The scene takes place shortly after Parker’s arrival in his room at the underground compund in NYC, after the battle at the Salvation army…from which we should have retreated before the rockets started flying. Oh well. Maybe next time.

I lie on the bed that’s been put down for me and stare up at the ceiling, vaguely aware that charred bits of clothes and most likely flesh are drifting on to the particularly clean bedspread. It’s really remarkable that these vampires - these monsters - should go through so much bloodshed and bestiality during their little war, then go out of their way to carefully furnish living quarters for their good little soldiers - the ones who survive, anyway.

On that note, I suppose I should be grateful that the rocket that hit me square in the side didn’t fucking incinerate me…or the hail of bullets from the assault rifles…or the bulldozer…or the fifteen foot skin monster…or Mobea…the one I have to thank for all of this.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

How did this happen to me? One minute I’m some wandering vagrant with a past…and the next I’m a -

Vampire. The word echoes in my mind like some kind of ridiculous joke. Is this real? How can this possibly be real? I run my tongue over my shiny new teeth and I know it is. I feel my belly full of blood - blood stolen from that psycho I was fighting - and I know that it’s true. I’m a soldier again, in another dirty, secret war. My hands are soaked with blood all over again, only this time I’m licking it up like a dog. I have claws and fangs - just like her. I use them pretty well, if I do say so myself…Mom would be so proud.

I toss and turn a little, waiting for the sun to come up and take me away from my own thoughts - lest I be forced to continue dealing with something so surreal - but dawn doesn’t come. It’s never there when you’re waiting for it. Despite the fact that I know it’s still night out- I can almost feel it - I begin to doze of anyway, and for the first time in weeks, I begin to dream.

In a moment, I’m there again, South America - Brazil specifically. I don’t remember the name of the city, or if it even was one. We were stationed about a mile outside of a village, awaiting orders. There were four of us…Reynolds, our commanding oficer, was about forty years old, with the look of an old soldier about him. He had these cold blue eyes, and a certain steeliness about him, but he was a good man. I still remember the talk he gave us beforehand…"No matter what they throw at you, you don’t leave anyone behind. Take care of your own, watch your friends, and make sure everyone gets out." I remember how he suded the word "they" with a sort of derogatory sneer…I couldn’t help but wonder if the man had some kind of stake in all this. I dunno. Then there was Dewitt. Black fella from Louisiana. He was real good people. Excitable, a little wet behind the ears, maybe, but a real good kid. He was maybe a year younger than I was at the time, barely old enough for service. The other guy we were with went by the name Lambert. He was kinda tall, with fair features, older than I was, by at least five years. Kept to himself mostly, like I did. I didn’t trust him much. Then there was me. Corporal Christian Parker. Fresh out of training at the SOA, specially instructed in the usage of firearms for the purpose of seek and destroy missions. By the end of my preparations, I could take out whomever the job required - theoretically. I was twenty-one years old, and it was my first assignment.

Briefing was simple, as was our mission parameters. It was believed that an international drug cartel was hiding supplies both in the forms of narcotics and firearms in a smal village in the heart of Brazil. Our camp was within surveillance range, and we had confirmed suspicions that something was going on - we just didn’t know what exactly. We saw a few trucks move in and out the day we arrived, and determined that the assault would be within one week’s time. We waited.

During the seventy-two hours preceding the strike, the men and I began to get very restless with no one’s company except one another’s. As the hours slipped by, I noticed Reynolds getting increasingly tense. He admitted to me that he was anxious to see exactly what would happen when we finally got the opportunity to move. I know a week doesn’t seem like much, but we were caged animals out there. I pitied whoever was in our way when we were finally loosed.

Finally, the night came. Our instructions were clear. "Procure any evidence you can find. Leave nothing standing." With that, we were each given an array of flame throwers, grenades, and varying sidearms. The village was small - a hundred or so occupants. This wouldn’t take long at all.

We were in a small truck…the ride was short…a knot began to twist itself in my stomach that I couldn’t calm no matter what I did. I tried not to think about what was going to happen within the next few hours. During my contemplations, it didn’t occur to me that I might die out there. As the truck slowed to a stop fiften meters outside the village, I stopped myself. I closed my eyes, and I focused. I let my concerns for the people in that village slip away like water through my fingers. I tried to divorce myself from anything inside me that was human for at least the next few hours. They taught us that sort of thing.

fire…blood…explosions…screaming

It all flies through my brain at once. The women praying to Santa Maria as their homes were leveled and reduced to ash. They were huts…these people built their homes out of trees and grass. You’d be surprised how fast that burns…we found drugs. A hundred pounds of cocaine, to be exact. Our mission was certainly successful, but we got zealous…

I shake myself awake, remembering the end of that night. A strange feeling comes over me, and I’m in the room again…lying on that semi clean bed. I bolt upright and turn my head to the side, and I retch. Blood pours from my mouth onto the floor. I start for a second - then I remember. I stand, and walk over to the mirror. Damn, I’m a sight. Face still burned. Eyes bloodshot anf ruined. The sun still isn’t up. I must have dozed for about twenty minutes. The night I dreamt about is fresh in my mind, and almost against my will, my memories return me to Brazil…

I had found the coke in this woman’s home. She was babbling something about her husband…her husband. I got sick of listening to her wail and I backhanded her. She crumpled to the ground sobbing like a child. I looked at her there…she was really quite beautiful…about seventeen, maybe. Then again she could have been thirty. You can never be sure of a woman’s age, especially outside of America. I don’t know why. My blood was up…the night wasn’t over, not by a longshot, and I was…lost in something. I had shot seven, maybe eight people so far that night alone, after never having really hurt anyone before. I hadn’t gotten laid in literally years, and here was this woman crying softly on the ground…begging for her life.

I punch the mirror, and shatter it into a thousand pieces. I regain control of myself before I vomit more blood onto the carpet. Can’t waste any more of that, now can I?

And I remember…after I stumbled out of that hut fifteen minutes later, feeling quite satisfied with myself, seeing Dewitt…flame thrower in hand, laying waste to a pile of…something, howling like some kind of beast. I looked away from him. I didn’t want to see what he was doing. What he was burning. But I heard screams.

On the ride back, whatever I managed to supress before the strike began to flood back. I clutched the edges of my seat, clenching my teeth. Dewitt didn’t look too good himself. I think he was crying, but I refused to look at him any more. Reynolds drove, silently, and Lambert sat, motionless, staring into the darkness. I didn’t sleep that night.

I stagger back to my bed. Dawn. Finally. I flop on top of the covers, a pile of ash and gore. I will shower in the evening. Hopefully some of this damage will have healed by then. As comatose slinks into my brain, I remember the face of that woman in Brazil, contorted in pain, and I lay it over the face of that woman from tonight…but I shake it off, and think of what I fought tonight, and pass into unconsciousness with the nearly comnforting thought that there are worse monsters out there than I.