Read Online Fat Vampire 6: Survival of the Fattest by Johnny B. Truant - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Johnny B. Truant
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the end. I can take your accusations. But the truth is still the truth: we are here, we are alive, and we are stronger than ever. I would have preferred a harmonious existence with the humans too. I would have preferred to skip through meadows carrying daisies and singing songs about peaceful cooperation, but that wasn’t the way it needed to be. And if I hadn’t made the choice you never would have made, we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
Timken puffed his cheeks with a burst of laughter, apparently unable to believe Reginald’s statement was serious. So instead of answering what seemed to be rhetorical, he clapped Reginald on the back and motioned for them all to sit. Brian did, causing the chair to protest under his weight. Nikki sat next to Brian, and Reginald sat on Nikki’s other side. Timken sat at the head of the table, behind a blotter and an attractive desk set. The desk set was comprised of two pens in holders with a tiny flag between them: blood red with an eclipsed sun in the center. Charles, brushing himself more or less clean, sat on the other side, near Timken. Then Timken pressed a button on a small intercom near the blotter and said, “You can come in now.”
Both Reginald and Brian seemed to have the same thought at the same time, because they both flexed to rise. But the person Timken had summoned wasn’t Claude after all. It was Ophelia Thax, the stunning general Reginald had met at Vampire World Command.
Nikki watched the men sit and compose themselves, then looked Ophelia over from her blonde head to her high-heeled black boots. She said, “You don’t exactly rotate staff much around here.”
Ophelia shot Nikki a look, then came to the front of the room and stood between Timken and Charles. She pressed something on the conference table and a section of the polished wood (or possibly synthetic wood, for safety) rotated upward to reveal a small screen. She began touching the screen, dimming the room’s lights and bringing up a projection on the far wall. When the lights were down and the projection was up, Reginald found himself staring at a balding black man with fat cheeks covered in dark stubble.
“Walter Lafontaine,” Ophelia announced, taking a small remote from the table and moving toward the projection. “Human. Known to MorningFresh Bloodworks as Stock 414-352. Twenty-nine years old. He was born at MorningFresh, then disappeared from the facility via unknown means three years ago. His mother is still stock at MorningFresh, designated 002-495. No history of disorderly conduct or defect from either stock.”
“I’m sorry,” said Reginald, staring at Ophelia, “but could you please refer to them as if they were people instead of property?”
“They are property,” said Ophelia. She didn’t say it with animus. She said it like a fact.
“They are not fucking property!” Reginald blurted, suddenly furious that he’d even come. He’d liked humans. He’d tried to save humans. He’d failed humans, and they’d all ended up being bled for a living. The casual way Ophelia was referring to them as if they were toasters suddenly felt like the last straw.
“Do you have any idea what it costs to maintain a human bloodline, especially given the losses the farms have had lately with the unexplained die-offs?” Ophelia retorted. “There is a substantial investment on behalf of MorningFresh in maintaining these assets, all of whom have been screened and assigned to breed so as to develop maximally strong, healthy bucks and fertile females who can…”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” said Reginald. “Have you seriously never read a history book?”
Ophelia looked derailed. “What?”
“Okay, I’ll explain it to you. See, there was this guy named Abraham Lincoln once upon a time. And what old Honest Abe did was…”
“There’s plenty of caucasian stock too, you know,” Ophelia
“And that’s a good thing?”
Timken puffed his cheeks with a burst of laughter, apparently unable to believe Reginald’s statement was serious. So instead of answering what seemed to be rhetorical, he clapped Reginald on the back and motioned for them all to sit. Brian did, causing the chair to protest under his weight. Nikki sat next to Brian, and Reginald sat on Nikki’s other side. Timken sat at the head of the table, behind a blotter and an attractive desk set. The desk set was comprised of two pens in holders with a tiny flag between them: blood red with an eclipsed sun in the center. Charles, brushing himself more or less clean, sat on the other side, near Timken. Then Timken pressed a button on a small intercom near the blotter and said, “You can come in now.”
Both Reginald and Brian seemed to have the same thought at the same time, because they both flexed to rise. But the person Timken had summoned wasn’t Claude after all. It was Ophelia Thax, the stunning general Reginald had met at Vampire World Command.
Nikki watched the men sit and compose themselves, then looked Ophelia over from her blonde head to her high-heeled black boots. She said, “You don’t exactly rotate staff much around here.”
Ophelia shot Nikki a look, then came to the front of the room and stood between Timken and Charles. She pressed something on the conference table and a section of the polished wood (or possibly synthetic wood, for safety) rotated upward to reveal a small screen. She began touching the screen, dimming the room’s lights and bringing up a projection on the far wall. When the lights were down and the projection was up, Reginald found himself staring at a balding black man with fat cheeks covered in dark stubble.
“Walter Lafontaine,” Ophelia announced, taking a small remote from the table and moving toward the projection. “Human. Known to MorningFresh Bloodworks as Stock 414-352. Twenty-nine years old. He was born at MorningFresh, then disappeared from the facility via unknown means three years ago. His mother is still stock at MorningFresh, designated 002-495. No history of disorderly conduct or defect from either stock.”
“I’m sorry,” said Reginald, staring at Ophelia, “but could you please refer to them as if they were people instead of property?”
“They are property,” said Ophelia. She didn’t say it with animus. She said it like a fact.
“They are not fucking property!” Reginald blurted, suddenly furious that he’d even come. He’d liked humans. He’d tried to save humans. He’d failed humans, and they’d all ended up being bled for a living. The casual way Ophelia was referring to them as if they were toasters suddenly felt like the last straw.
“Do you have any idea what it costs to maintain a human bloodline, especially given the losses the farms have had lately with the unexplained die-offs?” Ophelia retorted. “There is a substantial investment on behalf of MorningFresh in maintaining these assets, all of whom have been screened and assigned to breed so as to develop maximally strong, healthy bucks and fertile females who can…”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” said Reginald. “Have you seriously never read a history book?”
Ophelia looked derailed. “What?”
“Okay, I’ll explain it to you. See, there was this guy named Abraham Lincoln once upon a time. And what old Honest Abe did was…”
“There’s plenty of caucasian stock too, you know,” Ophelia
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