Tangle (BWWM)

Chapter 11- Unforgettable

A/N: Hoooooly crapsticks, guys! Over 2k reads! *hyperventilates* I couldn't thank you guys enough for all the reads, votes, and comments. I love your feedback, and I love interacting with y'all. I feel so humbled! From the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you, thank you so much for sticking with Vincent and Gabrielle thus far, and for making this heffah feel special. ^-^

Oh! And an extra special shout out to my fellow Caribbean/West Indian people out there!

P.S.: The hat in the pic is Vincent's motorcycle hat that he holds dear to him. It's similar to Marlon Brando's character's hat from The Wild One.

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London, 1974

Vincent awoke with a start, raising his hands to shield his sensitive eyes from the bright, white light. Alarm rose in his gut when he realized he was in a strange, sterile-looking, white room. His eyes scanned the place, taking notice of the laboratory setting, complete with massive computers that stretched across the walls with blinking lights. He and the lab were separated by what seemed to be a transparent plastic wall. It was then he took notice of the spotless, white twin sized bed that stood not too far from where he lay on the floor.

Why was he on the floor? Furthermore, where the fuck was he?

Slowly and carefully, he stood up, dusting his clothes off. The dirt was a bitch to sweep off of his white t-shirt and black jeans. A stressed sigh escaped his lips as he ran his fingers through his short, spiky hair, though his demeanor was deceptively calm. Vincent paused, noticing that his head was uncovered. His dark eyes darted about the room. Where the fuck was his motorcycle hat?!

Releasing a frustrated growl, he concluded that he needed to figure out what was going on ASAP. Vincent began to pace about the confines in hopes that it would jog his memories. With his right index finger tapping on his nose, his long strides carried him all about the perimeter of the plastic prison. Though his mind was running a mile a minute, much of the day was still a blur. The last thing he could remember clearly was leaving from Kakra and Elias' flat on his Harley Sportster. In bits and pieces, he recalled having the intention of heading to his own flat in East London when he was surrounded by strangers also on bikes.

Vincent would quickly conclude that it was an ambush. The vague memory of the sound of his tire being blown out flashed into his mind and rang in his ears... And then he remembered tumbling onto the pavement, possibly smashing his face on the road... and rolling... The hazy image of people standing over him... Their muted voices... And then darkness.

Next thing he knew, he was here, in this odd, lifeless room. Walking over to the plastic wall, he peered beyond it, observing a computerized sliding metal door. He had to free himself quickly or else there was no telling what would happen next. Surely these plastic walls would be easy enough to break down.

Too easy... There had to be more to it, he thought.

To test his suspicions, Vincent slowly touched the palm of his hand onto the wall, only to be scorched by it. Quickly withdrawing his hand with a pained hiss, he caught a glimpse of the glowing green lights forming various runes arranged into the symbols that offered protection magic. They appeared for a brief second before just as quickly disappearing. His hand stung for a few seconds before ceasing.

He knew it. The confines were blessed with anti-vampiric magic. Which could only mean that he was in the custody of Crucifix...

The Crucifix Organization for the Hunting of the Paranormal was a group of human beings who felt the need to "protect humanity from the spawn of the Devil." Creatures that fell into that category would include any lycanthrope, faerie, demon, angel, cryptid, and ESPECIALLY the vampire. The hunting of the vampire was their specialty. Vincent had seen many of his own comrades fall to the hands of Crucifix.