Hi guys, welcome back! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Life is crazy, you know!
Chapter 10
I'm in a daze once back in the seraglio. I saw that violet light again as Demetri and I passed the fork in the hallway on the way back into the underground. He didn't seem to notice and I wonder yet again if I'm crazy—but my curiosity is on fire. If I were to go back, would the library room be there? Is any of it even real?
It doesn't matter. It would be nice to get lost in something, especially now that I have to face the inevitable problems that come with dozens of other human women, as well as my lack of a solid plan for escape. Shuddering, I pass the same auditorium from when I was first summoned, officially unsure of where I'm going or where everyone is. The first-floor lobby is vacant, a large square room, hosting several bamboo benches surrounded by clay-potted plants that stagger unevenly—though orderly—across the length of the stone floor. There's a decorated manhole that lies dead center in the room, a spiral staircase at its center.
Although the darkness is a rough accommodation, I persist, stumbling down the thin and steep stairwell to what looks like a factory. There are rows upon rows of connected desks that are bricked, grayed over from dust, and supporting the work of nearly every supply unit in the castle, from what I can picture. It's clear where the line is drawn between each duty. The laundry stations have teethed water wells built into their centers with two supply units assigned to each one. The water girl rinses and scrubs the assigned robes and sheets—given to them by the castle's vampire servants—until they overflow their baskets with clean, dripping articles. Once her basket is full, the dryer girl drags the load toward the corner of the room where countless rails jut out from the wall, alternating upward and nearly reaching the ceiling that holds two huge… fans, I think they are called. A piece of technology from before the Days of Slaughter, meant to mimic high powered winds. That piece, I'm fairly sure I learned from my mother. The dryer effectively climbs the side rails while hanging the robes and sheets across several sections beneath the wind's force.
I turn my attention to the center of the room where supply units are using cloths, water, and peeling devices to clean mounds and mounds of human food. Well, I suppose it is also vampire food. They can't live off human blood alone, from what I understand. My mouth waters when I spot crates of potatoes, cucumbers, cantaloupe, strawberries, rice, and other such items. Despite having just eaten, no amount of food can curb an appetite that has grown accustomed to hunger. Plus, who doesn't like food?
The next station is an assembly line of sorts. A wide belt that holds glass tubes of product moves every minute or so between the circles of supply units. I spot the vials that are filled with chemicals, powders, and liquids, and I recognize the process immediately—thanks to the grade A education from Nightinghell. Blood compounding, the process of cultivating synthetic blood for impoverished vampires. During the Days of Slaughter, a few future-oriented vampires came up with a solution to the famine that had soon erupted. Synthetics. A technology so well-understood and harnessed that it only takes the mixing of a few ingredients to make a highly potent substitute for the real thing, even though it still doesn't fully satiate.
My eyes fall on the two girls at the end of the synthetics assembly. One stirs the thick scarlet substance in a barrel, while the other funnels it into empty blood packs and places them in crates on a carrier. Jessica and Angela. Without a moment's hesitation, I descend the rest of the stairs, nearly tumbling to my death in my shaken rush. The flat ground is more welcoming of my flying feet, thankfully.
"Jessica, Angela!" I call out.
They turn to me, recognition lighting up their features like fireflies. Jessica leaps up, runs to me and throws herself into my arms. She nearly knocks me over. Her new, ruby robes are thick and warm. Her hair, freshly washed, smells of rose-water. That's one thing they guarantee us. If it has to do with anything that could potentially offend or displease your vampire owner—such as bodily stench—you would be treated to amenities that offset that. It's one of the few ways they convince the mouth breathers that enslavement isn't really enslavement.
"Are you okay? I was so worried about you," Jessica lets out in a breath.
I don't respond, instead I wrap my arms around her, my face falling on her shoulder.
"Bella?" she questions anxiously.
I now know she can feel the warmth from my tears that soak into her new pull-over robe. For the first time since opening my eyes this morning, the severe weight of the previous night hits me. I relive it. Cullen's overpowering presence within the shade of pure darkness. The pain of my icy blood curdling unnaturally beneath my skin. The haunting, and very real possibility that my actions may lead to the death of my best friend, who's currently comforting me.
But more so, I cry because despite the increased value of what I have to lose, I still want to escape; so badly that I consider unforgivable and gut-wrenching things. Despite the circumstances of this situation being better than expected, the thought of living the remainder of my life in yet another cage doubles me over. I'm not meant for it. I will go insane doing the same monotonous thing day after day to be readily available should Cullen ever need me. Hatred reignites in my veins. I need to leave. If only to die a miserable death on my own time, I need that time.
But I can't lose Jessica.
She strokes my back, consoling me, which fills my heart with even more shame. I leave the comfort of her shoulder and put distance between us. For the first time, a wedge develops between us as real as the walls of Nightingale. Our biggest difference, the one we never needed to acknowledge because our friendship was so strong, is creating a fork in our lives. If only she wanted to be free like me. If only I could be as content as her.
"What happened to you?" she prods in a whisper, pushing hair out of my face to better look at me.
"I'm happy to see you," I say in French, faking a smile.
She smiles as Angela approaches saying, "Bella, what happened? Everyone has been..." she looks around the room uncomfortably. The other supply units quickly turn their attention elsewhere and my eyes find my eyebrows again. Why does everything have to be so dramatic?
"...worried," she finishes, quieter now. "Apparently being summoned so early on is very unusual. And when word got around that you were in the infirmary, everyone thought the worst."
Great, I think to myself, looking around again as the idle chatter restarts across the room. If I wasn't popular in conversation before, I definitely am now.
Even though all other gazes have left mine, one pair of blue eyes still have the audacity to linger, bitterly. Anaya's.
"29734," Anaya hisses my number from across the room. "Now that you're done slacking off, it might be a good time to scrub the troughs."
The other supply units wrinkle their noses with disgust—a few of them even gagging a little.
"The troughs?" I ask.
Angela enlightens me with a begrudging definition, "The bathrooms."
"Oh my." Jessica gasps.
A putrid waft fills my nose and burns my eyes. I cover my mouth while muffling an apology to my companions.
"The faster we do it, the faster we can forget it," Angela sighs, picking up her pail that's loaded with an off-colored sponge, a bar of yellow soap, and a scrubbing brush with gunk on the ends. I'm grateful for Angela's optimism. Right now, "forgetting it" is enough of a motivator. For some reason, right now all I want to do is sleep and never wake up again.
The toilet troughs are literally troughs made of wooden "X" beams and steel landings. The steel is old and rusted, and most of the beams are water damaged to the point of rot—though I doubt water has ever been the culprit. It's clear that the cleaning will not accomplish much—since the stench of sewage is most likely burned into the walls—but we at least give it a good effort.
"So, Lord Cullen actually bit you?" Jessica asks off-hand to me. Angela looks my way briefly before going back to her scrubbing. As soon as I look her way, Jessica's eyes drop to my neck.
"Oh, yeah. They have vaccines now, apparently."
She nods. "The others told us. They said vampires prefer to bite, but apparently Lord Cullen rarely does."
"That's surprising." I roll my eyes. "Let me guess, he bites when he's mad?"
She chews on her lip uneasily. "Usually when he doesn't have time to wait for the kortrastet to pour, actually... but I guess that would make sense, too."
Jessica switches from sponge to brush. "So, you thought you were going to turn into the fallen all the way up until he did it?"
"Yeah. Ended up looking like an idiot and passing out after begging him to kill me instead," I say, shaking my head at myself as I recall that moment. It's one of those moments that will pop into my brain in the dead of night to remind me of how lame I am.
"Wait, you can beg?" Jessica speaks French to me and gives me an incredulous look.
"Shut up." I laugh, smiling through the horror of getting some foreign substance from the trough on my hand.
"What was that?" Angela pipes up.
"What?" Jessica replies.
"Those words you said."
"You've never heard us speak French, before?"
"French?"
"It's my native language," I explain, none too enthusiastically. "From my hometown in France."
Angela's mouth drops. "You're a free-roamer? I didn't know human colonies still existed!"
I nod, and softly reply, "Who knows, mine could have been the last one."
I'm sure she can see by my face that I have no interest in discussing the topic further so she changes course. "Will you teach me French? I'd love to be in on the jokes, too."
"Of course!" Jessica squeals before I even have a chance to think through the question. She's excited, as usual. I bite my tongue as she back pedals. "Well, if Bella is okay with it? It's really her language to share after all." They both look to me.
"Yeah, that's fine," I lie, aching as a piece of my exclusive friendship with Jessica cracks beneath the pressure of social courtesy. Angela might be a great friend if I give it a chance, but then again, she might have a knack for sabotaging nice things like so many others. I shrug.
If she takes Jessica from me, that's less guilt for me to feel when I escape.
As the thought leaves my brain, I instantly regret it. My emotions go numb and the walls lift around my heart. I can't help but think that maybe I'm too sensitive. Too cynical.
Jessica won't ever leave me, I think to myself, trying to choke the root of a deeply planted, blossoming fear. If she does, then that's life, and shame on me for believing any different.
At the chime of the second hour, we filter into the cafeteria hall to wait in line for dinner's meal tickets. The new supply units are last, the oldest first. So Anaya is the first to move through line, standing as if she owns the world. I guess she might as well own ours. In such a small world beneath ground, it's like a miniature Volterra. A couple rule the top and control the rest with just enough leverage to keep the others subdued, no matter the poverty or discontent.
She gives me a side glance and—what a bitch—smirks. Jessica is ahead of me, complaining about how much her arms hurt from stirring the bucket of synthetics, while Angela comments on the disgusting smell of the troughs. We talk away the hearty smells and impatience for food until finally, Jessica reaches the front of the meal ticket line. She holds out her time-card reluctantly. I observe as the old female vampire analyzes it with a scowl.
"I'm afraid you need at least four hours of work to receive a quarter portion," she explains, handing back the time card. "Maybe tomorrow."
Jessica's bright features sullen somewhat, leading me to step in.
"Wait. You mean she can't eat today? Erm-madam?" I ask, facing the large woman.
"That's right. She only worked two and a half hours today. They can count toward her hours tomorrow for ration tickets, but she will not be awarded any today," she proclaims with a voice growing more menacing. "Any other questions?"
I frown, about ready to give this lady a piece of my mind before Jessica pulls on my sleeve, whispering, "Don't do anything stupid, Bella. You're on thin ice already."
Suddenly I remember Cullen's threat, and I shut my mouth. Jessica continues, "And she's right, I worked very few hours today. I understand the system. It's my fault."
Jessica smiles before leaving the line to go find a spot for the three of us to sit. The compact dining hall is lined with concrete slabs for tables and carved stones for chairs, many of them empty. I turn to Angela who trades her eight hours worked for half a meal ticket.
"Angela, why didn't Jessica work with you all day?" I ask.
She studies me for a moment, returning her thoughtful gaze to her time card and half a meal ticket. "Well, she didn't want me to say anything but… she had been so worried about you—thinking you had died or something—that she was vomiting. Emi called Demetri to escort her to the infirmary, and I guess when she realized you were there she sat and tried to wait for you to wake up."
My heart clenches in my chest. I pull the five ration tickets that Caius had given to me from my sash, ripping one in half and handing it to Angela.
"Take this," I say, my mind elsewhere. "Working that long, you deserve a full-portion."
Her mouth drops. "Where did you-?"
But I don't stick around long enough to hear the end of her question. I march to the next checkpoint in line where the tickets are traded for food. A red-haired vampire looks over me.
"...Good evening," she says. "What have you to trade?"
I open my palm near my chest, unintentionally revealing the four and a half count of ration tickets to the woman. "Two portions, please," I request, holding out two of the tickets, uncertain if I'm doing it right.
Now her stare is full-blown skeptical, but she smiles warmly. "Sorry dear, only one full portion per day. Wait a minute, you couldn't be..." She breaks her train of thought, thinking to herself for a moment before completing the question, "... supply unit Z-two-nine… oh, I can't remember. The one who stood up to Lord Cullen at the Distribution?"
Now it's me that gives her a questionable look. Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I recall Demetri's secretive nature when retrieving us from the fallen reservoir at distribution. For the first time, I find myself questioning the motives behind that secrecy. I decide to play ignorant.
"No, I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about," I lie.
"Oh? Forgive me… my dear friend is a dorm mother at Nightingale and she told me this rumor of an undomesticated supply unit who disgraced our honorable leaders, even that of Lord James." She continues her lingering gaze, expecting some sort of reply.
"I'm sorry to say that you must have heard a false rumor, my lady. I don't think I have it in me to do such a foolish thing." I may have called myself foolish, but my apparent talent for lying carries me through seamlessly.
"Ah." She sighs, disappointedly. "I really should stop listening to all of that nonsense then."
I nod, solidifying my stance. "I'd rather be burned to death than test any leader of Volterra."
She bursts out in a fit of chuckles before turning toward the kitchen. "Yes, yes. Well, me too. If I could burn."
Was what I said really that funny?
She laughs her way to the food trays while I shoot Angela a quick glance, creating a visual statement for 'What the hell was that?' Angela shrugs, but looks to be pretty confused, herself.
Soon, the red-haired vampire is back with a tray full of delicious food.
"Well here you are. I hope I didn't offend you by jumping to conclusions," she says, a look of formulated guilt stitched across her brow.
"No, no, of course not, my lady," I say.
"It's Victoria." She grins.
"Oh, um, Bella," I smile, taking my leave from the window as she nods.
What a strange vampire.
While on my way to the concrete table that Jessica has picked out for us, an unusual weight lands in my gut. In light of that previous conversation, I wonder.
Did Cullen purposefully sentence me in front of the crowd at the Distribution, only to recover me later on when less eyes were watching? But, why would he? Because my sewage-like blood would go to waste? Because of the worth of "unique features" to his collection?
I'm beginning to doubt such shallow reasonings for his actions. To salvage someone like me for the sake of beauty that would disappear after a short time—short for vampires, anyway, is a bit difficult to believe. As I near Jessica, I push the thought to the back of my mind, excited to surprise her.
"Hey, this is for you," I say, smiling at her widely and dropping the tray with a clank to scare her.
"How did you get this? You didn't work hardly at all," she says, her eyes growing wider the more the juicy peas, baked potatoes, and honey-drizzled strawberries ensnare her senses.
"Don't worry about that," I say, pushing the tray more toward her so that she knows there's no room for debate. "I've already eaten, and you need to eat, so don't fight me on it."
She eyes me before blinking down at the food—as if she doesn't know what to do with it. Finally, she relents to her instincts and stuffs her face. Angela joins us, sitting next to me and thanking me for the meal. However, she seems extremely uneasy.
"It seems most now know that we are the odd ones out...," she states, nervously looking around the room.
"...You don't have to sit with me if it still bothers you," I mutter solemnly. To my surprise, she looks horror-struck.
"I... I'm fine," she stumbles over her words, clearly embarrassed. There is a moment of tense silence before she says, "I'm not that kind of person. I'm sorry for, you know, everything back then."
Caught off guard, I open my mouth and swiftly close it, averting my eyes elsewhere. I finally manage a small, "...It's okay," before the heavy air lifts from the table.
Jessica's face alights, apparently giddy that the ice between Angela and I finally cracked. I have to admit, I'm not too disappointed by it either.
"Hello girls." The voice of Emi approaches from behind. She struts over with her tray, and with Glera at her side. Emi takes the seat next to Jessica, across from me, while Glera takes the one to my right.
"Is it okay if I sit here, old bunk mate?" Glera asks with a smile, to which I give my signature reply: a nod. She gains points for manners.
"It's Bella, right?" Emi addresses me. "How are you doing? Is it painful?" She touches her own neck in reference.
"Oh, um...," I start off slow, moving my hand to the covered puncture wounds in a copycat fashion. "Yeah, a little... But not too bad now that there's salve on it."
Socializing is nerve-wracking, I conclude, as I find myself severely uncomfortable with everyone watching me.
"What did he do to you?" Glera offers her concern, looking over my neck and torso as if searching for something that might have been misplaced. "We heard you went to the infirmary."
"I just lost too much blood and I fainted."
"Was he... angry?" Emi asks.
"Well, I did make him wait three seconds instead of the usual two," I say.
The girls chuckle. I look at Emi intently. I know what she really wanted to ask.
"Emi, may I ask how you, and Anaya for that matter, knew about what I did at the Distribution?
She tilts her head, slightly taken aback. "What do you mean?"
"Neither of you seemed all that surprised when Angela and Jessica showed up." I say, "It was odd that you accepted us with no questions asked, and that you even had red robes for Angela and Jessica waiting for them, even though they clearly belonged to James."
Both Jessica and Angela exchange quizzical glances, suddenly interested in hearing Emi's answer. Glera looks between us. She had seen them in the amethyst dresses too. Surely, she also wants to know.
"Oh!" Emi's voice raises an octave. "I suppose that is s a bit weird. While we've never had something like that happen before, there are always communications in place to warn Anaya who will be arriving or not arriving to the seraglio. Madam Alice gave us a telegram of the first list from the Selection Hall, without the three of you on it, but a little after, she brought us a new one from Lord Cullen himself—which is quite unusual might I add—explaining your arrivals and what to do."
"I see..." I simply fill the silence. A part of me was hoping that her answer would shed some light as to why the whole thing was so hush hush, but it appears that I'm not the only one suspecting things.
"So, if it's not too forward… what exactly is the relationship between you and Lord Cullen?" Emi asks me timidly.
My eyes scan everyone as I try to understand her meaning.
"Um, master and very reluctant servant, I guess?"
"Well, Jessica mentioned you two have a strange history, so…"
I offer Jessica a trite glare and she mouths a quick apology.
I turn back to Emi and smile none too genuinely. "Yes, we do have a strange history."
She raises her eyebrows which inadvertently asks her next question.
Does she really think-? I clasp my hands together and narrow my eyes. "He's a vampire who keeps me here against my will... and I hate him for it. Does that answer your question?"
Every one of them fidget a little in their own way, their eyes darting back and forth from mine to each other's.
"Is that the latest rumor or something?" I ask, annoyed. "I've literally been here for one day."
Emi slides her petite hands along the edge of the table in front of her, tinkering with one of the two circlets on her fingers. "It's just strange behavior… coming from our lord. He usually only summons a handful of his supply units, while the rest primarily go un-summoned, tending to the chores. On top of that, he rarely ever uses his fangs."
I knew the fangs part, but the rest is weird. I scan the room of supply units, hunched over eating their bowls of potatoes, and quickly find that most don't have a red ribbon around their neck or arms: no marks. They've never been summoned before. Anaya has a ribbon around her neck and arm, Emi just around the arm, and then a handful here or there, but they all seem clumped together. In fact, ribboned units are cleaner, hair pinned and lips painted, noses higher in the air than usual. Like they actually form status cliques based on whether Cullen drinks your blood or not. I shake my head. Two, fresh puncture wounds on a new unit must really be a rarity to make everyone think the new supply unit is getting frisky with their master. I gag thinking about it.
"No. There's no truth to that assumption whatsoever," I say, still trying to get the taste out of my mouth. "And I have no idea why he summoned me." Except to make it clear that Jessica's and Angela's lives were in my hands, but we can leave that part out.
"Well—," Jessica butts in, looking to me as if asking for permission that I don't give—but it doesn't stop her. "—I don't know if it means anything, but Bella was born into a free-roaming colony. He took her in because he wanted to."
Emi's eyes nearly swallow her face while Angela's shift with unease.
"So that's the strange history." Emi rests her chin on her knuckles.
Glera blinks several times, crossing her arms over her chest.
I nod lightly. Every other supply unit here was probably harvested from Saya's breeding houses, judged for investment on blood type, future beauty potential, and how meek they were expected to be in nature. My being here is especially strange because my blood type is B-, and Cullen tends to stick with O's and A's. My beauty potential is lacking, though I do have the unique features to negate that, I guess. And as for meek in nature? We don't need to go there. I was far from it even back then.
"What was it like? Growing up in a place ruled by humans?" Emi asks with immense interest.
"I don't really like to talk about it," I mumble as dark and bloodstained memories try to resurface, but I bury them expertly, shooting yet another glare at Jessica in the process. I can't be too upset with her since she was trying to help lay everyone's derailed assumptions to rest.
Luckily, Emi digests my words and says nothing more.
"You were brought in by Lord Cullen, himself?" Angela asks quietly. She must have thought a blood scavenging group had rounded up supply units on Cullen's order or something.
"Yeah." I sigh from the tiresome subject. "A poor investment on his part. I'm nothing like what I should be." And it's true. Cullen has saved me several times. I should be grateful, but something holds me captive to the edge of chaos. What is mercy if I'm still in chains? I'm unable to answer that question, so it only solidifies my resolve.
Angela shifts her gaze downward and picks at her food. She's upset. I half expected her to react this way, though I will never understand it. Volterra-bred supply units are raised to desire the eye of their vampire patrons. So, to her, I'm an unworthy and unappreciative recipient of Cullen's sparse attention. In fact, everyone at this table, in this room, even—if rumors spread as they did in Nightingale—probably thinks that. I swallow down a sudden wave of nausea.
Glera uncrosses her arms and shifts toward me. "Well, your luck in evading punishment has been especially remarkable, Bella. And Cullen choosing to accept you despite all of it? You can't blame people for asking questions. You're an anomaly."
I drop my gaze, analyzing the individual sediments of the concrete table.
"So, you all should know that I do hate him...," I pause for effect. Emi, Glera, and Angela all look at me like I have the plague while Jessica continues popping potatoes into her mouth—she's accustomed to my distaste for vampires. "...so then are you assuming he feels differently?"
I suddenly recall him catching me this morning and how he took me to the infirmary last night. Emi offers a shrug, uncommitted to any real answer while the others remain silent. None of them know what to make of it and the thought only sickens me.
Although their opinions influence me to consider every possibility, I still can't fully wrap my mind around this particular idea. Cullen's still blackmailing me after all, like the raging ass that he is.
"That's what Anaya thinks," Emi explains. "Which is why she's not taking too kindly to you."
"I thought so!" Jessica yells in between her bites, which suddenly makes me feel left out of the loop.
"Why would she care?" I ask.
"Because her heart has been set on him," Emi answers quietly. "She's not the only one, but Anaya's in love with Lord Cullen and is really proud of how much he trusts her."
"In love?" I nearly choke on the word, realizing this is the first time I've even heard it used in that way before.
Emi looks around to make sure the topic of gossip isn't in earshot of anyone else. The rest of us teeter on the edge of our seats as she leans in.
"Anaya has always wanted a different sort of relationship with Lord Cullen, but he won't have it. While most of the other leaders find no fault in using their supply units for other things… Lord Cullen will not."
"Why do you think that is?" Angela asks.
Emi shrugs. "Master Demetri thinks he's too good-natured, Master Caius thinks he's far too proud. However, Anaya is the oldest supply unit to ever live here at thirty-three years old. She's worked her way to becoming head of supply to win Lord Cullen's heart and… to try and avoid the inevitable."
Oh. To avoid becoming a breeder in Saya's province. A rush of sympathy cools my anger toward her for a split second.
"At that age, she must really be the only one Cullen trusts then," Angela remarks, her eyes falling. "Which is probably why he has avoided sending her to Saya, already. Thirty-three is pushing it, but what a life well-served. I only hope to not get sent there tomorrow, or next week."
The others nod while I purse my lips. I don't get it. I can't not get angry talking about this and here they are, discussing it with tones of appreciation? It makes my vision blur thinking about it. If I don't find some way to get out of here, I'll eventually be sent to Saya, too. There's no way around it, for any of us.
"Well, Anaya has nothing to worry about," I say, finally. "So, tell everyone to stop inflating their gossip."
At the end of the day, I don't care what anyone thinks. I'm going to get out of here one way or another. I study Jessica, the cracks in her posture and face, how the realities of our world have put a dent in her optimistic nature. Maybe there's a way to convince her to come with me. I have to find a way.
"I see. Well, hopefully this will make things better between you and Anaya." Emi smiles at me, awkwardly shifting the mood. "Why don't we all get to know each other a bit more? I can teach you all a really fun card game that I made after dinner, and we can all go to the outer rec area and soak up the first rays of daylight."
"Sounds fun." Jessica smiles after swallowing a huge bite of potato.
She's always been the socialite. Glera and Angela also utter notes of agreement.
"Okay," I say, fidgeting my fingers, but I'm not buying it. Emi has a ribbon and seems established as Anaya's right-hand supply unit. Why would she hang out with us except to try and fish more information out of us—out of me? She'll realize eventually, but maybe socializing with the others in the meantime will be a good step, despite the overwhelming anxiety. Ever since I can remember, I've only had one friend to handle at any given time, and even that can feel like too much. Jessica is only my second that I have ever had, and I met her during year two of Nightingale. My first… was slaughtered that night in Avignon. His name still rings in my memories and throughout my nightmares.
Jacob Black.
How are you guys liking it so far? I'm super proud of it! I'm making this into a novel, so if you like it, it might be a stand alone series some day! :)