"You'll never get away with this, you bastards!" Mysterion hissed as he tried desperately to get out of the grips of the vamp-kids restraining him to no avail. "I have proof now! I'll take Karen and Pete to the authorities, and once she gives a testimony on what occurred here tonight, you'll all be sent to prison for the rest of your pathetic lives!"

"Oh, give it a rest you Bruce Wayne reject." Mike replied blandly. "If there's one thing I can't stand; it's a goodie-two-shoes hero like you rambling on and on about justice. Although...I will commend you for actually finding out where our center of operations was. You've been trying your hardest to find it since day one, but was always one step behind my brilliance. Now here you are now; suddenly on the same page as us. It's almost as if you had someone-" Before the head vampire finished his sentence, a sudden realization hit him, and he lets his words trail off before slowly turning his head to the goth before tightening his grip on the others throat once more. "...it was you, wasn't it, you fucking rat?! You gave away our location!"

Pete gave a smirk and managed to choke out, "What can I say? The irons were in the fucking fire since day. Fucking. One."

"Fang!" Mike screamed; causing all the watching society members to wince. "Execute that son of a bitch! I still need to deal with this traitor!" His leer became pure ice and hatred towards Pete. "I shouldn't even kill you. I should drag you damn near to death's door and drag you all the way back to health and back again until I get tired of watching you watch your miserable existence flash before your eyes. I should put rubbing alcohol in your veins. I should make you swallow nails and screws." He had a sudden flash of dark inspiration. "I should have my lackies go out and bring in Michael and Henrietta right now, and break every one of their bones one. By. One. I should drown them in each other's blood. I should do all that and strap you down and make you watch."

Pete wasn't sure why, but he started to laugh. There was nothing remotely humorous about this situation, but...something in him just couldn't help itself.

It was confusing, but it seemed to puzzle his attacker as well, so he stopped caring. He let himself laugh louder and louder; rational thought becoming less and less predominate as he did so. Mike let go of him, slightly unnerved by the action, and took a small step back.

"You… heheh… You think they still care for me?! HAHAHA!" He stopped laughing and in turn, grabbed Mike by the throat. It was his turn to be psychotic and dangerous. "They stopped giving a fuck about me a long time ago. Because of you. You know that, Mike?"

The vampire maneuvered out of the Goth's grasp and quickly picked up a nearby syringe. "That was kind of the plan, you simpleton."

Mike stabbed at Pete with the syringe, cold fury dictating his movements. Pete managed to block the attack and broke the thin metal needle. He grabbed the nearest thing he could to retaliate - a metal pan for holding the grisly tools used in the killings. He swung it, and the resulting ring of a metal-on-bone collision resonated through the dark hall. Mike stumbled back, dizzy from the blow. He shook his head and kicked Pete's stomach, knocking him to the ground. He pinned the goth to the ground and used his nails to scratch at Pete's eyes. He was starting to draw blood.

Pete somehow managed to roll them over before the assailant could do too much damage, and was now pinning Mike down - his rage allowing him to ignore the flaming pain from his broken arm. He grabbed both of the vampire's arms and broke his right hand with a jerking movement. Mike yelled in pain, but was cut off by the arm on his throat. Pete was leaning on his windpipe; prepared to choke him out.

Mike brought his knee up forcefully, landing a blow to Pete's stomach. It bought him a breath or two and some time to stand up. Pete's fiery anger and rage was still burning like a wildfire. He grabbed Mike by the collar of his shirt and dragged him over, with the other still struggling wildly, to the unprocessed buckets of blood.

"You want to drink it so fucking bad?!" Pete demanded. "Here!"

Before Mike could weasel his way out of Pete's grasp, he forced the faux vampire's head into the bucket, submerging his face in the thick, cool liquid. The goth couldn't help but chuckle as he watched Mike struggle to break free. He was just that happy. He was finally going to be free of the head vampire's tyranny.

He lifted Mike's head from the bucket once he saw his struggling weaken, and gave a dark smirk. "Who's the bitch now?" he muttered. He repeated it, louder this time. "WHO'S THE BITCH NOW?!"

He then held him under once again, and watched intently until the bubbles came to a slow stop. Mike was dead. Mike was dead. Mike was dead!

"MIKE MAKOWSKI IS DEAD!" he exclaimed, turning to all the vampiric underlings. "THE BASTARD IS FINALLY DEAD, AND BY MY HAND NONE THE LESS! VENGEANCE IS MINE AT LONG LAST! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

The watching society members were in utter shock. Younger members were wailing, and hiding behind the older kids for security and protection. Some were whispering to others that they should all make a break for the exit while they still could, and everyone else was cringing with every word Pete roared out.

And why wouldn't they be reacting this way?

There before them was their leader, one who they swore would be the death of the world, laying lifeless on the floor soaked in the blood he planned so carefully to obtain.

Fang was the current voice of all the vampires, but even then, the voice that resonated was shaken, afraid, and pleading. "W-What do you wish of us, sir?"

Pete grabbed Fang by the collar and forced the low-ranking vampire to meet his gaze. He kept his voice very low, so that Fang could barely hear, even being that close to him. "My friend… I want you to leave me… the fuck… ALONE. You leave everyone in South Park alone. EVERYONE. That includes the other Goths. Fuck it, that includes everyone on this damnable Earth." Pete raised his voice again so that everyone in the room could hear. "IF I HEAR THAT ANY ONE OF YOU HAVE STARTED THIS BULLSHIT AGAIN, I WILL MOTHERFUCKING CRUCIFY YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME?!"

There was a unified, "Yes sir," from the others.

The Goth couldn't help but give an egotistical smirk at the collective obedience. "Good," he murmured. He kicked Mike's corpse. "Get rid of him for me. You don't have to make him 'disappear', but make sure they don't trace him back to me."

"W… What are you going to do now, sir?" Fang asked, keeping his head low.

Pete wasn't sure. He hadn't had a plan for what he was going to do once he got free. He never imagined he could make it that far. He always thought something would backfire down the line. Mike would bust him and execute him on the spot. It was a near failure, true, but he somehow pulled off what seemed impossible and survived a fight to the death against him. He hadn't thought past that, until that moment.

"...I'm going home."

"...what?"

"You heard what I said!" Pete shouts. "Screw all of you, I'm going home!"