The following weeks proved to be quiet, after a nice little chat with the Club's owner, and no bloodshed, it was back to routine.
"Light." I said as I opened the door to the flat I rented. It was a rather high quality place, but small, spartanly decorated and furnished. A Living room, , a kitchenette, the bathroom and most importantly a small bedroom with a large closet made for hiding things one wasn't allowed to own.
"Good morning, Mr O'Neill." Came the smooth and calm voice of the Muse, the name given to the fancy personal assistant rich people loved to have. Not quite artificial intelligence, it could still learn it's owner's habit and respond to them. "Would you like some coffee?"
The place was rented on a false identity, which was also programmed into the Muse. Too many criminals had planned everything right only to be given away when their P.A. automatically ordered groceries to their safehouse in their name.
"Heaven yes, Morri." I answered, hanging my coat on the rack by the entrance, removing the holsters from around my torso. In the kitchen, I could hear the coffee machine starting up. Morri was short for Morrígan, the Celtic goddess of death, which I thought was something mildly appropriate to serve as my muse.
I dropped my gears inside the closet and closed the secret compartment. It probably wouldn't hold to in depth search, but it avoided the possibility of someone just stumbling upon them.
I sat in the kitchen and the telly sprang to life thank to Morri's intervention. The news were just as joyful as ever; War in the middle-east over mana sources, new restriction on the rights of awakened meta-humans in Russia and finally crimes against humanity in Uganda.
"Rewind to the beginning of last segment." I said, grabbing the now ready coffee.
The commentator began to speak, solemnly although it was clear he didn't particularly care. "Reports of violence have increased in the wake of the latest change in government where the human-centric new regime has passed severe laws removing the rights of HVV-Infected citizens which have been deported into camps."
The images weren't pretty either, showing rows of vampires tied up in the sun, thankfully, the audio was absent. Unlike in myths, vampires didn't catch fire in the sun, instead we suffered a sort of allergic reaction, starting with horrible rashes, swelling, boils, the skin fell off in chunks, as well as vomiting and respiratory problems.
In mild lighting conditions or full moons, it was more tolerable, in the average overcast skies and rain of London, one would only fell a persistent dull ache, itches and dizziness after a while. The most puzzling aspect of it, to scientists at least, was that only sunlight would cause this reaction, not any form of artificial light.
I sipped the coffee, five sugar and two cream and let if fill my stomach with caffeine. Vampires have a love/hate relationship with food, while technically we can live on a pure blood diet, that require much more than one can get without paying a fortune on the black market or being particularly sociopathic. So most went by with the minimal amount they required and padded it with human food which had the disadvantage of tasting bland.
My phone rang, playing the latest single of Guardians of Avalon, a local power metal band.
"Aiden, here." I answered casually, bringing the mug to my lips once again.
"Aiden, It's Frankie."
"Hello, Uncle." He wasn't really my uncle, more like the man who'd picked me up from the orphanage and started me on the path to killing people. Quite a nice fella actually. "What can I do for you?"
"I have a new job for you. There's a laboratory on the west side of town, NeoHumanity, it does some research on awakeneds and we've been supplying them with some additional subjects but their payments are getting late. Their CEO hasn't been returning my calls, so if you could give him a visit, I'd appreciate. Tonight if possible."
"It'll be my pleasure, Boss."
I set down the phone and looked at the time. Sixteen past eleven. I had plenty of time for more coffee...