Our Delta

A maniacal laughter echoed throughout the white room. The man seated on a lone chair placed in the middle struggled and tried desperately to break free from the ropes tying his hands. His wrists are already swollen and bleeding from all the struggling. It is not certain as to whether the ropes were really tight, so he could not free himself, or if he was just losing strength.

Streaks of tears flowed down his pale, hollow cheeks, blurring his sight. He was gritting his teeth so hard he didn't notice he had accidentally bit into his lower lip that was already blue. He tasted rust in his mouth, mixed with tears and sweat, which slowly diminished the hope he was trying to gather. Yet it was still not enough to remove the traces of the pills he was forced to swallow.

Frustrated and desperate, he flailed and stomped harder, almost toppling the steel chair.

The man basking in madness suddenly stopped laughing. He looked at him pitifully, with eyes almost believably sympathetic, but everyone present knows the true colors of this madman. He was far from sympathetic. He could lend you a hand during the day and turn you into a guinea pig the next.

"The Policy will burn you to hell!" the pale vampire spat. His chair squeaked noisily at his every move.

The man frowned at him, then suddenly grinned wide before making a fire out of nowhere. It was floating at the palm of his hand, and as he inched closer to him, the flames in his hand also bid its time engulfing his flesh into flames. The smell of burning flesh made the poor captive gag. But he had no time to panic nor puke anymore, as he felt something hot by his feet.

He had also caught fire now. His fangs grew, and he growled in pain. The fire crawled up, till the vampire's whole body was burnt, and the room was filled with the pungent smell.

On the corner of the room, a man in a suit was watching, and he flinched slightly at every agonizing shout the vampire had let out.

In reality, the victim was still shuddering in fear. His eyes were white and he had turned blue. His veins are showing, like worms creeping into his system. The vibrant skin that vampires were so proud of was gone.

"Successful?" The fellow, whose appearance seemed to be in his 50s, asked. Yet the glint visible in his eyes was cruel and gave away the decades, or possibly centuries, that he must have already lived.

One of his subordinates looked down in respect as he answered his question.

"Yes, sir. He is high, and he is hallucinating about…" He paused and thought for a moment. "...getting roasted? Since he was begging for water and to put out a fire all the while."

"Good. We don't care about what these damned creatures are seeing. Just make sure the drug's strong enough to kick into their system in the shortest time possible."

"Yes, sir."

The individual who was silently watching everything in the corner thought about how the man could talk as if he himself was not a vampire as well. And, well, maybe he should not be surprised anymore. Since this man he got involved with, regarded other beings as less than him. No matter their race or status in life.