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Although a dark figure flying through the sky in broad daylight would be rather conspicuous, moving at super speed through the city streets was far less noticeable.
As long as he avoided densely populated areas—so the shockwaves from his movement wouldn't sweep up innocent bystanders and draw attention.
Black Superman once again arrived at the warehouse district, at the location of Blade's hidden base.
Using his enhanced senses first, he confirmed that aside from Blade and Abraham Whistler, the two vampire hunters, there was no third party present. There were no signs of an intrusion either—so this wasn't a call for emergency backup.
Then what exactly was so "urgent"?
As he approached within a certain distance, the soles of his tactical boots struck the ground, producing audible footsteps—within the range covered by the surveillance system he had helped install.
The purpose was simple: to let them know he had arrived.
Moreover, while the system couldn't detect his own movements—essentially giving himself a backdoor—he deliberately made his presence known. It was a way to appear less "inhuman" and earn the trust of these deeply suspicious vampire hunters.
Whether they believed it or not didn't matter.
As long as that final layer of truth wasn't exposed, both sides could continue cooperating.
That was the current nature of Black Superman and Blade's partnership.
"You're here," the limping old hunter greeted first.
Blade, unusually, was also inside the base during the daytime.
While vampire hunting mainly happened at night, Blade typically spent the day gathering intelligence or procuring materials for Whistler, whose mobility was limited.
Still speaking through his electronic voice filter, Black Superman asked,
"What do you need? You don't look urgent at all. If it's just about weapon development, that could wait until tonight."
"No, not that," Whistler shook his head. "With the equipment you provided, making silver nitrate rounds, UV rounds, or even standard silver bullets isn't a problem anymore. Material waste has also dropped significantly."
In the past, Whistler had crafted silver bullets using traditional crucibles and molds. The downside was that each bullet required polishing afterward—otherwise there was a risk of barrel explosions or erratic trajectories.
And since the old man wasn't a professional silversmith, he had no efficient way to collect the silver filings during polishing—resulting in significant waste over time.
Black Superman only handled R&D and provided compact manufacturing equipment. He wasn't about to sit there mass-producing bullets all day for Blade's slaughter runs.
Once the equipment and processes were handed over, he left the rest to them.
As long as vampires suffered more trouble, that was enough.
However, as he got closer, he noticed additional medical equipment in Whistler's workspace.
"You're planning to produce serum yourselves?" he asked. "Ran into something you don't understand?"
He had previously provided the formula and process for an antiretroviral serum—used to reverse early-stage vampiric infection.
According to Blade, injecting it into a fully turned vampire resulted in a spectacular head explosion—just as effective as conventional weapons.
So… were they trying to weaponize it?
Whistler shook his head.
"Do you remember what you said before? About helping develop a serum to treat Blade's bloodlust?"
"I remember. I also remember you refused."
"That was before we trusted you," Whistler replied. "And Blade didn't want his blood samples leaving this place.
"You know how the military is—still obsessed with super soldier programs. We're not interested in creating more vampires… or something even worse."
"So?" Black Superman prompted.
"We want you to do the research here. The blood samples don't leave this base."
Blade nodded in agreement.
Whistler added, "I've gathered equipment based on the requirements you listed for serum development. If anything's missing, tell me—I can get it."
Without hesitation, Black Superman stepped forward and began adjusting the equipment.
"Draw your own blood," he said casually. "No friendly nurse here. Either the old man helps, or I do—pick your poison."
Though he gave Blade a choice, he made no move to approach.
Blade glanced between the two options and finally said,
"Whistler, give me a hand."
Self-injection was one thing—drawing his own blood was another.
The old hunter tied off his arm and filled a syringe with a full tube of blood.
Once the sample was ready, Black Superman stepped forward, took the syringe, and—without removing the needle—placed a few drops onto a glass slide. The rest he transferred into a test tube and set aside.
Under the microscope, Blade's blood looked very different from Jasper Barden's—who had been mid-transformation after infection.
In infected individuals, cells displayed dual nuclei, and red blood cells shifted from their normal biconcave shape to a biconvex one.
Blade's blood, however, was peculiar.
Normal human cells and vampire-altered cells coexisted—but the virus showed no sign of further infection or conversion.
They existed in balance.
"Interesting," Black Superman murmured. "Your blood is… unique."
He glanced up.
"How do you suppress the bloodlust? Drinking hospital blood bags like juice?"
Blade shook his head.
"I inject garlic extract. It's painful as hell, but it suppresses the urge."
"Any side effects? And your ability to walk in sunlight—does that depend on the suppression, or is it constant?"
"I don't know about side effects," Blade answered honestly. "I feel normal. And sunlight doesn't affect me, whether the urge is suppressed or not."
"I see."
Black Superman retrieved a vial of garlic extract from Whistler's medical kit.
He added a few drops to the edge of the slide. Through capillary action, the liquid spread and mixed with Blade's blood sample.
In truth, his enhanced vision could already see the result.
But he still went through the motions, adjusting the microscope like a proper scientist.
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