yeah. Just… yeah."

There was such pain radiating off of him, such loss, that she pulled him into a hug, not knowing what else to do or how else to react. He hugged her back, squeezing her tightly - no risk of touching her, with her hoodie and gloves. Isabel squeezed her eyes shut tightly, trying not to cry. "This is it for me too," she said back to him, barely above a whisper.

Eric broke the hug finally, and letting out a low breath, he turned to follow O'Hare into the cell. He hopped up onto the metal table, still next to the suspended corpse - which hadn't budged or changed at all.

O'Hare repeated the routine… cleaning off Eric's arm, putting the (new - Eric checked) needle in - and then doing the same to the vampire. Not even waiting for an 'okay,' from Eric, O'Hare flipped the valve.

As she watched the red liquid creep through the clear tube up towards the corpse, Isabel felt something… a hum. A murmur. It reminded her of a flock of birds taking off, it was like a… fluttering of wings. What was it? She walked closer to the cell, holding her sketchpad to her chest as though it were protecting her somehow.

Adrenaline rushed her system as she realized what was the feeling was. And it was too late.

Hunger.

"Stop!" she cried - and dropped her sketchpad as she went to rush into the cell, and rip the tube out of the thing's arm.

Too little. Too late.

As soon as the red line reached the vampire… it's head snapped up. Its empty, vacant eye sockets locked onto O'Hare. The vampire snapped its arms from the restraints over its head like they were not even there. One of its talon-esque hands grasped onto Eric's arm, keeping him from running.

O'Hare screamed loudly - as did Eric. The little doctor staggered and ran out of the cell. The creature reached up, grabbed the steel collar around its neck and snapped it free like it was made out of paper.

It seemed uninterested in escape, turning towards Eric and gripping his head with one hand. Isabel, reacting instinctively, turned to run into the cell. She had to save her friend. She lost one already. But O'Hare had swung the thick door shut in his panic, and slammed the giant lock into place.

"Stop - no!" Isabel shouted. "Open that door!"

"Are you crazy?! And let him out?! He's free!" O'Hare squeaked loudly. "Those chains were-"

"Fucking useless-" Isabel interrupted angrily. "I told you this whole thing was stupid, but you're too obsessed with what's in there - and now it has my friend!"

"Better to lose one life than that of everyone in here," O'Hare quipped cruelly.

That was it. Isabel slapped him, and hard. O'Hare grabbed his face in shock, and just stared at her, wide-eyed and clearly unaccustomed to violence.

Isabel heard the approach of many feet, and looked around to see that the goons, scientists, Harold Brass and Adam had rushed over. But she couldn't focus on them. That thing had Eric. Locked in its cell.

Isabel turned towards the glass, and walked up to it. Eric had stood up from the medical table and knocked it over, medical supplies scattered about like childrens toys. One of them had torn the rubber tube out of their arms, and it sat on the floor, slowly leaking red liquid out of both ends.

The vampire had Eric pinned against a clear wall, its claws digging into his shoulders, keeping him from moving. Its fangs were bared from its gaping, rotted skull, and he was going in towards Eric's neck.

"No, please, oh god, no-" Eric was screaming. His screams were cut off short as the vampire bit into his flesh. His cries were cut off in a gurgle, and then a moan of pain. His eyes were clenched shut, and his squirms and thrashing had ceased as soon as teeth met skin.

Isabel half-ran around the edge of the cell, and now stood on the other side of the glass where the creature had her friend pinned against the glass in between them. "Stop!" she shouted at the creature - but to no avail. She smacked her fists on the glass, pressing her hands against it like that alone could stop him. "Don't you dare… don't you dare kill him… Don't you dare make me watch you eat another one of my friends." she half threatened, half plead, her voice shaking..

To her shock… to her amazement, the vampire let go of Eric's neck. It pulled its bloody, gaping maw from her friend, and she watched as its fangs retracted into its skull. Like before, she watched as the spilled blood absorbed into the desiccated flesh like the skin itself were feeding.

Even without eyes, she knew the thing was staring at her through the glass. It didn't speak. It couldn't. It didn't have to. … Suddenly she knew why it had spared her friend.

"What will you bargain in exchange, little dove?" her friend said in a tone that wasn't his. In an accent that wasn't his. The voice was Eric's… but it might as well not have been. It was this thing… speaking through her friend.

It didn't have a tongue. So it would borrow one.

Isabel shook her head, and staggered back away from the glass. It let out a low, hissing laughter from broken lungs, and released its grip on Eric, who slumped to the floor. Eric groaned again, and let out a choked sob from where he lay. "Help me," her friend whimpered. That was the voice she knew.

Isabel staggered back again, her hands over her mouth. The weight of what was happening settling in. She turned from the scene in front of her, and rushed through the crowd that had gathered. The sound of the minds around her, the rush of feelings - fear, panic, fascination, urgency - and her own were enough to make her want to throw up. She needed air. She felt faint.

She slid down to the floor against the column where she had been sitting, and put her head in her hands, trying to think. One thing at a time. One feeling at a time. She could hear what was happening, but could barely register it. So many voices were arguing, shouting, yelling.

'We need to get in there and save him!'

'And kill everyone else in here?'

'Remarkable - look at it heal - have you seen anything like this before?'

'Of course not - are you taking notes?'

'Our machines are down.'

'Open the door and let me blow that thing to Kingdom Come.'

'Your orders are not to engage the subject, under any circumstances! Do you understand? We are not going to lose this opportunity!'

'Opportunity for what, death?!'

'We should evacuate. Burn this whole place down.'

'I will not leave my friend in there!'

The screaming match between half a dozen people was suddenly silenced, each stammering to a halt, as they realized there was another noise underneath their shouting. … Laughter. A low, hissing, broken-lunged laughter had begun underneath them, and it ran through them all like icewater.

"If I am truthful, I would admit to feel gladness in your unevolved natures since last I awoke… You are all pathetic as your kind has always been. In your baseness you can always be trusted," Eric said from the floor, his voice not his own again. "Release me… and I will spare you all to quick deaths."

That was enough of a warning. Vanderbilt, his goons, the scientists-for-hire... all turned and fled. They didn't hesitate to gather up their things and flee. Vanderbilt, still queasy from his blood donor session, was shouting orders to his men to pack up and go. The mission was compromised. Over. They had nothing to gain from this. Dr. Harold Brass screamed at Vanderbilt. "This is your paycheck - and your career!"

Vanderbilt snorted. "You already paid us, asshole - and you're not getting out of this alive, so, what do I care? Have fun cleaning up your mess, while it lasts."

The chaos took a while to calm down - and Isabel was happy at least for a few less minds to hear, a few less piles of raging emotions. Brass was the first to speak to the vampire. He took a step towards the glass, and introduced himself, pouring on as much charm as he could muster considering the circumstance. "My name is Dr. Harold Brass. I paid to have you found, exhumed… to have your sword recovered. I have been told it is an artifact of great power. I seek to wield it."

"Release me, and I will show you its power quite gladly."

Brass let out a sigh. "I'm afraid that's not on the table. We can't trust you. You've already killed one operative. You have another captive. I can't open that door. Not until we can trust each other."

"Then we will have a long time to wait."

Immortal creatures made good on their threats to wait, it seemed.

It had been almost eight hours since the vampire had spoken or… truthfully… moved at all. It had taken up a position standing against one wall. In fact, it could have been a lifeless statue, if it weren't for the fact that it was… reverse decomposing.

It was like watching a sped-up science lab video of a rotting corpse play backwards. Muscle and tendons reattached to bone, and skin began to look… fuller. Its eyelids were now shut. Now it only looked a year or two dead - not centuries dead. It still had holes that seemed were struggling to stitch themselves back together, the most notable dominating one side of its cheek and jawline.

Eric was now sitting on the floor, his back against the glass wall. Isabel had taken up a position sitting on the other side of the glass from him. She did her best to keep him company, as little good as the comfort was with him trapped in a cell with a creature worse than a starving tiger.

Eric was dozing in and out of unconsciousness. And for good reason. They were tired before this thing turned him into lunch and probably half-drained him of blood. It was past midday now. Isabel glanced at her watch - yeah. Worse than she thought. It had been ten hours since the 'hostage situation' began.

O'Hare and Brass were taking turns sleeping, and when they weren't, were either on guard, or attempting to talk to the vampire. But it wasn't responding - it had gone quiet. No amount of talking, yelling, threatening, pleading with the thing got a response from it.

Adam had decided that inaction was the worst action - and with no means of saving his friend from the glass cell, had decided to work on the sword instead. Redoubling his efforts, he was running every possible test on the giant ancient blade. Her more nerdy companion had three degrees from MIT - another reason he was familiar with the area of Boston they were now in - and functioning under lack of sleep was an old hat trick of his.

Isabel couldn't really care about it, though. Not between her worry over her friend, fear of the vampire, and crushing exhaustion. She felt sleep edging in on her as her adrenaline was starting to wane. Eventually, despite her attempts to fight it, she dozed off.

Isabel loved dreaming. Well, when dreams were her own, anyway. Most of her dreams were lucid ones, much like when she was sucked into someone's memory - but now they could be fanciful, fun or exciting - stories of fiction or or fact playing themselves out in her mind.

In this dream, she was on a beach. Somewhere warm and sunny, away from the cares of the waking world. Her mind was seeking respite. This was one of the few times that they had all gone and done something 'fun' together - Tex, Adam, Eric and herself. They had a gig on some little abandoned island in the middle of the pacific - and they decided to take an extra day just to enjoy themselves.

Tex was asleep under a palm tree, hat over his eyes, beer nestled into the sand next to him. Eric was swimming - as was Adam, shockingly.

Isabel was just enjoying the hot sand, warm sun… and no work. No stress. No crazy feelings around her. Just peace and quiet.

Sadly, dreams and memories are not the same. Dreams can be manipulated for better, or worse.

Isabel felt a shadow move over her - blocking the sun from her eyes. Looking up - the sky had darkened and turned an unnatural purple - like someone had thrown a lens over the world around her. She felt a presence there in her mind - she felt his presence.

Launching to her feet, she almost jumped, startled, as the ocean waves touched her toes where she stood. But it wasn't the ocean she remembered. It was no longer a beautiful, seemingly impossible shade of perfect turquoise.

It was blood.

Staggering backwards away from the rolling waves of crimson that now stained her skin, she fell into the sand. She knew who was to blame for all of this. "Get out of my head!" she yelled at the air.

"Is turnabout no longer fair play?"

Isabel awoke with a start - her breath quickened, her heart pounding in her ears. She put her head in her hands, trying to shake the jitters that come along with waking up too quickly and for the wrong reasons.

"Are you okay…?" she heard, muffled, from behind her. Turning her head, it was Eric, who was looking at her from the other side of the cell.

"Don't ask me that," she said with a half-laugh. "You're the one… in there. With that."

"It's okay. I don't think he's going to kill me. The Master needs me for now - he doesn't have a tongue yet." Eric half-smiled. There was a madness in his eyes, one that she didn't recognize.

"Eric… what did you call him?"

Her friend only shrugged. "You heard me. And soon he'll be your Master, too. I promise."

"Eric - Eric snap out of it. Please," she begged. She glared at the vampire that still stood, silently against a wall. "Let him go you asshole," she snarled half under her breath. She didn't want to draw attention to what was happening - didn't want them to know that Eric had been… compromised.

"Again I ask what you will bargain… my little dove?" Eric whispered with a wicked grin that was not his.

"I'll turn it around. I want you to spare them. Let Adam and Eric go. Whole and unhurt, undamaged. No loopholes. No exceptions. They walk away."

"You do not place yourself on that list?"

"If I asked you to let me go… would you?"

'Eric' paused, thoughtfully. "No."

"I know I'm fucked," Isabel laughed in a self-mocking way. "You want me dead. Slowly. You said so yourself. Even if you said you wouldn't kill me - you'd be lying."

"You are not entirely incorrect."

"So what spares their lives? What really spares them? No devil's bargains… No 'they end up scarred for life or blind' bullshit. On your honor," Isabel insisted, half-whispering at her possessed friend through the glass.

"Open the door, little dove… and you have a bargain. On my honor." Eric seemed to snap out of his reverie for a brief second. "Don't- Don't-" he pressed his hands insistently against the glass. "I've seen what he's going to do, don't-" Eric was overcome again, and he only let out a laugh - a giggle of madness, and let out a small, contented sigh. "I hope I'm alive to watch the Master eat your entrails," Eric said with a dreamy smile at her. "I think it'll be so beautiful..."

Isabel stood up - and had to walk away. Had to get away from them both. She walked to the edge of the warehouse, and debated on continuing on. Debated on just leaving. But her conscience, her love for her friends, wouldn't let her do that.

Dr. Harold Brass saw her, and walked away from where he sat at a makeshift desk to walk up to her. "Everything alright?"

"No," Isabel snorted. "No. No it's not. That thing is seriously getting into my friend's head, and I can't… I can't sit there and listen to it right now."

Brass sighed. "I understand-"

"No, you don't," Isabel retorted. "And if you had just come forward and told us the truth about your entire operation here, maybe it wouldn't have happened!" she burst out. Exhaustion and rage broke her silence over his obvious lies.

Brass stammered, and she cut him off. "You're so full of shit. Look at this! This isn't about that stupid sword - it's about the corpse in that glass box. You have more equipment and money dedicated to that thing you have in there, than to anything else-" she was on a rant. There was no stopping her now. "And you knew that thing was coming! Look at that cage! It's not like you just set that thing up. You knew damn well that we were going to find that vampire, and that was the entire goal" she hissed. "I can't just work out why."

Brass's jaw clenched, and he looked askance, not meeting her eye contact. He shrugged, as if deciding that it couldn't hurt. "Immortality. If we could farm his blood - feed him, then drain him, we could use it to make ourselves immortal. Or sell it. Or-"

"Fuck," Isabel said with a sarcastic laugh. "You're dumber than I thought." Isabel shook her head, and walked away from him. Looking at him disgusted her. Her friend lost his life - and everyone else probably would do the same - for their idiotic quest to live forever. How… cliche.

She went to find Adam, and found him hunched over a computer, flicking through sheets of data that were meaningless to her. She slumped down in a chair next to him, and looked over at him. He 'hmmed' once to prove that he knew she was there. She waited patiently, knowing better than to interrupt him.

"It doesn't make any sense," Adam said, half to her, half to the data at the screen. "It's not like it's even there at all."

"I don't follow," Isabel said, smiling weakly. At least some things weren't going to hell - Adam was still Adam.

"So, look-" he twisted the laptop slightly so she could see the data. "I ran it through every machine they have. Nothing. No numbers. It's like it doesn't exist. So I figured, their equipment is broken. So I ran my watch through it - and here're the results from that. So I ran my watch through again… then the sword, then the watch again. Data, no data, data. It's like… it's missing entirely."

Isabel blinked. "Huh. … Is that possible…?"

"Well, clearly it is, because it's here on the screen… But it shouldn't be. I'm trying to find a way to explain it - or get around it." Adam was tapping his fingers on the table, thoughtfully. "If I asked you to touch the sword, would you?"

"I'm afraid to… but… if it helps…?" Isabel let out a breath. "I won't if Brass asks me. But if you do, I will." She paused for a long moment, and then decided she had to say the words. Adam deserved to know. "It's possessing Eric," she muttered to him.

"What?!" Adam half-yelled, turning to her, wide-eyed. He recovered, realizing that it was probably best to keep it quiet. "What does that mean? I know it's using him to talk, but-"

"He's calling the vampire 'Master' and threatening my life," Isabel said, half under her breath. "There's like… three Eric's right now. The vampire talking, him talking, and this… fucked up Eric."

"We have to get him out of there," Adam took his glasses off and rubbed his face. "I'm too old for this shit, I can barely see the screen. What'd I'd kill to be a college kid again…"

"It wants me to open the door. It said if I did that… you and Eric walk away."

Adam turned to look at her intently. "And you..?"

She shook her head no in response. "I got inside his head," Isabel glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was around. Luckily, since almost everyone took off, there was no one left to hear. "When I was there, inside that thing's mind… it… talked to me. We fought. It… it's not going to just let me walk away."

"Wait - so you touched it, and it could walk around inside the memory…? More like what, a dream?" Adam blinked, confused. "Isn't that impossible?"

"Well, clearly it is," she mimicked his phrase from earlier. "But no. It shouldn't be. Maybe that thing is just... Stronger willed than anyone else I've unfortunately touched before."

"So it's pissed you got into its head?"

"It threatened to kill me slowly, yeah. Now, Eric's giggling about watching while it eats my organs. So. I'd say so," Isabel sighed, and rested her arms against the table, leaning on them. God, she was so tired. The situation felt like a tangible weight pressing down on her.

Adam sat there, thoughtfully for a long time. "The odds all three of us get out of this alive…" he let it linger.

"Incredibly low. And if it's telling me the truth, if I can trust the honor of its word… I get to pick who goes down."

"You're debating it?" Adam said, shocked.

Isabel stood up, and walked across the room to the machine that housed the sword - it was running some sort of scan or, test or, something on it - Isabel had no idea. She didn't really care. "Of course I am," she finally responded, and ran her hand along the glass of the protective shield. "If it spares you and Eric. I couldn't stop it killing Tex…"

"None of us could. That isn't your fault."

"I know, but I have a choice now. I can fall on the grenade. If it gets you two out of here…" Isabel sighed. "It's worth it. It's only a matter of time before that thing gets out of the glass box. And then we all die. Or worse."

"I can't - I can't let you. Not until we know we don't have any other options," Adam sighed. "A few more hours… let me just pick at this stupid sword for a few more hours."

Isabel nodded. "Brass told me he isn't just after the sword. He wanted to feed that thing, then bleed it dry. And… sell it off, I guess - make himself immortal."

"He's an idiot. And that little pug he has working for him is worse," Adam muttered as he turned his focus back to his work. Isabel knew the look on his face - she could talk about raising chickens in her bathroom at home right now, and he'd just 'mmhmm' her. She smiled, and decided to leave him to it.

Walking past him towards the door, she put her hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. He placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed back. He was one of the few people who wouldn't flinch when reaching for her to make sure she was wearing gloves. He trusted her. And that meant more to her than anything.

Isabel shut her eyes as she felt tears sting and threaten to fall. She made up her mind. She'd give Adam the few hours he asked for… and then she'd do it. There wasn't another option.

She left the room, and walked back up to the glass cell. She sunk down on the ground next to Eric, and leaned her back up against the glass next to him.

"I have to piss," Eric sighed, disgruntled. "And I'm starving. And I think I'm going to puke."

Isabel had to laugh at that. He sounded like they were just on a long road trip. Eric looked over at her, and smiled faintly - and then he too, laughed along with her. The laughter faded off into a sad silence - both of them understanding the truth of what was going to happen.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, after a long pause.

"It's not your fault," she responded, smiling over at him weakly.

"I'm sorry for what he… I can't help it. I feel him in my head, like a hive of bees…" Eric rubbed a hand down his face and let out a long breath. "The master is… See, there I go again."

"You can't help it," she tried to console him.

"I could- if I were strong enough," he punched himself in the leg. "But I'm not. I'm not like you. I'm not… you're so strong. Look at you - you deal with this all the time. People buzzing around your head. And you're about to get… god only knows what. Eaten? Raped? Murdered? And maybe not in that order - and you're sitting there, worrying about me."

"What's that quote from Farscape you love so much? 'Fear accompanies the possibility of death. Calm shepherds it's certainty,'" she smiled weakly at him. "I pissed it off. It's going to hunt me down, no matter what."

"It's not just that," Eric leaned his head back against the glass. "The master wants you. The master wants to break you. He wants to see you kneel before he tears you to pieces, before he devours you whole. And once he has his mind set on something… that's it."

The line between Eric and the New Eric was hard to define. Isabel winced, and knew that pretty soon, he was going to be too far gone to save. Before that thing's tendrils wound itself too deeply into her friend. "Hey, can you… can you ask him a question?"

"The Master can hear you," Eric smiled at her, a bright smile that reeked of insanity.

"What's with his sword? What is it really? Why is it such a big deal?"

Eric shrugged. "Why do you want to know?"

Isabel paused, thinking of a good answer. Tell him that she wanted to know so that she could stop him, and he wouldn't tell her. But what was a good lie? What would compel him to tell her? She couldn't think of one… So she went with a half-truth, and hope it worked. "Brass is after it, and I want to know why we're all in this goddamn mess. I'm going to die - I want to know why."

"Many believe it to be the source of my power. Many believe that if they were to possess it, they would be as I am. Many believe that I sought it out. All are untrue."

"Great, I love riddles," Isabel replied sarcastically. "Never mind."

O'Hare approached her, looking down at her derisively - clearly not having forgiven her for the slap. And she hadn't forgiven him for getting Eric stuck like this - which was the only reason she hadn't turned tail and boarded the next flight to Australia.

"What is he saying?! Why will he talk to you, but nobody else?!" he demanded.

Isabel shrugged as her only response. Clearly not talking made this guy tick, and so she decided to use that to her advantage. O'Hare narrowed his eyes angrily at her. "It's not fair. Our plan was perfect. It's all your fault he isn't working with us instead."

"How dare you," she hissed as she stood up, glaring down at the little man again. Anger and hate welled up inside of her. Spite. Distaste. Loathing would give it too much credit, this fetid, stinking thing in front of her. This was an insignificant insect - clawing at greatness with no sense of respect. Insipid little roach, her mind screamed. Even the spider-eating lunatic carried more value to the world than this fat little thing before him. Isabel felt a rush of thoughts and feelings not her own. I will decorate the walls with its entrails before the dawn comes in the morrow.

She didn't need to ask whose thoughts those were. Her anger had tapped into his own opinions, and they rushed over her like a wave. "If I were you, I'd get Brass and go. One way or another, you guys fucked up, and your chances are gone."

"We still have the sword. And he's still paying you to figure it out. And it looks like the clock is ticking. How much longer do you think it'll be before Dracula decides he's hungry again, hmm?" O'Hare's voice was dripping with spite. "If it were my call, I'd feed you to him in exchange for his cooperation."

He stormed off - as best as a fat little man can storm anywhere. She leaned back against the glass, and slid back down to sitting. After a long pause, she looked at Eric. "Why isn't he taking that deal?"

"I do not wish to be given that which I seek to hunt."

Isabel visibly cringed and looked away - not being able to meet Eric's stare - as his gaze wasn't his own. She fiddled with the sleeve of her hoodie for a long moment. Without knowing why, she began talking. "So… Here're my options. One, open that door like you want me to, and hope you're true to your word and you let them go. Somehow, I believe that you will. You're a lot of things, but I don't get 'dishonorable' on that list. Two… I go and I touch that sword, and see if it gives us… some other option. Some other chance for survival."

Silence. She wasn't sure what she expected him to say - or do. "Eric?" she asked, quietly, wondering if her friend had any advice.

"I wonder if he'll let me watch if he fucks you," he replied - and that was the end of it for her.

Isabel stood up, her mind made up. She couldn't open that door if she hadn't exhausted all other options. She walked back into the room where Adam was working, and walked up to the machine that was running whatever stupid useless test on the metal. She hit the big red button on it, and it beeped and silenced its whirring.

"Hey-" Adam started, but she raised a hand to stop him. Opening up the glass shield, she reached in, and picked up the archaic, ancient blade. It was a beautiful piece of work - and heavy. It took both her hands to lift it - although she was sure the vampire wielded it with one.

"Are you sure about this?" Adam began.

Isabel nodded, and placed the sword down on the table. She pulled over a chair and sat down, knowing this thing was going to throw her for a loop. She could feel its power, even through the gloves.

Pulling the thin fabric off, she looked down at the sword, and let out a breath. She placed both hands on the cold metal.

Her mind went pure, hot white.