The chirping of the birds never bothers me. Instead, it dances playfully in my ears, a rhythmic lullaby that both stirs me from sleep and tempts me back into its embrace. I lie tucked within the softness of my bed; the mattress is the kind designed for deep, heavy slumber, making my body feel as though it is floating weightlessly atop a sea of clouds.
I open my eyes to the sight of the ceiling, where a fan spins with a slow, rhythmic hum. Outside, birds flutter and settle upon the branches of the tree my parents planted the day my younger sister, Rumi, was born. Through the leaves, shards of golden sunlight dance, filtering through my half-open window. A gentle spring breeze drifts in, carrying the scent of blooming life from the garden, mingling with the distant, rich aroma of ground coffee beans rising from the first floor. It is the scent of home—a sign that my parents are awake, and my mother is preparing breakfast.
I have perhaps five or ten minutes of stolen peace before Rumi bursts into my room to wake me. These moments... this life... it is truly peaceful.
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"...And here in Alpha City, we report yet another disappearance of a teenage girl. Min-Seo, a fifteen-year-old student at Blossom High, vanished on her usual route home from cram school. Her devastated parents remain in agony, searching for answers..."
The screen showed the couple, clutching tear-soaked tissues. The mother's voice cracked, "My dear daughter, please..."
Click. With a flick of her wrist, my mother shut off the bulky, old-fashioned TV. Her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail that swayed against her apron. "Goodness," she sighed, clicking her tongue. "This city isn't safe anymore. I don't know what's happening! It was never like this in the old days."
She placed a plate of sizzling fried eggs and bacon in front of Rumi. My little sister practically bounced in her chair. "Bacon and eggs! Bacon and eggs! Heeeey!"
"Don't worry, darling," my father said, taking a slow sip of his coffee. His plate sat untouched before him. He was already scrolling through a news hologram, looking sharp in his brown suit and a tie that matched his amber eyes. This was Dae-Hyun, a sales consultant for one of the country's industrial giants: The Mama Corporation.
Their jingle was an inescapable parasite in my brain: Mama has everything. Mama has the best things. You'll always find what you need at Mama. Mama, Mama, Mama... Damn that song. It was plastered on every corner of the city.
"You might be right, dear," Mom replied, "but we should still be careful with our little ones."
Rumi was currently busy making a mess of her breakfast, chirping away like any other ten-year-old. Because, well, she is a ten-year-old. But honestly, should she be playing with her food like that? Hey, Mom? Dad? A little discipline, maybe? But then again, she had only recently started learning 'table manners.'
My sister has always been a chaotic force of nature. Ever since she was tiny, she had a... habit with small animals. As 'vegetarians,' we don't exactly get our nutrients from livestock—if you can even call us vegetarians. Just two days ago, poor Rumi had the blood of our neighbor Jasmine's cat smeared across her face. Now, having 'refined' herself to act more like a big girl, she settled for staining her face with egg yolks instead.
Rumi looked at me, grinning wide. "Brother, brother! Eat this!" She shoved a forkful of food toward my mouth.
I took it, though I couldn't taste a thing. None of us could. In fact, none of us were actually eating. We were just masters of the performance—miming the chew, swallowing the void.
That is the price of the quiet life. Because we aren't humans. We are vampires.
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Rumi and I set off, our knapsacks heavy on our shoulders as we blended into the morning rush. The sidewalk was a river of salarymen in crisp suits and students scurrying to their futures. We stopped at the edge of the curb, waiting for the Traffic Android to signal the halt. Overhead, the hum of flying cars vibrated in my chest—I could never quite stop marveling at them, no matter how many lifetimes I'd lived.
The Android raised a metallic arm, the stream of vehicles hissed to a stop, and we crossed. Rumi looked the part of a perfect student today: her blue skirt hitting her knees, long white socks pulled high, and a crisp white shirt. She had her Walkman on, humming along to some pop idol group that was currently colonizing the brain of every ten-year-old in the city.
As we approached the gates of Blossom Academy—a prestigious school for girls that housed everyone from primary students to high schoolers—Rumi slid her headphones down around her neck.
"Hey, Brother," she said, her eyes glinting with a mischievous sparkle. "You remember Mom's 'special errand' for this afternoon, right? You know... the one involving the bakery?"
"I might," I replied vaguely, keeping my face stoic.
"I hope you don't forget," she teased, swinging her bag. "And I wonder if certain people have thought about what they're getting me for... well, for no reason at all. Just a totally random gift for a totally random day."
She was a terrible actress. She knew exactly what was happening, but she played the game anyway, fishing for a hint about her birthday surprise.
"I'll think about it," I said with a small smirk, patting her head. "Now, go. Don't be late."
"Bye, Jun!" she chirped, skipping through the gates and disappearing into the sea of blue uniforms.
I watched her for a moment before turning away, feeling the weight of the day settle on me. I began to round the corner toward my own school when a sharp whistle caught my attention.
Standing a few yards away was a girl leaning against a concrete wall. She wore the same uniform as me, but she wore it like a challenge—the tie loose, the sleeves rolled up. Her long black hair was a bit disheveled, and even from here, I could see the fresh scratches on her cheek and the faint, bruised knuckles that suggested she'd recently used someone's face as a punching bag.
She raised a hand, waving at me with a grin that was both sweet and dangerous.
"Jun! Over here!"
This was Jasmine. The rebel, the fighter, and perhaps the only person in this city who looked as out of place in this 'wholesome' life as I felt.
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How can I even describe her? Jasmine was an anomaly. She was normal in the most chaotic way possible—a restless soul hunting for excitement, searching for something bigger and stronger than herself, though she didn't yet know what it was. She lived for the thrill, unaware that she was playing with fire by standing so close to someone like me.
"See ya, Jun!" she called out later that afternoon, waving as she headed toward her house. We were neighbors, our paths crossing daily, but today I couldn't linger. I had a mission to complete.
I made my way to the bakery, the bell chiming as I stepped into the scent of sugar and yeast. I picked up the cake—a decadent masterpiece of layered chocolate and fresh strawberries, decorated with the kind of precision only a machine (or a very tired baker) could achieve.
Back at home, the "play" resumed.
We sat around the dinner table, clinking utensils against porcelain, performing the intricate dance of a normal family. We shared snippets of our day, our voices mingling in a practiced harmony. Rumi, ever the opportunist, kept circling back to the same topic.
"So... about that gift?" she asked, her eyes darting between Mom and Dad.
After our 'meal,' the celebration began. Dad stepped forward first, presenting his gift with a proud smile. It was the latest limited-edition album from—who was it again? The Pretty Boys? Or was it The Wild Girls? I can never keep those strange group names straight. Along with the album, he gave her a sleek, modern gramophone. Of course, every piece of it bore the ubiquitous logo of the Mama Corporation.
Mama has everything... Mama has the best things... The jingle echoed in the back of my mind like a persistent itch.
Mom's gift was more personal: a beautiful, hand-knit scarf, soft and smelling of home. Rumi beamed, hugging them both. Then, she turned her expectant, sparkling gaze toward me.
I leaned back, wearing my best 'clueless brother' expression. "Oh... the gift. Right. I actually forgot."
The light in her eyes dimmed instantly into a look of exaggerated sorrow. She sighed dramatically, slumped her shoulders, and trudged off toward her room, playing the part of the heartbroken sister to perfection. My parents exchanged knowing smiles, watching her go. They knew me too well; they knew the 'act' was just beginning.
Midnight. The world of humans has gone to sleep, tucked away in their simulated safety.
I dressed in layers of shadow: a black leather jacket that concealed my lean, 174cm frame, paired with matching trousers and boots. I pushed open my window and stepped out into the void. I didn't fall; I leaped with the effortless grace of a cat, the biting night air nipping at my cheeks.
As I soared, I felt it—the blood within me surging, an ancient tide of power rushing through my veins. Beneath the silver glow of a full moon, my irises bled into a deep, predatory crimson. I wasn't just flying; I was drifting, a ghost haunting the skyline of a world I had conquered a thousand times before in other lives.
I left the quiet suburbs behind, heading toward the heart of Alpha City. The horizon was a jagged teeth-row of skyscrapers, draped in neon purples and violets. Massive holographic screens clung to the buildings like parasites, screaming advertisements for the Mama Corporation. Mama makes everything. Mama does everything. Honestly, if Mama could breathe for these people, I'm sure they'd pay for the subscription.
High-altitude vehicles hissed through the upper lanes—too "refined" to fly low over the residential zones where the peasants sleep—while the mag-lev train pierced through the steel jungle like a glowing needle. I slid my headphones on, and a melancholy melody began to pulse in my ears.
"Stay with me... through the night, stay with me... feel my warmth in the biting cold... stay with me..."
My feet eventually led me to the edge of the line—the Old Station. This was the graveyard of the first transit line, the decaying artery that bled into the slums.
It's funny, really. In the city center, "Mama" gives you everything. Down here? Mama clearly went out for milk and never came back. The luxury holograms are replaced by flickering streetlights and the smell of rust and forgotten dreams. It's the kind of place where you'd expect to find a legendary treasure—or, more likely, a kidney-thief with a rusty scalpel.
I pressed deeper into the darkness, heading for the furthest point where the fog swallowed the tracks whole. I wasn't here for the scenery. I was here for a very specific birthday gift.
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The melody swirled in my ears again, sweet and haunting.
"Stay with me... forever in a night that never ends..."
I pushed open a rusted iron gate, the screech of metal echoing like a dying gasp. Rats scurried into the shadows, but I didn't glance down. My boots crunched on bone-dry debris as I moved toward the center of the hollowed station.
I reached the heart of the darkness, where the air grew thick with the metallic tang of blood and the scent of rotting mulch. There she was—Min-Seo. She wasn't alone. Four other people were strung up beside her, their limbs entwined in a gargantuan web of pulsing, thorny vines.
I tilted my head, studying the girl from the morning news. Her eyes were wide, shattered by a terror that had long since gone silent.
"Huh. Dad guessed wrong," I murmured to myself. "She definitely didn't run away."
At the center of the web stood the beast—a ten-meter-tall alien monstrosity with a gaping, human-like maw. It had arrived on this planet when I was nine, a cosmic parasite that had tried to swallow me whole. I had broken it instead. Now, it served as my private distillery, refining human agony into something palatable.
"M... M... Master!"
A shadow detached itself from the vines. A man, nearly seven feet tall and swathed in filthy, yellowing medical bandages, scurried toward me. This was the Ghoul, my Gardener. He had been the first to try and end me in this life, attempting to take my life when I was only six years old. I had taught him the meaning of eternal servitude that night.
The Gardener fell to his knees, his body trembling in a frantic, rhythmic tremor. He wasn't afraid of the alien plant; he was terrified of the boy standing in front of him.
"I have fresh meat for you, Master!" he hissed, his voice rattling behind the gauze. "The finest... the youngest... just as you like for the celebration!"
He clutched a massive three-liter glass jar. With shaking hands, he reached for the vines connected to Min-Seo. Smaller, parasitic tendrils snaked down, their tips sharp as needles. He squeezed the fleshy stalks, forcing the concentrated, crimson ichor to drain.
Drip... drip... drip... The sound timed itself perfectly to the beat of my music.
"...forever in a night that never ends..."
The Gardener handed me the jar, his fingers rattling against the glass. I took it casually, the weight of the fresh, warm nectar settling in my palm. Those who had once tried to kill me were now my most loyal providers.
I looked around at the swaying bodies and the crimson dripping in the dark, and I felt a strange sense of contentment. I had the rarest essence in Alpha City—the perfect birthday gift for Rumi.
What a peaceful life.
Time to head home.