THE TRANSFORMATION FLASHBACK

  Cassian moved silently along the eastern wing of the research facility, his special operations training keeping him alert despite the te hour. His unit had been assigned to protect this cssified research instaltion—told only that it contained vital medical experiments that could benefit humanity. No one had mentioned immortality trials or genetic enhancement.

  The white sterile corridor was eerily quiet. His watch showed 0200 hours when movement ahead caught his attention. Remaining in shadow, he observed a figure moving strangely—Dr. Mills, one of the researchers he recognized from security briefings.

  "Dr. Mills," Cassian called out, keeping his voice professionally neutral. "This area is restricted during night shift."

  The researcher turned, and Cassian instinctively tensed. Mills's movements were wrong—jerky yet somehow predatory. When the fluorescent lights hit his face, Cassian saw eyes that glowed crimson where they should have been brown.

  "Blood," Mills rasped, his voice barely human. "Need... blood."

  Cassian reached for his radio, military training responding automatically. "Security alert, eastern corridor—"

  Mills moved with impossible speed, covering the distance between them before Cassian could complete the transmission. Trained reflexes allowed Cassian to dodge the first lunge, using the researcher's momentum to throw him against the wall—a move that should have incapacitated any normal human.

  Mills simply pushed away from the wall, seemingly unaffected. "Hungry," he growled, more animal than human.

  Cassian attempted a restraint hold, but it was like trying to control solid marble. Before he could adjust his tactics, Mills broke free and smmed him against the wall with inhuman strength, crushing the breath from his lungs.

  The researcher's face had transformed—elongated teeth, restructured jaw, those blood-red eyes now focused with predatory intensity. In that moment, Cassian understood he was facing something beyond human.

  "Blood," Mills repeated, lunging for Cassian's throat.

  The pain was excruciating—burning through his veins like acid as Mills drank deeply. Cassian's combat training had prepared him for many scenarios, but nothing like this. As consciousness began to fade, he heard Mills's voice changing, the animalistic growls giving way to something that resembled articute speech.

  "Strong," Mills said, his voice taking on an unfamiliar cadence. "Military... useful..."

  The st thing Cassian remembered as human was the burning pain of transformation beginning, and his own voice, unexpectedly steady: "Situation report: critical condition."

  Then darkness.

  "Sir?" Morris's voice pulled him back to the present. The household manager's concerned expression suggested this wasn't the first attempt to get his attention.

  "Proceed," Cassian replied with military precision, mastering the unwanted recollection.

  "Your recollection regarding the first court attempts?" Cassian asked, deliberately shifting his thoughts to a different memory.

  "Quite the spectacle, according to historical accounts," Morris replied. "Newly turned nobles apparently struggled significantly with protocol adaptation."

  Cassian recalled those early days with perfect crity, his mind moving to the weeks following his recovery...

  THE FIRST COURT FLASHBACK

  The abandoned luxury hotel had been cimed as the first "court" of vampire society. Its marble-floored ballroom, once host to human socialites, now witnessed an absurd parody of aristocratic society. Two dozen transformed humans—teachers, office workers, even a plumber before their transformations—now attempted to recreate nobility with comical earnestness.

  "One must extend the pinky finger when drinking," insisted a former junior accountant, now styling himself as "Viscount Henri." He demonstrated with a crystal gss filled with blood, his accent a bizarre amalgamation of British period dramas and French films. "It is how persons of quality have always distinguished themselves."

  Cassian observed from the periphery, his military mind cataloging the emerging social order. The different virus strains had created clear power hierarchies, with the most powerful vampires establishing themselves as Archdukes. Below them, those with lesser but still significant powers cimed the titles of Marquises and Dukes, mimicking aristocratic titles from human history with deadly seriousness.

  "Captain Bckwood," addressed a former pharmaceutical sales representative now insisting on being called "Marquis Devereux." His attempt at an aristocratic bearing was undermined by the awkward way he held his shoulders. "Your military expertise will be invaluable as we establish territorial boundaries."

  Cassian had given a curt nod. "Secure perimeters and defensible resources should be prioritized. Human management systems established for sustainable feeding."

  The practical assessment had earned disapproving murmurs from the self-procimed nobles attempting to master the art of looking down their noses—a skill that seemed to occupy more of their attention than actual survival concerns.

  "Such matters, while necessary, are hardly appropriate for court discussion," sniffed a former elementary school administrator now insisting she be addressed as "Countess Veronique." Her newly-acquired British accent slipped noticeably on multisylbic words. "One must maintain standards of discourse befitting our station."

  From a grand chair at the front of the ballroom, the most powerful among them watched with predatory amusement as his "court" established itself. His power visibly manifested in the way light seemed to bend around him.

  "Our eternal reign has only begun," he had announced, his voice carrying harmonics that made the lesser vampires tremble. "The human world will be remade according to proper order, with each of you governing according to your abilities and blood purity."

  The sycophantic approval that followed disgusted Cassian, though he maintained the neutral expression his military training had perfected. Already he recognized the fundamental fws in this emerging society—its preoccupation with appearance over function, its wasteful excesses, its arbitrary hierarchies based on accident of infection rather than merit.

  Yet he also recognized the pragmatic necessity of working within the system. As the newly ordained vampires py-acted at being aristocrats, Cassian had silently committed to using his position to establish at least some rational order within the emerging chaos.

  A soft knock announced Cra, the kitchen supervisor, bringing a polished silver tray with three crystal gsses of blood. "Your preparation selection, Baron. Standard, AB negative"