Chapter 306
Brackham sat alone in his office, the city lights of Duskmoor stretching faintly beyond the tall windows.
The hour was late, but sleep had been a stranger to him for a long time. He held a cup of coffee in his hand,
its steam curling in the faint glow of his desk lamp.
The knock at his door was urgent, not the sort that waited for permission. His secretary burst in, pale and
shaken, clutching a thin folder and a remote.
“Sir… It’s the northern tech facility.”
Brackham’s eyes narrowed. “What about it?”
She hesitated before placing the folder in front of him. “It was attacked tonight, about ten minutes ago, by
Vampires.”
The word cut through the air like glass shattering. Brackham’s jaw clenched as he snatched the folder open.
His gaze darted across the report, with each line tightening the muscles in his face.
Ten vampires. Twenty minutes of chaos. Equipment reduced to debris. Drones–prototypes that had taken
years of research were destroyed before they could even be used properly.
And lives. Too many lives–scientists, guards, and engineers–all lost.
Just then, his secretary pressed the remote, and the television screen on the far wall flickered to life.
Grainy footage from the facility’s surveillance played–screams, flashing alarms, and shadows moving too fast
for the human eye to follow.
Brackham leaned forward, his coffee forgotten. On screen, one of the vampires tore through metal like it was
cloth, and another sent a man flying into a wall with a single blow.
They weren’t merely attacking; they were dismantling, methodical and exact.
“They knew,” Brackham muttered under his breath, his voice like gravel. “They knew exactly where to hit.”
His secretary nodded, visibly unsettled. “It wasn’t random, sir. They went straight for the drones. Straight for
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306 Attack on a Government Facility
the testing bays.”
The reality sank in deeper. This wasn’t just an attack; it was surveillance, patience, and strategy. The
vampires had been observing. Waiting.
Brackham’s hand came down on his desk with such force that the coffee cup toppled, spilling across the
papers.
His voice rose, sharp and vicious: “Were any of them caught? Dead? Captured?”
A painful pause echoed before his secretary swallowed. “No, sir. They all escaped.”
The silence in the room was heavier than the city outside. Brackham stood abruptly, his chair dragging back,
his chest rising and falling in barely contained rage.
“All of them?” His voice thundered. “Ten monsters storm my city, butcher my people, destroy years of work,
and not one of them is brought down?”
He grabbed the edge of the desk and heaved it aside, the heavy oak crashing against the wall, scattering
books and files. 1
The secretary didn’t move. She was completely frozen under his fury.
“I want to know–what in hell were the security teams doing? Ten vampires, inside a government facility, and
no alarms, no warnings?”
His voice sharpened with each word. “What were they doing? Sleeping? Drinking? Playing cards?”
His secretary flinched, but didn’t make any attempt to utter a word. She knew better than to offer a response
that wasn’t helpful.
Brackham’s glare cut back to her. “I want answers. Now. Track every guard, every shift leader, every person
stationed there tonight. Someone was slacking, or someone was compromised. Either way, I will find them.”
The secretary swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. I will begin immediately.”
“They think they can make us weak,” Brackham spat, pacing the room like a caged beast. “They think Humans
will bow. No.” His fists curled at his sides. “I will not let this stand. Not in Duskmoor. Not under my watch.”
The television kept looping the footage behind him–those swift, merciless shadows tearing apart everything
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his people had built. Each replay stoked the fire in his chest hotter.
Brackham turned, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Get me every surviving witness. Every scrap of intel. I don’t
care if you have to tear this city apart. We find them.”
“Yes, sir,” his secretary whispered, lingering in the room, knowing fully well that he wasn’t done with his
orders.
Though she was waiting for the storm to pass, it didn’t; it shifted.
“Listen carefully,” Brackham said, his voice low, controlled now, but edged with steel. “Not a word of this
leaves these walls. Not to the media, not to private ears. Do you
understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Assemble a team immediately–trusted men only. Survivors of the attack are to be moved to one of
our top hospitals. Quietly, with heavy security on all sides. And make it clear–if they talk, if even a whisper
leaks out–they will answer to me.”
The secretary scribbled notes, nodding quickly.
“As for the families of the dead,” Brackham went on, his tone flat but grim, “send another team. People who
know how to talk, how to soothe. Offer comfort, money, or whatever it takes to keep them silent. They have
suffered enough, but I won’t have their grief feeding panic across Duskmoor.”
Brackham’s gaze pivoted once more to the city beyond the glass, his reflection grim and cold.
Duskmoor didn’t need to see fear in its leader’s eyes. And he would make sure no one–not vampire, not wolf,
not even his own people–ever mistook negligence for weakness again.
“Call in the Head of my Security on your way out,” he ordered, not even glancing at her.
“Yes, sir,” she replied and finally hurried out.
Brackham’s jaw was still tight when he straightened from the window. He reached for his jacket, shaking it
out with a snap before slipping it on, his movements clipped and controlled.
Moments later, the heavy door opened again. His Head of Security, a broad–shouldered man with tired eyes,
stepped inside and bowed his head stiffly.
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“Sir.”
Brackham’s gaze cut to him, sharp and unblinking. “We are going to the lab.”
The man blinked. “Now?”
“Now,” Brackham repeated, his tone brooking no hesitation. He adjusted the cuffs of his jacket as he advanced around the overturned desk, his voice low and hard.
His Head of Security shifted uneasily but nodded. “Understood, sir.”