Blood & Honour [Book Four of The City of Eternity Series] [✔]

4.1: Morality

Blood.

I wiped the bead from my finger with tissue, the crimson stain bleaching through the sterile white. After wrapping the cut in a plaster, I retrieved a lighter from the top drawer of my desk, a mundane action imbued with a sense of ritual. As the flame danced before me, consuming the tissue in a crescendo of heat as soon as they made contact, the embers blackened as they hit the surface of my workspace. With a flick of my wrist, I disposed of the remnants in the bin beside me before swivelling in my chair to face the window behind me.

Through the pane of glass, the world outside seemed distant, obscured by the life I had decided to ignore; where my dues were only owed to myself. I'd been in government for long enough, my tenure taking up the majority of my fragile life, and it felt as though I had traded pieces of my soul in exchange for the illusion of control. The moral compass I once relied so heavily on, was becoming an outdated relic, toggled on and off as I was allowed - trying, best I can, to have it on for all those I encounter, but prying eyes of those above forcing it off.

I had read, on one of my various visits to Eternity's library, that governments were no more than a plaything for mobs and groups of power; a friendly face that appeased the masses, or rather, distracted them, whilst underhandedly fuelling the evil amongst them. That, I was told, was Barewood. A government run by humanity, "Of course it was bound to fail."

Now, as I sit in this chair and watch the days go by, I realise the government is simply 'control of people.' We are not for the people, we are here to keep them in line, to keep them doing what we want them to do with little room for what they want to do. We have them in the palm of our hand, but for how long? I think it was Kissinger who said it so clearly to me as he wandered the library keeping hold of a flask likely filled with contraband, "Who controls the food supply controls the people." A statement so raw and impertinent to the situation.

"Sebastian," A colleague, interrupted my thoughts, stepping into my office with a creak of the door, with a stack of documents clutched tightly in her grasp. The woman, Gina, wearing the exact same turtleneck as the previous three days, had piercing blue eyes, and her hair loosely done up in two braids - each day it became even messier. Her expression betrayed a mixture of resignation and disappointment as she delivered more news of assignments, "There's a job for you." She had spoken clearly, and I could feel the sheer disappointment she felt as she said it. Gina had started much like I had - illusioned and morally good, believing in the honesty of everyone. Now, even as young as she was, she'd become jaded.

"Another one?" I asked as I had turned around in the chair. She'd walked over quickly and placed the papers on my desk before returning to her original position, not saying a word as she did so. Within the Central Zone, I was one of the disciplinarians. While crimes were usually cut and dry within the zones, my job was to ensure that the crime deemed the punishment necessary. Specifically, I was in charge of the vampires, and any rule breakers within the Eastern Zone. The job, for the most part, was simple. A stamp on a form, and a nod of the head.