When the dusk settled over the rusty metal shields of the shelter like a coffin lid, the filthiest hour of Vivaricus began: Prime Time. The projections in the sky vomited the glittering world of the Masters into the hollow, dimmed eyes of the shelter dwellers.
A scuffle broke out in front of the famous, ancient nuclear transmitter in the shelter square. A message appeared on the screen in giant letters.
[LORD CURSAP: I WILL GIVE 3 BREAKFASTS AND 3 DINNERS TO THE GIRLS I WATCH LICKING THE OLD NUCLEAR TRANSMITTER IN THE SQUARE. AFTER ALL, THE TASTE OF METAL IS STILL RADIOACTIVE!]
Girls aged fifteen or sixteen rushed toward that toxic, rusty box, pushing each other aside. The image of blood flowing from the mouths of those whose tongues touched the cold metal was watched as "art" in the vampire salons of the Upper City. Even a few toothless old women standing aside fought with the young girls, hoping to bring a piece of bread to their grandchildren. Humanity was licking its own poison for a single morsel.
When we took refuge in Adalin's small, damp house, the air inside was lighter than outside, but heavier with sorrow. Adalin was only fifteen—delicate as a flower but resilient as a shelter rat. Beside her was her grandfather, whose coughs shook the room. The Masters had repeatedly offered "trades" for this old man; they promised Adalin a radiation-free apartment and clean water in the Upper City if she gave him to their labs as a "test subject." But Adalin had not broken her childish but steel-like vow to carry this man, who had raised her alone in the middle of the nuclear winter, until his natural end.
Papers embossed with Braille were at our fingertips. Live broadcasts were active; drones gathered data with their sickening hums overhead. In the center of the table stood the most wretched form of poverty: a soup made from chicken bones.
First, the meat of that chicken—a scrap from the Masters—had been eaten, then pillows were made from its feathers; now, they were trying to fill their stomachs with that gray water, boiled with the beak, claws, and stripped bones, mixed with a bit of beer and onions. A silence fell as crooked forks poked into moldy pieces of bread.
The silk fabric Dante had chosen for me felt like a death-fire against my skin. I no longer belonged to this table, to this misery, yet I could not tear myself away from them.
"Praise be to our Masters." Ava said, her voice as melancholic as shattered glass. "The chicken they sent was bountiful. We even found sustenance in the beak and claws."
"The Masters..." Ulysses said wearily. "I hope the Masters are having fun tonight, or we won't even find this soup tomorrow."
Ulysses was madly in love with Ava. In this filth, their only dream was to go to the free lands, to live in a single room and be wretched but free farmers dealing only with the soil. Ulysses' blue eyes wandered over Ava's black hair and freckled nose. But at that moment, a message from a vampire, Lady Valentin, appeared on the system screen:
[LADY VALENTIN: IF YOU KISS THAT RED-HAIRED GIRL, I WILL SEND A WHOLE ROASTED CHICKEN THIGH TODAY!]
Ulysses swallowed; the knot in his throat grew. "I have a lover, my lady... You are very... kind," he said, his voice trembling.
The messages were relentless.
[LADY VALENTIN: IF YOU STAB YOUR LOVER'S HAND WITH A FORK, TWO ROASTED THIGHS FOR BOTH OF YOU!]
Joseph's dark eyes twitched with rage. And at that moment, Lord Ute's voice seeped into the room from the system speakers like a shadow. The arrogance in his voice felt as if it came from the dusty pages of history.
[LORD UTE: WRETCHED HUMANITY... IS IT NOT JUST LIKE THE WAY WE USED TO FEED, SISTER VALENTIN? WE TOO USED TO TAKE REFUGE IN SUCH SHADOWS. WE SEARCHED FOR DEAD ANIMALS AND CORPSES FROM THE MORGUE TO FEED. WE FLED THE SUN AND CRAWLED IN THE MUD. AND NOW LOOK AT THEM... THEY HAVE BECOME MISERABLE ENOUGH TO BOIL THE BONES OF A ONE-KILO CHICKEN.]
Lord Ute continued, his voice becoming even more mocking:
[LORD UTE: THAT BLONDE BOY... IF YOU SPIT INTO THAT RED-HAIRED GIRL'S FOOD, I'LL SEND A BOTTLE OF OLD WORLD WINE TO YOU AND YOUR LOVER. GO ON, ENTERTAIN US A BIT.]
Wounded prides, bowed necks... Not even that soup with chicken claws could pass through our throats anymore. My thief's soul, that savage side of me fed by Dante's blood, suddenly exploded. I slammed my hand onto the table, nearly ripping the buttons of my silk shirt, and roared directly at the camera, at that invisible lens—the point where Dante was likely watching us like a cinema movie:
"Lady Valentin!" I shouted with fury.
"I suggest you break those porcelain teeth of yours and then use them while giving me head! And Lord Ute, open that big mouth of yours wide! I want to press my big ass against your face and empty those rotten chickens we eat in the shelter down your throat—I want to shit directly into your mouth! While I'm shitting on your face, Valentin can finish her b---lowjob down there. How's that for a plan?"
The room turned to ice in an instant. The fork in Joseph's hand hit the floor; Adalin clung to her grandfather in fear. This wasn't just an insult; it was a cause for apocalypse in the sealed fate of Vivaricus. The viewer count on the system skyrocketed from zero to millions in an instant. Red warnings were exploding on Dante's screen.
He had gotten what he wanted.
The wild monkey had hurled his stone and stick at the faces of the most noble vampires.