Even before the game world finished initializing, Chester felt powerful hands wrap themselves about his biceps and forearms with enough pressure to convince him that struggle wasn’t going to get him anywhere. That and the lack of floor or ground beneath his feet.

Rain fell upon his head and shoulders, not the hot downpour hitting the Georgia Peninsula, a cold drizzle. But like the Georgia rain, winds whipped the precipitation.

“Introduction,” Beyul announced, “Heroes’ Hub: War Shattered City.”

He shivered. And then he realized he wasn’t wearing a Beyul connection suit. There was nothing between his skin and his clothes. He looked down at himself — tan dress shirt and slacks, red tie, black dress shoes, a gold snake wrapping around a gray, hawk’s eye stone on his middle finger, and small hawk’s eyes in his cufflinks and his tie clip. I’m wearing the clothes my remote parents selected for me on the day we kidnapped Dallas Savannah May Scott, he thought. Are these the last real clothes that I wore?

Before Chester could further ponder why Beyul dressed him as it had, red eyes — deep as seas of blood — stared into his promising. He just needed to look a bit longer, a bit deeper.

“Focus, dude.” The words were distant but slid into his mind — a flood of power, a flood of another’s will — washing away his own thoughts and his own desires.

Training kicked in, and he struggled against the tides of the eyes and voice. He had been taught that hypnosis had certain requirements. By short-circuiting those requirements —

“Focus on my eyes. Focus on my voice. That’s it, dude.”

He needed to do something. He needed to focus on the red eyes. He needed to focus on the voice which was something other than words. Because the conditions for hypnosis hadn’t been met, something was wrong.

“Relax, dude.” The words burned in Chester's ears and flooded his mind in a huge wave washing away everything. Only the words existed, and it defined both his action and purpose in life — to relax. All tension, all anger, all desire left his body. His limbs became heavy — too heavy to move. His body fell limp.

He stared unseeingly at the sidewalk and the overflowing gutter and the two pairs of thick-soled boots with metal tags punched across the toes, and the bottom hems of a pair of black oilcloth trench coats.

They set his feet back on the sidewalk, but his legs took no weight. He sank toward falling into the puddles.

“Okay, dude, stand.”

Chester pushed himself up from where his feet had flopped upon the sidewalk and stared into the darkness about him.

He stood on a city street with neither street lights nor light pouring from windows. On either side of the streets, office buildings stood in silent shadows — their glass shattered and exterior frames twisted by flame and impact, and yet still stood. Building debris littered the sidewalks and roadway where he stood.

Only the sense of wrongness competed with the imposed thought to stand. Not even the cold wind blowing through his rain-soaked clothes — ripping away his body heat, registered against the imposed thought.

An air raid siren screamed into the night.

For a brief moment, training to run toward the need warred with his instincts to seek shelter warred with the word filling his mind. In the end, both training and instinct vanished into the word. The word was his purpose. His purpose was to stand and nothing else.

But his body was shivering and tiring. His stance was wrong to stand long, so he shifted his position. And to fight off the cold, he changed his breathing and including a warming hum. He breathed in across his vibrating vocal cords warming the air entering his lungs. An adjustment to his posture increased the flow of heat throughout his chest and into his limbs. Now he could fulfill his purpose and stand indefinitely.

“Alpha Tier Ability detected,” Beyul flashed across his vision.

“What the Abyss?” a second voice exclaimed.

Chester felt something touch the command filling his mind.

Whatever touched his mind ignored the sense of wrongness glittering in the shadows. The word wobbled under the touch and left ripples in his mind.

As his body warmed, wind faded to a calm breeze, and the air about him warmed. Steam rose off of his shirt.

“It’s still there,” the voice of the command answered. “He’s still under.”

“Then, what in the Abyss is this?”

“I don’t know. Regardless, we need to get off the street. What do you think?”

The second voice had a sneer in his voice. “The Mistress could use another toy.”

“Do you really think he will interest her?”

The second man looked into Chester’s eyes until all Chester could see was the second man’s violet eyes. “You will intrigue the Mistress, you will continually seek ways to keep her interest, you will always provide her pleasure. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Chester said. Part of him understood he would fail at these tasks. He was neither intriguing nor interesting. But that was typical. One’s true purpose in life was meant to be something to struggle toward. And this purpose would indeed be a struggle.

“Good. You will believe the orders are what you want to do. You will believe the orders are your own idea. And you will forget I gave you any orders. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

The second man, an albino, took a step back and smiled and looked to the first. “That should do it.”

The first shook his head. “Are you sure? Feel how squishy his brain is. I doubt he can even survive the transition.”

Chester stared straight ahead — unmoving and unthinking. But he knew one thing about himself, he would do anything to survive, and he had.

The second man eyed Chester’s clothes. Where the rain hit them, they went from wet to dry. Steam continuously rose off of him. Although the struggle was futile in the wind-driven rain, Chester's clothing remained merely damp. The second jerked his head toward the clothes.

The first raised his hands in acknowledgment. “Okay, dude, time to follow us to your new home.”

Chester almost smiled. The men had given purpose, and, now, they were giving him a new home.

The men walked past him.

Unlike normal trench coats, the men’s black trench coats came with hoods like those found as part of old fashion cloaks. And if their exposed hands were any indications, both men were albinos.

Once the two men were three paces in front of him, Chester followed. He didn’t care which way they went, they were taking him — home.

Both men stopped and turned back to look at him.

“Okay, what in the Abyss was that?” the second commander asked.

“You wanted to drag the dude home. Check and see, there is nothing in there.”

The second man touched Chester’s head.

But Chester felt that the touch went in deeper searching for something.

The man touched the follow us home command, which unlike the stand command, refused to wobble. “Huh. That is freaky.”

“You wanted to get her a stray dude.”

They resumed walking, and Chester followed. Out of an alcove, another commanded man began walking beside him.

“Do you think …” the second commander started.

“Don’t.”

“But, hypothetically, do we think we could?”

The first one stopped and the second returned. “Make the dude into a chew toy for the whole faction?”

“Well, yeah. Make him unique. Special. We know it requires a particular mindset or lack of one. He seems ideal.”

Part of Chester wanted to be special, to be ideal for something, but he also wanted a home.

The first commander shivered and then frowned. “And you know how to do this?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

The first looked Chester over, his expression slackened, and he returned his attention to the second. “Fine. But if you mess this up —”

“Yeah, yeah.” The second’s violet eyes filled Chester’s vision. “Like the previous orders I gave, you will forget these orders.”

The second man kept talking, but his words vanished into Chester’s mind as fast as he spoke them.

Chester felt something begin to solidify within him, but when the second commander stopped speaking whatever he felt vanished from his memory.

“Gamma Tier Abnormality detected,” Beyul added.

“I think that did it,” the second man said stepping back. His eyes drifted from Chester’s eyes to linger on the exposed neck. “Yeah,” he breathed and licked his lips.

“Come on,” the first said. “Let’s get the dude to the Mistress. Let her decide if he’s worth keeping.”

They started down the street again, collecting more of the commanded as they passed alleys and intact alcoves. The second kept glancing back at Chester. The first grabbed the second by the chin and stared into the second’s eyes.

“STOP OGLING THE RECRUITS.”

Although the words weren’t spoken, Chester heard them as if a jackhammer was carving apart the second commander’s mind. The commands given to Chester had been strong, yet gentle. This command carried the force of a hurricane. The words washed over the second — he froze unable to look away from the first’s red eyes. The command had more than enough power that it splashed over Chester too.

And the word recruit clung in Chester’s mind. He had always been a recruit. He could do recruit. He could be recruit.

The first commander’s body flinched, and he shook out his limbs. “Gah!” He grabbed the confused second’s chin again and resumed eye contact. “YOU WILL NOT LOOK AT THE RECRUITS AND YOU WILL NOT PAY ANY ATTENTION TO THE RECRUITS UNLESS THERE IS A PROBLEM. YOU WILL NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT THE DUDE UNTIL AFTER HE IS PRESENTED TO THE MISTRESS. IS THAT CLEAR?”

“Yes,” the second said. Without moving his gaze, he lifted a finger and pointed at Chester’s grin. “Is that a problem?”

Home. Recruit. Mistress.

Both of the commanders reached into Chester’s mind and found only their orders. Then in unison, they said, “Creepy.”

The second turned to face forward and didn’t look back for the rest of the trip. Only after they entered an undamaged apartment complex did he begin to stir from the commands his partner gave him. When they descended into the basement, he asked, “Was that really necessary?” But he still didn’t look at the recruits.

The first smirked and then sobered. “You were being a bad influence on the recruits. A bit longer with you acting like that, and they would have ripped out his throat.” At the bottom of the stairs, the first turned to Chester and pointed to a place against the wall. “Stand there, you will be presented last.” Then he gave a wide command which flowed into all of the commanded’s minds, “You will ignore the other recruits until such time as you become part of the clan. You will remember no personal information about your fellow recruits even after you are accepted. All shared memories you have with a fellow recruit, any stories you have heard about a fellow recruit will be placed into a vault. You will close that vault, and forget its combination, and forget the existence of the vault. You do not interact with human recruits unless given explicit orders. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” the recruits said together.

Chester said, “Yes, sir.”

Then the other recruits added, “Sir.”

The first frowned. “You will never try to remind a vampire of his human past. You are here to leave your human past behind. Feel the burdens of your past slip away. Let your memories fade into nothingness. You exist only to become part of the clan. You exist only to be defined by the clan. You exist only to be a vampire.”

Chester felt the first commander touch his mind and search for something. He had done as he was told. He had swept all his memories into a pile and let them vanish. Although the commander didn’t notice, Chester knew something lingered. But, as long as the lingering whatever didn’t make itself known, Chester was satisfied. A few happy words hung on — he was getting a home and a clan — things he had always wanted. All he had to do was be a recruit, and that he would do for the mistress.

After the commander yanked himself away from Chester's mind, Chester settled into a happy existence of vampires and blurred out recruits.

Chester stumbled. Someone had shoved him through a set of double doors.

“Kneel.” The woman’s voice filled his mind, tingled along his skin — a sweet, seductive promise. Nothing else mattered — only her voice. Unlike the orders from before, her order even defined who he was.

Mistress. He fell to his knees and gazed up at her for he was kneel.

She wore a black skirt with silver embroidery — some sequence of intertwining knots — and with silver buttons. Her black and silver jacket was unbuttoned to reveal her black bodice and a black leather choker at her throat. She wore her straight platinum hair back in a ponytail with a black bow. Her eyes were bound by a strip of black cloth. And her pale pink skin was powered and chalked into a skeletal white.

And yet without hesitation or fumbling, she ran the barest edge of her nail along Chester’s jawline — leaving a tingling streak trailing after her touch.

His body trembled and yearned, but he was kneel. He waited.

She bent close. “Do you want me?” More teasing than words, warming his ear, worming into his head.

“Yes,” More a moan than a word, more a rising response than a thought, more a need than a mere desire. His hands lift toward her.

“No.”

He froze. He was kneel. His hands dropped to his sides.

“Not yet. Stand.” Her finger tips brushed upward on his ears.

He rocked back on his heels and stood confident another part of him stood too. Everything stood, because he was stand.

“Strip.”

He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off as suggestively as he could — leaving his red tie wrapped around his neck.

She dragged her nails across his chest — a mere hint of touching and yet so much more that trails burned.

He stood at attention. Ready to kick off his shoes once she was ready for him to proceed.

“All of it.”

He bent and untied his shoes. He pressed heel against heel to pull his foot free.

Despite the lightness of her hand upon his butt, he felt off balanced, tipping to fall. But her order filled his mind. But her warmth filled his ears. But her touch lingered and burned on his skin.

He staggered out of his shoes, feeling like a clod, an idiot, a fool. He didn’t deserve —

Her hand on his chin lifted him to stand once more. This time at military attention and then at ease.

His eyes met the cloth over hers. Yet he knew her eyes were violet — deep blue combined with albinism. The lines, rings, and squiggles in her iris linger in his vision.

She dragged her fangs over his skin. A bare touch combined with her heat left twin tracks of flame upon him.

Though he stood like a statue, he longed for those fangs to sink into him, to drink from him, to fill her with him.

She unzipped and dropped his pants.

He had been going commando which was more convenient when wearing a Beyul connection suit. He had never considered what it would mean if he ever met someone without a suit.

Then she touched him — one long, slow pull. She had so primed his mind and body — primed to the point of pain — that all she needed to do was a single stroke.

He felt himself explode and the orgasm ripple outward in waves, weakening him, driving him to his knees.

Rougher hands grabbed him as the happy lethargy sapped him.

“Will you do everything I want?” She asked.

“Yes.” The word slurred into a stupid grin.

“Will you obey me in all things?”

“Yes.”

“Am I your Mistress?”

“Always, Mistress.”

She held a dog collar before his eyes. “You will wear this collar.”

“No, Mistress.” Still slurred, still delirious. He had no idea why he said that. Oh, right … freedom, he remembered. The Founding Fathers meant for us to have freedom above all else.

“You came to become one of the Night Blood,” her voice flooded his mind.

I did? Oh, right. I am here to become part of the clan. “Yes.”

“Do I have your undying loyalty?” Her words filled his mind to the point there was no room for his own thoughts.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Do I have your unswerving honesty?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Do you believe me in all things?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Do you want to always make me happy?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Do I have your absolute obedience?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Will you wear this collar as a symbol of all that?”

“No, Mistress.”

She studied him.

“Do you know how many men have said ‘no’ to me?”

“None.”

The voice Chester recognized as Beyul’s said, “You have taken the Oath for the Vampire faction. The Oath comes with the following Instincts: —”

Chester ignored the list. The list was standard recruit stuff. Stuff he had done for the Armed Forces — whichever branch he was dumped into — for the mission. The mission had always come first. First before any other consideration — including consideration of his fellow soldiers.

“* Always pleasure the Mistress.”

That was different. Chester smiled. He could do that.

“Following these Instincts will provide rewards which can aid you in completing your goals.”

The Mistress circled behind him and bit into his neck.

Pain then more orgasm — his body wanting to be erect enough to explode into a second orgasm. Instead, her bite pulsed with his still rippling orgasm — strengthening the ripples into waves. Waves which —

She took but a taste, removed her fangs, and, with her tongue, sealed the wounds.

His orgasm collapsed.

He felt disappointed — teased without hope of relief. He obviously needed something more than she would provide.

She licked her fangs, stepped to face him, and considered him carefully. Wrapping her fingers around his chin, she stood dragging him up to her. “Yes,” she breathed into his ear. “You will be welcomed as a Child of the Moon, given the Blood of the Night.” She grabbed his hair, and yanked his head back. “Before that, you will suffer my displeasure and pleasure.” She released him. “Take him to the dungeon.”

Chester felt his body begin to respond to the thought of being tortured.

He remembered some of the other prison guards calling him a sadist, and he did enjoy inflicting pain under the watchful eyes of the CIA, perhaps a bit too much. But, he knew what he was — a researcher of pain, a receiver of pain, a reveler of pain. He was a masochist.

As a pair of rough hands dragged him away, he held up a hand but kept his eyes upon her hidden violet eyes. “Please lead the way.” He gave his best I-will-be-your-torturer-de-jour grin and winked. He turned to follow the guards and hoped she wouldn’t disappoint.

With neither clothing nor self-consciousness, he passed the two commanders who brought him home to the clan to the mistress. “Thank you.”

Both commanders shivered.

The first commander glared at the second. “What the fuck did you do?”