<h4>Chapter 232: The Fear of Vampires</h4>


    <strong><i>(Third Person).</i></strong>


    Inside the first armoured vehicle, themandant sat rigid in his seat, jaw clenched. The headset crackled with static, but he ignored it.


    Instead, he reached for the mountedndline system and picked up the phone, pressing a glowing red button.


    The line rang twice.


    Then came a smooth voice. "Mayor Brackham’s office, this is Secretary Vale—"


    "This is Commandant Rowe," the scarred soldier barked. "I need the Mayor. Now. Priority alert. Code silver."


    There was a pause, then a shuffle on the other end. "Hold."


    Seconds passed.


    Then: "This is Brackham."


    Rowe took a breath. "Sir, we lost Echo team."


    "What?" Brackham’s voice sharpened like a de.


    "All seven. Brutally killed. There’s blood everywhere. Limbs. Viscera. It ughtered them all. They didn’t stand a chance. One survived long enough to beg for death—his arms and legs were cut off."


    Silence.


    A dangerous silence.


    Rowe pushed on, voice colder now. "One of our men fired the kill shot."


    "I—" Brackham faltered. "And you’re certain it was one of those creatures?"


    "Pale skin. Fangs. Speed. Regeneration. I think it was a vampire, sir. I’ve never seen anything like it."


    A long exhale filtered over the line. "How many units saw this?"


    "Three. Two made it out. One’spletely gone."


    "And the others?"


    "They’re spooked. They won’t return to that forest without heavier backup."


    Brackham didn’t respond.


    For the first time in years, Commandant Rowe could hear the hesitation in the mayor’s voice. That old arrogance wavered.


    Then Brackham snarled, "I thought they were extinct. This wasn’t part of the damn deal."


    Rowe blinked. "Deal, sir?"


    Brackham ignored the question.


    "You return immediately. I want full reports on my desk within the hour. All equipment recovered. No leaks. Not a word to the press."


    "Yes, sir."


    "And Rowe?"


    "Sir?"


    "Burn the bodies if there’s anything left. I don’t want autopsies. Not yet."


    ---


    <strong><i>Five minutester...</i></strong>


    Mayor Brackham stood behind his desk, one hand gripping the edge so tightly the veins in his forearm bulged. His eyes stared at nothing—fixed, empty, shaken.


    He’d built his secret experiments on arrogance—on the belief that the unknown could be catalogued, measured, conquered.


    He had spent years orchestrating fear campaigns against the werewolves, manipting public trust, pouring resources into engineering something new—something monstrous.


    But now...


    Now something older had stepped out of myth and ripped through his most elite team like wet paper.


    His lip curled.


    "Vampires," he spat the word like poison. "They were supposed to remain a facy."


    Behind him, his secretary approached cautiously with a cup of dark coffee, setting it gently on the desk.


    Brackham didn’t touch it. He stared out the window, into the shadows crawling across the city skyline.


    "We’ve underestimated the wrong monsters."


    ---


    The cold, sterile light of the undergroundb flickered slightly as Brackham stepped inside, escorted by two of his personal guards.


    His sharp gaze swept across the floor—scientists in clean suits bustled around glowing monitors, scanning through captured footage, biological data, and raw reports.


    One of the lead researchers, a gaunt man, hurried forward.


    "Mr. Mayor," he said, his voice tight. "We received partial bodycam footage from the Echo team’s gear. We’re running enhancement algorithms now."


    Brackham approached the central screen where distorted grainy visuals yed: shes of movement, men screaming, a blur of pale limbs tearing through a squad, and then static.


    "No biological specimen?" Brackham asked tly.


    "No, sir," Mallory admitted. "The creature left no viable trace behind. The bodies were mutted. Bones shattered. Arteries severed with surgical precision. This... wasn’t just brute force."


    Brackham’s jaw ticked. "And still no vampire body in our possession?"


    Mallory shook his head. "We haven’t been able to track or trap a single one. Our technology was designed around werewolf capture. These things... they move differently. They think differently."


    "Then adjust the technology," Brackham snapped. "You’ve had no problem abducting werewolves for your tests."


    The room stilled.


    "Yes, sir," the man said stiffly. "But these aren’t like them. They don’t howl. They don’t bleed the same. Some of them don’t even register on thermal."


    Brackham turned away from the screen, deep in thought. His ns with the werewolves were proceeding well—but this newplication was threatening to unravel the veil of secrecy he had built so carefully.


    "We need to shift tactics," he muttered, more to himself than the room. "Quiet the vampire hunt—for now. Redirect full resources back to Project Lycanthrope. I want results... not excuses."


    ---


    <strong><i>~Duskmoor Government Chambers~</i></strong>


    An hourter, Brackham sat at the head of a long, dimly-lit mahogany table in the private conference room, his expression carved from stone.


    Around him sat his most trusted senators—each of them pale-faced, fresh from reading the full ssified report of the Echo team’s ughter.


    One of them broke the silence.


    "We’ve underestimated this... species," he said bitterly. "Those men were trained, armed, monitored—and still they died like flies."


    Another senator, a woman with cold eye, leaned forward. "Do we even know what they are? Vampires? That word belongs in fairy tales."


    "Fairy tales don’t tear apart squads with their bare hands," muttered another senator, ring at her.


    There was a brief silence until another senator sighed and said the one thing no one wanted to voice.


    "Maybe... maybe it’s time we considered asking the werewolves for help."


    A visible ripple went through the room.


    Then almost immediately, the female senator snapped, "Absolutely not. If we bring them in, we expose ourselves. They will find out about the experiments. Theb. The abductions—everything."


    One of the male senators who had spoken before narrowed his eyes. "And how many more Echo teams are you willing to lose before we admit we’re outmatched? Those wolves are dangerous—but at least we know what they are. We made enemies of them. These others—these vampires—we don’t even understand their numbers."


    The table fell quiet. All eyes slowly turned to Brackham.


    Brackham’s fingers tapped against the polished wood rhythmically. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he took a brief moment to think.


    "This is ournd, our mess," he said. "And we will clean it up ourselves. We’ve built too much to let the wolves into our den."


    He looked up, his voice calm but final.


    "No one reaches out to the werewolves. Not yet. And especially not that Alpha." The word dripped with venom—Draven.


    "But what if he already knows?" the previous senator asked.


    Brackham leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. "Then we better hope it’s a bad dream when we wake up."