Chapter Text
November 19, 1829
Mission assignment to Agent Abolish Veylocke.
The goal of this mission is to determine the full physiological effects of the cure to vampirism.
You are to report to Branch 548Q of the Organization under Doctor Avery Rowan. Tasks assigned to you will include physical tests, blood tests, and medicinal trials.
You are to continue work on any ongoing assignments that can be undertaken from Branch 548Q (i.e. research, tracking, reports). Any ongoing assignments that cannot be done throughout the duration of this mission (i.e. fieldwork, attacks, stalking) are to be temporarily delegated to other agents for the duration of this mission. Delegation and management of these assignments will be your responsibility.
“This is bullshit.”
Abolish walks briskly into Morcant’s office, carrying his new mission file and dropping it heavily on his father’s desk.
Morcant looks up from his interrupted work to meet Abolish’s gaze with an expression of dry amusement. “Oh?”
“This is below my station, Morcant.” He pulls a chair up, letting it make a slightly screechy, scraping noise as he drags it across the floor to sit across from Morcant.
Abolish knows the loud noise must have bothered the old vampire, but Morcant gives no sign of it, maintaining a neutral expression. He leans back into his chair, settling in for the conversation.
“I’m surprised, Abolish. You’ve never been one to care about status before, why would you start now?”
“You know what I mean, this isn’t even really a mission. This is just a research project that this branch is calling a mission in order to get me involved.”
Morcant’s mouth twitches in a subtle grin. “I’m sure if there were other options, you wouldn’t be their first pick of test subject.”
Abolish ignores the slight on him, his focus locked on the more important matter at hand. “Why are they even bothering to study it? We don’t even know if we can replicate the cure outside of Oakhurst without the beacons.”
“Perhaps you can suggest that as their next point of research.”
Abolish leans forward in his chair. “Please, don’t make me do this, Morcant.”
The words carry a seriousness, heavier than the annoyance that would usually accompany such a line from Abolish’s mouth. There’s a subtle, almost imperceptible tension through his body. Morcant sighs and shifts to sit up straighter, meeting Abolish’s intense gaze with gentleness and taking on a more sincere tone.
“Believe me, dear boy, I’m not thrilled to send you off to this either. I’ve been attempting to fend them off for months, but I imagine that if I don’t send you over soon, they’ll just come and take you themselves.”
Abolish pauses, considering Morcant’s words. Despite his seemingly exaggerated message, his tone is completely genuine.
“What do you mean by ‘fending them off for months?’”
There’s skepticism written in invisible ink across Abolish’s neutral face, and Morcant is one of the few people who knows how to read it. The vampire responds by standing up, and pulling a file out of the bottom drawer of a cabinet against the wall, significantly larger than most files the Blackwyn branch would keep on hand. He slides it across the desk.
“These researchers learned of your experience with the cure just over a year ago. I can’t count how many letters I’ve received from them since then, pleading for even a blood sample to do further research.”
Inquisitively, Abolish opens the file, flipping through and skimming the words. Each of the over fifty pages is a letter or telegraph addressed to Morcant, using a multitude of strategies to request Abolish as a research subject. They frame the assignment as a simple extension of his mission in Oakhurst, a duty to the Organization, and even as a favor to Abolish himself, saying the research may give them information that could strengthen him or prolong his life. As the letters become more recent, they increase in both frequency and force. Morcant has received ten just in the last month, all resolutely worded, phrased less like a request than a demand. There is no doubt in Abolish’s mind that they would only continue until they got what they wanted.
Abolish sighs wearily. The action feels familiar in his chest, a behaviour executed every time he found himself facing a task that he was not paid enough to endure.
“When do I leave.”
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
The morning sky is violet as Abolish embarks from the Thornvale manor. It remains speckled with a handful of stars as the sun ascends over the faraway horizon, its light painting wispy clouds pink and gold. The air is pleasantly cool, a breeze caressing Abolish’s face and the grasses of the surrounding plains, which have a faint glow under the rising sunlight.
Abolish enters the carriage, and the scenery outside is erased with the click of the door shutting. There are dark curtains drawn over the windows, which Abolish doesn’t need to be told not to open. The Organization protects its secrecy dearly. Like all other members of the Organization, Abolish is only allowed knowledge of the location of his home branch.
With his luggage stored and the driver out front, sitting in silence and dim light, Abolish is accompanied by nothing but his own apprehension and anticipation. The lurch as the horses take off and the carriage departs only amplifies the slight anxious twisting in his gut.
Abolish rereads the mission file. Better to be overprepared than caught off guard. Especially since the information was minimal, just enough that he would know what to expect.
Branch 548Q specializes in research, particularly medical. The de facto leader, Dr Rowan, is a human and former field agent who transitioned to medical research seven years ago. There is very little information regarding the specifics of what Abolish will actually be doing. He can’t deny that that bothers him. It all seems too simple, too easy, too straightforward, and that means that something is likely going to go wrong.
Or, maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe everything would go exactly according to plan, and Abolish would simply be their guinea pig for a few months.
That might be worse.
“You know, I would think that this would be your ideal job. No unpredictable bystanders to manage, and the doctor will be doing all the paperwork. Why do you dislike it so?”
Morcant’s gently teasing voice echoes in his mind from a few days ago. At the time, Abolish muttered a generic answer about having to wrangle people over letters and telegraphs to fill in for him in his regular missions. A half-true, uncomplicated, acceptable answer. One that Morcant certainly saw through, though he didn’t ask any follow-up questions. Fortunately, since that meant Abolish didn’t have to think any harder about it himself.
The truth was that he didn’t like that this entire assignment hinged on something that had occurred on a previous mission. A mission that was long since over and forgotten.
Thinking too much about the past distracts you from the present. And the present is where Abolish’s job is.
The voyage takes the better part of two days, with few breaks and only a short time camped overnight to sleep. It is late evening by the time Abolish steps out of the carriage, shaking out his stiff legs. The sun has mostly sunk over the horizon, leaving a deep, velvet blue sky beyond thick, grey clouds overhead.
His eyes sweep the house and the area, taking in his surroundings on instinct. He couldn’t see far in any direction, surrounded on all sides by forest. The forest has shed all of its leaves, the litter coating the ground and crunching underfoot. The trees of a variety that Abolish doesn't recognize, with dark grey, almost black bark. It makes them appear somewhat sickly, or burnt.
The house itself is unremarkable, which was of course the goal. Had Abolish not known its true nature, he would have supposed that it belonged to some merchant perhaps, someone not noble but still well-off, maybe someone who would travel to nearby towns to sell wares.
As he enters the foyer, he hopes to avoid any people, ideally be directed to his room and start his work tomorrow. But of course, he isn’t so lucky.
Instead, Abolish is told that his bags will be carried upstairs to his guest room, while the hunter himself is promptly led across down a discrete corridor on the main floor into a laboratory. His guide introduces herself as a lab technician, and is talking with far too much energy for the late hour. Especially considering that by the looks of her, she’s not even a vampire.
She has him sit down in an armchair, and explains that she needs a blood sample from him, hardly giving him the chance to respond before the needle is inserted into his arm.
Apparently, that was all she needed from him at that moment, because Abolish is quickly shooed out of the lab without any further explanation. Unsure why exactly that couldn’t wait until the following day, and reconsidering his assessment about the lab tech’s potential vampirism, Abolish is given a comprehensive tour of the house by an amiable servant. He knows he should be paying better attention, but at that moment, all he can think about is his desire for sleep.
When he is at last led into his guest room, he collapses onto the bed after only the barest investigation of the place. A more thorough sweep of the room for threats would have to wait until tomorrow.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
Abolish is greeted in the morning by a pale blue sky with yellow sunlight illuminating the world in a golden glow, the smell of bacon cooking in the kitchens on the floor below, and a loud, insistent knock on the door.
By the time he steps out of bed and opens the door however, the person is gone, and all that remains is a note on the floor.
Agent Veylocke,
Please be in the lab by 7:00. Breakfast will take place after our meeting.
Doctor Rowan
His watch currently reads 6:52.
For fuck’s sake.
The doctor is maybe an inch taller than Abolish, and appears in their mid-thirties. They take long, determined strides that don’t obviously reveal any injury or concealed weapons. Their handshake is firm, but brief, as they move with a certain promptness, not slowing down for the expected pleasantries, but moving through them at the same hurried pace as they take the rest of their work. The only information Abolish can gather from their face is a grim sternness in their expression, and the sweeping movement of their eyes as they take him in and size him up.
Rowan moves briskly and gestures for Abolish to take a seat in the same armchair as the previous night. They march around the room, tidying and storing equipment, including several small vials containing a red fluid that Abolish assumes is his blood. All the while, the doctor explains the results of their initial tests. They don’t seem to particularly care whether or not he’s actually listening or understanding.
“All we’ve done so far is take a look at your blood under a microscope, but it’s intriguing. You’re human, but you have your own venom, presumably from your time as a vampire. It would seem that the cure suppresses venom, but doesn’t remove it. You also likely still produce it, as otherwise your venom would have been flushed out of your system by now.”
The doctor pulls out a quill and notebook and sits down in a chair next to him, opening to a blank page and looking up suddenly to meet his eyes, almost startling.
“Your sire, what was their name?”
“Doctor Legundo. Don’t know his first name, we just called him Legs.”
“And he sacrificed his life for you, correct?”
“For… yeah, that’s right.” For all the remaining humans, is what Abolish wanted to say. But in the end, he was the only one. Legs had died to cure him, and him alone.
Why did that only strike him just now? And why does it… hurt so much more to think about it like this, instead of thinking how his sacrifice was intended to save Ren and Martyn too?
No. Not hurt. Abolish doesn’t get hurt over these sorts of things.
“Did he turn anyone else?”
“No.” Abolish doesn’t find himself struggling to keep up with Rowan’s conversation, per se, but he finds that he would have to work to remain actively engaged. The doctor had surprised him slightly with the abrupt change in conversation topic to his sire, and for just a moment, he found himself replying to their questions automatically. Meanwhile, the conscious part of his brain, the one that would form his responses more carefully, had still been catching up.
“And how old was he?”
“About fifty, I think.”
“When was he turned?”
“While we were in Oakhurst. He was only a vampire for maybe three days.”
Rowan’s quill scratches a few sentences more. “And his sire, then?”
“Owen.”
“Does this Owen have a last name?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Anticipating their next questions, Abolish continues. “He died taking the cure. He was two-hundred-some years old, no other fledglings.”
“Did the Organization have any contact with him to your knowledge?”
Abolish shakes his head. “I asked him, he didn’t know we existed. He committed the last massacre in Oakhurst, and then he buried himself. I highly doubt we have any records of him by name.”
The doctor nods, eyes still fixed on the words they were etching out onto the paper. “And his sire?”
Abolish bites back a protest. At this rate, they’d be tracing back his entire sireline.
“Why is this relevant?”
Rowan looks up from their notes stiffly, their expression shaped into something that could almost be called a glare.
“You’re not giving me a lot to work with here,” the doctor says. “I’m trying to find a relation to anyone we have in our records. Knowing your lineage will give us a better idea of what we’re working with.”
Abolish remains silent for several moments, collecting himself. This is just work, the hunter reminds himself. It doesn’t matter to the doctor who these people were, nor do they have any opinions on them. It shouldn’t matter to Abolish either. This is just work.
“His name was Louis,” Abolish says. “I don’t know much about him. He was the mayor of Oakhurst, two hundred years ago, but he was killed by the townspeople. I don’t know if he had any other fledglings, but Owen didn’t mention any. I don’t know anything else about him or his sire.”
Rowan continues their notes, objective, factual.
“Mayor of Oakhurst?” they muse. “Then it’s quite possible we have records of him, yes?”
“It’s possible, yes.”
“Excellent,” the doctor says, as close to cheerfully as the stoic person could manage, adding the final details to their notes. They then set their quill down and lock eyes with Abolish. “In that case, I have a task for you. Acquire any records of Louis, and research him and his sireline.”
Abolish jolts. “I wasn’t made aware that that would be included in my responsibilities for this mission,” he starts. “Also, I’m not a researcher. That isn’t something I have much experience in doing.”
“If you need assistance, feel free to ask any of our scholars,” Rowan replies dismissively. Abolish attempts to speak, but they cut him off. “And before you ask, I’m not going to simply assign this to one of them. This is part of the mission that was given to you, and it is therefore your responsibility to undertake it.”
A beat of silence passes while Abolish thinks, working out how best to convince the doctor to let him out of this task. He very slowly shakes his head, breaking eye contact.
“This really isn’t-” he tries.
“Mister Veylocke.” The doctor’s voice is harsher and sharper than Abolish had ever heard it before. He snaps his head up to meet their eyes as Rowan leans forward slightly. “Do not make the mistake of thinking that because I am not a field agent, that I am more easygoing than your other coworkers. You seem to be under the impression that this particular mission allows you to negotiate with me, and that is not the case. When I want something from you, it will be done. Is that clear?”
Abolish considers the speech carefully. It seems rehearsed, deliberate. As though Rowan had anticipated that he might be resistant and had prepared accordingly.
When I want something from you, it will be done.
There’s a subtle threat in those words.
Finally, something he’s used to.
Abolish maintains eye contact as he at last nods.
“Understood.”