Lucien opened his eyes and saw an unfamiliar ceiling. It was old and dusty, as if it hadn't been cleaned in years.
"Where am I?"
He sat up and looked around, confused. How did I get here? The last thing he remembers is walking to his cramped apartment, but after that, it's all a blank slate.
The place is empty, except for wooden planks, forgotten office desks covered in dirt and dust, and chunky pieces of plastic. In addition, the window was clumsily covered, through which the golden rays of the sun filtered.
'Have I been kidnapped?' he thought, confused.
The setting seemed to fit that idea. But usually, a kidnapping involves being gagged, with your hands tied, lying on the floor, or sitting in a chair with someone watching you.
No kidnapper would be so careless as to leave a hostage so free.
'What charming kidnappers. ' He chuckles.
But something didn't add up. Why would they kidnap him? He wasn't the son of a millionaire or anyone influential. He was just a simple college graduate exploited at work for a few dollars.
With his mother in the hospital and his bastard father behind bars, what would they gain by kidnapping him? Could it be that they want to sell his organs?
An indescribable fear began to take hold of Lucien's body.
That was the most likely scenario, considering his social status: that of a simple, exploited worker. If it wasn't to sell him for parts, what else could it be for?
'So the news that children and adults were being kidnapped was true.'
He couldn't help cursing his bad luck among all the people in the city; he had to kidnap him.
Sigh.
Lucien lets out a long sigh. With his mind a little clearer, he examines his surroundings and tries to figure out where he is.
His gaze falls on a piece of glass on the floor; he approaches it. When he looks at himself, he is horrified.
"What has happened to me...?" He touches his face as if it belonged to a stranger, or as if he had taken over a body that was not his own.
Tap, tap, tap.
"No, no, no, no, no," he took three steps back, denying with all his might that he had seen the person in the glass.
He looked again. Nervous laughter escaped him.
"Hahaha, this is a joke, right?" He approached again to see his "reflection," but seeing himself again made him laugh even harder.
"HAHAHAHAHA!" His laughter then turned into a grimace of anger: "Damn it!" He grabbed the piece of glass and looked again.
The face reflected was beautiful, almost unreal. Defined features. His skin is paler than a corpse's.
And his eyes...
Once green.
Now blood red.
He looks at his hands to confirm whether it's simply that they put too much foundation on him and gave him contact lenses. He refuses to believe that it's him!
But he only confirmed the inevitable: his skin was still as pale as a corpse's; there was no way to deny it, no matter how much he wanted to.
Lucien placed his hands on his face in despair and asked himself, "What am I now? What the hell happened last night?"
All his memories after leaving work were as if they were hidden under a thick fog.
Then...
A distant murmur began to creep into his mind.
Then another.
And another.
Until a voice boomed like thunder:
"DAMN YOU, YOU IDIOT! WHY DID YOU CHEAT ON ME WITH MY BEST FRIEND?!"
Lucien jumped. The voice sounded as if the woman were shouting directly into his ear... but it clearly came from outside.
But that wasn't the only one.
Another voice immediately chimed in, mocking and shrill:
"Hahaha, did you hear that? That bastard cheated on her with HER FRIEND. He has no shame!"
Then a childish, innocent voice, totally out of context:
"Mommy, when we get home, can I use the computer? I have group homework."
And without giving him time to process it, another one overlapped:
"Do you have a coin, young man? Just one... I need to eat something..."
Another one:
"Damn it! There are more and more zombies on the streets. I don't know how young people consume that fentanyl crap..."
And then a barrage. Dozens. Hundreds. Voices coming from everywhere and nowhere.
Conversations, screams, thoughts, whispers, laughter, crying. As if someone had taken the entire world, turned the volume up to maximum, and shoved it directly into your eardrums.
Lucien fell to his knees.
"A-ah... stop...!" he moaned, covering his ears with his hands.
But it was useless. The voices weren't entering through his ears. They were entering through everything.
His head was throbbing, as if it were about to split in two. His senses were out of control, multiplying, expanding, exploding.
"Shit... shit... shit!" he gasped through clenched teeth, squeezing his skull as if he could stop the voices from escaping through his eyes.
The voices grew louder and louder, overlapping until they became an unbearable buzz of overflowing humanity.
Lucien shrank back, trembling.
He was a breath away from losing his mind.
...
After a few minutes, the voices faded away one by one, as if someone had turned down the volume on a radio stuck on static. Silence returned... but the headache was still there, throbbing as if there were a mini rock concert inside my skull.
Lucien gritted his teeth and massaged his temples.
"Great... my first sunrise of the day and I already want to die again."
When he finally managed to open his eyes wide, he began to examine his body in the relatively futile hope that it had all been a bad dream. First, he looked at his hands. Then his arms. Then he approached the broken glass again.
And there they were.
The skin was so pale that it looked like it had been replaced with a limited-edition porcelain version. The eyes were so intensely red that not even Instagram filters could replicate them. And the fangs... oh, the fangs. Peeking out as if they wanted to say hello.
He stared at himself for several seconds, perhaps hoping that his reflection would say something like, "Relax, bro, it's all makeup."
But no.
Although he wanted to deny it, it was useless.
"It seems I've become... a vampire," he murmured with the same calmness with which one admits to having lost one's keys.
The worst part was that he wasn't sure of anything. He could only deduce that "something" had bitten him or turned him the night before... but no matter how hard he racked his brain, all he could find was a giant, depressing blank. They hadn't even left him with a dramatic flashback.
But the most unexpected thing of all is that his reaction was not: "Ahhh! I'm a monster of the night!"
No.
It was much worse.
"How the hell am I going to go to work now?"
Yes, that was his first existential concern after becoming an immortal creature of blood and darkness.
Because, of course, according to stories, novels, and movies, vampires immediately turned to ash in sunlight.
And he, Lucien, the poor exploited wage earner... lived by walking under the sun to get to a job he hated but which (barely) paid his mother's medical bills.
No job → no money.
No money → no bills paid.
No bills paid → hospital calling every other day to remind you that you owe them a kidney.
And now it turns out he's a vampire.
"This capitalist world won't even let me become a monster in peace!"
He puts all his drama aside and focuses on how important it is to get home again; once there, he can think more clearly.
He didn't have time to get an answer because, suddenly, Lucien clutched his throat tightly and felt an unbearable thirst. It was as if he had gotten lost in the desert and needed a drink of water! His throat was parched!
Lucien cayó de rodillas.
A terrible burning sensation ran through his throat, as if he had swallowed liquid fire mixed with sandpaper.
"A-Ah... what... what's happening to me!?" he gasped, bringing his hands to his neck as if he could stifle the sensation.
The heat rose, fell, shook him to his core.
His legs could no longer support him.
Thud.
He hit the ground.
He tried to grab onto something... the air... the dust... but nothing responded.
His vision blurred, turning to an unsettling gray.
"Great... my first morning as a vampire and I'm already dying again..." he managed to think, or imagined he thought.
And he fainted like a wet rag.
Silence returned to the place.
Or almost.
Because on the darkest wall, where the light had not reached even by accident, two red eyes slowly opened, as bright as burning embers.
And they watched him.