At noon, the sun hung high and merciless over Brooklyn.
The apartment building looked ordinary from the outside—brick facade, faded paint around the window frames, a cracked mailbox panel downstairs. Nothing about it suggested the presence of anything supernatural.
"Boom!"
The first strike of the door ram shattered the hallway's quiet.
"Open up! Sentinel Special Service!"
"Boom!"
The reinforced hammer came down again. The wooden door splintered inward, hinges tearing loose under the force. Brown surged forward the instant it gave way. He wore a gleaming silver-threaded tactical suit beneath his jacket, a polished cross resting against his chest.
He entered like a battering ram.
The apartment interior was just like the others they had cleared in the past month—curtains sealed tight, windows blacked out, lights off despite the blazing sun outside.
Darkness didn't matter.
Brown's eyes locked immediately onto the object in the center of the living room.
An oiled wooden coffin.
The air inside felt stagnant, heavy.
Something inside the coffin stirred.
The lid trembled once, then again. A low scrape sounded from within as pressure built beneath the wood.
The next second, the lid burst open.
A pale figure shot upright. The vampire's face was ordinary in structure, almost forgettable—until its lips peeled back, revealing elongated fangs. Its pupils shrank into thin vertical slits as it registered the armed silhouettes surrounding it.
Muzzles were already pointed directly at its forehead.
For half a second, confusion crossed its face.
Then instinct took over.
With a hiss, it slammed its palm against the coffin edge and lunged upward, intending to vault clear and attack before they could react.
"Bang!"
Brown didn't hesitate.
He squeezed the trigger once.
The ultraviolet round screamed through the dim air and struck dead center between the vampire's brows.
For an instant, it hung there mid-motion.
Then the body disintegrated.
Ash consumed flesh at visible speed, spreading outward from the impact point like paper catching flame. By the time gravity reclaimed it, the vampire had already collapsed into drifting gray residue.
Two fangs clattered against the wooden coffin bottom with a crisp metallic sound.
Ash settled.
Silence followed.
Downstairs, Locke leaned against the hood of the Audi, hands in his coat pockets.
A familiar chime echoed inside his mind.
"Ding."
"Extraordinary Points obtained: 1."
"Current Extraordinary Points: 198."
He exhaled slowly.
Another one.
A month ago, he would have been the first through the door. Now he stayed outside, overseeing logistics and providing support. The system didn't require him to personally pull the trigger to collect the reward. Participation in the operation was enough.
He had come to understand something over the past few weeks.
Hunting vampires was far more efficient than chasing scattered mutants across the city.
Mutants hid.
Vampires nested.
And nests were predictable.
In the past month alone, he and Brown had eliminated approximately one hundred and twenty-three confirmed vampires.
The remaining extraordinary points had come from a certain half-vampire operating in the shadows.
Blade.
Brown handled daylight raids. Blade handled night hunts. Between the two fronts, Locke's experience accumulation had accelerated dramatically.
And it was safe.
At the beginning, things hadn't gone smoothly. Even armed with ultraviolet ammunition, vampires were still enhanced predators. Their reaction times exceeded normal human limits. Several early operations had nearly gone sideways.
Locke, positioned outside, couldn't physically intervene in time if something went wrong.
So they adapted.
Bulletproof vests were replaced with soft silver-thread armor. Any vampire foolish enough to grab an operative would suffer immediate blistering burns. Crosses blessed by church clergy hung around every neck—not for superstition, but as an added variable in close-quarters chaos.
Grenades were removed from belts. In their place were compact vials of consecrated holy water.
And every sidearm was converted to fire specialized ultraviolet rounds.
Defense layered with offense.
Efficiency improved rapidly.
Now they could conduct three to four "wake-up operations" per day. On high-energy days, even more.
At this pace, Locke estimated he could accumulate enough points to upgrade the Vampire Gene again by tonight.
One more level, and his internal system would stabilize further. Heartbeat restored. Body temperature normalized. No more relying on Thunder Bourbon three times a day just to feel human warmth.
The building door opened.
Brown stepped out first, removing his gloves. His team followed behind him.
Locke straightened.
"Done?" he asked with a relaxed smile, even though he already knew the answer.
Brown nodded and handed two fangs to Debbie, who approached eagerly with a small evidence pouch.
"Another one."
Debbie held the teeth up under the sunlight.
The fangs caught the light and reflected a faint golden sheen.
She inhaled sharply. "Oh—"
Her eyes widened.
She turned toward Locke. "Boss, this one's worth over ten thousand."
Locke and Brown exchanged a glance.
This was the part no one had predicted.
Revenge had fueled the first week. Five dead operatives. Anger. Purpose.
But anger cools.
Money doesn't.
Through Natasha's coordination with Blade, they'd discovered something useful: vampire fangs could be sold on certain black-market biomedical channels.
High purity. High demand.
Blade didn't draw a salary from S.H.I.E.L.D. He didn't clock in. Yet he operated daily across New York without financial strain.
Now they understood why.
Vampire fangs were currency.
And the stronger the vampire, the higher the value.
The pair Debbie now held glowed faintly gold—a sign of elevated classification. Likely a C-level vampire.
Ten thousand dollars minimum.
Most of their kills were lower-tier, valued around five thousand per set. Still substantial.
Unexpected revenue.
Locke would be lying if he said it hadn't influenced morale.
Originally, Brown had sworn to eliminate fifty vampires before even considering stepping back. That number was never mentioned again.
At ten thousand a set?
Fifty was just the beginning.
Debbie carefully placed the golden-tinted fangs into a cloth bag she carried at her waist. It was already half full from the past two weeks of operations.
She managed distribution.
After expenses and equipment maintenance, shares were allocated evenly. Transparent. Efficient.
No complaints.
Locke checked his watch.
Ten a.m.
"Nothing else scheduled," he said casually. "Hit the next one?"
Brown grinned.
"Let's move."
...
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