Chapter 1

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It is the year 284 After Outbreak. Even my people, long lived almost to immortality as they are, do not know for certain the date in the classic sense.
My people. We trace our origins back to Ancient Greece. Others came before us, but only we thrived into the modern world. Only we lived...to carry on the blood feud.
Two brothers vied for a crown. At any one time, the gods favored one, then the other and even the gods were split over what to do. As each brother tried to outdo the other, the rivalry reached its highest (or lowest) point.
They were called Atreus and Thyestes. While Thyestes sat on the throne, Atreus begged for reconciliation, denying and interest in ruling. Thyestes invited him back and the two embraced as loving siblings. Thyestes had two sons whom he loved beyond all else, which Atreus well knew, inviting his royal brother to a grand banquet. Thyestes ate and drank much. So positive was his mood that he failed to notice his host barely touched the feast and appeared to have become a vegetarian. When all the dishes had been cleared away and Thyestes appeared stuffed and pleased, stroking his stomach and complimenting his brother's hospitality, Atreus smiled and wit ha wave of his hand, beckoned servants, who brought out a locked box. Believing this to be a gift, Thyestes excitedly threw open the lid, then stumbled over his chair in soul-wrenching horror. For there, set on lush red cushions, rested the heads of his two young sons.
The legends claim his wail broke open the sky itself. This allowed him to stare into the faces of the gods before they cursed him. There is no greater sin, they bellowed, with voices made of the ocean waves, the thunder in the mountains and the hurricane winds, than the consumption of flesh of your own progeny. Thyestes begged and pleaded, claiming ignorance, his shaking fingers pointing at his brother as the words whipped around him in a frenzy. For your crime, the powers continued, you and all your people are confined to the earth, never to see the gates of the Hereafter. Because you have consumed flesh, so shall it be for you, for always.
Then eyes which had seen the end of all things turned to Atreus. And you, serpent-brother, you too shall share this fate, consuming the flesh and blood of the living to survive, despised by all light. You and all your people.

And so they were cursed. One brother for his ignorance, one for his cleverness.


The rain made a queer sound off the broken pavement, echoing off the skeletal remains of skyscrapers. A harsh wind blew the droplets sideways, but this close to ocean, there was no chilling bite. The sound of rain was all the more strange for the total lack of any other sound, save a single set of booted footsteps. A heavily armored box floated up, the servo-motors inside humming as red lights indicating audio and visual surveillance sprang to life. Gold lettering of no human origin decorated its underside as it stealthily positioned itself in the broken window frame of an abandoned office building. The figure walked without determination, though not without confidence, and only a vague sense of direction. The figured wore a long brown coat which covered everything to the knees, which in turn were deeply set into a pair of black boots, laced all the way up. A hood covered the head, strong enough to keep away the acid rain which had turned the once industrious tehnolopolis into a bog devoid of anything resembling biological life. The face was covered by a pair of heavy brass goggles for the eyes and a leather flap for everything else. The only other distinguishable items were a green rook sack and an oddly proportioned pack, too long and narrow to be food and supplies, strapped with to two leather belts with metal filigree laced through, across the figure's chest. As the spy-bot relayed all this information, the last piece indicated that because of the preternatural grace of movement usually only seen in predatory cats, this individual could only be a vampire.
The sky was always gray here. The Northwest coast of the former Unites States had never been known for an overabundance of sunshine, making it a popular nesting zone, but after the decades of Black Winter, even the damned Houses grew tired of the incessant fog, the cycle of toxic precipitation and moved farther inland to enjoy the incessant sun and lack of any kind of moisture instead. Despite the lack of sun, the sky was getting noticeably darker. The hovering spybot watched the figure stop in the gutted remains of one was (given the location) probably a coffee shop. The rain continued to dribble like infant spittle, but the wind had died away. A sensory alarm in the spybot caused it to activate another camera in its rear wall. A shadow detached itself from a pool of shadows and picked its way towards the probably-a-coffee-shop. The spybot analyzed movement to determine entity type. Biological or mechanical? Mutant—one of the underground Squees that still burrowed under the city streets? A rogue mech scavenger? Or worse, one of the slavering, wretched creatures who had decimated the planet nearly three centuries earlier? The bot eliminated this last suggestion. The NIL (Non-Intelligent Lifeforms as the Old governments had referred to them) moved predominantly in groups and one could not live out here alone for long. Between the humidity and the acid rain, it would have rotted away. Likewise, the shadow was too big to be a Squee. Unable to distinguish anything else, the spybot refocused on the resting figure, curious how it would respond to being stalked.
Seemingly unaware of any potential danger, the figure pushed back its hood with gloved hands, revealing dark red hair that curled around the neck. The leather flap came down revealing a respirator of copper and silver, showing signs of well-worn age. The spybot was not surprised by this development as the Breathers had become necessary due to the toxic fumes generally blamed for the Outbreak, which still floated around and could still debilitate any living thing which inhaled it. The shadow was closer now, crouching in an awning. The mechanical watcher continued flickering its red light as it recorded every motion. The narrow pack was dropped to the ground with a solid thud as the coat slid off. Despite the absence of sunlight and the constant northern downpour, the abandoned city was perpetually warm because of the trapped humidity and the generators which still ran underneath the city. Underneath the coat, the figure wore a navy blue form-fitted suit, reinforced with worn leather at the shoulders and high at the neck. The silhouette outlined curves declaring the vampire a female, albeit a broad-shouldered one. At her waist, among several belts of varying sizes, hung a gray pouch and a few brown utility containers. Off one of the belts was strapped a long, slightly curved blade, kept from movement by another leather thong wrapped around the thigh. Heavy pants tucked into her boots, which appeared reinforced at the knee, heel and ankle with molded steel.
There were more details but the spybot didn't dare move closer for fear of discovery—its primary function was observation via concealment. The shadowy figure did not seem to have such orders as it crept closer to the she-pire. Something crashed just outside, a metallic clang against cement, and the shadow jumped, startled. In these few seconds, the vampire had disappeared. The light had all but faded from the growing dusk. The spybot risked edging closer. Nothing moved for long moments.
An overhead bulb, bereft of any covering burst into illumination. Before the shadowed figure could flee, a sharp barb was pressed to his throat from behind. This barb was connected to a long, thick sword and was just one of many. The spybot, acclimating its lens to the new light, saw the figure tense as the blade pushed just millimeters closer to his jugular. He was clearly male, well-toned and armed for espionage, with a needle gun and a utility belt holding an incalculable number of possibilities. A tangled mess of dark hair fell around his shoulders. The vampire asked a question but it was garbled by the Breather.
“What was that? Can't 'ear ya, love,” the male figure spoke with a confidence not common to a person about to be nine pounds lighter. A hissing sound as the Breather unlocked. Without the blade ever wavering, the female vampire had pulled it down around her neck.
“I said,” she repeated, tension lacing her voice, “Who sent you?”
With his hands raised above his head, the figure turned, laughing.
“Marek,” she snarled. The figure moved back and dropped his arms, though the sword, nor the female holding it had not relaxed.
“I guess that means you know 'oo sent me, then, eh, Denisovich?”
The woman lifted the goggles off her face, revealing lion-gold eyes, complete with a felines slitted pupils. The spybot zoomed the lens in on her face. As it had speculated, behind her ear was marked the line of tattoos that named her a pure blood, Before Outbreak.
“What does the Adjudicator want with me?” she asked, a level of clearly expected respect seeping into the words. Marek seemed intent on studying the dirt under his nails. Growing tired of waiting, she lowered her sword, holding the hilt loosely in her hand. With his broad features and physique, he looked the type to be blazoned on the ancient frescoes of long-dead warriors. Yet his blue eyes betrayed a cool, entitled sense of nobility which would best be complimented by the long-tails and cravats he so often sported in the Sapphire City.
“Well-” he started, before being cut off with a terse glare.
“And drop the accent, Marek, you fool no one.”
A sardonic smile crossed his lips, revealing one lengthened canine.
“Glad to know you haven't lost the edge.”
“One doesn't go soft in the Wasteland,” she snapped back, before adding a forced, “...sir.”
A slight shrug was her only response. Denisovich motioned up to where the spybot still hovered.
“Is that yours as well?” she asked. The spybot began to move about, frantically. It had been spotted! When, how long ago? In nanoseconds it had replayed every moment since activated by the female vampire, but nothing indicated it had broken stealth. Before it could finish planning the most prudent escape route, a silver needle, a quarter of an inch at its broadest center, pulverized its hard-drive. It collapsed onto the ground, sending shrapnel bouncing off in all direction. The two vampires inspected it, taking special note of the glyphs on its belly. Despite this examination, they failed to note the auxiliary cameras continuing to record, making no movement to zoom or change angle.
“My, my,” Marek murmured appreciatively, “Thyestrian Techniks have made remarkable improvements on an old model.” Denisovich spit onto the ground. Marek stood, his large frame making no sound.
“I suppose I shall have to make this quick then.”
In his palm rested a holographic recorder, one of the last innovations Before Outbreak. He indicated the password-receiver for her to speak into and identify herself. She sighed and glanced away, every nerve reluctant. Finally, compelled by traditions held for centuries, she responded accordingly.
“Lacrymosa Cerastes Durkovai Petruvskaiia Denisovich. Of the House of Atreus.”
The holo-recorder whirred to life, and the head of a handsome man was projected above. He had blonde hair, tied by a loose ribbon near his neck. Noble, though almost childlike features, a hawkish nose and sharp eyes (complete with a pair of slitted pupils in each) all declared him of highest birth. Although the hologram had been pre-recorded, Denisovich felt herself automatically bowing her head regardless. The spybot ran a diagnostic determining the best course of action and decided it was best to continue playing dead, even if that meant only utilizing one faulty lens.
“Adjudicator Tavian,” she greeted.
“Lady Denisovich,” the caramel warm voice began. Already she flinched, Marek noted, his eyes missing nothing behind half-closed lids.
“I have an update on your filial affairs and I wished to relay them to you myself. Your father is doing well and sends you greeting. Like myself, he wonders why you do not return to the Sapphire City. There is nothing for you out in the Wasteland. Still, he knows how...determined you are, and assures me that it is only a matter of time before you come home.” Through the projected image, Marek saw golden eyes narrow and lips curl back in sneering disdain. The message continued for some time and even Marek found himself stuck (and more than a bit insulted) by the banality of it all. This is what he had been sent out into the Wasteland for? It seemed a very tasteless joke but one he'd have to swallow nonetheless. One did not argue with the Adjudicator and expect a long lifespan. When finally the message ended (with a parting smile and “Goodbye, Lacy” which he found particularly amusing), Marek let out a long yawn. Denisovich spun on her heel and began bend to collect her few belongings. Having dismissed Marek from her mind, Denisovich was surprised to feel his hand on her back, making her stiffen instantly.
“You must feel very special to receive message from Tavian himself. And such concern from your father...”his voice was low, his hands attempted to emulate. She stepped away from him, eyes flashing.
“And to send one of his special-”
“Pets.” She cut him off, utter contempt in her voice. He let the jibe at his status pass, his mind already on other things. He caught her wrist as she attempted to pick up her rook sack, pulling her close to him.
“So why don't you return to the Sapphire City with me, Lacy?”
His face moved in close to hers when he felt a sharp jab in his side. He stumbled back, staring at one of his own needles protruding from his abdomen. In less than a second, she was on him, shoving him against a metal post.
“Listen to me, you bitten fop,” she growled at him, “My father is a decadent tyrant whom the world will be better without, I pray, someday soon. I care nothing for him, nor his games of power. And I will not return to that jewel-encrusted dungheap to become one of Tavian Justinian's broodmares.” Now it was her grip on his wrists as she twisted his arm behind his back, causing no damage yet keeping him in a vulnerable position as he could not struggle without potentially breaking his own bones.
“And as for you, arrogant son of a bitch,” her voice was calm, but serious, “I've no interest in you. Return to your crystal palace and leave me be.” She abruptly released him and he rubbed his bruised wrist, hate glaring in his eyes.
“I see you've added some color to your vocabulary living down here with the vermin.”
She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, she tugged on her coat, and wrapped her sword again. As almost an afterthought, she picked up the spybot, which had managed to catch all of this and relayed it to the base computer before the wiring in its motor short-circuited and the last of its life sparked away. The moment of its demise had gone unnoticed to the quarreling vampires. Denisovich stuffed it in her rook sack among the other items she'd found in the technolopolis and without sparing Marek a final glance, disappeared into the drizzling dark.

Introduction

This pseudo-novel was originally begun as a NANOWRIMO (National Novel Writing Month) project, but as these things usually go...it will not be completed in time. Too much life got in the way. However, I had a good time working on it, and have done enough world building and character development that I want to keep it going. I'm posting it here so that it can be enjoyed at leisure and so that I can receive feedback.

Please note that this is a work in progress. Usually I am wary of letting people see things I write before I edit the heck out of it, but we are going to experiment anyway. I am always open to suggestion and will implement ones that fit and that I feel would improve the story.

I classify this as a steam punk story because a tenet of steam punk is the idea of wiping away technology and starting over at a certain point in time. The idea that we would not have the amenities that we enjoy now. This story keeps a lot of the steam punk aesthetic...there is a lot of Victorian dress and some classic steam punk staples like pocket watches and welding goggles and airships.
I felt steam punk was appropriate because most of the story revolves around another byproduct of the Victorian era: Vampires. There have been legends of vampiric creatures almost since writing began, but our modern notion (and none of this Stephanie Meyer bullcrap) stems directly from Victorian "repression."
You can tell a lot about a culture by studying what they were afraid of. With all of the pent up sexuality and concerns about deviance and assertiveness, it is not surprising that the Victorian monster would be a seductive, powerful, controlling creature born of shadow and blood and desire.
While I ignore a lot of vampire assumptions and recreate others (mine have heartbeats, for example), it is this classic, terrifying creature that I am using as a base. Creatures that were never intended to be sympathetic or loving or moral.
Fantasy readers will probably get a "Drow" sense, from the Forgotten Realms universe, which in turn probably, like myself, takes a lot from political intrigues of Ancient Rome. I wanted more than just a monster story, I wanted a deep political mystery ala Dune (but no where near that talented I'm afraid).

This story could also be classified as Atomic Punk. Certainly there has been a nuclear fallout, there are aesthetics of this as well. Gas masks are probably the most recognizable. Futuristic technology, such as androids, cyborgs and nanobots mix with mutants and zombies. While I've tried to stay within the bounds of reason concerning the effects of a nuclear winter, there are gaps in my knowledge, and so if some things seem to be just too much of a stretch, I apologize. The zeitgeist of the atomic era, of course, is the zombie. What this says about our society...the desire to question our basic moral foundations, to push the limits of science to the point of analyzing our very notions of humanity...is still open to debate.

I admit the story starts slow. I'm a very visual writer and wanted the reader to get a good view of the world. At the same time, much needs to be explained, context seems constantly required. I beg the reader's indulgence in this matter, as it is a concern I am still attempting to address.

Have I scared you off yet? No? Good. Then put on your Breathers, and enter...the Wasteland.