The buzz in the police station is akin to a swarm of bees harvesting honey. Overwhelming. At times it is a frantic, almost frenzy of non-stop movement. Everything is influx. There's constant motion. Conversation. Laughter. Curse words. Arguments. Criminals being processed. Paperwork getting filed. The smell of coffee and doughnuts, literally hangs in the air, like a permanent fixed scent. And through it all, the thing that Mick Ashcroft notices the most is the amount of heartbeats that surround him. The scent of blood and steady, strong breath of mortality. A sea of life flows and in its midst there is a corpse, that refuses to die. Poisoning whatever purity remains in this precinct, an abomination promises to serve and protect. Travesty is the atrocity that brings a false sense of peace and hope. When in the same instant, that beast can also shepherd death to the very door it defends.


Mick Ashcroft watched from his desk as Detective Riley St. Croix, stormed from the interrogation room. Her expression a mixture of rage and maximum annoyance. If lightening could shoot from someone's eyes, it would be her's. Normally, he would avoid her when she was in this state, no need to poke the bear, right? But when she grabbed the nearest copy of the Rochester White Pages and started stomping her way back to the interrogation room, Mick decided he had to intervene. Catching Riley by the arm he swung her around to face him, right as she reached out to open the door.


"Hey... hey, what are you doing there, mate?"


"Isn't it obvious? I'm going to use this phone book as a buffer so when I beat that asshole into submission, there won't be any marks. Then he can't go crying abuse to his lawyer, like the pussy that he is."


"Solid plan but how 'bout I take a crack at him and if that doesn't work, then we'll go with your idea?"


"Fine. Whatever. I'm sick of looking at that creep anyway. I'm going to go steal that nasty pillowcase, that reeks of feces and piss. You know, that one from the holding cell that's covered in stains that someone oddly drew a clown on? Yeah, I'm going to snatch that shit and fill it with bars of soap. This way I'm even more ready to beat that fuckin' scumbag into compliance."


Disturbing. Truly. On so many levels. With that Riley marched off to obtain her means of torture and Mick entered the interrogation room. And there sat Elias Holt.





Elias' full attention was fixated on Mick. Seemingly glued to his every move and Mick couldn't help but laugh. Looking down at the scrawny, pitiful, wretch of a man in front of him, he shook his head and took a seat. Then, gazing steadily into Elias' eyes, he began to speak.


"Elias Holt. You're guilty of extortion, embezzlement, fraud, money laundering, drug trafficking and arson. You know all about this though, correct?"


It was at this point, Elias Holt felt strangely disconnected from his body and words. He could hear himself answer, almost like he was a bystander in the room listening in to everything, without control of the responses. He communicated but not of his own volition or accord. This filled him with trepidation, yet he did not have the power to stop it.


"That is correct."


"Good. So you confess to your culpability?"


"I do indeed."


"Excellent. Please, sign the paper then, it is an admission of guilt. Once you confess, we can finalize all your documents and from there, we can get you processed and on your way to prison. Sound good?"


"Yes. That is efficient and therefore, good."


Mr. Holt was caught in a trance. He felt his body move, hand on pen and ink to paper but he wasn't steering this ship. The command came from elsewhere and it compelled him to obey. There was no fighting it. He had to comply and by the time he regained control, the act was completed. There was nothing else for Elias to do, except stare at the self-satisfied smirk adorning Mick's face as he exited the room. What the fuck just happened? Mr. Holt sighed; long and deep, and hung his head in defeat. For he didn't know.

---

"Darren Zirando. You feeble, insufficient, sorry excuse for a human being. Do you honestly think that your inane ramblings carry any weight? Stumbling around a swamp like some sort of mentally defunct , while you narrate your every move and pass judgment on me. It's almost as if you're trying to set the bar for being a brain dead, imp. Like others that strive to excel to their greatest potential, you're out there pushing the limits on stupidity. What exactly gave you the impression that I'm hiding from the likes of you? I'm right here and you're absolutely correct, I am a vampire."


"I've lived a long life and have faced far worse threats than a paltry, miserable, sod like you. A man who can't even preach his faith correctly. Disconnected from reality, you are a man who lacks true conviction and fails at every turn. Oh yes, please come at me with the intent to kill and you shall reap all the rewards that go along with that glory."


"This I promise you."


"When you're in that ring, god won't be there to save you. Nothing will stop me from utterly destroying you, in every conceivable way. Come Thursday Anarchy, your fate is set, holy man. Best you start praying now. Cause even if I refuse to consume your tainted blood, that won't stop me from ripping out your throat. Have you ever seen a man bleed to death? Do you think the XWF officials will get the paramedics to the ring in time to rescue you from an untimely end? So many questions. Too bad we'll have to wait until our fight to learn the answers."


"Till then, holy man."