Midnight - The Lennox Mansion:
Maisie adjusted her grip on the hovercar's controls, her fingers stiff from tension. The lights of the coast faded behind them, swallowed by the dark sky, and Seattle shimmered faintly in the distance like something radioactive. Igor sat silently in the passenger seat, as stone. He hadn't said a word since takeoff.
Not that she could blame him.
She'd told herself she believed in this. In them. The White Angels. Her dad said they were the only ones with a plan, not like the Church, which only knew how to destroy. The Church didn't want Alucards fixed or free; they wanted them wiped out. The few they kept around were barely people, just broken slaves, used until they dropped.
So, of course, the White Angels looked better in comparison. Anyone would.
But lately, the "freedom" they promised sounded a lot like a rebrand of the same old leash. Less visible, maybe, but still a leash. Her dad had said, "Control doesn't mean cruelty. It means keeping people safe." Like that made it better.
Maisie glanced sideways at Igor. He hadn't moved, hadn't even blinked much. Just watching the sky ahead like it was a battlefield.
Did he know? Could he feel that creeping sense that she was lying to both?
She swallowed. Her father's voice still rang in her ears. We're the only ones who know what to do with them, Maisie. The only ones willing to do what's necessary. He'd said it was comforting. Like, she should be proud.
But it's necessary for whom?
"We'll be at the Needle in about thirty minutes," she said out loud, because the silence was starting to hurt. "No patrols in our lane. We're ghosted for now."
Igor didn't respond. Just kept looking forward.
Maisie stared at the horizon, knuckles pale on the wheel. The car hummed softly around them, the sky pressing in.
She told herself this was fine.
But she wasn't sure what she believed anymore.
Maisie and Igor arrived just in time for Jack's grand entrance.
The crowd exploded as the leader of the White Angels stormed onto the stage, strutting with the swagger of a rock star and the fervor of a preacher. He threw his arms skyward, soaking in the noise like a man baptized in fire.
"Are you ready for this?!" Jack roared, his voice slicing clean through the air.
"YEAH!" the crowd howled back, humans and Alucards both, fists flying, eyes lit with fever.
"Then let's tear it all down!" Jack pumped his fist high.
The audience repeated him like puppets on cue. The energy was feral now, hot and blinding, overly big for the space it filled. It didn't feel like hope. It felt like combustion.
Jack leaned into the mic, grinning like he'd already triumphed.
"Are you tired of the upper crust bleeding you dry, humans?!"
"YES!"
"Are you tired of rich humans enslaving you, Alucards?!"
A hitch. A silence.
Then came the hesitant echo, quiet at first, awkward.
"Yes. We... yeah."
Jack's smile didn't falter. If anything, it sharpened. He could smell the doubt. He thrived on it.
"OH, COME ON! SPEAK YOUR MIND!"
And this time, the response hit like a wave:
"YESSS WE DO!"
Jack's grin gleamed under the stage lights. The crowd was his, tangled in his rhetoric, burning with the illusion of revolution.
"Well then," he shouted, "Let's get moving and shaking!"
Another deafening cheer.
Igor sat stiffly beside Maisie, eyes flat, jaw locked. None of this surprised him. It was all noise, all pageantry. The words were hollow. They always were.
Maisie, though, was caught somewhere in between. Her gaze locked on Jack, wide and searching. The crowd's chants wrapped around her like a storm. She felt the heat. The fire. The promise. It clawed at something deep inside her.
For one brief second, she let herself believe in it, this idea of justice, of power used to protect instead of destroy.
But then that cold little whisper crept back in.
Something about Jack's voice didn't feel like liberation.
It felt like control.
She shivered, but she didn't look away.
She had believed before. She wanted to believe now.
But belief was a dangerous thing.
"He's the leader we've been waiting for," her friend had insisted. Someone close. Someone she trusted. "He's fighting for you. For all of us."
And Maisie had listened. She wanted to believe.
But now, standing in the center of it all, the illusion unraveled. Jack wasn't leading a revolution; he was orchestrating a trap.
The truth twisted inside her.
"Maisie."
Igor's voice pulled her back. His face was calm, but his eyes flicked with warning.
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. The roar of the crowd faded into a quiet panic in her mind.
She had been used.
"Get in the vans!"
Jack's voice crashed through the night like a war drum.
"If you want to change the world, the White Angels are waiting! Step into the vans, we'll take you to our facility. You'll learn everything there."
A promise.
A lie.
Igor's brows drew together, instincts screaming. Beside him, Maisie stood frozen. Her posture said too much, tense, uncertain, unraveling by the second.
"What's going on?" he asked, voice low. "Why are they... why are you..."
"I didn't know," Maisie said quickly. Too quickly. Her voice was tight, trembling around the edges. "I didn't know it was like this."
Igor's stomach sank like a stone. "What do you mean?"
"I thought they were helping," she whispered. "Helping us. I thought this was about protecting people, not collecting them."
Her gaze slid toward the White Angels. They weren't allies anymore. Not to her.
Maisie stepped forward. Planted herself between them and Igor.
"I can't let you take him."
From the edge of the stage, Jack emerged, calm, measured, smiling like a man who thought he still held all the cards. "Maisie, you don't understand. This is bigger than you. You'll see... we're protecting you. All of you."
Her eyes narrowed. "You used me. You used all of us."
Jack's voice softened, taking on the silk-smooth tone of a preacher about to sell salvation. "You think this is betrayal. But it's salvation. One day you'll thank me."
Maisie wasn't listening anymore. The illusion had cracked too wide.
Her fists clenched at her sides.
"You never cared about Alucards," she spat. "You just wanted weapons."
A White Angel moved behind her, silent and quick. He didn't raise a weapon; he didn't need to. His job wasn't to strike.
It was to shut her up.
Maisie twisted when he grabbed her, kicking hard, but he was faster. The device in his hand pressed against her neck. A soft hiss, a sting.
Her eyes widened.
Then her legs buckled, the fight draining out of her all at once.
"Igor…"
Her body dropped like a marionette with cut strings.
"Maisie!" Igor lunged forward, but another White Angel intercepted, slamming him back with practiced force.
Jack sighed, almost regretful. "We're not trying to hurt her. She'll be fine."
Igor froze. Everything inside him screamed to move, to fight, but his limbs wouldn't listen. His mind couldn't process fast enough. Maisie had protected him. And now she was unconscious, just like that.
Taken.
He didn't have time to break.
"Get in the van," one of the men barked, yanking his arm.
Igor didn't flinch. His voice came out flat and stony. "I'm not going anywhere."
The second White Angel grabbed his other shoulder, rougher this time. Less patient.
"Get in. Or we'll make you."
Igor tensed, ready to strike. But more men were closing in way too fast.
Then, a sharp jab to his side. Burning. Numbing.
A needle.
His vision swam. Limbs slackened. His knees buckled, and they caught him before he could fall.
The van door opened.
They dragged him inside.
On the door, the White Angels' emblem gleamed in polished silver, a haloed figure etched in holy light.
A lie.
Inside, the air was too quiet and still. The kind of quiet that pressed into your ears and told you not to breathe loudly.
"Hey."
The voice came from across the van.
Igor turned sluggishly. A young Alucard sat slouched in the corner, short, stocky, brown hair cropped close to his scalp, amber eyes glinting with something sharp.
His wings were malformed, one tucked tight to his back, the other stunted, hanging limp.
"Me?" Igor muttered, suspicious.
"Obviously." The guy grinned. "I'm looking right at you."
Igor blinked, not in the mood. "I'm not here to chat."
The stranger chuckled. "Charming. First time at one of these?"
Igor didn't answer.
The guy didn't mind. "My master's brat shoved me in like it was some kind of field trip. They had music playing. Have you ever noticed how all that cheery synth-pop just makes it worse?"
Igor grunted. "I got drugged into coming. Don't plan on staying."
"Aw," the guy drawled, "You're like me. Delusional."
Igor gave him a sidelong glance.
The guy stuck out a hand. "Tak Jagger."
"Igor."
They shook. Firm. Wary. Alucards didn't do small talk for nothing.
Then the van jolted.
Lights flickered.
The road beneath them changed. No bumps. No turns. Just a smooth descent.
They weren't following city routes anymore.
Tak leaned back, expression hardening. "They don't just drive. They vanish."
Igor's gut twisted.
Outside the window, nothing familiar. No streetlights. No buildings. No cars.
Just… black.
He checked for a signal.
Nothing.
Then a shimmer passed through the van, barely visible, a wave, like heat rising off pavement. But wrong. Sharp. Controlled.
Some kind of cloaking field. Military-grade, maybe worse.
The van jerked violently, engine whining under strain.
"We're not going to a safehouse, are we?" Igor asked, eyes narrowing.
Tak didn't reply.
The van dove deeper, into a slope that felt like a tunnel. Like they were descending into the belly of something massive and hidden.
Eventually, it stopped.
Abrupt. No warning.
The music cut out mid-beat.
Hissss.
The doors opened.
Figures stepped in, identical suits, mirrored sunglasses, cobalt-blue hair so bright it glowed under the interior lights. Their movements were smooth, synchronized.
Unnatural.
Skin flawless. Too flawless. Plastic-smooth.
Not normal White Angels.
Not normal anything.
Igor tensed. He barely had time to react.
Another needle.
Thud. A body dropped.
Then another.
Then...
Tak.
"Wha?" he slurred. His body pitched sideways. Thud.
Darkness closed in around Igor, thick and total.
He didn't even feel himself fall.