Chomp

The heavy doors of the conference room finally swung open, briefly pausing the chattering. The group of people that shuffled through were the usual suspects, all wearing a slew of expressions from grim to proud.

Darius had his usual pleasantly sharp smile as he strode in and took a seat, ever the perfect mixture of polished politician and effective assassin. He dropped me the briefest of winks before he adjusted his tie.

The Resource General, a man named Errol Winters, took a seat between Darius and I. His long, mangy hair had been tied back into a ponytail to look tidy for the meeting, but his grizzled grey beard found a home atop the conference table, knocking my pen to the floor.

“Sorry, girlie,” he grumbled, leaning over to grab it from the floor. He plucked it from the floor and tossed it back onto the table. “Never know what this old man’s capable of anymore. One day it’s infiltrating a Hive, the next it’s bullying assistants by having your beard knock all the office supplies loose. I’m surprised they let a secretary in here, though.”

“Excuse you,” I began hotly. “But I’m—”

Darius pulled two hairs at the very tip of Errol’s beard, shocking the old man. I curled my lip in disgust; there was no telling how long it had been since it had had a good washing, and I definitely didn’t envy either of them.

“Sir Winters, Miss Randt,” Darius began, waggling a finger. I’d say he said it sweetly, but I knew that sickly tone wasn’t actually sweet; it was a warning.

I huffed and leaned back into my chair. Secretary? Please. Errol probably hadn’t chopped a vampire up since the first world war. If anyone should have been a secretary, it was him.

Darius stood up and flattened his black suit jacket. Despite him being elected to his position two months ago, it was still strange to see him dressed like some stuffy-nosed politician. I was far used to the Darius in his black Kevlar uniform, or at least jeans and a tee-shirt.

“I think it’s time we start,” he said crisply. “Enough chit-chat; let’s actually do something, hmm?”

His voice was never loud, but it had always had a silencing effect to it. The murmuring in the room died completely as everyone stared up at him. It was one of my first times attending these meetings—they were usually reserved for people in office—and I suspected that it was also the case for a lot of people. But the faces of corporate were joined by generals, and soldiers alike, all surrounding Darius as he addressed them.

“Thank you,” he delivered, surveying the room. “Welcome back to a few of you. And I’m sure others are wondering why you’re here.”

Other soldiers stared grimly up at him. Like myself, they were probably wondering why the hell they were being kept from the field. As much as corporate often hated getting their hands dirty, we knew what we did was important. What we did was the whole reason this organization existed in the first place.

Darius nodded and dropped a million-dollar smile for them. “Let me ask you something to start off then. How long has it been since Yacob Osgoode revealed the existence of vampires to the public?”

There was a collective murmuring of confusion that swept the room. Finally, a dark-skinned soldier with short, cropped hair stood up. “Approximately eleven years, sir,” she said mechanically. Her strong voice faltered slightly; no doubt, she was wondering about the relevance of that statement, just like everyone else in the room.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

She blinked. “Private Anderson, sir. Soldier number 47739.”

“Thank you, 47739. You may take a seat,” he enunciated quietly, his eyes burning. It was difficult to say what he was thinking. Anderson slowly sunk down to her spot, keeping her eyes on his. “Ladies and gentlemen, she’s correct. Eleven years,” he continued, his grey eyes narrowed. “We’ve allowed eleven years to somehow slip by. Not only is Osgoode still alive, but it seems that there are thousands of new vampires emerging every day.

“I don’t expect 47739 to answer to this; certainly, she’s doing what her supervisors are telling her to do. No. I called everyone here so we can discuss a strategy. One that would actually work this time. Any takers, hmm?”

The silence around the large table was deafening. Darius eyed everyone around the table, his brows furrowed. Finally, he settled on a portly general with a bushy moustache.

“General Langston,” he breathed, barely moving his lips. The rouged man had been sweating slightly before, but now it looked as though he was going to drown from the pressure. “If memory serves me right, you were in charge of finding and destroying… What was it? Seven Hives in five months?”

Langston cleared his throat before taking out a small pocket kerchief and patting his balding head with it. I smirked; regardless of his answer, Darius would tear him a new one.

“That’s correct,” he answered in a squeak. It was only when he continued that I realized his voice was just a lot higher than I had expected. “We located all seven Hives in the allotted time.”

Darius gave a dry laugh. “Located them, yes. But how many of them did you command your soldiers to go after? How many Hives were actually taken care of in those five months?”

“W-Well, I only gave the order when I was sure that we were capable of—”

“Despite being assigned a larger-than-usual task force?” Darius supplied lazily, cocking a perfect chestnut eyebrow. “Seems a little… suspicious, don’t you think?”

Langston’s face turned a brilliant red and his moustache twitched wildly. “What are you implying, exactly?” he challenged. “Not two months ago, you were soldier number 2—”

“Sure, let’s talk about that if you’d like to defer the attention. What was I doing two months ago, Langston?” Darius asked, crossing his arms. The tension in the room was palpable, but he still retained his composure quite well, smile and all. “Hmm? I don’t recall you over-delivering on any goals set before you. What I’m implying—and I’ll even put it in simple terms for you, so you don’t mistake my words again—is that you have failed as a general. Your position belongs to someone willing to actually perform up to standard, and quite frankly, that’s not you.”

There was a long silence in which Langston’s buggy eyes bulged alarmingly. I was glad I wasn’t sitting near him; the last thing I wanted was an eyeball plopping into my cup of coffee.

“You’re… firing me?” he blurted out finally. His face was redder than a tomato, on the verge of becoming a sickly purple.

“Not just you. Don’t worry.”

“You really think that’s a good idea?” I asked as the waiter poured a glass of wine. If I cared enough to learn about the different types, I probably would have identified it as a merlot or something fancy like that.

Darius placed his fork down on his plate, the piece of steak still attached to the tongs.

“You don’t?” he asked incredulously. For the first time since the conference, he gave a genuine laugh. “You of all people—I would have thought you’d be over the moon about it. It wasn’t even my idea; all of the other directors agreed. I just put it forward for the vote.”

I grabbed the glass and sniffed. As per usual, it smelled like rancid fruit. If there was one thing I never could grasp about my species, it was how humans were able to pass rotting grapes off as luxury. Regardless, I took a gulp; ladylike, I know.

“It’s just never been done,” I confessed, shrugging.

Darius leaned forward and surveyed me with his deep blue eyes. “So you’re saying,” he began, a small smile creeping onto his lips, “That just because something has never been done before, we shouldn’t do it? That’s a rather sad thing to hear from an inventor’s daughter.”

“Scientist,” I corrected, taking another few gulps of wine. If I got past the whole expired food taste, the sugar was pretty decent. “My father was a scientist, thank you. An inventor is so… limiting.”

Darius chuckled and put his hands up in mock defense. “My apologies,” he laughed. “I appreciate everything your father did for us, and it would most certainly be rude to insult him. But Doctor Randt would agree, I’m sure. Progress happens when people think outside the box, when they try something new. You can’t hope to fix the world and its problems by doing the exact same things over and over, after all. What’s the saying? ’Those who don’t learn from history are—’”

“’Doomed to repeat it’,” I continued, nodding. It was a common enough line, but it had also been one of my dad’s favourites. I sighed. “But you’re right. I guess.”

He rolled his eyes, picking his fork back up and popping the piece of steak into his mouth. “Despite the sass, I’ll take it,” he answered, mouth full as he pointed the fork at me. “Besides, you guys won’t be going in blind. It’s just a simpler reporting structure; it will mean things are done quicker—fewer vampires, less time just sitting there, waiting for General Blueberry there to finish his eight courses of breakfast before you get down to business.”

I nodded, smirking at the joke. He might have been all business in conferences, but outside his job, Darius was still my favourite asshole.

“Well,” I began. I grabbed a scoop of double-baked mashed potatoes from his plate with a smirk. “If anyone will kick ass in that role, it’s definitely you. Those leeches won’t know what hit them.”