The ten seconds after you wake, after the night before, half way between the land of sleep and the dawn of the new day you experience a life which has no memory of the past and no thought for the future. That place is utter peace--until a hangover kicks in.
Sid Tillsley had just come out of that state of "peace." Flashbacks attacked. Twenty-eight bottles of Smirnoff Ice and a bottle of malt whisky attacked. Sid was sick over the side of the bed, but it was no bed. It was a cold hard surface and it wouldn't be doing his piles any good. He opened his eyes expecting to see the streets of Middlesbrough, but no. He saw a tin roof. Where was he?
He sat up (not an actual sit-up, but he rolled around a bit and ended up in a sitting position). Five men stood around him in a large warehouse full of computer equipment. He recognised a couple of them: that big Jamaican who had seemed a little peeved at him drinking his whisky, and the angry bloke who had also seemed peeved at the whisky drinking. He didn't recognise the other three. They were big lads, well-dressed and not looking too happy.
"Now then, lads," said Sid clutching his head, "about the whisky, I only had one to sort out me cold." He sniffed for effect. "Look, I'll get you another one. Not a problem."
"Whisky should be the last of your worries," spoke one of the three that Sid didn't recognise.
"Well, that is very kind of you, sir. Thank you for letting bygones be bygones. Now there is the small matter of me getting paid for my evening`s work."
"You should be more worried about your own life,"
threatened the lad who had caught him with his cock out.
Sid considered this. "Well, I guess I do eat too many saturated fats."
"Look at yourself, human; pathetic, too stupid to know your fate. We are going to rip you to shreds. We will keep you alive as long as possible, and make you suffer until the very last."
Sid was rather confused with the whole affair. How could one of them be worried about his health, and the other want to kill him?
"Your ass is mine!" said one of the big lads.
Sid's Pink Alert activated in milliseconds and he was on his feet and ready to go.
"Keep away from me, you dirty bastard! I won't be having any of it! It will be a cold day in hell before your kind gets Sid Tillsley!"
"So you know of our kind, human?" asked Richmond.
Sid turned to face him. "Yes I bloody do. I've seen your kind, before, bloody everywhere, these days. Every five seconds on bleedin' telly. On them bleedin' planes with them moustaches!"
The vampires looked at each other confused.
"And in them toilets down the park. Them toilets are for pissin'! Not for you lot!"
"You have no idea, do you?" mocked one of them he hadn't recognised. "Your uneducated little mind cannot comprehend what we are. It is best that we put you out of your short-lived misery. We are the vampire." And with that he launched himself at Sid with cat-like agility.
Sid had seen cat-like agility before and not just in cats. He had fought a few of them poncy, martial arts fannies before, spinning around in pyjamas screaming things in foreign. Bloody idiots.
All the cat-like agility was wasted. The vampire had attempted a double-back-shadowless-spinning-axe-kick, whilst Sid Tillsley had attempted--and succeeded with--a big right hand. The vampire crumbled into dust making Sid cough and splutter.
"What the fook?" The remaining vampires were as shocked as Sid. "I knew you lot weren't made of the same thing that we are! Come on then, ya bastards!"
The fight was over in seconds. Jereaux and two of the vampires attacked Sid simultaneously. Sid went for the biggest one, as the others in a group normally backed off when the big lad went down. He caught Jereaux with a straight right, turning him into dust. The other two jumped back but Sid caught one on the way, which meant he had one attacker left to deal with--the vampire made the mistake of pausing, Sid's right didn't, and the hapless vampire joined his mates as dust.
Sid paused for breath, hands on knees. Pointing at Richmond, who had watched the fight in disbelief he wheezed, "You son...will get yours...as soon as I get...my breath back... otherwise, fook off!"
For the first time in six hundred years, Richmond ran.