Bromley Marks, Basement, Confinement Cell #27

Charles Bromley rarely set foot into this area of his billion-dollar tower. As a matter of fact, he'd only come down here once when being consulted upon whether or not to convert this entire level to an experimentation lab. He'd declined, not wanting to waste capital on yet more scientific research. His primary objective was to harvest blood to sustain his primary business and he'd already funded his other fractions more than sufficiently.

He did not know that a blood scarcity was to befall the planet mere years later and he'd come to value his research team more than he liked to admit.

That's when the lowest floor was discovered for its usefulness. Degrading vampires that could be used as test subjects and remaining humans could be boxed up here, hidden away from the outside and stored until their demise or the need for them arose. At this moment, any human cells were depleted of life, which was a great cause for worry.

Bromley would never, with even a twitch of his body show that he was concerned about vampire survival, but in the long run it seemed inevitable. Unless his useless research and development departments managed to create a blood substitute, there was little hope for the majority of the population.

However, this was not his motivation for travelling all the way to the lowest floor. His perfectly composed demeanor distracted from the interior but he was truly agitated. A guard had brought him daily news of his daughter's state since her arrival and in all honesty, the recent report had unnerved him. He'd known she was stubborn but this went beyond the reaction he'd expected.

The black leather of his shoes shone in the fluorescent lights that were embedded in the wall. His expression remained calm as he approached her prison and waved off the guard accompanying him. He eyed his surroundings distastefully, noting that perhaps he should have invested a small sum into the upholding of this level. It reeked of old blood and decay from several of the cells and if the colour of the ground suggested anything, it had not been touched by anything remotely clean in the past years.

He stepped up to the solid barrier that separated him from his daughter and raised his eye to the peep-hole. His greeting was the sight of a bare concrete floor, spotted with puddles of dark red here and there, and it took him a moment to adjust his gaze and seek out the prisoner. She was standing with her back to the cell door, arms either crossed over her chest or hugging herself around the side. He couldn't tell from the angle she was standing in. Her head was bowed against her chest and even through the cloudy lens; he could tell that her general appearance had altered slightly.

She was, finally, sharing his miracle. And rejecting it simultaneously.

She seemed slimmer to him, more willowy in her posture, and she was standing in such stillness as only his kind could. Her skin was paler, perhaps from the transitioning into her new species or from the blood depravation. It must have been an entire day now that she'd gone without a single drop. He had the urge to scold her for her stupidity. Did she really want to kill herself in this miserable, cowardly style? He had saved her and yet she wasn't accepting the fact as it was.

He moved back as the guard to his right spoke, eager to state the obvious just to prove his attentiveness. Or to break the tense silence that the boss was shrouding himself in. Bromley regarded him only shortly as he announced, "She won't drink her blood ration, Sir". He wasn't interested in the incompetence of his own soldiers. He was even less engrossed in this man himself whose only significance was to keep any street scum, which currently resided down here, away from his daughter. If such a case should arise that was. Not likely, but better safe than sorry.

He indulged the man with a curt nod before letting his eyes dart pointedly to the steel door. The guard turned immediately, punched in a six-figure code into the panel that was fitted into the wall and then backed up as the entrance opened for the most important entrepreneur in the city.

The stench of blood increased as soon as he stepped into the narrow room. He was relieved to find the smell of freshly spilt blood more potent than the dry stains on the floor. Had she finally come to her senses and fed?

She did not turn to look at him. Apart from shifting her weight slightly and hunching her shoulders a fraction further, she gave no indication whatsoever to having noticed his presence. Her father sighed inaudibly, letting his eyes travel over her still, white form. He dearly wished that her features had turned out just as beautiful as he'd hoped.

However, that was when he also noticed the rivulets of dark liquid running down her arm, which had suddenly dropped to hang by her side. What astounded him more than the sight of it was the penetrating scent it emitted, as though drawn straight from a body. His features shifted into a stunned mask as realization set in and he choked out her name.

"Ali…"

He couldn't even get the word out. His overwhelming disgust broke through and he fell silent, only responding to her with his eyes. Wide, golden eyes that held desperate denial.

A strained moment long, she didn't even react to the sound. Then her body seemed to move itself on its own accord and she turned her face to him. Her shoulders were rigid but her muscles trembled with effort and her gaze was fixed on her father just as his were on her, but faraway. The scene in front of her did not exist in her vision. She was blind to her surroundings, being consumed by the sensation of blood running through her system. He was shocked beyond words by the sight.

His daughter standing there with the stance of one of those street rats, teeth clamped down onto one of several wounds on her forearm. He distantly felt the urge to throw up at the thought of taking in his own blood, leeching on it like she was.

He let out a breath, letting it escape as an "Oh" of concern. He did not expect to be thrown into this situation and couldn't quite deal with the reality of it yet. He found himself attempting to reason with her. Murmuring just loudly enough for her to hear his words of rationality and fatherly scorn. Trying to hide his revolt.

"Ali," he named her affectionately enough to sound worried, "What are you doing? It'll poison you"

She did not seem to care, or hear him in first place. But then the terrible sucking stopped and she lowered her mangled arm. To her father, it seems an eternity before it finally fell to her side but what stared him in face now, was even worse. For a brief moment, his humanity re-grasped hold of him and he looked in horror upon what was once his sweet-natured little girl. His dear Alison. The creature that was sizing him up from under her lashes, body language that of a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar and a desperately insane animal, was not his daughter.

Her face appeared to be stuck in both grimace and gleeful smile. The fact that she was smeared in her own dark blood added to the image that should please him, but only managed to hold him shocked. She was not meant to devour her own body. Taking her own blood, it was going to kill her. He could see in her crazed eyes that she knew it just as well as he. Every single infected cell that made up Alison must have been screaming at her to stop but with sheer willpower she managed to swallow from her own wounds. Incredible and terrible all at once.

He did not know what to feel. He did not even understand why he felt this coil of emotion tumbling around inside him anyway. For years this thing had not even stirred, excepting the occasional flare of annoyance and anger. All he'd known was bloodlust and perhaps satisfaction after a fresh kill. Not this. Concern toward another being. Even if she was his daughter. He found himself angry, at her, at that soldier he'd ordered to change her, at his growing failure of sustaining the city with blood, at the human race even.

His rational side laughed at him for his instability when it came to Alison. It all bubbled down to her devotion to humans.

Why did she have to oppose it so horribly? She could lead a life, a proper, safe life again if only she let herself experience this existence. Not standing in a dingy cell, refusing her more than fresh rations and instead attempting to mutilate herself to end it all. With her fangs protruding from her gums in that sick smile and the blood-tipped hair hanging around her head, she looked like the born predator. She'd be such a perfect vampire through and through if only she stopped fighting,

He realized he had remained in his position of stunned silence when Alison spoke to him. Her voice was guttural, altered by the havoc which her own blood was working in her body, and in every syllable he could hear the accusation.

"Is this what you wanted?" she growled at him, words cracking in her throat. If her emotion was not contained in her new body, he knew she'd be crying in her anger. She was just like that as a child. Simply without the bitter tone and the gasping breaths that she took to reign in her new bestial fury.

He resumed his fatherly farce, softening his mouth and letting his eyes narrow around the edges to assume a regretful expression. He knew it was a convincing mask - that of being affected by her words even though his stone soul no longer felt such stabs of resentment. Not since many years. To perfect the character of remorse he was playing, he lifted his hands to his chest, defeated. Even his pleading murmur has the perfect touch of gentleness in it. "Oh, Sweetheart…"

She didn't let him finish his apologies.

"Is this what you wanted?"

She repeated her question, more forcefully, though in a more human tone. Every word was hurling the blame for her state at him like she would gladly put a bullet through his skull. He could read her self-hatred on her face, inconveniently less than her despise towards him in this second. She prowled towards him as she spoke. Her movements weren't as energetic as they could be if she had fed but nonetheless fueled with anger. He wondered briefly what her reason for this advance could be. Did she believe she could get past him?

The vampire was evident in her threatening position and while he kept his face hooded with an expression of remorse, he felt the urge to let it contort and bare his fangs. Not that he did. It would only encourage her in her spiral of self-destruction. Instead he backed up gradually as she approached him. That was a wrong move on his behalf.

She stormed forward then and with her newborn physical strength grasped his immaculate suit by the collar. Her fists curled around the silky material and he knew they would leave it in creases. However, while his brain registered these tiny, irritating details, he did not move in defense as she whirled him around, pulling him sideways until he was pressed into the ledge where wall and light met. He registered her sobbing, furious growls in her ear as she repeatedly cried, "You did this! You did this!" but he could only stare in silence at her blue-bathed form.

She was a mess all over. Her face was livid and heart-wrenchingly sad at the same time. Blood was dripping from varies torn areas onto her clothing, her skin, the floor. He had never seen anything quite like it close up as he was now. The degrading vampires scavenging the streets, sure, everyone knew about them, but he had never wished to come within touching distance of one of those. He felt as though somebody had thrown a pail of icy water over him, leaving him drenched in his worst nightmare – his daughter transforming into a mutant.

Paying attention to her as he was, he wasn't prepared for her next course of action and suddenly experienced the taste of vampire blood on his tongue. She had smeared her arm across his face, forcing the leaking wound into his mouth. Now he almost did retch, not only at the sensation but the mere principle. He fought her pressing limb, alarmed and utterly revolted. His struggles were weak enough to be withheld by her fatigued body. Apparently the ability to feel terror had not faded completely and now it had him paralyzed in one spot. He could not bring himself to throw her off.

She was still screeching at him, blazing eyes wet as she repeated, "You did this!" in volumes that he had never realized she could reach with her soft voice.

Charles Bromely's saving grace appeared in form of the fidgety guard who seemed to have decided the noise levels from the cell as abnormal and now invaded the prison in combat mode. In a flash, he had his fury of a daughter by the waist and her weight was lifted off him. The vampire gasped, choking on the torrents of blood he'd almost been made to swallow and thoroughly shaken by what had just occurred. The soldier had pulled Alison clean off the ground and was backing out with her still resisting in his arms, screaming the haunting words at her father as she was taken away.

The girl's string of curses melted into incoherent yelling as she was dragged out of earshot. He was left sagging against the wall, breathing raggedly. He shuddered as he felt a few streams of blood dripping off his nose and onto his lips. He must look terrible. Dear lord, simply his clothing had taken a beating. He looked as though he'd been a fight and things had gotten out of hand, like in his very distant teenage years.

Mere moments later, before he'd even had time to properly regain his composure, the uniformed guard who'd accompanied him earlier silently appeared by his side, awaiting further direction. Bromley huffed in a deep breath, then stood straight and straightened his dirtied jacket with an air as dignified as he could manage. Without sparing his companion a glance, he spoke with no emotion to the silent room.

"This stays absolutely confidential"

The soldier mirrored his stoic tone and did not move from his position as he replied with a disciplined, "Yes Sir"

"Where was she taken?" Bromley questioned, tucking his collar back into his suit jacket and using a handkerchief to clean the majority of the redness away.

"Medical lab, second floor, Sir. She'll be given sedatives. They will treat her injuries once she is stable" Still the same voice from the guard, absolutely no acknowledgment of the dramatic nature of the situation.

Bromley sighed, exiting the room with steadier steps than he hoped. Good. He didn't dare lose his composure in times like these, especially in front of his soldiers. Nobody wanted to be working for a man who lost complete control of himself when confronted by such issues. That suggested he was inclined to human emotional behavior, maybe even sympathy, which was not the case.

The younger man followed silently, back up the stairs he'd come and towards the elevator. Bromley caught himself eyeing the guns on his belt with interest and promptly looked away. He had considered killing his Alison for a brief moment when she'd shoved a letter opener into his abdomen but that had been out of instinctual revenge. The thought did not last long. Now though, now he was at a loss of what do with her. She was so stubborn. How to convince her to accept this life if she could not even be brought to sustain herself? No, apparently she'd rather die by poison.

As the elevator doors slid open and he stepped inside, a new idea slowly slithered into his head. An idea that was just about as hopeless as it was intriguing. There was always a way to convince people and he believed he'd perhaps found a trigger to do just that with his daughter. He faced the guard again and reached out a hand to intercept the doors closing on him. His eyes caught the other man's in his usual cold indifference.

"Sergeant, get me Frankie Dalton to my office. I need to have a word with him."

The soldier nodded mutely again, raising a stiff hand to his temple in confirmation. "Sir"

The older man nodded his approval and then added, on second thought, "And once Miss Bromley is fully fed and back on her feet, make sure she does not get anywhere near her own flesh again. If I have another mutant on my back, I'll be sure to make somebody responsible for it."

He accentuated his idle threat with a look that had the man across whitening visibly beneath his pale complexion. Then the space between them was cut by the doors sliding shut.