The sun hung low, cold and bright, casting sharp shadows across streets where the asphalt still gleamed from the night's rain.
Election Day.
The city looked different,not festive, but wary, like a beast pretending to sleep while coiled for a leap.
Patrols stood at every intersection: figures in black uniforms, rifles slung over shoulders, eyes hidden behind mirrored visors. No words, no unnecessary movement,only stillness that spoke louder than any order.
Cars with tinted windows moved slowly, without sirens, without excess noise, yet radiating an absolute sense of control that saturated the air.
Portable scanners were being set up on the sidewalks,metal frames blinking with red lights,and mobile "medical check" stations where people in white coats handed out candy and single-use needles.
Queues formed in long, serpentine lines. Some shifted nervously from foot to foot, clutching documents; others smiled at the cameras mounted on every corner, trying to look loyal.
Above the entrances to polling centers, huge glossy banners rippled in the breeze, slogans about healthcare reform. The words "Prime-Blood" appeared more often than the candidate's name, as though it weren't a drug but an incantation promising eternal life.
In front of the main election headquarters,a building with columns imitating ancient architecture,the crowd was thick.
Black vehicles bearing government-service emblems pulled up one after another, tires whispering softly over wet asphalt.
Doors opened soundlessly, and out stepped figures in expensive suits: men and women too flawless, too composed, with skin untouched by wrinkles and eyes that reflected nothing but calculation.
The elite was assembling.
The vampires were in no hurry. Time was their ally. At the entrance stood a biometric arch,glass, slender, almost elegant, like a work of art, yet betrayed by its cold metallic gleam.
Beneath it was a medical station where nurses in white gloves took a micro-drop of blood from each guest. "Routine check," they smiled, but the smiles never reached their eyes.
Nearby: heart-rate scanners, micro-expression readers, thermal cameras recording the slightest deviation.
Control was total,an invisible net wrapped around everything.
Ethan stood across the street, hidden in the shadow of an old lamppost.
The black tuxedo fit him perfectly, fabric clinging like a second skin, shirt without a single crease, tie knotted in an impeccable Windsor.
He looked exactly as a man come to make a public apology should look: neat, but with a faint shadow of fatigue in his eyes, shoulders slightly hunched as though from some lingering confusion.
In his earpiece, Gideon whispered almost inaudibly:
"Vitals normal. Pulse slightly elevated, but within acceptable range.
You look… natural. You can go now."
"Because I really am nervous," Ethan replied quietly, barely moving his lips so as not to draw the attention of any passing pedestrian.
Flash and Bruno had already disappeared around the corner of the building, heading toward the service entrance. They wore crisp waiter uniforms: black trousers, white shirts, vests bearing the logo of a catering company.
Nothing extra. Hidden holsters beneath the vests, miniature hacking devices in pockets.
They moved confidently yet invisibly, blending into the stream of service staff.
"We enter in three minutes," Flash reported over comms, voice level as always.
Ethan drew a deep breath. The air felt thick, heavy with the scent of wet concrete and exhaust fumes.
He removed the earpiece and crushed it under his heel to avoid drawing attention.
Before him, the heavy glass doors of the main entrance swung open; another guest had just entered, and the doors were slowly closing with a hydraulic hiss.
He took the first step.
The asphalt under his soles felt harder than usual; the sound of his footsteps louder, echoing in his ears. The street suddenly narrowed, the entire world focusing on the entrance like a camera lens.
Another step.
Ethan felt sweat trickling down his back beneath the shirt, but his face remained calm. At the entrance, a security officer stopped him,tall, black suit, earpiece, eyes scanning every person like an X-ray.
"Invitation, sir," the man said in a flat, emotionless tone, extending his hand.
Ethan silently produced the electronic pass from his inside pocket,a plastic card with a chip blinking a soft blue light.
His hands didn't shake, though everything inside vibrated with tension. The officer took the card, held it to the scanner.
A beep. Green indicator lit up.
"Welcome," the guard said, handing the pass back. There was no warmth in his voice,only mechanical courtesy.
Next came the medical station.
A young woman in gloves, hair pulled into a neat bun, smiled,professional, devoid of sincerity.