The first sensation that cut through the haze was the snow bit deep into his exposed skin—relentless and sharp—making his teeth chatter uncontrollably.
Snow might look soft and harmless, but it could be vicious.
With metal-like bones and sturdy skinny legs, Q97 kept moving forward, treading through knee-high drifts with determination. He was nearly there—just a little further, and that place would be within reach. Numb hands kept rubbing chilled, bluish skin as blood slowly thickened in the cold.
If you want to live, you have to keep moving, even if it feels painful.
The full moon shone brightly on the harshest winter night of the year, casting light over yellow-green eyes that glowed like a cat's in the frosty darkness. Those eyes watched the moonlight filtering through a small opening behind a mound of snow near a little cave where a family of foxes sheltered. His breath relaxed a bit as he looked at that small opening, which he had been secretly digging with the help of some friends.
Q97 turned to look back at the distant silhouette of the vampire castle, its red tower just visible over the shadowed frostwood. So grand, magnificent, with a rotten underground where they kept people like him.
He stared at it, hoping for a glimpse of a vampire who lingered behind those towers, often seen with muddy hands and dirt-streaked white pants, busy among the sharp bushes, cutting back rose thorns day after day.
Hah, as if I could see him from this distance. The boy laughed bitterly in silence.
A sad smile touched his pale lips, making him linger a moment longer, wanting one last look, one final image to carve into memory. He couldn't help but hope. Once beyond the vampire territory, there would be no way to return, no escape if captured. Imprisonment awaited him in the basement where he'd spent so many years—a fate worse than death if those vampire scientists captured him, gleeful as they would be to gather data from his suffering, dissecting him to improve their next experiment.
At least, that was what had happened to previous experiments caught after escaping. There was no official data recorded in the library books used to test Q97's intelligence, but their memories, suffering, and proof of existence were quietly documented in secret writings: behind mattresses, inside tree holes, on scraps of bird nest paper in front of the laboratory waiting room window, and on the long-abandoned basement toilet stalls. They were the ones he called friends.
Of all these remnants left by previous experiments, the notes from experiments Q35 and Q67 helped him the most in executing this plan. The hole near the cave, connecting to the subway to human territory, was discovered by Q35. In his hidden notes on the broken toilet stall, he drew a map to a secret hole, a map well-remembered by Q97.
Q67 added details about the train schedule and the goods carried at that time. Although Q97 was alone now, he didn't feel that way. His heart raced with hope, carrying the wishes of all the previous experiments who had died—his predecessors, who hoped that one of them would finally succeed in escaping the hands of those cruel scientists, because... no one could understand the suffering and cruelty except for the experiments themselves.
Q97 felt a glimmer of hope as his fingers touched the hole and began to dig out the remnants of the soil he had covered to hide it from patrolling vampire soldiers. For the last time, the corner of his eye glanced at the red tower of the castle before he entered the hole, just wide enough for a young boy's body.
According to Q35, this hole was initially dug by small animals like rabbits to hide from predators. But as the rabbit's family grew, they kept digging deeper and deeper, and when they dug too deep, the hole connected to the subway tunnel, confusing the animals and causing them to leave the hole for new homes. Q35 had once recounted seeing a rabbit leading its family out of that hole in the forest, counting a total of 26 adult rabbits and 68 baby rabbits.
For several days, Q35 observed the hole and began expanding it. It didn't take long for him, with his exceptionally strong body—which he bragged a lot in his hidden notes—to reach the subway tunnel, where he heard the sound of the train engine and smelled its thick black smoke.
Q97 crawled quickly into the hole, his body already accustomed to the inhumane conditions. Wet dirt clung to his silky silver hair as he crawled forward. In about 15 minutes, the next train would pass. His movements began to slow down as the distinct smell of oil and train smoke permeated the air.
"I'm down into the rabbit's hole," Q97 chuckled. "Wait, so does that mean I'm Alice?"
A silly fairy tale he'd accidentally found in the library echoed in his mind as he crawled through the tunnel, trying to distract himself from the claustrophobic space. After a while, the young boy finally emerged from the long rabbit hole. A pair of shoes he had stashed earlier awaited him behind a large rock.
His body, hardened by the vampires' cruel experiments, endured it better than most. The snow, which could bite off the toes of humans and hybrids, only made his feet stiff and blue. Though not directly exposed to the snow, the cold was extreme—his breath visible as white vapor. At least those life-or-death experiences had toughened him and aided his escape.
"We purebloods are the top dogs. No one can tell us what to do."
He often heard the purebloods say this when they visited the lab, while the head scientists proudly showed off the experiment's progress—watching him with arrogant eyes, like he was some kind of animal on display.
In this world, vampires sit at the top of the food chain. It has always been that way, with humans serving as their slaves—until 200 years ago, when rebellions began and human technology advanced, igniting a war between the two races. Hybrids like him were caught in the middle.
Vampires and humans cannot reproduce together, but vampires collect humans as blood stock. Interestingly, pureblood vampires can reproduce more easily with hybrids than with other vampires. Perhaps it's because of their near-perfect genes and immortality that vampires born from other vampires remain few in number compared to humans, and reproduction is more difficult for them.
The products of unions between vampires and hybrids are called vampire hybrids, with no regard for their secondary hybrid type—because vampires are considered more special.
They were not treated as equals to real vampires, but as excess products—like disposable soldiers in vampire territory, slaves, or experiments.
But they couldn't even produce vampires without hybrids. Oh, the audacity, Q97 thought.
Vampires are also much harder to kill—at least, they were until the human government developed vampire-killing technology 200 years ago, thanks to a vengeful human scientist sent by the human government, disguised as a hybrid. She had been kept in a vampire laboratory to develop weapons because of her brilliant mind. Before she was killed, she managed to send her designs and technology to the human government. Since then, humans have been able to triumph over 500 years of enslavement by vampires.
Q97 curled up near the large rock, trying to warm himself. If only his vampire friend had escaped with him, the boy would have been thrilled. When he was cold or sad, the vampire would comfort him until his body warmed up and secretly give some small gifts to cheer him up. Those moments made his painful days a little easier to bear.
For some reason, Q97's sunken cheeks always felt warm when thoughts of the vampire friend crossed his mind. Blood began to flow more vigorously, easing the chill in his limbs and softening the bluish tint in his feet. That face still lingered in memory, refusing to fade no matter how hard he tried to shake it off.
His yellow-green eyes gazed up at the cave ceiling, filled with quiet longing and a hint of sadness. "Sir Draven..." he murmured, a soft mist escaping with the name of his vampire friend. Q97's favorite feature was the beautiful gold of Draven's eyes—intense under the moonlight, shifting to a faint red whenever he used his vampire ability: ice carving.
Although this ability was often underestimated, considered among the lowest of vampire powers in the military division, Q97 cherished the small ice sculptures Sir Draven created just for him. The keeper of the rose garden always gifted him a new decoration that melted by the next day: an autumn leaf, a snowman, a fruit basket, or a rose.
Q97 pulled a roughly carved rose from his pocket, a gift from Sir Draven that very morning.
Seven full moons had passed since they met, yet the sculptures hadn't improved at all, despite Sir Draven making them almost every day. He remembered how his curious eyes followed the vampire, who was busy as usual, trimming rose thorns and covered in mud. Q97 kept watching him from behind, wanting to say something—to tell his one and only friend that he would be leaving that night and might never see his favorite vampire again. Unintentionally, he gripped the rose too tightly and snapped its stem, his gloomy yet shocked expression drawing a light chuckle from behind the rosebush.
Although the vampire was a bit puzzled, since it was the first time Q97 had broken one of the ice carvings he was holding, Sir Draven returned with a new rose ice sculpture. It wasn't well-made; he had rushed it. Some parts clumped together, and the stem was almost as thick as a tree branch—perhaps to prevent Q97 from breaking it again. In fact, none of Sir Draven's ice sculptures were ever well-crafted, but Q97 cherished them because they were made just for him. He'd never received gifts from anyone, let alone something specially crafted for him.
A smile formed on his lips as he recalled the potato-shaped basket, alien-like animals, autumn leaves that looked more like bananas, and Sir Draven's face as he presented each piece.
The vampire knew they weren't good.
Q97 held the ice carving close to his chest, feeling his heart beat faster than usual. When it melts, he would get a new one almost every day.
If only the carving could last forever and not melt by morning...
If only this time, he could keep it to look at every day. Q97 smiled bitterly, tucking the rose carefully back into his pocket.
By morning, this ice rose would melt, and he would never get another one.
This time, forever.
Experiments like him, with only a code and a number, had no name, status, or basic rights as normal living vampire hybrids. They were more like objects that could be discarded at any time, with no one to remember them if they died on the operating table, like his twin, Q96, and his friends.
Their time was fleeting, fragile in the passage of time, like a candle in a storm. One moment they were there, and the next, they were gone in the blink of an eye, especially in the lives of long-living creatures like vampires.
That's why previous experiments left secret notes—perhaps to help the next ones escape or to leave a mark that they had once lived in this world, even if only for a brief moment. They knew that no vampire, no one, would remember them.
From his "friends," he realized how fragile memory is. Maybe you remember someone today, or three years, or even ten years from now, but you won't remember them exactly as they are today.
Will he keep remembering me? Or will he forget me, like those experiments? After all, seven months to a vampire is fleeting, but Q97 doesn't want his favorite vampire to forget him. This thought made his stomach churn in worry.