Friday, Aug 16, 2019 – 1:24 AM (Las Vegas, Nevada)

“It should be obvious that we both know why we’re here,” said the man with the long camouflage trench coat.  “Information.  You want information.  I want information.  Sharing is caring.” By the label on the trench coat his name was Peterson, although the man in the chair didn’t think so..

“One would be incorrect to assume that the label on this jacket represents who I am,” he continued.  “You are welcome to call me Peterson, regardless although it is not my name.  My real name is a memory lost in time.”  Peterson paused briefly, like there was a fact he knew but was just out of reach.

“Don’t act surprised.  You knew that our kind had dark gifts.”  Peterson gazed out the crack in the curtains of the cheap hotel located just off the strip.  The sound of sirens could be heard off in the distance which wasn’t surprising for this location.“Vampires. Kindred.  Children of Caine.  I can tell you are having trouble processing this, perhaps you don’t even believe it.  A society that convinced you we didn’t exist.  Scary stories to tell in the dark.”  Again, it looked as if Peterson was losing himself in a reel containing a lifetime of memories.  “But here you are. A soldier.  Thrust into a war you only just learned about.  Adapting to a new reality of the unknown. I can show you this world.”  Peterson brought his hands up, like he was framing a picture between them  “It’s shining and shimmering and splendid.  And dangerous.”

“Times are different now,” said Peterson as he peaked out the curtains again.  “They never used to be this dangerous.  There were dangers of course, but nothing in comparison to these recent nights. Before it was kindred politics of greed and power.  Not much different than the world you live in actually.”  He glanced back,stepping into the pale light of the candle lit room, surprisingly long dark but shiny red hair spilling down his shoulders, contrasting his scuffed leather work books  and torn black jeans.   His gaze studied the man in the chair.  “We used to be safe in the shadows; hidden by a masquerade.“  He smiled.  Almost a hint of a laugh.

“You should be writing this down,” he asked with an offended front.   “Really.   How often does one get an interview with a vampire?” The man in the chair made no motion to take notes. “I thought this was the information you seek.  I suppose it’s information you may or may not have known.  This could save your life one day. Or get you killed.”

“There is a beauty that one can’t see in your waking mortal world.  A secret hidden by the terrible sun.  A dark honesty about life that you can only find in the decaying nightclubs in the most desolate corners of urban nightlife.”  The man in the chair began to struggle.  As Peterson continued to speak the ambiance in the room slowly declined with each word like the shadows in the room were beginning to surround them.

“In reality. It’s the beast hiding in the shadows. Many don’t survive anymore.  The ones that do often become alone, abandoned to the night by a creator that has either answered the call or just abandoned them out right.”  Slowly Peterson walked closer to the table where the man sat.  Until he could see the gag in the man’s mouth and the fear in his eyes.  His wrists were red from resisting the rope tying him to the chair.  Almost as red as the blood splattered on his state identification hanging open on the table.  A slow smile, twisted by the candlelight crossed Petersons face.  “Welcome to the darkness.”  His eyes traced over the various metal devices between them on the table.  “Where should we begin,” he laughed, picking a small tool that resembled a corkscrew.   A dark, unsettling cackle.