He dived into the basement, slamming the wooden door shut and leaning on it, panting heavily and sweating in fear. The bandana covering his mouth was soaked, but he didn’t care as he pulled the slide back, holding the gun up.

The walls were concrete, couldn’t get in that way. There was a window letting in moonlight to the side, but it was only a foot wide. He scanned the room; mostly empty save for the crates of stuff, some old junk, nothing that could help him fight…whatever that was. He could hear the screams in the rest of the house. It looked like a man. Walked like a man. But there was no way it was.

Either way, there were no other entrances. He’d be safe here, even if that thing could find him. He slid a crate in front of the door, then raised the gun to point at it with trembling hands. He could see in his head all too clearly what that…thing did to the corpses he made.

“C’mon, c’mon.” he urged quietly. He could hear the screams. Whether they were still alive or not. A minute crawled by, five, ten. Agonizingly slowly. “I’ll blow your brains out.” he muttered, licking his lips.

“That vould actually be a very, very bad idea.” came from behind him. He shrieked and whirled around, plugging the source with seven shots, all in the chest.

There, there was the old guy! He squeezed the trigger three more times, until the clip was empty.

The man looked down with his lined face, then back up to the terrified man.

“Ow.” he said, nonplussed. The other man dropped his gun, shaking and scrambling to move the crate and escape. The older man merely raised his own gun and fired a shot into his back. “Hmm. Not even a sense of proper self-preservation. Ah well.” The man strode forward, pulling an IV from the trash bag he carried. The shot man gasped and tried to weakly crawl away. “Not having any of that, sorry.” he stepped on his hand, then inserted the needle. The IV bag began to fill with blood.

“You…monster…” he panted weakly. The older man nodded.

“You’d be right. Don’t worry, you von’t suffer for long.” The man had an unusual accent, very difficult to place and softened from time. He got up and started spraying gang symbols all over with a can of yellow paint.

“The…Yellow Bones? This…was a gang hit?” he said, eyes wide.

“Oh, heavens no. I just need it to look like one. You see, I’m just after blood. I’m a vampire, you see.” The older man flashed a grin, sharp incisors lengthened and gleaming. The thug tried to scream and back away. “Don’t bother. I’m not going to make you one, that’s why I’m relying on this bag and charade. After all, the police won’t care too deeply about one gang being wiped out by a rival.” He sighed and sat next to the bleeding man. “You’re not exactly guilt-free in this, you know. Your own choices led to this.”

“Being drained by a goddamn vampire!?” he snarled.

“Vell, I admit it is out of the ordinary. For you, anyvay. For me it’s an old habit, one that I’ve chosen as well. Blood is blood, and I dislike harming innocents. And from vhat I gather, you gentlemen are far from innocent.” He eyed one of the crates in the corner. His nose told him it was full of heroin, nearly pure. He saw the ingredients to cut it on the shelf next to it. “Honestly, I have to eat. And do you want me going after gang members and drug dealers, or common folk and children from playgrounds?” he asked, his face never changing from a slightly bored expression.

“I’m sorry. Let me go, I’m sorry, please, anyone but meeee…” he pleaded. Everything was going dark and cold. The vampire sighed.

“This is vhat I’m talking about. You all have killed, wrought terrible things upon society, and yet vhen facing your end you grovel and beg to be spared. It’s humiliating.” He shook his head, irked. “Back in my day, vhen ve decided to rebel, ve marched to the gallows vith our heads held proudly! Vhen you come at a king, you must not miss! Even if we cried, there was not a soul in my company who vould sell out to the enemy for mercy. Show some pride, man!” he chastised.

“I-I can’t feel my chest…” the thug said dumbly. The vampire sighed.

“I suppose even you should be remembered. Lad, vhat is your name?”

“Huh?” he said, shivering.

“Your name, your name! Be consigned to oblivion if you vish, but I vould rather be known to somebody, even if it vas my foe!” he barked. Seeing no other choice, the dying man answered.

“Zach Foley.” The vampire nodded.

“Very vell, Mr. Foley. I am Alexandru Friedrich Campanella du Fontaine de la Bridore Lonescu. Though I can’t say much for your life, your name vill be remembered by immortality. I hope this, and the svift death I give you, vill bring you peace. Ahh, the pack’s filled.” With a sharp jab of his fingers, the vampire hit the back of his neck, sending a precise shock directly into the brain, the force such it killed him instantly. He smiled at a job well done: it had taken him thirty years of constant practice to push his martial skill so high, and it would be nearly impossible without his vampire body. He unhooked the pack, and threw it into the trash bag with the others. He eyes the crate, and smashed it with a kick, white powder souring out. He smirked. A gang hit over a drug shipment, perfect cover. The coroner wouldn’t look too deeply at scum like these, and any needle marks could be explained by the smack. He made sure to leave some more Yellow Bones tags around the hideout. Once he was done, he quickly slipped out the side door, just another garbage man hefting a bag into his truck. He breathed in the cool October air and the warming sun. His kind had little reason to fear daylight, save the fact it sapped their strength and suppressed their ore esoteric powers. Alex in particular had always loved it, though even before he was bitten had preferred sunsets. And with his stockpile for the month complete, he didn’t need to hunt. He got in the driver’s seat and took off.

“Another hard night’s work done.” he said to himself satisfactorily. But once on the road, his good mood quickly wore away. Now that food had been taken care of, what was he to do next?

This wasn’t the first time Alex had been forced to grapple with this problem. Running through the night, hunting down warm blood bags, evading and crushing hunters, retiring to bed with beautiful vampire seductresses…it was great. Thrilling. For the first fifty years.

Alex had been undead for much longer than that. Doing the same thing night after night, no matter how exhilarating became dull and routine. He’d gone through nearly every pleasure and tragedy a human could experience, and he was still alive. In a manner of speaking. History inevitably created new interests and delights, but such fads were short-lived, especially for a timespan such as his. Night in, night out, hunt, kill, fly through the air…Alex stared dispassionately out the window. It was all so…dull after centuries. He wasn’t too old physically, but he truly felt like an old man, waiting for it to end. But for him, it wouldn’t be coming.

He made the turn to the private road, getting out of New York proper and closer to his suburban mansion. And it truly was; constructed brick-by-brick from a blueprint designed by himself, it combined modern (at the time) sensibilities with traditional Gothic architecture. Now though it was just an old-looking big house, though one that was constantly updated with modern accoutrements and could easily be fortified into an impregnable stronghold. He had seen much over his long life, and no matter how technologically or socially advanced society became, it was best to be prepared.

He pulled into the side garage, doffing his hat and unloading the bag, plopping it onto the cart.

“Ahh. Good morning, sir. I trust your hunt was successful?” Peterson said, entering.

“Of course. Like always.” Alex pushed the cart over to his butler, who nodded and took it. “In the fridge, I’ll be showering. Clean my disguise and place it in my closet, thank you.” the vampire said, taking off his shirt.

“Very good, sir.” Peterson said, wheeling the cart off. Alex smirked; finding a butler he could trust with his secret was difficult, but worth it just to have someone pick up after him. Childish, he knew, but he was far too old to have to care about tidying his room.

After he’d cleaned the night’s grime off himself, he pulled the worn shade down in his study, relaxing in his robe. Eyeing the books he’d read a thousand times before, he wasn’t quite ready to turn in, but didn’t know what to do in the meantime. He saw his old crocheting project carelessly tossed on the chair from last week, and sighed. He’d never particularly cared for it to begin with, and he nearly fell asleep the last time he’d tried.

“Sleep, huh?” Alex murmured. That was what happened with old guard vampires, truly ancient nosferatu that originated before the Roman Empire. The ones that had survived until now retired to their coffins, where they laid down and simply didn’t get up, deciding to sleep away the centuries, waking only periodically to feed over the course of decades. He’d seen a chamber of them once; all gaunt, thin, hairless things with long fingernails and sallow skin. After enough time had passed, most vampires decided to do the same. Was it his time? Should he retire from the world? He sat there, index on his temple, mulling it over for an hour.

Eventually, he decided to keep unliving with the living. After all, he couldn’t give up on everything just yet.

“But that time may be close.” he sighed. After all, if nothing could stimulate him…

“If I may, sir.” Peterson said, bringing him a chilled wineglass of A positive, his favorite. “You look down in the doldrums again.”

“Merely contemplating my place in the vorld, Peterson.” Alex rumbled, running a hand through his white hair. Though he’d been turned at 35, and had not physically diminished form that point, his hair continued to grey and fade. And having served in mercenary companies both before and after becoming a vampire, stress and strain had aged him beyond how he felt. Even though he was spry even for most vampires, he could pass for someone in his fifties. “I am old, Peterson. No matter how my body moves, I am old. Vampiric regeneration cannot cure that.”

“You’re only as old as you feel, sir.” Peterson said, placing the glass on the table. Alex took it and sipped, savoring the flavor. He swirled it around, ruminating.

“And if I feel a thousand years old?”

“Oh, don’t be silly sir. You’re not a day over 567.” Peterson said with a smirk. Alex smiled ruefully.

“I suppose. But after five hundred years, it feels like a thousand.”

“Have you considered travelling again, sir? I can see the crocheting project is...not working out to satisfaction.” the butler said delicately, eyeing the abandoned material. Alex snorted.

“That’s one way to put it. Maybe I should go back to needlepoint. Travelling’s not like the old days, you know. You can’t just pack up and leave. You need passports, and inoculations, and visas and-ugh. Such a hassle.” he grumbled. “I’ve been most places I care to visit anyway.”

“But you’ve been here since the eighties. Maybe seeing how things are now will help?” Peterson asked. Alex glanced at the computer in the corner.

“You don’t know how good you have it. The veb makes everything so easy now. I keep abreast of vorldvide advancements, you know.” the vampire scoffed, downing his drink. Peterson considered, recalling something he’d seen recently.

“Well, if you’re looking for something to do, perhaps travelling to a different world altogether would be more to your suiting?” he said. Alex raised an eyebrow.

“Vhat are you talking about?”

“Why sir, I believed you kept up with worldwide advancements. Surely a man of your learned stature should know all about it.” he said dryly. Alex stared at him irritably.

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you. Tell me or I open up your veins for a midday snack.” he deadpanned. Peterson smirked.

“Well we wouldn’t want that. I am referring to the latest videogame craze, Real Fantasy.” It plays on the NeWorld system, a fully immersive virtual reality game that supposedly sends the signals directly to your brain. It was released a few months ago and my grandson can’t stop raving about it. “

“A…videogame?” Alex said skeptically, frowning. He eyed the closet with several elderly systems and games stored in it, untouched for years. It was the biggest new thing in entertainment nearly fifty years ago now. He’d gotten an NES and several games on a whim, and they’d been decent enough to pass the time. They’d gotten old and repetitive after a while though, so he stopped shortly after. “Hmm. I haven’t played a videogame since 1998, I believe.”

“Perhaps it’s time to try again? After all, this one seems rather extensive. And I daresay gaming has made tremendous improvements since I was a lad.” Peterson said.

“Hmm.” He eyed the TV. So many letters in front of it he couldn’t keep track, over 600 satellite channels and nothing on. He got up and perused his vast library of books, each one read no less than twice, with all genres. He cast his eyes and mind up to the attic, where various hobbies and projects over the centuries laid, either completely mastered or easily abandoned. After all that, revisiting a hobby he’d had over forty years ago seemed like it could be worthwhile. “Vhat is this game about?”

“I’m really not sure, sir. I’ve only heard, and I quote: ‘it’s super awesome, the best thing ever, the greatest game in the history of mankind’. I gather it’s some fantasy game, with knights and dragons and magic and such.”

“I see.” He had nothing better to do, after all. “Vhy not? Let’s see if this game can keep my attention for more than a minute. Very vell. Tomorrow I shall purchase this game. After all, the vorst that happens is I grow bored again, yes?”