Disclaimers:
I don't own Blade. I just extensively remodeled his universe. I also don't own The Matrix, ReBoot, or the variety of other movie/tv shows/etc that pop up in DMD. Just to be safe, there is a large amount of naughty language, a fair amount of violence, and a goodly amount of non-graphic sex. Involving two women. Now that's that out of the way, I hope you enjoy the show. And drop me some feedback if you will.
Dead Man's Daughter Part 1:
As I Walk Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death
1
Dammit, I told that bastard to be on time this time. Its fucking freezing in here!
It was too. The warehouse was abandoned, and the holes in the structure let the harsh January wind blow through. The diminutive figure took shelter behind the motorcycle that almost dwarfed them. Just as the figure was reaching for the bike's ignition, the loading door motors hummed to life, and the large overhead door trundled open. Headlights blazed into the interior, illuminating the teenage girl standing next to the bike. The fully buttoned vinyl trenchcoat and the long wavy blonde hair spilling over her face did little to hide the irritated expression as she watched the stretch limo slowly pull in. Engine still running, the middle doors opened up and four goons stepped out. One stepped back and opened up the back door. With great effort, and several grunts of pain, an emaciated figure emerged from the limo. The girl carefully schooled her expression to hide her revulsion. The man that stood behind a protective layer of goons was a walking corpse. Bone pressed against skin everywhere, and the exposed flesh was covered with purple blotches.
"You're late Delaquiox. You got the scratch?"
Delaquiox smiled a false smile. "Why my dear Ms. L'ourax, a bit impatient are we?"
The girl smiled a sweeter, even more false smile. "Of course not Roland. After all, I'm not the one rotting as we speak." She unbuttoned her coat and reached in, stopping when the goons instinctively went for their weapons. Slowing down, she pulled a small canister out. Dropping the smile, she spoke again.
"150k for a six-month supply. Last time: you got the scratch?"
Delaquiox scowled at the girl and motioned to a goon. The goon reached into the car and pulled out a briefcase. Putting it on the floor, he slid it across the fifty feet to the girl's bike. A genuine smile crossed her face, and she tossed the canister to one of the goons. The sick man snatched the object from the fumbling hands of the hired muscle and tucked it into his coat. The girl was bending over to pick up the briefcase when she noticed one of the goons glancing nervously to the darkness to her right. Trusting her instincts, she rolled over the briefcase just as the shot rang out. Snagging the 'case with a few fingers, she ran back into the darkness of the warehouse.
Fucking bastard. Should have known he'd try something like this.
Luckily, she had prepared for an emergency escape, and her earlier poking about had revealed a passage to a side door so full of junk that it was impossible to navigate unless you were under 5 feet tall.
Its about time that came in handy.
Behind her, she could hear the muscle tearing the junk apart and Delaquiox screaming at them.
"Find the Runt you stupid bloodsacks! VanStat will have all of our balls if we don't bring her ba-" The rant ended in a fit of coughing. The girl quickly came to the small side door that opened onto the Harbor side of the pier. Quietly popping out onto the catwalk, she did a quick look about. And managed to catch the muzzleflash on the roof right before the bullet slammed into her side and propelled her off the walkway and into the water. One last thought ran through her mind before impact.
God I'm glad they finally finished cleaning up the Hudson Riv-"
2
In the winter of 2024, the nightclub known as 'Lillith's Delight' was the place to party in Lower Manhattan. 50,000 square feet of space and a definite 'whatever goes' attitude made for what one paper labeled '...the Club 54 of the 21st Century.' Which explains why, even though wind chills were reaching 10 degrees Fahrenheit, the line at the door still stretched halfway around the block. The door we're interested in though was on the other side of the mammoth building, in an alleyway. Labeled 'Authorized Personnel Only', it was guarded by a very large, very mean looking bouncer. Who was getting meaner looking every moment, as a group of partiers tried to explain why they would just die if they couldn't get in and met the group playing that night.
"Look man," the ringleader of the crashers wobbled a bit as he regarded the silent guardian. "Look, I know Jaiman on a *personal* basis, and I just want to introduce these bad ass bi-" His spiel was interrupted by a rough shove to his back. Spinning around to who was crowding him, he was greeted by a vision that rendered him stone cold sober. His friends were huddled on the far side of the alley. Directly behind him was a black-clad teenage girl that was drenched and covered in rapidly freezing muck, clutching a similarly coated briefcase.
"Outta my way asshole.", the girl growled. A drug-addled chunk of masculinity rose up in Crasher #1 brain and spoke.
"Hey bitch, you can just wait your tu-." He feel silent as a cold metal object that was shaped suspiciously like a gun barrel touched the back of his head. From behind him, he hear a door open. The girl shot him an irritated look and stormed past. Crasher felt the gun leave the back of his head, and then heard the door shut. Waiting a few moments just to be safe, he slowly turn back to the door. It was shut again, and even the bouncer was gone. The only evidence that the encounter had even happened was the trail of really rank muck the girl had left behind.
"Fuck me...", the crasher whispered to himself.
Just inside the door, the heavy bass beat from the dance floor was the only indication that the vestibule they were in wasn't part of a upscale home. That and the lack of windows. The bouncer gently guided the girl to a nearby chair and she popped down with a small hiss. Kneeling down besides her, he spoke, his faint accent rolling his words.
"Ah, Allyson my dearie, bad night?" The girl nodded.
"Fear not little one. I'll go fetch someone to bring you some towels and let Mistress Fatima know you're here. Now don't go anywhere." The man flashed her a smile, and started down a nearby hall with a lopping gait. Allyson closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, groaning as the motion caused her shirt to rub against the entrance wound in her back. The bone-numbing cold that had dulled the pain on the 25-block walk from Pier 39 to the club was starting to dissipate, and the damaged tissue was beginning to kick and scream.
"Uh, Miss Allyson?" A hesitant female voice cut through the pain. Allyson opened her eyes and focused on the shapely young woman standing before her. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, with long dark hair and pale blue eyes. She stood a few feet away holding several towels and trying to hide her nervousness. When she saw Allyson open her eyes, she swallowed and continued. "Miss Allyson, my name is Sophia. I'm sorry but Mistress Fatima is indisposed at the moment. She sent me to tend to your needs. Is there anything you need?"
Allyson eyed the young woman, smiling a bit when she blushed. "I need a large bath, a bottle of J.D., and a pint of O-pos, all warm. And a hand cleaning this gunk off. I don't think Fati would be too pleased if I tracked river mud through her living quarters." Standing up and sliding off her coat in one motion, she winked at the girl and held a hand out for a towel. Sophia relaxed a little and handed Allyson one.
Maybe the Mistress's Favorite isn't as bad as everyone says she is, she thought as she gave the smaller woman a hand.
3
Allyson settled into the warm water with a sigh of pleasure. The healing process must have already begun, as the wound gave only the slightest twinge when water closed over it. She just immersed herself fully when there was a knock at the door.
"Come in.", Allyson almost purred.
Sophia entered, carrying a small tray holding two bottles in ceramic sleeves and a glass. Kneeling next to the tub, she extended a set of legs on the tray so it stood next to the bath. Blushing slightly, she turned her attention to the girl in the water.
"Uh, do you need anything else Miss Allyson? Not quite looking Allyson in the eyes, she continued. "Ah, I-I'm not that experienced, but I would try my best to pl-." She was stopped by a small hand grabbing her chin and forcing to look at the younger girls face. The servant's eyes widened when she saw canines extend through a lustful smile.
"Oh, I believe the pleasure will be all mine", came the throaty growl. Sophia let out a small shriek as she was pulled into the bath.
4
Delaquiox nervously glanced at the figure sitting behind the desk. At 5' 8" with auburn hair and viridian eyes, the woman looked like his choice prey in the old days. But Marie VanStat was one of the few beings that truly frightened Roland Delaquiox. Her beauty was accompanied by a impassive face, and a mind quite willing to do anything to get what she wanted. Her stunning rise to power after the La Magra incident was full evidence to this, and many of the House patriarchs both admired and feared this woman who went from a virtually unknown to the Chairman of Manhattan. And now Delaquiox squirmed under her icy anger.
"I gave you money. Manpower. Information. And for what? So you can come back here and tell me that not only you failed, but she knows that you orchestrated the hit. Has the Bloodfire totally rotted your brain.?"
Despite his fear, Delaquiox bared his canines at this. "She can't be on guard 24/7. I'll get her next time."
VanStat spun her chair around to face the window behind her desk. "There will be no 'next time'. I cannot risk your bungling with the Board's vote of confidence so close. You're being removed from the project."
Delaquiox's faced flushed. "Now wait a minute! We had a deal! You can't ju-" He barely even felt it when the blade passed through his ribcage and penetrated his heart. At the sound of the slight gurgle, Marie spun her chair back around in time to see the blackened skeleton fall to the ground. The black-clad figure behind it was already cleaning off the silvered blade. Seating the shortsword in a hidden scabbard, they stepped over the bones and pulled down its hood, revealing a man's thin, pale face, topped with short brown hair. The woman smiled an icy smile.
"Thank you for taking care of that. I will of course deposit the appropriate fee in your clan's accounts." The man nodded slightly and then fixed her with a predator's gauze.
"The target?" He asked in a quiet voice. Motioning for the man to sit, VanStat reached into a desk draw and withdrew a large manila envelope and slid it across the desk. Taking a nearby chair, the man sat and opened the envelope. As he pulled out the photographs within, VanStat spoke.
"She is called Allyson L'ourax, although there is a very strong possibility that is not her birth name. She does not exist in any House or Clan records, so it is assumed that she was Turned." The man flipped through the photos, most showing Allyson entering or leaving various Manhattan buildings at night. At one picture, he stopped and his face took on a expression of contained joy. The picture showed the subject buying a hot dog from a street vendor in the bright summer sun.
"So your tale was true. She is a Daywalker."
VanStat nodded. "Yes, and despite what her physical appearance would dictate, she has been in the New York City area for at least 18 years. We have no idea how old she truly is, but her mannerisms would indicate less than a century."
The man digested this. "So she is a Ghoul variant? That would explain why she would be willing to deal with someone with Blood's Fire. Any special considerations?"
The woman nodded again. "She has a rather intense dislike of males of any species, so I'm afraid you won't be able to get too close to her. She is almost always armed, although we believe she doesn't have any formal tr-" She was interrupted by the man's angry hiss. He turned a picture around and waved this accusingly. It showed Allyson in some sort of a club, sitting with a darkly beautiful woman in her early thirties.
"And exactly when were you going to mention her?" He did not raise his voice in anger, but it acquired a thick coating of ice. "Not even my clan goes against an Old One unprepared. And Al-Roshta is not one to trifle with under even the best circumstances." He rose from the chair and turned to leave.
A cold smile crossed VanStat's lips, her canines peeking out. "So even the great Clan Arkinas fears something, eh?"
The man spun around in a blur and stopped, pressing the tip of a long sword to her jugular. Canines fully extended, he stared down at her.
"Arkinas fears nothing!", he snarled. "But we respect those who weld the Power. La Magra was not the only Blood Master that existed."
VanStat held the icy calm. "Do you truly think Al-Roshta cares for this whelp? She is merely a passing distraction, a pleasure to while away the nights." She saw the shred of hesitation she had hoped for, and moved in. "Bring me this Daywalker's head, and the body, and its blood is yours."
The sword was gone as if it never existed. The man eyed the woman with a wary respect, and spoke. "The fee is now 2 million. And the blood tithe is now triple, excluding what we extract from the Daywalker."
"Agreed. The money will be in the holding account by tomorrow noon. The tithe will be deliver when I have her head."
She received a curt nod from the man, and she turn her chair back to the window, dismissing him. After she heard the door click behind him, she looked out over the dark Mid-Manhattan and chuckled.
"Soon, my dear."