At eight in the morning, New York moved like it always did. People rolled out of bed, stumbled into bathrooms, and dragged themselves through the familiar rhythm of washing up and getting ready for work. Coffee brewed, toast popped, and televisions flickered to life as part of a routine no one really thought about anymore.
Breakfast and the news. That was how the city started its day.
Only today, something felt off.
At first, it was subtle. A strange tone in the anchor's voice, a hint of urgency that didn't match the usual headlines. Then the words began to register, and confusion spread like a ripple through countless living rooms.
Vampires.
Werewolves.
People frowned, pausing mid-bite, eyes narrowing at the screen as if they'd misheard. A few even let out short, disbelieving laughs. Was this some kind of joke? Some elaborate prank cooked up by a bored news station?
But April Fool's Day had already passed. It was April 10th.
That realization hit like a cold splash of water. One channel might joke, but not all of them. Curious and increasingly uneasy, viewers began flipping through stations, remote controls clicking rapidly in their hands.
Every channel was the same.
Every broadcast was talking about it.
The same images. The same footage. The same horrifying implication repeated over and over again.
This wasn't a prank.
Something was very, very wrong.
On the second floor of Emma Church, Rex and David sat in front of a television, watching the chaos unfold in real time. The screen displayed the Daily Bugle TV broadcast, where the ever-loud and ever-unfiltered J. Jonah Jameson was already in full eruption.
"This is outrageous! A disgrace!" Jameson roared, his face flushed red as he leaned toward the camera. "Our city government, the federal government, the Pentagon, Congress—every single one of them has been lying to us! They've been hiding the existence of vampires from the American people!"
He slammed a stack of papers down, jabbing a finger at the screen as images flashed behind him.
"Look at this! Photos! Videos! These aren't rumors, these are monsters feeding on us! So I want to ask those politicians, those officials—and our so-called great Chocolate President, Mr. Okanagan—how the hell did this happen? How dare you keep the public in the dark like this?"
His voice climbed higher, filled with righteous fury.
"What is this, huh? Are we living in America or the Soviet Union?"
After that outburst, he grabbed a handkerchief and wiped his mouth, breathing heavily as if he'd just finished a marathon. He opened his mouth to continue, but his gaze suddenly shifted to the side.
A man who looked like an assistant hurried onto the stage, his expression tense. He leaned in and whispered something quickly into Jameson's ear.
David let out a cold snort. "That was fast. Government response kicked in almost immediately."
Rex shook his head slowly, his eyes still fixed on the screen. "There's no suppressing this. This isn't politics, it's survival. Nobody wants to be walking home one night and suddenly have their throat ripped out by a vampire."
He glanced sideways at David. "You made sure to highlight that in the material, right?"
David grinned, leaning back in his chair. "I included several cases exactly like that. People minding their own business, then boom—dead. You could be eating dinner, laughing with friends, and the next second something sinks its teeth into your neck."
He chuckled darkly. "If that doesn't scare people, nothing will."
While they spoke, Jameson's expression on screen had changed dramatically. The fury was gone, replaced by something tight and conflicted. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding slightly as if he were wrestling with an invisible pressure.
"Dear viewers…" he began, his voice faltering for the first time. "I… I…"
He hesitated, then let out a heavy sigh.
"Just forget everything I said earlier. There are no vampires in this world."
Rex blinked.
David froze.
On screen, Jameson's eyes were slightly red, and his hands trembled faintly as he forced the words out.
"What the hell is he doing?" David muttered under his breath.
Rex narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly. "Is he… acting?"
David's eyes widened. "Wait. Is he actually pushing back? Against the government?"
Rex frowned. "You think he's got the guts for that?"
Jameson continued, his tone shifting again, now laced with exaggerated grievance.
"Everyone, don't worry. You're not going to be dragged into some dark alley and drained dry by vampires on your way home tonight. You're not going to end up as a drink at some fancy party for their twisted little gatherings."
He sniffed, looking almost tearful.
"And I certainly haven't been threatened by mysterious forces to shut down the Daily Bugle if I keep talking about the truth!"
The performance was almost absurd. He looked like a wronged spouse airing grievances in public, voice trembling, eyes glistening with barely restrained emotion.
But the implication was unmistakable.
"Mysterious forces."
The audience didn't need it spelled out.
In that moment, countless viewers came to the same conclusion.
The Daily Bugle… was telling the truth.
David slowly turned his head toward Rex. "Tell me honestly," he said. "Did you bribe him?"
Rex scoffed. "You've got to be kidding me. Do I look like I have the kind of money to make him put on a show like that?"
"So what, he just decided to go all in on his own?"
Rex raised an eyebrow, thoughtful. "Is it too late to buy shares in the Daily Bugle?"
David tapped a few keys on his laptop, then shook his head. "Way too late."
Rex chuckled under his breath. "Whatever his reasons are, he just did me a huge favor."
He stood up and walked out onto the balcony, looking down at the chaotic sprawl of Hell's Kitchen. Sirens echoed faintly in the distance, and the air itself seemed charged with something restless.
"Let it spread for a few days," he said calmly. "Once it blows up, everything that's been aimed at me is going to come right back around."
David swallowed, suddenly feeling a chill. He understood exactly what that meant.
This wasn't just a plan.
It was a death sentence—for someone.
…
By noon, Rex was in the back garden, casually trimming overgrown plants as if nothing in the world had changed. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting shifting shadows across the ground.
Then, without warning, he paused.
He didn't look up immediately, but his senses had already locked onto the presence behind him.
A few seconds later, a voice rang out, confident and slightly mocking.
"Well, look at that. The so-called Iron Man is playing priest now. You really know how to surprise people."
Rex straightened slowly and turned his head, a warm, almost welcoming smile appearing on his face as he looked at Tony Stark.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Stark," he said politely. "Care for some tea?"
Stark's expression hardened, his eyes sharp as he studied him. "You don't seem surprised to see me."
"On the contrary," Rex replied smoothly. "I've been expecting you."
Outwardly calm, inwardly he was already cursing. How the hell did this guy find the place?
Stark crossed his arms slightly. "Don't you want to know how I tracked you down?"
By then, Rex had already led him into the small hall. He gestured toward the cross mounted on the wall, his tone utterly serious.
"I already know," he said. "You were guided here by God."
Stark narrowed his eyes, clearly unimpressed. Last time they met, this guy had been sharp-tongued and unpredictable. Now he was acting like a full-blown fraud.
Before he could respond, Rex changed the subject entirely.
"I heard Stark Industries just participated in a Pentagon missile contract," he said casually. "You must've secured it, right?"
"…What?" Stark blinked, caught off guard. "You care about that?"
"When are you heading to Afghanistan?"
Stark froze.
"How the hell do you know about that?" he demanded, his voice tightening. The contract bidding was public information, sure—but his upcoming trip to demonstrate the missiles was still classified.
Rex tilted his head slightly, his tone turning almost philosophical.
"Have you ever thought about giving it all up?" he asked. "Weapons development. Selling tools for killing. Maybe try contributing something… peaceful to the world instead?"
Now Stark was completely thrown.
What was this conversation even supposed to be?
Rex, meanwhile, felt the shift instantly. The initiative was his now.
"So," he continued, folding his arms. "What brings you here, Tony Stark?"
Stark went quiet for a moment. Originally, he'd come ready to question him, maybe even call him out. But now, his focus had been completely derailed.
"I want to know who you are," he said finally. "You, the big guy in the leather coat, and Marcus from the party—who exactly are you people?"
Rex smiled faintly. "Marcus is a pure-blood vampire elder. Blade is a vampire hunter. And me?"
He spread his hands slightly.
"I'm someone who's committed to justice. Someone who fights evil wherever it shows up."
Stark raised an eyebrow. "Like Daredevil?"
"My methods are cleaner," Rex replied calmly. "And a lot more efficient."
"You're all… superhuman?"
"Different circumstances," Rex said. "Same goal. We all want to punish evil and protect the innocent."
He took a step closer, his gaze locking onto Stark's.
"Is that all you came here to ask?" he said quietly. "Or are you wondering if there's a place for you in something bigger?"
Stark stared at him for a second, then let out a short laugh, his usual arrogance slipping back into place.
"I'm not interested in playing vigilante dress-up," he said dismissively. "Running around at midnight in some ridiculous outfit, sweating through leather, then dragging myself back to work the next day? No thanks."
Rex chuckled softly.
"Are you sure that's really how you feel?" he asked.
His voice dropped slightly, losing its playful edge.
"You've got one of the greatest minds on the planet, Stark," he continued. "And yet you're living the emptiest life imaginable."
Stark's expression stiffened.
"When you're old," Rex went on, "and you look back at everything you've done, you'll realize something. You won't be any different from the guy sleeping on a bench or begging on the street corner."
His eyes didn't waver.
"The world won't remember you. You won't have changed anything."
A beat passed.
"And when you die," Rex said quietly, "that's it. End of the line."
He leaned in slightly, his voice cutting straight through the silence.
"Is that really what you want, Tony Stark?"
....
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