Chapter 128: Operation Failed

"Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat..."

The sound erupted abruptly. Every officer except for Bane instinctively turned their heads toward the outside.

Because the entire structure was designed with glass walls, the muzzle flashes from the submachine guns acted like a high-speed strobe light, illuminating the vast, pitch-black experimental corridor and the rooms beyond. A dark shadow moved with physics-defying speed, closing in on the gunfire from the walls and ceiling.

"Ah..."

A shrill scream rang out, and one of the submachine guns went silent. The others soon followed as their magazines ran dry, the chambers clicking emptily.

"Bastards, get away from me!"

A few more pistol shots echoed, followed by more screams. The gunfire outside died down completely, leaving behind only the panicked wails of ordinary researchers. But before long, even those chaotic sounds vanished. From the moment the lights went out to the end of the struggle, only a dozen seconds had passed.

The officers inside the laboratory were dripping with sweat.

"What is out there?" one of them whispered.

"Whatever it is, we're in trouble!"

"Command vehicle, command vehicle, this is the strike team. We’ve been ambushed, requesting support."

There was no response over the radio.

Jobri turned to his old partner and roared, "Bane, stop messing around! Handcuff the doctor, we’re getting ready to—"

He suddenly found himself unable to finish the sentence. His throat felt clogged with phlegm and saliva. He tried to spit, but only blood came out. His neck felt strangely itchy. Then, the world began to spin.

Everything around him remained dim, yet for some reason, Jobri could see clearly. He saw his own body still standing upright, blood spraying wildly from his neck. He saw his colleagues slowly collapsing one by one. He saw Bane, who was still sitting on the floor—the lucky fool seemed unscathed.

Finally, he saw the owner of those crimson eyes standing behind his own body. A pair of wings unfurled from the figure's back, and liquid still dripped from the tips of the wings.

*Heh, how ridiculous... what on earth were we fighting?*

Jobri lost consciousness.

...

A few minutes later, Bane arrived near the command vehicle, which was now littered with the bodies of the officers who should have been standing guard. In the distance, flames lit up the lawn, and the massive propellers of a police helicopter—intended for aerial surveillance and support—could be vaguely seen amidst the smoke.

The remote communicator inside the command vehicle continued to blare. Senior Inspector Billy Blair lay slumped to the side, a gaping hole blown through his head by a handgun.

"Strike team, what is happening? Please respond! Dammit, is anyone there?"

"Someone answer me! You’ve been off the air for five minutes. Support is preparing to depart."

"Damn it, is anyone alive?"

Bane picked up a scarf from his former superior, Billy Blair, and wrapped it around his own handgun. He turned the barrel toward his own left thigh and fired twice.

"Ugh..."

The pain forced a groan from his throat. He then picked up the dangling communicator.

"Is anyone there? Ugh... respond if you can hear me!"

"This is Command Center. Identify yourself. What happened during the arrest operation?"

Bane endured the pain, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his hand. "This is Detective Bane James. We were ambushed. Repeat, we were ambushed. The enemy is numerous and heavily armed. The operation has failed. We have been... wiped out. We need National Guard support. I... I’ve lost too much blood. I can't hold on..."

*Click.* He dropped the communicator, which swayed back and forth on its coiled cord.

At the NYPD headquarters, the liaison commander slammed his hand against the console, throwing the receiver down with a loud *thud*. "Damn it!"

...

*Ting... ting-ting... ting...*

Bullet casings fell onto the rocks, producing crisp, melodic sounds. A muscular man in a black tank top flexed his neck and muscles.

"I have to admit, human firearms have quite a kick."

"Hey, if they had swapped those police submachine guns for high-powered rifles, you’d be in real trouble."

The man shook his left wing, dislodging two more bullet casings.

"I was just testing it out, haha."

Obia Hoffman stared in a daze, as if only just realizing the situation. "You!! Who are you people? What are you?" he asked, trembling, as he looked at his former female assistant.

She was still as beautiful as ever, with a stunning figure, but a pair of massive bat-like wings protruded from her back. Nearby, six or seven others who appeared to be her kind stood watching. They were clearly in a desolate wilderness now. He had witnessed their speed with his own eyes, and the darkness seemed to have no effect on them. Perhaps the police had been caught off guard, but they had been like fragile infants against these things. And, to make matters worse, these monsters knew how to use guns.

"Doctor, don't worry. We won't hurt you. In a different place, you can continue your research," Dashan said, comforting him with a smile. "What you receive will be more than just money. I believe you’ve already realized it—I can be honest with you: we are vampires."

Obia Hoffman’s throat bobbed, but no sound came out.

"Doctor, you are a smart man. This world is far more complex and dangerous than you imagine. You have only one path: to cooperate with us." She leaned in. "Oh, and your nine-year-old daughter is very cute. She likes me quite a bit."

Obia Hoffman’s veins bulged instantly, and he roared at the female vampire, "Bastards! Come after me if you want, leave my daughter out of this!"

A male voice interrupted him. The "man" was also wearing a lab coat; Obia remembered him as a member of his own research team.

"Sorry to interrupt, Doctor. Do you think we’re using your daughter to threaten you? I think you’ve misunderstood. You aren't worth that level of effort. We just wanted to tell you that a nine-year-old girl’s leukemia is not an incurable disease for us."

Obia’s emotions became even more volatile. He lunged forward to grab the male researcher’s coat, only to be flicked aside like a toy and thrown to the ground.

"Cough, cough... I will help you without reservation, even if you are demons."

Dashan laughed. "Don't worry, Doctor. Unlike those cultists, we are people of our word, and we have absolutely no interest in exterminating humanity."

She licked her vibrant lips—a gesture that had once felt seductive to Obia, but now filled him with pure horror. A thought crystallized in his mind: *Of course. Who would ever exterminate their own herd?*