In Grandomina...

Chapter 1 - The Fearless Vampire Killers

Trapped; for five bastard years. The prisoners, left to rot in a dungeon somewhere deep underneath Grand London had set out to raid a colony of vampire nests and that night, never returned. They would often wonder if the citizens they had left behind even remembered their names.

A scream echoed through the walls, the man's voice cracking. The now familiar sound of flesh impacting a brick wall followed.

A boy with red hair winced, "Don't do this to yourself, Barrone."

The man that screamed, had been practically driven to insanity. His name; Cyrus Barrone; former artist and steam worker in Grand London, one of Grandomina's most prestigious areas. Ever since the five had been captured, he forced the blame of that fateful evening's events upon himself.

"If it wasn't for me, we wouldn't be here!" More flesh-to-wall impact.

It was on a dark night almost five years ago, the sky riddled with lightning. Five young boys were raiding a vampire nest in the east of Greenwich and were clearly outnumbered. By some miracle, they seemed to have everything under control; that is until the creatures with the gaslight eyes appeared. Then, all hope was lost.

Two of the masked figures dived upon Barrone as he raised his pick-axe to the burliest vampire's throat. Once restrained, the artist's screams alerted his comrades. The others, without a second thought, charged at the swarm that had-a-hold of their friend.

It was in that moment that the needles emerged. Drugs of many different kinds infused together to create a thick, pus-like liquid. Five of the masked men pulled out the substance, injecting into the necks of their prey. The five fell cold, they expected death.

It must have been days until the five men awoke in their cell. Here, they would spend the next half-a-decade.

The prisoners received one'meal' a day (left-over bones and unwanted scraps) and limited water. They were given two thin bedsheets and a razorblade between them.

Maybe their jailer intended the razor as a sick temptation, a way to draw blood or simply tempt them at their lowest points. Lou, The Pilot; took it upon himself to keep the razor away from the others when it was not in use for shaving.