What Director Ezekiel Skinner wanted, he got. And the Director didn’t get his hands dirty. Hence, Jean-Michel was on yet another “undisclosed mission.” The tasker wondered if this mission was actually on the books. He doubted it. He highly… doubted it.

He passed face after face on the street of the mid-sized town outside of the Bay Area. These were “little cities” in mid-northern California. This area was called the poor man’s wine country. He made his way to the automated transit ticket station, gave up a ten spot, and took the ticket that the machine spat out. Off he went to catch a bus instead. He’d take a bus to the next station. Best to be a lost part of humanity than to make too direct a hit.

His blue-green eyes took in the mad world around him. The sounds were harsh, car motors, bike bells, the fountain, the horns. He didn’t want to be here. It was too loud, and there were too many humans. Too much of everything.

Jean-Michel got off the bus at the next stop and found signs leading to the local rail station. His feet moved slower than normal over the pavement. He paused to take in the way the breeze moved through the trees. Sometimes, it was a good thing to slow down and take in the world, but then another car horn reminded him he was delaying the inevitable.

The train that went underground near Oakland—where he needed to be. He couldn’t force himself to pick up the pace.

Jean-Michel gazed into a window along the older building fronts downtown and saw his reflection. He paused, gazing upward, trying desperately to form with his imagination what he once had been. It was nearly impossible.

Instead, his eyes came back to meet his reflection’s gaze. He had crow’s feet at the edge of his human eyes, both frown and laugh lines. His dark, auburn-red hair had silver smudged at the ears and in the scruff of his beard.

He looked human and was about to perform the bidding of a human. Albeit a human in a powerful position, but a human, nonetheless. How had he allowed himself to be brought so low?

He avoided eye contact with anybody. It wasn’t something he enjoyed. Most humans were unable to see more than their own worries. No need to look into those hollow holes.

Down the stairs. To the right. Up the escalators.

Unless Director Skinner swept this mission under the rug, Jean-Michel would answer to a bunch of attorneys turned Councilors, all ready to judge him. They never got their hands dirty, either.

Punch the ticket. Go to the platform.

Jean-Michel told himself he would go to a pub before the Council. He wanted to be drunk before facing his own Councilor. He didn’t want to be sober while looking into Gabriel’s eyes after what had to be done.

Dealing with humans risked such perils . The memory of Director Ezekiel Skinner’s scowl when he tried to refuse this task made Jean-Michel shiver. If he knew what kind of magic he needed for killing Skinner, Jean-Michel would have done so a long time ago. Unfortunately, the human was well-connected and dangerous. Skinner was a keeper of secrets. And Jean-Michel did not want more of his known.

Catch the train. Take a seat. Pretend.

Despite trying not to look, a little girl in front of him caught his eye. The impish grin made him want to smile. Children could see things in their innocence that others could not. It pained him to think she would lose this gift.

He cocked his head to the side. An instinctive, curious movement, which came from the creature he truly was. She smirked at him. He crossed his eyes. She did her best to hold back a little giggle. Her mother glanced his way. He nodded a slight bow.

The mother got up to leave with her daughter. She was paranoid, being so short-lived. The little girl, missing her two front teeth, beamed at Jean-Michel. The mother sighed heavily as the tasker got up and began moving in the opposite direction. He didn’t want trouble.

“Mommy! Did you see his eyes? Mommy?”

“It’s not nice to stare, Maria.”

Jean made his way to the far end of the car and stood, holding the pole. The slowing click-clack of the train heralded an approach to the next station. The train slowed, then stopped for Oakland.

People got on, got off, shifted, shuffled seats, and slid into places to stand.

Jean-Michel made his way off the train and to the far end of the platform, away from other people. He sat on the bench, where he watched the girl walk with her mother to the stairs. Little Maria waved and showed her snaggle-toothed smile again. This time, he couldn’t help but return the expression.

Innocence wasn’t the same as ignorance.

She wanted to see more of what he truly was. She still had faith. But did he?

Had he lost faith in everyone else? Jean-Michel had fantasized the stern, young attorney turned Councilor for humans could see more. However, Gabriel had mentioned nothing. Did that mean all was already lost where he was concerned?

When the bell sounded, the train lurched forward, and the tasker remained on the bench. Jean-Michel’s eyes focused on the wall across from the platform. He took a drink from the flask hidden in a jacket pocket. Another drink, and he closed his eyes. Opening them again, he stared ahead beyond the tracks. He stared until his eyes watered and hurt. At the edge of his vision, on the far wall, light filtered around a double-door-sized expanse of beige painted brick. The outline of light was a magical archway hidden from most eyes.

Screwing the top back onto the flask, Jean-Michel waited until the next train came through. He focused on the outline of the door. After two trains, as people transferred on and off, he stood. When the bells sounded, he navigated to one of the support poles and out of camera range. Just as the back of the train cleared the magical outline, the tasker leaped a distance that might seem inconceivable for a middle-aged man. He made it from the platform and into the door.

Taskers were masters of not being seen. They were the elite agents of Crimson, the world’s supernatural policing force . Most were supernatural for a reason.

Go inside. Find the leader. Do as tasked. Simple.

The creatures that called this home were quite full of themselves. No one watched the entrance. Even after walking for five minutes through rough-hewn stone corridors, there were no guards.

Jean-Michel could smell them. He could smell the blood, not decay. It’s what vampire lairs made by newly blooded creatures smelled like. They didn’t let things decay or rot. Anything smelling of true death was unwanted. However, they liked the smell of blood and enjoyed having their prey in a gathering.

The corridor led out to an open area which used to be part of the rail line, or at the very least, had abandoned gear and equipment around a nice tile and cement floor. This room was open compared to previous halls.

He pulled his trigger quickly but only managed one bullet before the boot of an incoming vampire knocked the gun from his hand. Relaxing, Jean-Michel lowered his stance for the incoming attack. His center of gravity stable, Jean-Michel dodged the incoming flurry and shoved the would-be attacker into one of the others.

Five. He knew several kinds of martial arts, but the goal was to be captured, not to kill them. So, he feinted, rolled out of the way, and kicked the one who had his gun. He caught the guy on the jaw and followed the hit to send the gun skittering out of range.

He dodged three swings but backed into two more vampires. Dropping into a crouch, he let them hit one another. If the sounds were any indication, the maneuver worked. Springing forward, Jean-Michel took one out with a tackle, before rolling again and getting back into stance.

The two on their feet came at him, but two from the sidelines circled while the prone vampire his bearings. They moved quicker than he could. Figuring he’d given them enough of a fight, Jean-Michel simply played at keeping them busy. He slung one into the other before taking another out with a jumping crescent kick, purposely leaving himself open to the side.

One vampire took the shot, and pain burned in Jean-Michel’s hip as he went down. They each got at least one hit before he discouraged them.

“I have a message for Anthony!”

The vampires paused, looking between one another.

“I come from Crimson. If I don’t meet him, things could go very wrong for you,” Jean-Michel warned.

“Well Anthony’s been waiting,” one of them snarled while they dragged Jean-Michel onward to the lair.

The vampires walked with him held between them to another doorway. After a few minutes of silence, they brought the tasker to a larger cavern.

The smell of cheap cologne, cigarette smoke, and fresh blood led the way. His eyes adjusted to the darkness. They dressed as if they stepped out of a movie screen a la something either gothic or leather-clad punk-rock chic. It was so cliche that Jean-Michel forced himself not to choke on a laugh.

They made their way to what was obviously a throne. Did it get any better than this? He remembered what a vampire throne room looked like—a real vampire throne room. This cheap rendition was a disgrace, and if a true pureblood had seen it? There would’ve been hell to pay.

They walked up a trail to a wooden dais, which sat a few feet higher than the rest of the cavernous room. On the dais was a fancy upholstered chair, maybe something from the early 80s mimicking an older era. Even worse, the leader performed by drinking from a victim while sitting on his so-called throne.

Releasing his bite on the now-dead man, the vampire ruler wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Anthony appeared as if he weren’t a day over twenty, a lie. He let the body fall to his feet before he assessed their guest.

“You waltzed into a vampire lair. Your masters couldn’t do this any other way?”

“I’m a Tasker. I was tasked. I don’t ask a lot of questions,” Jean-Michel replied.

“On behalf of Crimson? Because that bunch lost something?” Anthony chuckled as if he possessed the upper hand. He gestured toward the opening of a cave to his left. Two vampires led in a young man. He had several bloodied marks on his arms and throat. His head hung and he could hardly walk on his own. Anthony paid the entrance little heed. He kept his attention on the special agent to see the reaction.

For someone as experienced as Jean-Michel, the scene was amusing. The self-appointed coven lord still had the dead body of his dinner next to his seat. He had turned his focus on this farce of a forced drama.

“That bunch didn’t actually send me.” Jean-Michel studied the turned vampire. “Perhaps we should be honest with one another?”

“By all means,” Anthony replied, sitting with a flump on his throne.

Another show of power. The vampire had a Crimson agent and was going to use his pitiful countenance to control the situation. Jean-Michel knew how this would go. Anthony, on the other hand, had no idea what was about to happen.

“This isn’t a normal mission. Since you took an agent, your importance has grown by leaps and bounds.” Jean-Michel addressed the self-anointed coven lord. “No, this was more of an emergency mission assigned by the Director of Crimson himself.” He tilted his head toward the agent. “May I check him?”

Anthony was immediately preening and sneering in a wash of arrogance.

“Tender of heart for those less fortunate, are you?” His attention went from his guest to his captive and back again. “Inspect him all you like. Wouldn’t want you to think we were animals, would I?” While the intruder inspected his hostage, the coven lord’s attention came back to the body inches from his feet.

“Didn’t I tell you to get these out of here when I’m finished with them? I can already smell the vileness of the blood.” The coven lord kicked the body, which flopped unceremoniously down the bit of dais. He glared at the vampires, who had brought the agent to him. They wasted little time grabbing the body to remove it from the chamber.

Jean-Michel walked to the young Crimson technician. Johnny was someone they called a specialist, and his skill was hacking. Being part of a secret organization that kept its eyes on the wrongdoing of supernatural kind meant bringing something to the table. And in many cases, even something considered illegal to the rest of the world was an asset to Crimson.

“You’ve been bitten.” Jean-Michel touched the agent’s shoulder, noting multiple puncture wounds. Wasn’t much more than a kid, this one. He’d been missing for nearly five days. The vampires had not wasted their time. “Have you taken blood from any of them?”

Johnny was weak and feverish. His head was still down, and he was breathing soft and slow as he leaned against the wall.

“I don’t know,” he said around gravel.

“Do you know who sent me? Do you understand?” Jean-Michel asked, his fingers under the other man’s chin to lift his head. As Johnny’s head tipped back, his eyes partially opened to reveal dilated pupils and a reddish tinge to the outer edges of each.

“Skinner?” he groaned, and one arm covered his stomach as he winced. “Can we leave?”

The tone of his voice had been more demanding than hopeful. The expression took the tasker’s mind momentarily to the past. Another set of eyes fading from the light of life came to mind and saddened him. Jean-Michel forced himself to focus on the present and the information he needed.

~ What do you have on him that makes you so important, Johnny? ~ Jean-Michel asked, forcing his thoughts into the boy’s mind. In this addled state, the captive agent had no defense. He hoped his question would be answered by images, or at least some breadcrumbs, on where to find a weakness in Director Skinner’s protected life.

The young agent had no choice but to allow the mental intrusion. Several images from pictures in a file marked simply ‘#32’ came to the foreground. A flash of old language and red ink shuffled in next. Then nothing. Sighing, Johnny swallowed, and his eyes opened a little more for the tasker.

“I... did good?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, you did, Agent.” Jean-Michel placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He asked quietly, almost fatherly, “Are you ready to be free?”

“Yes, please.”

Anthony’s attention went from the doorway to the tasker. “Well? What’s it worth to you and your Director? Maybe, official recognition as a true coven? The perks purebloods enjoy. It’s only fair. We rescued him, right, guys?” The other vampires chuckled.

Jean-Michel turned to face the self-appointed coven lord, and as he did, he snapped Johnny’s neck.

“What?” Anthony screamed as he moved further away, shoving his guards forward to protect him.

The tasker slammed the closest vampire against the cavern wall with such force his head cracked like a watermelon. He was already on the next vampire before Johnny’s body hit the ground.

“But the Director…” Anthony got behind some of the other vampires at his disposal. The agent stalked ever closer.

“The Director didn’t send me to bargain, you idiot.“ While he closed the gap between himself and Anthony, lights around the walls began flickering and losing power. Guns fired, but the tasker rolled out of the way and to the sidewall behind the throne.

The two who stayed with their leader took defensive stances. Anthony took a step back. Bullets ricocheted from the hewn stone walls.

“Stop shooting, idiots!” Anthony screamed. His tone let the tasker know this coven lord finally realized he was not in control.

The lights flickered and went out one-by-one, leaving them in darkness. They’d be more aggressive. Overconfident. These vampires thought they had the upper hand in the dark. Perfect.

The two fledglings rushed their opponent while Anthony backed to the room’s outer wall. His eyes were wild as they adjusted to the absence of light.

For Jean-Michel, darkness was not a hindrance. He tripped one vampire who moved so quickly the bastard landed on his head--knocking himself out. They literally didn’t understand their own strength. The other he took on, meeting the thing’s swinging fist with the palm of his hand. He turned the hit’s inertia against the vampire and slammed the creature onto his back. The crunch of a broken arm filled the air, then a gurgling scream.

“What are you?” Anthony asked, his voice trembling. The screams of other vampires were his answer. Anthony grimaced from a flash of magical light emitted from Jean-Michel’s chest. When he looked up again, he was frozen by what he saw blocking the only exit.

The only light in the cavern came from the entrance tunnel, and suddenly, it was extinguished. The temperature rose in the area by fifteen—no, twenty degrees in a matter of seconds.

Anthony made it back to the side of the throne when he was mesmerized by the face of his own death. Dark scales moved like a living wall. The teeth were as long as swords, and those blue-green eyes were the size of car doors. The creature’s mouth opened, and liquid fire dribbled to the stone floor.

~ Do you know what I am, now? ~ Jean-Michel asked. He needed this. He needed to remember who and what he was. They would know. And then they would all die.

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Mad World (for Senias/Jean-Michel)

I named this chapter "Mad World" after the song of the same name. My favorite versions were by Gary Jules and the haunting version by Adam Lambert. This song and its presentation are perfect for the Dragon Tasker's state of mind. He's losing his grip on who he is and his place in life. The villain has flipped his duty upside down so many times/antagonist and by the civilization that has grown up around him. He's lost. He's very close to trying to go to the stars at this point (letting himself die). I hope I could convey this in the chapter. 

Taskers were not like regular Crimson agents. They didn’t fit into any specific classification of duty. They were the invisible ones that came around and handled what the normal agents couldn’t handle; what the mundane human authorities had no business handling.

I believe this one was a restatement of something we were showing at the time... so we cut it. 

He felt his arms tugged and he forced himself not to pull back or fight it. They were clumsy; inexperienced. All of them were. A bunch of people trained in suburban karate classes as kids who were not much more than overconfident brawlers. He took note of some of the guns.  

That’s what was wrong with creating too many vampires. They had no idea what they were doing or who they were doing it to. They had a head rush of power and they got high off of it as often as they could. They hadn’t even stopped to think about how he’d gotten into their cozy little side of the world. They were too impressed with their own handy-work in grabbing the attention of someone important. The Tasker was quite pleased to let them continue. 

I believe we got across the idea that Jean-Michel found these vampires detestable. So reiterating it was not necessary. 

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