It felt strange, to finally be a part of something. After receiving his badge and identification, Damian couldn't stop staring at it, partially because he was excited, and partially because he was struggling to read such small writing. Though he had finally been inducted as a proper BEDLAM agent, Arlette had decided that it would be best for him to first get settled into his new lodgings, and so she leased him into Andrea Darvish's custody.

Damian hadn't known the agent long enough to have formed a proper opinion on her, but after she introduced herself by shoving a gun barrel in his face, the vampire had the sneaking suspicion that she didn't have the best opinion of him. She remained completely silent during the elevator ride down to the parking lot, her eyes - both biological and bionic - set straight ahead. As she led him out into the Bureau's underground parking area, she suddenly struck the button on the briefcase, causing it to unfold into the same rifle she had threatened Damian with earlier.

"Custom-made CCA-5 markman's rifle, chambered in .308 rounds with an effective range of over a thousand yards. Designed and developed by the Bureau," she announced shouldering the weapon.

Damian stared at her blankly.

"Uh..."

Another press of the button, and it collapsed back into an inconspicuous briefcase. Stepping over to an unmarked black van, Rea slid the back door open and tossed it inside, only to reach in and pull out another, smaller rifle.

"AR-998, select-fire assault rifle fitted with custom holo-sights, a recoil-compensated stock and a sixty round capacity magazine."

Placing that back on one of the gun racks concealed in the back of the van, she produced a shotgun.

"Titalitech Type-12 Lawman's Aide. 12-gauge semi-auto combat shotgun with detachable box magazine."

"Uh... Rea, what are you-?"

"Colt Dragoon 2048 Anniversary Redesign, revolver chambered in .44 calibre magnum rounds. H&K MP99 submachinegun. Reddis Arms 25mm grenade launcher, with ten round drum magazine."

As she produced and presented all these firearms, Damian shook his head and raised his hands.

"Okay, okay, I get it! Ya like guns!"

"That's not my point, Leech."

Returning her weapons to their respective racks, she slammed the door shut and pulled her service pistol from its holster.

"I have over forty weapons in this van, and that's not even a tenth of my personal collection. Over the years I have collected enough firepower - both antique and modern - to put the Bureau's entire armory to shame. The guest room, office and bathroom of my apartment is filled to the ceiling with ammunition crates. I live and breath the rifleman's creed."

She aimed the pistol at Damian, only to shake her head and reholster the gun. Before he could get to comfortable, however, Rea suddenly closed the gap between them and pulled a combat knife from her belt.

"But if you fuck this up for Miss McArva, I won't waste a single bullet on you. Because I'll rip you apart up close and personal," the agent hissed, her bionic eye glinting dangerously.

He swallowed hard and raised his hands defensively.

"U- Uh..."

"You don't get it, do you? The Director's put her job on the line for this. If the Special Sixth initiative fails - if you fail - it's all our asses. The board are already skeptical, and they're just banking on something fucking up."

Sheathing her blade, she grabbed the back of Damian's new coat and shoved him towards the van.

"So you better not fuck it up. Now get in the goddamn van."

Gritting his teeth, the vampire opened the passenger-side door and hauled himself inside, only to wind up planting himself right on top of a box of shotgun shells. He scowled and made to toss them into the back, whereupon he saw that Rea certainly wasn't lying. The floor, walls and ceiling of the vehicle were fitted with sophisticated weaponry racks, each one containing a different firearm. Even in the cabin of the van, he could count six pistol holsters concealed beneath the dashboard, and the glovebox had been replaced with some kind of grenade storage shelf.

"Fuckin' Hell, lady. Ever heard of overkill?" commented Damian, gingerly setting the box of shells atop the dashboard.

Sitting herself before the wheel, his overseeing agent scowled and turned the key. The engine roared to life; he could tell by the sound that it had been modified.

"Overkill is necessary in this line of work. Now shut up."

Damian - as was his wont - attempted to retort, but his carefully-plotted response was suddenly ejected from his head when Rea slammed the van into reverse, causing him to bash his forehead off the dashboard. As he yelled and swore, she spun the vehicle around and tore out of the parking lot. The screeching of the wheels and the roaring of the engine pounded against the vampire's sensitive ears, compounding the pain in his head into an agonising cacophony.

"Jesus fuck! Could ya slow it down a 'lil?!" he cried, clutching his head as he was thrown against the window.

Her bionic eye glinted as she accelerated.

"The safehouse is downtown. Apartment 203, second row, third on the left. Windows have been plated-over, doors have been reinforced. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen and living room. Don't expect luxury because you won't be getting it," she explained in a professional tone, dodging traffic as she broke the speed limit.

Bracing himself against the dashboard, Damian winced as Rea performed a hairpin turn, screeching onto a motorway at an alarming pace. He could smell the stink of burnt rubber.

"Good thing I ain't one for luxury, then..."

"I'll be posted in an apartment across the street. My rifle will be trained on your door at all times. And one more thing."

Reaching up, the federal agent coolly tapped the glassy orb set into her eye socket.

"Titch made this eye of mine to see through walls. So you better be on your best behavior at all times."

"But-"

"I told you at the top to shut the fuck up."

"But-!"

"I can gut you one-handed and still keep driving."

"... ya made your point."

-----

The downtown apartment complex on 298nd Street was certainly not luxurious, just like Rea had said. It was a grey slab of a building, consisting of multiple boxy flats stacked on top of each other. It was flanked by two condemned office buildings and surrounded by open trash cans, and as Damian stared, he noticed a homeless man reclining by a pair of dumpsters in a nearby alley. Upon catching his eye, the ragged man gave him a toothless grin and rested his hand on a crusted meat cleaver by his side. The air was thick with flies and mosquitoes which danced in the orange light that shone from the buzzing streetlamps.

"It's a shithole," was all the vampire could say, staring with wide eyes as Rea got out of the van.

"It'll be a step up from where you usually hide out, then," she retorted, fishing a set of keys from her pocket.

She made a good point, as loath as he was to admit it.

Readjusting his new gloves, Damian jammed his hands into his pockets and followed his overseeing agent across the road, wincing as the squeal of police sirens tore through the air. This was definitely the part of town that the corporations didn't want the wider world to see.

A short jog and three flights of stairs late, he found himself standing outside the graffiti-covered door to his new home. Sure enough, the windows were covered in dark metal plates, and the lock on the door looked like something straight out of a bank.

"Am I livin' here or bein' imprisoned?" he asked as Rea spun her keyring around her finger.

"A little of column A, a little of column B," came her dry response as she jammed the key in the lock.

It turned with a heavy clank. Shoving it open, she flicked the lights on.

Inside lay a rudimentary dwelling. Very, very rudimentary.

"Huh... Dunno what I was expectin'..." Damian murmured, stepping inside.

The main body of the apartment appear to consist of a combined kitchen and living area, though he wasn't exactly certain, considering his lack of housing experience. The floor was covered in a slightly-crusty grey carpet, while the walls were off-white and peeling in some places. Two faded armchairs and a couch were clustered around a coffee table to one side, whilst over in the kitchen, he counted a fridge, an oven and a microwave. He had never actually seen any of those appliances in working order, so for Damian, it was an impressive sight. The bare lightbulb overhead buzzed and blinked irritatingly, dampening his excitement somewhat.

"Home sweet home," spat Rea, folding her arms as she leaned against the wall.

"Honestly, I kinda like it," Damian responded, prodding one of the kitchen chairs with the toe of his boot.

"Good. Quicker you get settled, the quicker I can go back to my own bureau-assigned shithole."

Reaching into her satchel, she pulled out a device that looked like some combination of tablet and telephone. He had seen crumpled-up adverts for such devices floating around the sewers a few years ago; supposedly they were the pinnacle of communication, socialisation and homeware control technologies. Whatever that meant.

"You can raise me on this. If you need something, let me know and I'll put in a requisition order," she recited disinterestedly.

"So I can ask ya for shit?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Keep in mind that I will only respond to essential calls, and if you bother me with anything trivial, I will come over here and beat you until you stop moving."

"... right. I'm guessin' you didn't want this job, huh?"

"Not in the slightest. Rations are in the fridge; you'll be restocked as part of your wage."

Stepping over to the fridge, Damian pulled it open and peered inside. Rather than being full with food, as he had anticipated, he was pleasantly surprised to find a quintet of blood bags lying within. Right as he tried to ask Rea about their typings, however, he just about managed to see the door slam shut. The lock clunked into place, and he was left by his lonesome.

The vampire sighed.

"Alright. My house, my rules, I guess."

Pulling off his machete harness, Damian tossed his coat onto the couch before he kicked off his boots and wiggled out of his trousers. As he tossed his gloves over his shoulders, the vampire decided to venture deeper into the apartment.

It was a small place, so there wasn't exactly much to see, but still; it was exciting in its own way. The bathroom was a simple tile room, complete with a tub, a toilet and a sink with a showerhead attachment. Looking down, he noticed that the tiles were angled to direct water into a grate on the floor, though it looked rather dented.

"'S like the whole room's a shower... huh..." he murmured, turning on his heel.

The first bedroom was furthest down the pokey hallway, containing little more than a pair of single beds and a large closet. The carpet was stained in some places, but aside from that, it was serviceable. The second bedroom was a little smaller, but contained a king-size bed at one end and a large couch at the other. Any natural light that would have illuminated the room was blocked off by the recently-installed metal shutters, but as he padded across the carpet, Damian began to feel rather at home. The bed wasn't much to his liking, but as he leaped onto the couch in order to test it, he found himself feeling wonderfully comfortable. For a moment, he thought it was probably strange to favour sleeping on a couch over a bed, but seeing as he was in his own home now, he just smiled and pulled off the rest of his clothes.

"Ah... I could get used to this..." the vampire murmured, sinking into the couch cushions.

Truth be told, he was feeling a little overwhelmed. Within the span of a single night, he had acquired a job, found a proper place to live, and killed a massive otherworldly beast. His head was going a thousand miles an hour and he could hear his own undead heart throbbing in his ears, but he couldn't tell whether it was nerves or excitement. Either way, he had a lot to look forward to.

So with a head full of dreams and a belly full of ogre blood, Damian shut his eyes and gradually slipped away into a deep, contented sleep.