Bloodbank

Nine

The month I had spent in the Bloodbank was monotonous, to say the least.

Every morning, at 9am, I was rudely woken up, strapped to the same chair, and drained of a litre.
At 10am, I was force fed vitamins and a strange rubber-textured soup.
At 11am, I was put outside in the sun like washing on a line, to soak up the vitamin D.
For the other seven hours awake, I huddled in the corner of the room and wallowed in my depression, before being taken back to the chair for another litre of blood.

The only upside was I got to learn many things about my friend Mason.

According to the men outside my room, he was a famous hunter in the area, and he had captured three more victims within the month. As it turned out, the bunker I had been staying in was completely set up by him as he gained the trust of the valuable people in the bunker, meaning me. This meant that at a later date he could take a leisurely stroll to the Bloodbank with me in hand and earn his largest winnings yet, with the aid of the other, less well known group of hunters in the area, led by Scott, who he had promised a large portion of the earnings, but had then abandoned.

Oh, and while on all of those runs he had been going on to get food, he had also been collecting new victims to sell. His balance was rather high, apparently.

The numbness I had felt when I first learned of his betrayal didn't even compare to how I felt now. I just wanted to die, to end the dull life I was leading. I was their livestock, an animal.

And everyone I had trusted had abandoned me.

At this point on this particular day, it was 11am, meaning I was chained in the glass box outside to soak up the desert sunlight. A beautiful view of the expansive desert was presented before me, yet I didn't care for it. It merely reminded me of the night I had spent with Mason, and how everything had gotten progressively worse since then.

A man was roughly chained up next to me, and as the security left he began to laugh.

"What?" I asked, my voice raspy as it was the first time I had spoken in months.

"Type C," he laughed, "you're in for a treat."

"What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled. The tattoo on his neck read O-, and in that moment I couldn't help but be jealous of him.

"Lord Tenebris. He's arrived today. The security say he's looking for a Type C." He began, "I mean, I thought the only recorded Type C in existence had died years ago in the bank, but here you are."

"How'd he die?" I asked, bored.

"I am so glad you asked that. The nurses got a little too greedy and began taking too much blood. They say he was just that delicious. Once they'd taken it, he was already dying and beyond help."

I could tell he was a talkative man, "How do you know?"

"You ask a lot of questions," he snickered, the incessant laughing cluing me in that he was undoubtedly insane, "I've been here a long time."

"Did you know him?"

"Spoke to him once. He looked a bit like you. Blonde and pretty but far too fragile for his own good. I'm a human but I bet I could snap your bones in an instant."

I froze, "When did he die?"

"Time feels different in this place, I couldn't say," the man began laughing louder, "was he a relative? That's hilarious."

"Tell me. When did he die." I began to get angry. The man was out of my reach due to the chains, but my feet could just about get to him, and I kicked him as hard as I could.

"Fine," the man stopped laughing, hearing footsteps approaching as a guard came to take me back inside, "Two years ago."

Tears began to run down my face as the guard dragged me inside. I struggled, skinny arms flailing around wildly as animalistic screams escaped my mouth. In my weak state I wouldn't be able to do any harm to the security around me, but that only made me cry harder, pitiful of myself and my future.

I was going to die like my father.