About 45 minutes ago, I arrived in the middle of nowhere... somewhere in Kansas. I swear, I can't see why people live here, but that's just me. My name is Dan. That's all you need to know for now. I've steel blue eyes that put people off. Women think I look like someone who wouldn't think twice about taking them into a back alley somewhere and do something untoward to them. But I'm not really that type. Men think I'm that type too, and that I'm dangerous. They've no idea how dangerous. After three tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan, I decided enough was enough. I wanted to do something different. Besides, it's a bitch being a werewolf and trying to hide it during the full of the moon. Sure, it helped me in certain skirmishes in Iraq and Afghanistan, but really, it was almost unfair.
So, here I am. I arrived in this Hummer in a place that is about as desolate as some of the places I've been to half a world away.
Okay, I'm chuckling to myself. See, I'm a mole. I've already been hired by Mr. T--uh, that's Mr. Tremayne. Actually through a third party, but makes no difference. My job is to somehow thwart whatever they've got planned for the little lady who is to arrive here tonight. The man I'm about to meet, Mr. Paduraru, is double crossing Mr. T. This is what I've been briefed by another of Mr. T's men who originally brought me in. I got put on the list as the "door man". Tough job, guarding a door, but you'd be surprised.
So, I'm here at this old Atlas F Missile site, which means a lot of stairs. See what I mean?
The stairway ends at a set of 6,000-pound blast doors. These were designed to keep occupants safe during a nuclear attack. The doors curve inward to offset the vacuum effect of a blast... at least that's the thought behind it.
Well, here I am. I'm taken inside one of the apartments. I'm to be given my "orders" from a man called Paduraru. He's the one, I've been told, is playing double cross on his boss, Mr. T.
Vampires. Really. I can take them and I can leave them, but Mr. T is signing my check for this job, as far as I'm concerned. And his bank roll exceeds Paduraru's considerably.
When I was briefed about this position, I was told the woman I'm to help protect is "special". I'm not certain in what way, but she's highly regarded in the vampire circles. Her name's Sabrina Strong. When I dug a little more, I found out that a lot of Supes were both intrigued by her apparent abilities, and in awe of her.
But, like I said, I'm paid the big bucks to do my job, and I'll do it to the best of my ability. I'm to ignore much of what Mr. Paduraru tells me to do. Especially if it's to harm Ms. Strong in any way.
I'm standing in a main room of the condo. I'm not certain where Mr. T. is, but he's somewhere in this silo/condo. I was also briefed that Mr. T. is dying of silver poisoning. If this Strong woman doesn't get to the proper place in this huge facility, he will most definitely die. So, I'm all for getting the little Lady to where she needs to go.
He explains my job is to stand outside the first door and greet Ms. Strong, and ring him when she gets here. Fine. A boring job, but hey, twenty-five thousand from Mr. T, and another ten grand from Mr. Paduraru, here. That's the beauty of being a double agent. If you survive, you get paid double. Uh, if you can get paid up-front, at least half (which I did), you come out alive and smiling from ear to ear all the way to the bank. 'Course, I've got some debts to pay, so I'm not going to be rich afterwards by no means.
Paduraru explains in his suave, thick accent--I've pegged him as a several hundred years old from some western European country, like Romania--tells me that under no circumstances is Sabrina to get beyond the third door. That's the other door heading another direction from the one I came through to enter this condo.
I, of course, assure him I won't let her get past me to go beyond this condo. I've got five hours before she is due to figure out how I'm to bushwhack this bastard, and not set off any alarms to the goons above. Those three looked like something they pulled out of a hole in New York City. The worst kind of werewolves are from New York, but then, the ones from Louisiana have a few quirks in their personalities that you just don't want to experience, if you get my drift. That's where someone like me can, and will, take them out.
Paduraru takes me on a tour of the place. Shows me the water closet, in case I have need.
And this is the door I'm to guard.
I wonder what Ms. Strong looks like. From what I learned, she's quite fetching.