Ch. 2
A/N: Well folks, here it is: The second installment to this fiction. Again, any constructive, non-emo-personality-inducing criticism will be taken with honor. Well, kind of, anyway.
"Blah" talking
'Blah' thinking
~moa~
'Sometimes, my life sucks.'
This was the one thought that was going through Hannibal King's head. Currently, he was at his day job. Yes, that wasn't a typo. King had a day job. He was sort of forced to get one because Abby was at headquarters with Zoë all day and they needed money. There was no one else to get the money in for them, so he had to do something.
There was also the threat of the vampire that still roamed the streets. Somehow, the vermin had escaped the effects of the virus and still managed to carry on. Abby's theory was that blood lines had diminished so much that Drake wasn't really a big factor in their genetic make up.
So, while this meant that all the vampires still around were totally wuss bags, they still had to hunt them. (And really, they didn't even have any help anymore. Blade had just decided to ride heroically into the sunset while they were given the job of clean up crew.)
So, since the wuss bags probably wouldn't be that smart, they were going to do the whole "solo" thing and just try to get blood on their own without doing anything that would land them in jail for murder.
So, King used the brain his mama gave him and killed two birds with one stone: he was going to work at a blood bank. He was paid decently and vampires would flock there in order to stay alive.
Well, about as close to alive as the dead can get.
One of the minor downsides was the uniform. Well, not really a "minor" downside, per say. More like, the reason Hannibal was probably going to be therapy in the near future. King downright, honest-to-God, HATED that uniform. They might as well given him a giant, cardboard sign that stated in large, curly letters "World, I'm gay!"
He had to wear white slacks, white shoes, white socks, and a tight pink polo. PINK! And just to be extra funny, they gave him a paper hat with a red cross on it.
'Damn, stupid Red Cross assholes!'
(Sure, shouting it in your head doesn't really count, but it can make you feel a lot better.)
They even gave him a mandatory line to say to each customer. So while he was speaking in the cheeriest tone he could dignify himself to be at, people would come in and try their hardest not to laugh their asses off or call him ludicrous names.
Well, there always are those few people who don't, but the customer is ALWAYS right.
So when he heard the tell-tail sound of the bell above the door jingle, he had already slipped on the smile and closed his eyes; all the while praying it wasn't someone who knew him.
"Hello, welcome to the Red Cross Blood Bank. Are you here to give blood?" He really hoped the person in front of him was the aforementioned group of vampires. A need to vent was strong.
"Actually, I'm going to be receiving it," King opened his eyes in a flash and took an involuntary step backwards. It wasn't possible.
"How did…you shouldn't be…" King trailed off, not being able to complete a coherent thought. All the years he had personally trained himself didn't prepare him for what he saw.
There, in all his glory, stood Drake.
He had that confident, cocky smile on his face like from the first time King met him. His eyes were practically glowing that eerie yellow color. The vampire's clothing was shredded, but gave off the look that it was meant to be that way. But, for some reason, he was barefooted.
"Ah, you're the hunter who was Danica's pet. It's good to see you again," Drake walked forward, acting as though they were college buddies and not people who had previously tried to kill each other.
"But how?…" again, King trailed off. But then, the reality of the situation popped in like an old, bitching girlfriend and slapped him across the face. He pulled out the gun from under the counter, and held it in line with Drake's heart. The safety was off, but the silencer was on.
One shot was fired and missed because milliseconds later, Drake had thrown it across the room. A moment later, and King was tossed in the same direction in a similar matter.
Upon impact, King's head imitated a basketball and bounced off the surface of the wall. The hit made him forget (for a few, blissful seconds) where he was and what he was doing. But then, a hand grasped his polo collar and he was lifted in to the air about a foot off the ground.
He tried to pry the appendage off with both of his hands, but to no avail. The air in his lungs slowly escaped his body and King began to see spots dance across his vision.
When he was just about to slip unconscious, his neck was released. He slid down the wall to the floor and took in air abundantly. Lying on his side, he slowly blinked his eyes. Drake had left him alone and was currently breaking into the freezer where all the blood was kept. The freezer was a giant, refrigerated room that resembled a fast food joint's freezer, but had a state-of-the-art security system.
'And Drake just broke it,' King sat up and grabbed his gun that was beside him. He aimed for Drake's chest and fired twice. They both hit home and Drake tumbled forward into the freezer, sufficiently hiding his body.
King slowly stood up, his aching body telling him to please do otherwise. But king was known for never really following orders. He stood outside the freezer door to the right side of the opening with his back against the wall. He held the gun straight up in the air; similar to the way they held it in cop shows. He turned into the doorway and held the gun out where it was level with his eyes. He scanned the room and looked to see where Drake was.
Well, it wasn't in there apparently. Neither was any blood, or any other indication that the king of vampires had even been there. On a closer observation, King noted that none of the blood vials had been disturbed either.
'This is usually where the creepy theme music would pop in.' King lowered his weapon and scratched the back of his head idly. He hadn't just imagined a battle with his archenemy, had he?
With one last skim over the room, King turned around. He stepped outside the room and turned around. He lowered his gun to the floor so he wouldn't have to hold it between his legs in that awkward position so he could shut the door back. But as he touched the chrome surface of the door, a clank came from the other side of the room.
Next to the wall, on the other side of the room, sat his gun, spinning in a slow circle. But wasn't it next to him? That had to mean someone kicked it over there. Before King had a chance to evaluate what the hell just happened, an arm wrapped around his neck and his back was trapped gainst a very fit body.
"That hurt," Drake whispered in his ear. He said such in an amused tone of voice. The fact someone who wasn't a prophecy had inflicted pain upon him was probably the biggest punch line of his life.
'Yep, my life really sucks,' King thought, before being knocked out, picked up, and thrown over the shoulder of his captor. Drake walked out of the blood bank and jumped onto a nearby building's rooftop. He jumped off of it onto another, looking for a resting place for the night.
~moa~