So, give me all your poison, and give me all your pills! And give me all your hopeless hearts, and make me ill! You're running after something that you'll never kill; if this is what you want, then fire at will!
"Terminate him!" The robotic voice of a Draculoid rang from the intercom.
Without warning, ten guns were immediately pointed directly at Poison. Poison looked up from his irrational feeding, quickly realizing they were going to kill him.
No, I still want blood… BLOOD! A startling voice bellowed inside his head. His hands desperately searched along his belt, only to discover the gun-holding straps were empty. Oh, fuck. They took away my laser gun. Poison snatched the fallen (the one that he was feeding on just a few moments ago) Draculoid's gun, and with a swift jerk of his hands, pointed it at the circle of Draculoids. Without ever blinking his crimson eyes, Poison pulled the trigger and fired shots continuously.
Two bodies immediately fell to the ground, blood spraying onto the previously clean white floor. Discovering what seemed to be an exit of the large black-and-white laboratory, Poison clipped his formerly-Draculoid gun to his belt, got up in a flash, and lifted his two victims by the arms, sliding them on the ground. As he ran and occasionally dodged, he effortlessly dragged the lifeless lumps behind him as bullets whizzed past his body, miraculously missing him. Poison grasped that he had to kill a few more of them if he were to escape; letting go of the already-dead and tugging out the laser gun from his belt, he smoothly spun around as adrenaline surged inside him (of course, he kept his cool), and managed to blast three more Draculoids to their death. He then quickly crouched down and grabbed another gun from one of his two former victims. Poison's vision was rapidly clearing up; the scarlet shade of everything had disappeared, and he could now identify distinct bodies against the white background. As bullets continued to miss him (Draculoids were not known for successfully hitting targets when it came to intense fights, and a bit tragically, relied on luck to kill), Poison managed to deliver five consecutive and precise shots from the two guns in his hands, which took the lives of all remaining Draculoids in the room.
For a second, Poison was dazed at what had just happened. The echoing bullet noise stopped as nine, no, ten lifeless bodies surrounded him. His thirst for blood quieted down and rationality began to return. He stared at the crimson liquid on the floor, then peeked at his gore-tainted clothes, wondering what had just happened. A few splatters of blood decorated the far wall of the room, and the Draculoids' horrendously blank outfits were partially drenched in red.
A few guns lay on the floor, their owners now as lifeless as them.
Guns.
His friends.
Fun Ghoul! Kobra Kid! Jet Star! The Girl! Are they alright? Was the mission successful? Am I still alive, or am I turned into a minion too? Will I ever see Helena again!? What the fuck happened to me; why am I so desperately thirsty for blood? Am I what they said in the legends… a vampire…!?
A million questions rose into Poison's head, swelling up inside him until he felt as if he were going to explode. Finally, after a few moments, Poison realized that his priority was to make sure his friends are safe.
He wouldn't be able to know if he doesn't escape this building alive.
Hurriedly seizing another gun and clipping all three to his belt, he grabbed the two victims laying right beside his feet (for a later snack), slung them both over his shoulders with a powerful swing, and promptly marched out of the room.
Upstairs, behind the large one-way glass panel, Korse snarled in fury. "Useless scum…" he muttered to himself in utmost anger.
Boldly turning around to face his minions, he demanded in a menacing, rage-filled voice, "TRACK HIM DOWN, THEN EXECUTE HIM IMMEDIATELY!"
"Yes, sir!"
Carefully gliding his way out of the main entrance of the building, he realized that his prized car was gone. Since he had spotted no blood in the familiar battleground, Poison's initial thoughts were that his friends were safe. But before he passed out, he undoubtedly heard more bodies fall, so perhaps otherwise...?
Just when he was about to fully question his assumption, he heard sets of orderly footsteps march towards his direction, obviously from surviving Draculoids. Taking his two pieces of prey with him, Poison quickly turned to his right and around a corner, then fled down the sickeningly grey street.
After running for a while, a barely panting Poison halted at an abandoned coffee shop. He ducked down, looking around for any Draculoids that might be searching for him; the coast's clear. Dragging his two victims behind him, he sneaked into the coffee shop through the back, wary to lock the door after he was inside.
The lights were turned off, but a dim shine of sun penetrated through the shades of one of the few windows, allowing visibility. For now, Poison didn't feel thirsty for blood; instead, he sensed something else that he strongly desired.
Two things, in fact.
Ah, the delightful smell of coffee and cigarettes, he thought to himself as he relaxed his tense body. He closed his eyes, rejoicing the beautiful aroma. Then, the hypnotizing smell of blood joined in…
He dug his fangs into a victim's neck and rejoiced the liquid flowing into him. The long-dead Draculoid didn't struggle from his loose grasp; Poison was relatively pleased. Though the blood of a dead person didn't taste as mesmerizing as ones alive, it was still enough to keep him sucking until the victim ran dry. Noisily panting as he savored the satisfying taste of the delicious red fluid, Poison thought about Helena; her gorgeous, green eyes filled with fear at the news of her lover gone missing. Perhaps he should get back to her as soon as possible; he didn't want her to worry.
His thirst was quenched after he was finished with the first Draculoid. He stayed put, knowing he had a greater chance of being captured if he went outside (plus, he had no way of getting back to the desert yet). He lay the limp body onto the ground, then got up to brew some coffee. A bit to his surprise, the shop still had electricity and running water; but then, this is Battery City. He turned on the coffee maker, then dumped some ground cocoa into the machine. The machine beeped, automatically filtered water into its system, and started brewing.
I should get back in six to twelve minutes' time.
Using his nose to guide him, the scent of cigarettes led him to what seemed like a private drawer. Unhesitant, he excitedly pulled the drawer open, hoping there'd be cigs inside.
He blinked his eyes in a festive surprise; the drawer was filled with cigarettes! Hands shaking with pleasure, he greedily snatched a box out from the drawer. Man, the amount in here is enough to last me for at least a fuckin month! He thought to himself, beaming at the sight before him. He found a lighter on top of the drawer, ripped the pack of cigs open, clumsily scrambled for a cigarette, and finally shoved the butt of one between his lips, lighting the cigarette up.
Poison inhaled the aroma of the smoke rising from the end of the cigarette… it felt wonderful. His coffee was ready after a short while, which the machine directly poured into a cup that was probably of proper hygiene.
Gorging down his coffee while smoking his cigarette, Poison told himself that for security, he would wait until the sun was down to return to the desert. If his thirst rises once more, he'll just drink his remaining victim, and maybe he could pass the time by cleaning off the blood on his clothes. Just that whatever he does, it had to be safe.
Other than the trivial amount of light provided by the streetlamps, pretty much everything in Battery City was dark. All the lights in the buildings were turned off; Poison assumed it was one of the rules that the unfortunate civilians had to follow. The megacity was ghostly silent; quiet enough that he could hear the soft humming of BL/ind cars patrolling out on the streets. In his hiding place, Poison occasionally heard footsteps approaching, but they never came inside the deserted coffee shop. BL/ind was obviously looking out for him, but somehow, he was still safe inside his temporary refuge.
It was late at night. He knew it was time.
As a BL/ind car gradually neared the coffee shop, Poison tiptoed out from his hideout and disappeared behind a wall, leaving his last victim behind. A pistol in each hand and a third on his belt, he impatiently waited for the low buzzing of the car engine to arrive right before him. When the car finally reached the shop, Poison swiftly turned around and gave two skillful shots at the car's front tires. The car deliberately halted with a strident, violent screech. For a second, Poison stood frozen in place, cautious of any other Draculoids appearing to check out the scene. After a few moments, he considered himself safe. Four Draculoids, quite puzzled at what just happened, immediately jumped out the car to check their shadowy surroundings. After a Draculoid declared there was no sign of danger and the Draculoids began to inspect their possibly "malfunctioning" car, Poison stealthily sneaked up to the unsuspecting minions. Before any of them could respond, two of the Draculoids were already lying on the ground, dead. The other two reached for their guns, but were too late.
Four lifeless lumps were thrown into the back trunk of the car; for now, Poison had no desire to feed. You motherfuckers, he thought to himself. I do my talking with a laser beam. I mean, c'mon, I blew a fuckin' hole in this town, and now I'm gunning out of this place in a bullet's embrace! Oh, and of course I'll do it again!
Poison immediately hurried back inside the shop to grab his precious cigarettes, aware not to make any more noise and disturb the alarmingly quiet air. If he gets caught, it might take a while for him to get out of trouble. He soon stormed out of the shop, cradling a load of cigarettes and the lighter in his arms. The car doors were still open from when the Draculoids came out, so Poison dumped the load into the car without hesitation. Slipping inside and onto the driver's seat, he switched on a flicker of light inside the grossly detergent-smelling car, and located a tracker attached on the front window. Poison shot at the tracker using one of his BL/ind pistols, shattering the piece of plastic machinery in just a bit more than a millisecond. He collected the parts in the palm of his hand, and threw them out of the pretty much germless car, then examined the car once more, failing to find any other possible hazards and thus confirming it was safe. With that, he shoved his pistol back in its place with the two other guns, and then, after lighting up yet another cigarette and sticking it into a corner of his mouth, he started the car.
Well, that shit was easy peasy pumpkin peasy… pumpkin pie, motherfucker!
Slamming the gas petal, he rolled down the windows to let the midnight wind wash into his face.
Nothing you can say can stop me going home.
