NIGHTWORLD

02: The Prey Dynamic

Jaro drifted. His dreams were groggy and grey-spattered, foreign voices filling his ears, and foreign faces glaring down at him. The words came fast, difficult to distinguish, broken up with spotlights and beeping monitors. Jaro tried to reach out, tried to beg them to help him, but his body refused to obey.

“Any reported aggression–"

“–coma, what exactly do you expect me to report?"

“–this is an opportunity too good to miss…"

“You prefer to let him die, see what happens?" 

Needles pricked his arm, wrists. Something burned deep in his sheath, a sharp fiery line stretching through him. 

“Hungarian. Yes… no… not so far. The father?" 

“Blunt force trauma. Probable nerve damage. Toxin. Have you seen the x-rays?" 

Pain lanced through his body, the agony growing like roots from the wound on Jaro neck. He felt like he was constantly falling, trapped in an unending twilight consciousness; never asleep, but far from awake.

“Will he go like the others?" The voice was so harsh. Brutal even, each word wielded like a sledgehammer. They were speaking… English? But in accents, uncomfortably. The same way Jaro used to. Russian?

“Help… me…" He tried to make the words go but his mouth was sticky with sludge and drool. Was there gauze in his cheeks? A plastic mask covering his muzzle?

“I…"

“Doctor. Remove yourself. Like the others?" 

“I don't know, how can I know? No others were reached as quickly, we've never seen immediate treatment before. Go thank Kadir." 

“He does not die, understand? Wake him up." 

“I can try." 

Jaro woke violently. A scream died on his lips, his chest heavy, lungs tired. His throat was scorched hoarse and ragged, his mind and body laced with fractures. Nothing felt centred, an unfamiliar ceiling spinning above him, the bed rocking beneath him. He couldn't roll, couldn't move. He was naked, tucked beneath scratchy blankets – rubber cuffs snapped tight around each wrist. He went to sit up and found it blocked, needlepoint pain shooting through his neck, a thudding dull ache blooming at the rear of his skull.

He tried to calm his breathing, memory racing as the events in the barn seemed to attack him. That thing. That thing from the basement, the predator. The fluid way it had moved, the omniscient sense of its speech. How could it know his name? 

“Pa!" He exclaimed suddenly, straining against the restraints. The images were all-consuming. His father– on the ground– soaked with gore– that furless thing squatting over him like a vulture stripping carrion. Each breath was painful, every inhale dragging razors down his throat.

Where the fuck am I? He thought, finally squeezing his eyes fully open, blinking away the gunk and fog, trying to take in the room around him.

It was a steel trap. The opposite of comfort; brutalist slate grey sides shaping a narrow box. Stainless steel racking packed with foreign tools and supplies, bandages and syringes stuffed about. Several files were clipped together on a tiny desk, with less walkable space in the box than most public bathrooms. More than that, Jaro could swear it was moving. Swaying, like a cradle, or a boat? In the distance he heard the grind of metal on metal, something industrial. Like trucks loaded onto freight. 

The room was familiar. He didn't know where it was, but nonetheless, Jaro recognised it. 

Not this place specifically, but this kind of room. 

It was a trauma station. A military emergency room. No room for fluff or decency, just ruthless practicality. He'd run plenty of his own back in Africa. His heart was beating fast enough to hurt, and he tried to swallow the dry lump lodged in his throat, to no avail. He wanted to cry out for help, but wasn't sure who would answer. 

They didn't leave him to wonder long, as eventually something behind him slid open, the sound of rushing air momentarily filling the room – before it was quickly silenced. 

Jaro strained his neck, arching his body to try and look back, catching a glimpse of a winnowy pine marten in medical fatigues navigating through the tight confines. 

“Where am I?" Is what he meant to say, but it came out as a tight and dusty croak, his vocal chords refusing to cooperate. 

“Please, remain calm," the marten said in French, raising a small paw. His voice was muffled by a sterile blue surgical mask, his eyes hidden behind glasses, white from the fluorescent glare of the overhead lights. “Tell me. Are you in any critical pain?" 

Jaro sniffed, shaking his head.

“Alright, good to hear. I will undo your restraints now, if you can remain calm." Jaro forced himself to slow his breathing, in and out through his nose, eyes locked on the marten's. The doctor nodded slowly. “No aggression? Good." 

Without a wince of modesty, the doctor (if he even was one) pulled back the blankets, revealing Jaro's naked body. It was cold in the trauma station, and the chill bit through even with his fur. He blushed at the sight of his own sheath, just hanging out for anyone to see. The marten was professional however, and ignored the shame of it as he opened Jaro's wrist restraints. 

Once they were free, the marten helped ease Jaro up into a sitting position, while the wolf rubbed at his sore wrists. 

“My name is Doctor Kristian Jensen, I am the chief researcher for this program," the marten said, putting his back to Jaro and busying himself collecting clothes. Jaro examined himself, noting minor flesh wounds that had been patched up. Bruising, some stapled cuts. His neck was extremely tight and tender, as was the back of his head, but save for that he seemed to be mostly in one piece. 

“M- my… my father?" Jaro asked, forcing the words out. Kristian paused, glancing back over one shoulder, a frown creasing his face. “Is… he…"

“Alive?" The marten cocked his head. “Yes. Though he is… very critical, right now. He's in a secure location." Jaro winced. 

“And… where are we?" 

The marten hesitated, pulling out a stack of loose clothing and dumping them into Jaro's still-naked lap, pointedly avoiding his gaze. “Here. You should dress." 

Jaro frowned, but climbed unsteadily from the narrow bed. His footpaws touched the ground, wobbling beneath him, almost as if… 

“Are we on a train?" 

“Da, in Romania," said a harsh, feminine voice; a svelte Doberman stepping into the light. Jaro flinched back, losing his balance and nearly knocking Kristian over as he tripped. The marten caught him firmly by the shoulders, righting him. 

“Steady now, please," he whispered.

“This is probably not what you are expecting," the woman added. She spoke in English, with a thick Russian accent clinging to her words. “But few are prepared for their first encounter with the vampire."

Jaro only stared at her. “How long…" He cleared his throat, trying to get everything warmed up. “How long were you standing there?" 

“Plenty long," the woman said, taking a seat by the side.

“This is Isla Koch, our managing director," Kristian explained, finally releasing Jaro's shoulders. Sighing, the doctor tugged his mask down, letting it hang about his throat. “She oversees all program operations."

“You can dress now," Isla said, gesturing with one paw to Jaro's crotch. He nodded, fumbling as he tugged the loose clothing over himself, careful as he slipped his wounded neck through the shirt collar. 

“Jaroslav Tamasi," the Doberman continued, staring at him like he was a crossword to be solved. “Four years spent in the French Foreign Legion. Served as a medic, mostly in Central Africa; Chad, Libya. Left before the Legion moved to Afghanistan. Now you work as a nurse, in Budapest, da?"

“How could you know that?" Jaro asked. “No, nevermind, I want to see my father. I want an explanation." He tried to calm his breathing. “Why am I here? Tell me what's going on. That thing. From the barn. What was it?" 

Isla narrowed her eyes, unamused. “Don't be stupid, Mister Tamasi. You knew the moment you saw it, and if you somehow did not, I just confirmed it. You already know. Perhaps you just don't want to hear it." Her eyes darted to meet Kristian's. “Fascinating. Like you say."

Jaro twisted in place, glaring at the doctor. 

The marten sighed, carefully adjusting his glasses. “It is what I've been calling the Predator-Prey Dynamic, at work." 

“You know the word." Isla's ears twitched. “Vampire."

Jaro could feel his heart rate spiking again, and raised his paws. “What is this? Who are you people? Look. I w-want to see… my father, and I want to know where this train is going. You can't just… just kidnap me."

“Still, he ignores," said the Doberman.

Kristian hesitated, his eyes shooting between Jaro and Isla, the latter of which looked remarkably calm. He cleared his throat. “Very well. Your father has been airlifted to a secure hospital, located some distance outside Prague." 

“Prague?"

“Da. While this train is travelling in the opposite direction," Isla continued, tilting her head. “To Romania. Does that make you angry, Mister Tamasi?" 

“No," Jaro spun, the room blurring around him, the walls seeming to close in. Suddenly the train tracks outside were blaring loud. Prague? Romania? Had he heard her right? 

Vampire?

He stepped back, shoving past Kristian, wedging himself into the crevice of the wall. 

“Please, please, Jaro, calm down," the doctor begged, while Isla only stared. Jaro felt his legs give out, sinking to the floor as the feeling melted through his body. 

“Take me back, take me home," he pleaded, avoiding eye contact with Isla and instead clutching for Kristian. The marten was as cold as she was, but at least he felt like a real person. The doctor came in, kneeling by Jaro's side, slowly pushing his paw on the air in a gentle rhythm, setting a pace.

“Calm. In through your nose, out through your mouth," he instructed.

“I want to go home," Jaro repeated, his fingers clutching at the doctor. “I don't want… I don't want to be involved in this."

“You can't, you are," Isla said, standing up and towering over them. “Two reasons. Your home was made a nest by the vampire we were tracking. It has been desecrated, and must be destroyed." 

Jaro only stared. He could hear the words coming from her mouth, but his mind was struggling to connect them. Was he hearing right? Was he losing his mind?

“I'm sorry," said Kristian.

He thought of that thing. Of all the blood. 

“A vampire," he barely whispered the word. His memory went deeper, reluctantly, picturing that creature, hunched over, gore smeared across its face, ribs sticking through furless skin. He'd seen it then. What else could it have been? Isla was right, he had known what it was. But something… something wouldn't let him think it. Like a block.

Vampire. But that's what it was. A monster, drinking his father's blood. 

“Where are we going?" He asked.

Isla came closer and dropped into a squat, a bemused expression on her face. “You have a lot of questions." 

Jaro only stared back at her, until eventually Kristian  explained. 

“We are travelling to Romania, as Isla said. To a region called Wallachia, in the south." 

Isla peeled one lip up into a grim smile. “We are travelling to The Source." 

Jaro let his head loll, hanging it between his knees. Finally, he accepted Kristian's help in standing, still feeling nauseous in the moving carriage. He forced himself to meet Isla's stare. “You… you said there were two reasons I couldn't leave. What's the other?" 

He met Isla's gaze as she stood, and for a moment she was only silent, weighing him up. It wasn't unlike the way the vampire had stared at him the other night. Eventually, she seemed to acquiesce, gesturing at Kristian. 

The marten stepped away, retrieving a small binder and passing it to Jaro. Unfolding the pages, he found medical charts and readings, all formatted oddly. The third page featured x-rays of what might be a chest, albeit one with some kind of growth blotting out near the heart.

Is this me? 

“You x-rayed? How was there time? Did you do it on this train?" Jaro asked, feeling his gorge rising. 

“You've been out of consciousness for some time," Kristian explained. “Two weeks, nearly three. We kept you under intentionally in order to monitor you and make sure it was safe." He leaned over, pointing into the binder. “There is a lot you will not understand." He leafed through until it showed an x-ray of a feline's skull, his fingers drawing Jaro's eyes to the long incisor fangs at the front of the jaw. “It's just like the stories. Vampires use their fangs to inject venom into their victims, a neurotoxin that attacks motor skills. During the subsequent paralysis they feed on the blood. The one that attacked your home was starving, desperate. Your father lost a lot of blood, and he is still fighting the internal damage from the overdose of its neurotoxin." 

“Will he live?" Jaro asked, staring at the long fangs. They seemed almost too large for the mouth they sat in. He'd seen them in the night, flashing wickedly. He'd felt them, carving up his flesh.

If I hadn't visited that day…

“He may," Kristian admitted. “When the vampire bit you, we understand its glands were mostly drained. You received only minor nerve trauma, which will heal in time." Jaro nodded, reaching up to massage his aching shoulder muscles.

Isla sniffed sharply. “Now is coming the good news." 

Kristian winced. “Indeed," he said, turning back to the chest x-rays. “This is your chest. You were a medic, you know where everything is. See this mound surrounding your heart?" He pointed it out, and Jaro nodded. It looked almost like a white root, a tumour curling round his organs, only not like any cancer he'd seen before. The thought of it made his ribs ache. “This is the true vampire. The vrykolakas. Every one of them has this, along with one larva to spread. This is the parasite that lends them their… otherworldly nature. It attaches to the host, and feeds symbiotically as it influences your behaviour."

“Influences? Influences how?" Jaro clenched his teeth together, sucking sour air down as he focused on holding his balance. His tongue felt dry, a sour burn turning in his cheeks. He remembered it now; the creature pressing its lips to his own, forcing what felt like an eel down his throat. That was the larva, infecting him. It was unreal.

“Psychic influence. ESP," Isla interrupted. “Unchecked, you would become more aggressive. You would draw sustenance from the flesh and blood of living things, and be driven to seek it."

“You can't be serious," Jaro said. 

“It isn't purely psychological," Kristian added. “Your physiology would change as well. Fangs would grow, your eyes would adapt to low light, and the sun would begin to harm you. It isn't all… logical. You'd gain their powers. But you'd be a demon." 

“We don't pretend to understand them fully," Isla said. “They are from another world, obey their own laws. They have abilities not understood by us."

“So what happens with this?" Jaro asked, pointing at the parasite in the dossier. “That thing is alive inside me? You expect me to believe I'll become one of them?" 

“Without intervention," Kristian slipped in. “Yes. It would likely happen without you noticing, until it is too late. Slowly the parasite would eradicate your own self, taking more for itself, until it is the driving force of your nature." 

“Without intervention."

“We believe we can halt it, or at least slow the process… for a time," Kristian replied. “You don't seem to be under any influence right now… so it appears to be working."

“Here is the short version, Mister Tamasi," Isla interrupted. “We saved your life, and without our treatments, you would succumb to the vampire. As such, you are part of our program now."

Jaro sucked in a slow breath, fists curling. “And… what does 'the program' plan to do with me?" 

“Do you know about braneworld theory?" Kristian asked. Seeing Jaro's blank expression, he continued. “It propagates that our own three-dimensional world resides immediately adjacent to other three-dimensional worlds. These are called branes, and together they construct a four-dimensional shape, called the bulk. We're very close to the other branes, but trapped here in our three-dimensional world we're unable to detect it. Imagine bugs crawling on a big two-dimensional piece of paper, who would be totally unaware of another set of bugs that might be crawling around on another sheet of paper, that really could be only a short distance away in the third dimension.

“Vampires are not of this world," the doctor continued. “They have their own world, their own brane."

“Nightworld," Isla added, to which Kristian sighed.

“As they like it. See, the bulk is… fragile, malleable, it shifts and squeezes with the machinations of space-time. Every few decades our brane overlaps with theirs, what we call the Source opens between our worlds and the vampires have the opportunity to spill into our world, sowing carnage and spreading their filth. It's a bloodlust that begets bloodlust. An infection. In the sixties, we know of at least seven that came through. From Romania, they spread across Europe with ease. The blood on their claws was disastrous, a wave of unexplainable violence and crime you'll find still mystifies many statisticians."

“Our program was initiated to resolve this problem," Isla explained, crossing her legs. “They are that which goes bump in the night, it is our role to bump back. But they are a sickness, as Kristian says, and the more rampant they run the more they create, the more they destroy. It cannot be permitted to exist."

“Can you imagine the damage?" Kristian asked, leaning in. “Of several centuries-old monstrosities roaming Europe, with the strength and speed of a hundred men each, and the ability to influence minds?"

“But we found it," Isla said, baring her teeth as she leaned forward. “We found the Source, the path through to Nightworld. For now, it is open. And we're going to go in. We will find a cure; for you and any they infect with their parasitic selves. We will find treatment for the neurotoxin eating away at your father's body. We will save lives."

“I see," Jaro said. His head was spinning. It seemed impossible. “And you drag me along as your experiment."

“And as our team medic," the marten hurriedly explained. “I am primarily a researcher. Genetics, parasitic infection, some physics. I am not a trauma doctor, nor am I a soldier." 

“And if I refuse, I turn into one of those things?" Jaro asked, to which Isla nodded.

“Then we will kill you." 

“How long until we arrive at the Source?" 

Isla smiled, but the gesture failed to reach her eyes. “We are nearly there." She checked her watch, whiskers twitching. “Only one hour to go." 

It took nearly three before they allowed Jaro off. The train seemed to stop in the middle of nowhere, moonlight glinting off the tops of trees, the silhouetted hustle of a well-organised team clearly visible through the narrow window in Jaro's carriage. The program, whatever it truly was, appeared well-funded from what he could tell. Medium-size, but an efficiently run machine. 

Isla had vanished as soon as their conversation ended, retreating into the darkness like a monster herself. Kristian left with her, finally returning as the train came to a slow crawl. 

“Am I a prisoner here?" Jaro asked eventually, sipping a cup of cold, milkless coffee the doctor had brought him. 

“Er…" Kristian hesitated. They had switched to French now, and the marten seemed far more at ease with the language. “My mother always said it isn't good to ask questions you don't wish to be answered." 

Jaro scoffed, rolling his neck to try and press some of the soreness free. “So that's a yes." 

“Technically, you're not… but effectively?" He shrugged. 

“And you're okay with that?" Jaro asked. “Kidnapping people and holding them hostage, destroying their homes? All for that bitch?" 

Kristian shook his head. “It is not so sinister, Jaro. You represent a risk, but also an opportunity to learn. Miss Koch is an effective director, and if that intimidates you, it is only a reflection on yourself." He adjusted his position, clearly feeling stifled in the tight confines. The air had gotten chillier since they stopped, their breath misting at their muzzles with each exhale. “We have no idea the true extent of the vampire's power. We can guess, make assumptions based on myth, and what little experience there is to have. But who knows? Perhaps their influence can poison the soil like a virus, perhaps they can signal others of their nature. We truly do not know. As I said, they should not be able to do what they do… and yet."

“Why can't I see my father? How do I know he's alive?" Jaro scanned the room, only now noticing that all the sharp objects were conveniently locked away. They thought of everything. “I swear, if you're lying about him…" 

“Your father is well, I swear!" Kristian held his paws up, whiskers twitching in agitation. “You cannot see him because he is in Czechia, and we are here. He is stable, but without intervention, he will die. He lost a lot of blood, and the vampire neurotoxin has disastrous effects on a vulnerable body." 

Jaro sucked his teeth, still in shock. “I just… I can't believe this. It's insane. You know it's insane, right?" 

“Better to accept it for what it is." Kristian came closer, brandishing a small syringe. “Show me your neck, please." Jaro considered resisting, but then decided there was little point. These people, whoever they were, could do what they like. “In your case, this is the best we have. A cocktail containing silver, and trace amounts of mercury… among other things. It's a minor poisoning, and will upset your stomach while inducing some numbness in the extremities, but they're weak to it, and it's the only way we know how to slow the parasite." 

Kristian cupped his chin delicately in one paw, tugging it to the side to expose his neck. The touch sent a tingling ripple across Jaro's jaw, and his face flushed. The doctor paid no heed to his discomfort. “To answer your question… yes. I too thought I was losing my mind when Isla first approached me, all do. Now I know better, that it was merely the Prey Dynamic in effect; their influence makes it difficult to accept the truth. Freezes us in place, like a deer caught in headlights. Exposure weakens the effect. At the time however… I seriously considered checking myself into a hospital." 

Jaro flinched as the needle pushed into his neck, a hot ache spreading as the plunger was pressed in. “What changed your mind?" 

At first Jaro thought the marten wasn't going to answer. He turned away, returning the syringe to a small locked drawer. Finally, he sighed, glancing back over one shoulder, a mixture of sadness and fear written on his face. 

“I saw what they are capable of."

Outside the flood lights came on with a loud clack, blinding even from inside the carriage. Kristian indicated that it was time to leave, and Jaro wasted no time following him along. 

They left the oddly sterile carriage, stepping out into the icy Romanian night. As they walked, Jaro found himself surprised again by the size of the operation. The ground was crisscrossed with running cables, small generators puffing along in little clumps here and there. Already the grass and dirt was turning to mud, trampled by a dozen boots as soldiers ran this way and that, speaking every language under the sun as they did. It felt familiar to Jaro; the French Foreign Legion only accepted foreigners, and it too was a random melting pot of different cultures and languages. 

“How big is this operation?" Jaro asked, rubbing at his shoulder. 

Kristian only shrugged. “You'd have to ask Kadir, he runs the logistics. Though I doubt he would tell you." 

Jaro was about to ask who that was when the question was answered for him. As they passed into a better-lit clearing, the outskirts lined with cargo crates and stacked supplies, it became clear who was in charge here. 

A tall, muscular caracal stood on the hood of a truck, barking orders in English, a harsh Turkish accent hugging his words. He was dressed in loose grey fatigues, a long rifle slung over his back, and a warm scarf wrapped about his neck. He quickly spied the two of them approaching and scowled, leaping down from the truck in one graceful bound. 

“Doctor!" The caracal cried, approaching. He looked Jaro up and down, his scar-mottled face seemingly unimpressed. “This is our medic then? The sickly one?" 

“Jaro is fit for operations, Kadir," Kristian insisted. “Made certain myself."

The caracal snorted. “We'll see." He cocked his head, leaning in to sniff at Jaro. “Any chest pains yet, little wolf? Feel that worm digging its hooks in deeper?" 

“I feel just fine," Jaro grunted, lip curling. “And you can take that paw off your gun when we speak," he growled, gesturing to the caracal's handgun, still holstered at the waist. 

A moment passed, and Kadir shrugged, raising both his paws to show the weapons remained untouched. “Very well," he said, chuckling. “Just don't take it personally when I kill you, canavar."   

“Kadir, Director Koch made it very clear that–"

“Oh doctor," Kadir waved him off. “Just fuck off. Tell you what, I swear I'll wait for the bite before I shoot. Happy?" 

“Delighted," Jaro muttered. 

“Could you please just tell us where we will be sleeping?" Kristian asked, somehow sighing throughout the whole sentence. “It's been a long journey here, and we are all very tired." 

“Must be nice. I have hours of planning to go," Kadir sniffed, turning and pointing deeper into the wood. “Those bound for engagement tomorrow are down there, by the cliff-face. Your tents should be marked out, so please be aware that Team Two will be moving one hour before dawn. You must be up and ready before that."

“Thank you," Kristian replied, seizing Jaro by the arm and dragging him down towards where Kadir gestured.

“What a fucking asshole," Jaro spat in French. “Why hire someone like that?" 

“Kadir is an intense man," Kristian admitted. “But he is an exceptional Operations Manager. Miss Koch cares little for personal charm when it comes to hiring, she wants only the best. And so you know, he speaks French as well." They crossed out of the busier area, heading down the makeshift path to where Kadir had organised the tents. As they moved, Kristian leaned in. “Also I would not speak up on the matter of your infection, were I you. The majority of our recruits in this program have experienced personal loss at the claws of the vampires, few will react as positively as Kadir, should they learn of your ailment." 

“Kinda seems like an open secret, huh?" Jaro asked, shaking his head. He still felt like running. Like leaving these bizarre people and their insane mission to rot, but where would he go? He had no idea where they were, the Romanian wilderness was huge. 

And there was always the risk they were right. That he was infected with some otherworldly vampiric parasite, slowly turning him into a monster.

“Only the leadership team is aware. For security," Kristian explained. 

“In case I go rabid?" Jaro asked, examining his own paw. “What about your injections?" 

“Well…" Kristian stopped by the side of a tent, hesitating. “We have never tested it long-term on a victim before. There is no way to know what might happen." He saw the fall on Jaro's face, and quickly added in; “but I remain confident it will slow the process, nonetheless. Finding a way to remove the parasite without killing you is my number-one priority for this mission." 

“Guess it's the best I got," Jaro mumbled, wiggling his fingers. Numbness pricked the tips of them, pins and needles. “Is the mercury safe? You called this thing a poison." 

“I named it the Helsing Serum," Kristian said wearily. “But that's correct, it is as much poison as cure. There is a risk the toxic ingredients will build up over time, and in-turn cause longer-term corrosion." 

“Corrosion," Jaro laughed. “It's my fucking life, man. So either I turn in one of those things, or eventually die from your cocktail's mercury poisoning." 

“Hopefully we can recover a solution before it goes that far." 

Jaro rubbed at his face, he was exhausted. It was all starting to really sink in, and the pain in the back of his head had yet to die. Checking for his name on the tent, he knelt down, unzipping the front. 

“One more thing," he asked, “Kadir mentioned Team Two, that's us right?" 

Again the doctor paused. 

“Kristian?" Jaro raised his head, sensing the awkwardness. 

“Yes. We are Team Two," the marten answered eventually, his words coming staccato, like he was admitting a shameful secret. “Team One has… already ventured into Nightworld." 

“Oh, what did they find?" 

Kristian shrugged. “We don't know. Sad to say but, part of our own operation is to answer that very question. They went in two weeks ago." 

Jaro knew what was coming, but he let the silence hang anyway. Kristian rubbed his neck, looking away.

“They never came back."