Alexander Möller, 5th of May 2049

Alex awoke, thoroughly disoriented. That in itself is nothing new; it had become his de facto normal over the last- however long it has been.

What was abnormal was that he was capable of realizing his own confusion- he was used to only be able to get a vague sense of wrongness before losing his train of thought, utterly incapable of concentrating or meta-cognition- such as realizing he was disoriented.

He had… He sat upright, vaguely registering that the sudden movement had dislodged an infusion line from the back of his hand, leaving a steady trickle of clear liquid running onto the floor. He was inside a cage of sorts, albeit one that didn’t seem like it was built to hold a person. He registered a solid hip-high banister of sorts encircling the cage, topped by glass the rest of the way to the ceiling. Through that window, he saw the unfeeling, electronic eyes of a veritable swarm of cameras aimed at him, possibly watching, leering. The cage, flimsy as it looked, sent a sudden spike of claustrophobia through him. But the entrance was visibly unlocked, the door standing ajar. So he wasn’t trapped. Neither, he realized, was he alone.

Two people were with him, sitting in folding chairs at his side, themselves roused from their sleep by his sudden movement. The woman wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and gave him a feeble smile.

Alex’s heart was going a mile a minute. She was beautiful, if reserved in her appearance and demeanor. A skirt and blouse of good quality but not exceptional aesthetics, dressed for comfort rather than appeal. Her only ornament a sort of clasp and pin combination holding her smooth brown hair in a bun. She had ever so slight frown lines and dimples from laughing, making even her current tentative smile incredibly endearing. Her eyes were slightly darkened, possibly from lack of sleep. These ‘imperfections’ placed all the more emphasis on how she looked overall. Her eyes, incredibly dark brown, had a sparkle that didn’t fit with the signs of stress, of insecurity, or the fact that she seemed to have just woken up. He would estimate her to be in her mid-thirties, but clearly having lived through a lot of stress, but also a lot of joy.

Alex stammered- “Was ist- “ She raised both palms in a placating gesture. “Meine Deutsch- nicht viel. Was ich muss erklären- ist? Komliziert. Sprechen Sie Englisch oder Français?“

Alex would have found her accent adorable under other circumstances. Her german was far from perfect, but understandable. But she said that she had to explain something complicated and asked whether he spoke English or French. Fair enough.

“English is fine; my own French would be way worse than your german. What happened-“

Fragments of memory. A longing for a place or thing. A journey, unending, feverish. A long, long time in which he wasn’t himself, only following some compulsion he couldn’t even recall. Being entangled in thorny vines so close to whatever it was he was drawn to, biting at his flesh, but irrelevant. A woman on the other side of the brush, giving commands in a language he barely understood, using words he never heard- but yet understood, somehow, even while drowning, deranged, caught in a nameless, overwhelming need. A woman who had told him to look at her, to sleep. And he did. The need had roused him. But she had told him to sleep, and he had.

The very same woman he was now speaking to. He jolted, scooted to the far side of the bed, now realizing he was naked under the thin sheet, again aware of the multitude of cameras, voyeuristically directed at him. He scrunched up the sheet to hide behind, from the cameras, but also the woman. Why did he react so much to her appearance? Yes, she was beautiful, but was that all? Had she told him to find her attractive? Was he misinterpreting a stress response of his body, similar to how a broad range of terrifying experiences could be seen as pleasant? Was he afflicted by Stockholm syndrome?

She had sprung up from her chair with a worried expression when he startled, reached out for him, but seemed to reconsider.

Slowly she let her hand drop, backed off, and, upon seeing it, bent down to pick up the infusion line he had inadvertently ripped from his body. Following her movement, he momentarily glanced at the floor, where whatever liquid they had put into him while he was incapacitated had pooled. It had partially dissolved some of the symbols painted there in some kind of rough, flaky, brown dye. Was that- blood?

He thought back to that fragmented memory. What had hit him the most were her eyes.

Her eyes. Impossibly deep pools of darkness, bordered by brown calderas. Eyes that filled his mind entirely when he looked at them, that he seemed to fall into, like- bottomless pits or maybe some lake of primordial ooze from before the existence of light. No, not merely black- black only denotes an absence of reflected light. These eyes didn’t reflect light, true, but beyond that, they seemed to absorb things they shouldn’t have been able to, like thought, like desire, like any impulse customarily associated with an independent will. His memory of looking into her eyes was even more vague and incoherent than most of his recent memories.

He was aware of that.

But something very old within him- the oldest parts of his brain, his most rudimentary survival instincts from before his ancestors had a need of pack bonding and cooperation, let alone higher cognition and self-reflection- screamed and whimpered in terror.

More recent additions to himself- old mammal instincts- were telling him contradictory things, like seeking the safety of the herd, conflicted with the notion that he couldn’t lead something so dangerous to others.

The rest of him- the parts of his brain that were not home to the most fundamental survival instincts of his lizard or early mammal ancestors- tried, and failed, to understand. To convey the experience in allegories and images and conjecture.

What he knew for a fact was that he had looked into these eyes, these eyes that scared the lizard in him so much, that made the mammal in him contemplate whether to seek help lest he endanger others.

He had looked into these eyes, and, at a single word uttered by her, complied with what she had commanded.

Her demeanor had been entirely different than her current apparent shyness, arrogant, regal- inhumane. His weird state before, and now possibly symbols drawn in dried blood- Alex spoke the first thing that came to mind out loud. “Are you a vampire?”

Completely caught off guard, she burst into a giggle, albeit she tried to stifle it immediately. Even the other person in the room, an older man, snorted.

“I most decidedly am not a vampire.”

That is what a vampire would say.

“You commanded me to sleep. And, for a moment, I just fell like a marionette with cut strings.”

All levity now gone from her face, she nodded. “Yes.”

He gulped. “You are not human.”

At that, she looked genuinely hurt. Nevertheless, she tentatively nodded.

“That is not entirely accurate, but also not completely wrong, in a manner of speaking. I am human. I have a family, friends- not many-” she gave a tortured smile at the self-deprecation or maybe the thought itself- “the same needs and wants as yourself, the same flaws, the same insecurities. But there are differences. In a technical sense, I am not completely human, I suppose.” That admission seemed to trouble her.

Another memory. “You tried- whatever it was- and it didn’t work. Not entirely. Then you threw me to the ground.”

“Yes. I had to get you under control. In the state you were in, you were a danger to yourself, and quite possibly to others. I- I know a bit about what happened to you. At least in broad terms. You are not the first to come here in your- condition.”

His condition. The aberrant mental state and the need to come- here.

“I remember. You said something about that before you threw me.”

“Yes. I will try to answer any questions you may have. I also have to point out that what I am telling you must not leave this room, and that you are still in need of medical help. We will provide this help, but if you would rather not know, treat this like a fever-dream, that is of course perfectly alright.”

He scoffed at that. She had said this in a neutral, matter-of-fact, nonthreatening manner. Still, he was not one to give in to ultimatums quietly, without objection. Not even here, even though he found her terrifying and was still questioning just what she could do to him.

“It must not leave this room? What are you gonna do, order me to stay quiet?”

Her gaze didn’t lose its emotional quality, remaining guarded, but her mouth twitched into a slight, lopsided smirk. “I could certainly do that. But I wouldn’t have to. It is, in fact, illegal to disclose information about what I can tell you.” Not even a hit of a lie. Of course, that may mean nothing, especially given that she could influence his mind in some way. It was still sobering. “Illegal? By what law? And where?” “There are some laws that are not on the books, that are themselves need-to-know. Some things require regulation, but also a lack of a paper trail, and an abundance of plausible deniability. They were passed behind closed doors, but otherwise compliant with the normal legislative process, and I assure you, they are quite legally binding. As for where- basically every polity that existed at the end of the 18th century? If there are problems in other countries, they can be easily enough convinced. It happened before. Oh, not due to me or others directly telling them. There is a lot of diplomatic leverage to be had from those who already are in the know.” She leaned back in her seat. “Is there something you want to know?”

Alex’s mind was racing; he himself, overwhelmed. “Yes but- I don’t know where to begin.”

The woman again put on a feeble smile. She looked sympathetic, but he had seen her look so different. He had seen her act so different. Was that, this insecurity, this compassion, this warmth, or the disdain when she first told him to do things who she really was?

She seemed genuine enough, but what did that mean for a woman who could quite literally assert her will over another? And who seemed to be able to have sovereign countries pass secret laws even without using whatever it was she did?

“That is understandable. It is a rather complicated matter. I guess I should first introduce myself. My name is Amélie Dulay, and my family has conducted a multigenerational endeavor for- well, over eight hundred years at the very least, possibly way before that. The exact nature of this mission changed over time; you could say that my family business currently is research into certain supernatural, or rather, unexplained or insufficiently explained matters. There was a lot to learn that directly or indirectly helped others, and a multitude of dangers we needed to understand. Your condition being one of them.”