Integral

By Adam Thielen

Matthias is tranquil, drained of emotion and color. Frank is crass, boisterous, and as full of life as he was before the turning. One is a vampire without a past, and the other wishes he could forget his.

Both are assigned to a strange murder case and must bring one of their own to justice in order to preserve the peace between the ruling corporations and the vampire council. But when their investigation raises more questions than they answer, the two are enlisted to retrieve a valuable corporate asset; a young mage named Sandra who has escaped from the university where the gifted are imprisoned.

As the body count rises, Frank and Matthias are forced to confront both a towering system of corruption and their own selfish natures. Polar opposites, the nocturnals must overcome their differences to survive the blistering light and the engulfing night.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adam Thielen
• Release date: Dec 25, 2017

Adam Thielen

Adam Thielen was born and raised in a small Kansas town. He began writing at an early age and continued to do so through college where he studied Philosophy. His writing style is inspired by his love of action movies and role-playing games. His books are swiftly paced and plainly written, the words serving as a vehicle for plot development and nuanced character interactions. Visceral was Adam's debut novel, followed by a prequel titled Integral. The two became the foundation for the Visceral quadrilogy with the release of Pivotal as the third entry and the anticipation of the series's finale, Terminal. I value interactions with my readers. For more information about the state of my releases and my rarely updated blog, visit my profile at Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15458353.Adam_Thielen (or use their search!)

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 Copyright © 2017 by Adam Thielen

 All Rights Reserved

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner.

Depictions of companies, brands, or corporations are fictitious and do not represent real activities, roles, or any other aspect of those entities. Mentions of actual brands or corporations are not endorsements, nor are they used with the endorsement of any brand or corporation. Any resemblance to actual events is coincidental.

Episode 1: The City That Wasn’t

Some days Frank Kerwin simply could not sleep. It was a problem that followed him from his previous condition, that of being human. However, in that life it was during the night that he suffered his insomnia, frequently falling asleep only to wake with a panic attack gripping his chest and mind.

The nocturnal man could feel the sun’s presence while it hung in the air, a sickening miasma that pierced the walls and ceiling of his small apartment. It caused his body to tremble slightly. Most vampires could not resist the drowsiness brought on by its presence, but Frank wasn’t most vampires.

He stood just under six feet tall with a medium build and appeared to be in his late thirties. His skin tone was a curious hue. Born Caucasian with a relatively dark complexion and dark hair, his skin didn’t lighten by much after the turning. While the color partially washed out, to an untrained eye Frank was just another guy. He wore a uniform coat of stubble on his face to further conceal his nature. His eyes retained their deep blue aspect.

He stood from his bed and walked to the front door and opened it, revealing a corridor lit only by round LED panels flush with the wall. Frank walked to the end of the hall, passing several doors. He knew a few of his neighbors by name, some of them fellow nightstalkers. Living arrangements that provided absolute protection from sunlight were uncommon and thus in demand. At the end of the hall was a large set of double doors made of metal. Frank pulled one open, and the slightest ambient light washed over his body like heat radiating from a hot oven.

The building’s exit was just up a flight of stairs. A thin beam of sunlight came to a stop on one of the handrails a few feet from Frank. He took very short steps toward the foot of the stairs, then reached his hand forward, cutting off the beam. Pain shot through his hand, then up his arm, then through his body, which convulsed in response. His head felt like it was being dragged along a washboard. Frank quickly pulled his arm back, emitting a subdued groan, and covering his mouth with his other hand.

He bent his knees, then straightened them, over and over while shaking his abused hand. He looked at it. The skin had darkened slightly, but he knew it would take little time to heal. Frank looked back down the hallway toward his room, then back at the handrail, then looked up toward the ground floor. The vampire removed his belt, threaded the strap through the buckle, and placed it around his neck like oversized jewelry. He shoved a section of it between his teeth and bit down.

Frank hovered his hand, still burned, near the beam, close to the handrail. Fffk ew! he shouted. Then with a quick motion, he shoved his hand under the light and gripped the handrail tightly. Pain again shot through him, but his grip was strong, keeping his hand in place. Though his legs buckled underneath him, he held on. Frank screamed a quiet, muffled scream from behind the belt. His hand turned red, and after a few moments his legs gave out entirely and his body fell, coming to a stop with his arm fully extended above him, still holding onto the rail.

Smoke gently wafted from his hand, and Frank’s body shut down. He relinquished his grip and flopped onto the tile flooring. The air became hazy and smelled of burnt food. Frank exhaled heavily, pushing the leather out of his mouth with his tongue. He squinted and blinked a few times, then pulled his hand around in front of his face. It was dark red, but hardly damaged. As Frank rested his head on the tile, he decided sleep was worth another try.

Integral

In the year 2029 governments had buckled under the pressure of financial debts and dwindling natural resources. In a chain reaction, one state after another declared bankruptcy and ceased providing services. Attempts to print money resulted in all trade agreements breaking down, and as the crisis dragged on, much of the world’s populace declared their governments illegitimate. For a month it was Armageddon. No police to protect property, most hospitals shuttered, fires raged with no one to put them out, and rioters filled the streets.

While America’s collapse wasn’t pretty, Europe’s was far uglier. Their people, either less complacent or more disgruntled depending on the perspective, razed cities to the ground. Much of Western Europe was in ruin for years. While the western world imploded in on itself, the eastern world exploded outward into conflicts, their generals seizing power and waging campaigns over resources with neighboring states. Any nation spared conflict and unrest simply slumped into a new era of economic depression.

But as quickly as America had collapsed, life returned to perceived normalcy with a relatively quick and convenient reinvention of government. Megacorporations that practically printed their own money already, convened a summit to determine how best to provide law and order to the country. Territory was separated into districts, each one assessed for taxation value, then split up among the largest publicly traded corporations.

In the following years, this new corporatocracy model spread around the globe. Continent after continent found their economic leaders and tasked them with restoring order. A global council, with representatives from each district, was voted into power by shareholders. Some constitutional rights were preserved, but most could no longer be interpreted under the new system and were left behind.

Every year, districts changed hands or were resized based on market capitalization. Profit margins, revenue, and projected growth became the new political news. Investigative reporting could spur global power shifts. After a tense battle with the yuan, the dollar won as the universal currency for the new world order. Some things never change.

When they first took over the role of government, corporations repeatedly stated it was a temporary solution, and that a new government would be established as soon as feasible. However, prosperity in the face of the previous decline stalled attempts to convene a new congress and establish an executive branch. The world had been saved by big business, and as long as it worked, no one—almost no one—cared about conflicts of interest or having a fraction of the already minuscule power they had enjoyed before. The latter was irrelevant to most constituents, who never voted anyway. Freedom is a matter of perspective, and the old perspective died in the collapse.

Out of the haze, a new creature emerged. A human that was no longer a human. A being that lived for centuries and cared only for politics as a means to their survival. A monster, some would say, with pale skin and eyes and a thirst for blood. Nightstalkers, nocturnals, vampires. Having lived in the shadows for a thousand years, they revealed themselves to a world that had more important issues than people allergic to sunlight. The decision to come out was not taken lightly, and vampires found protection within the territory of a corporation owned and controlled by their own kind, Noxcorp.

Some say that governments are governments, no matter what you label them, and that the new world was actually born seventeen years before the collapse, in 2012. That was the year that something came into the world of man and vampire that would change everything, though its existence would be hidden well into the 30s. And so it became the responsibility of the new world order to fear it, control it, exploit it, and when necessary, destroy it.

* * *

When his com beeped at him, Matthias Trent had just sat down at his desk after retrieving a cup of the world’s worst coffee from the break room. Spiked with plasma, it was an absolute necessity at seven in the evening. He set down the cup and reluctantly answered.

Yeah?

Matthias! said the loud voice on the other end.

Blist, he acknowledged. Terrence Blist was Matthias’s handler and the captain of Noxcorp investigations. He was a large man, both tall and wide, whose dark gray skin was once a very dark brown. His hair was just a shadow that sat atop his head, and the irises resting inside his narrow eyes were silver with a hint of brown.

What’s up? asked Matthias.

The sky, Matthias. It was an exchange that repeated itself at least once a week. Blist hated the phrase for some reason beyond Matthias’s comprehension, and so he refused to stop using it.

You don’t say.

I do. How would you like to stretch your legs this week?

Sure, Matthias replied, knowing he had no choice. Where am I going?

There’s a situation in Dodge. I will brief you when you get there, Blist explained.

Cripes, don’t we have some agents closer?

I want KC in on this, said Blist, referring to their own Kansas City office. But an agent stationed there will assist.

Doc Holiday? quipped Matthias.

Ha, good one, Blist said sarcastically. Get on a copter.

Get to da choppa! Matthias yelled, causing several other agents in the office to turn and look. Terrence had already disconnected. The Noxcorp agent chuckled, then sighed. He rose from his seat slowly, lifting his coffee cup with him. He skulked to the elevator and pushed the roof button.

Matthias was a thin man, and as far as vampires went, he was pale. Reddish-brown hair hung down to his shoulders. While old enough to retire with partial benefits, he looked about thirty-five. His pallor made his vampirism obvious to anyone familiar with the condition, which these days was most people. His kind had come a long way since the pre-collapse days. Though regarded with suspicion and contempt, humans had at least come to tolerate their existence.

As the helicopter lifted into the evening sky, Matthias contacted Blist.

Alright, I’m on my way.

Matthias, there’s been a murder in Dodge City. We have an agent there, but he is considered unreliable by his handler in Garden, explained Blist.

The victim is a nocturnal?

The perp.

Oh.

What’s worse is that the details have been leaked to a local streamer.

Shit.

Yes, agreed Blist. For now, the council has convinced them to hold off airing the story until we have a chance to investigate.

Why isn’t Garden sending someone? asked Matthias.

The two cities have been adversarial going way back, answered Blist. Which is why Kerwin’s handler is useless.

Kerwin?

Frank Kerwin, the Dodge agent, Blist clarified. To say he’s got a hands-off approach would be an understatement. His reports indicate that he comes around for high priority assignments, but ignores everything else.

My kinda guy, stated Matthias.

The council is less than impressed, but supposedly he has friends, Blist sighed. They often send agents from Wichita when they want something done.

Not this time.

I was an agent there before Frank, and I want this handled right.

You want to impress, speculated Matthias.

That too.

Bit of a risk.

You will not fuck this up, Matthias, Blist demanded.

I’ll get it done, he replied confidently. What am I getting done? He could hear Blist breathe heavily in response. I mean, how do I handle the perp?

Put him— Blist paused for a moment. Put him down quietly. We don’t want a big show out of this. The council is in talks with Cargill. They run the SWK, and all they want is assurance that our people are under control. He meant the southwest chunk of Kansas, now just an acronym as state lines meant little. Meat production had always been its forté, and it was especially true these days, with half of all able bodies employed in turning a cow into a sandwich or steak.

Is the victim someone important? asked Matthias.

Name is Lance Burton. He was a local sheriff, so not really.

They still have those?

There’s no legality to it, but the SWK is a weird place sometimes. The people there elect sheriffs to handle local matters that corporate policing won’t, explained Blist.

I bet Cargill just loves that, said Matthias.

Remnants of a different time, stated Blist. Cargill has tried to do away with the practice, but their worker bees threaten to revolt.

I’m starting to like the sound of this place.

Just wait until you smell it.

* * *

Frank watched as the helicopter touched down at the Fort Dodge airfield. Dust kicked up, blasting him in the face. No one has ever come from Kansas City, he thought. Something ain’t right.

He waited as a pale vampire exited the chopper. As soon as he strode forward, the aircraft ascended into the dark sky. Frank analyzed the man’s gait, skin tone, and face. He was thinner than Frank and clean-shaven. His skin tone indicated that he would be physically strong, but more vulnerable to silver and sunlight. Confident, but lacking in emotion. The pale ones were always the same, he thought.

Matthias stopped in front of Frank and extended his hand.

Frank, he introduced, shaking it.

Matthias.

My car is this way, let’s get something to eat, proposed Frank. His voice had a hint of an Irish accent mixed with midwest America.

I’m good, replied Matthias.

"Well, I’m hungry."

They got into Frank’s car, a navy blue sedan that still used gasoline. Superconductor rail development hadn’t reached the SWK outside of Highway 56, but it was on its way with the new development spider-webbing out from major cities as fast as construction would allow. The old engine roared to life, and music featuring heavy guitar riffs blared from the speakers. Frank grimaced and quickly hit the mute button.

Looking out the windshield, it hit Matthias how different Dodge was from KC, or from most cities. He could see great swaths of sky only occasionally interrupted by steel towers. It was darker, too. Shorter buildings meant fewer lights, and even the street lamps seemed further apart. He couldn’t remember the last time he spotted stars in the sky from ground level.

Wyatt Earp, said Matthias, noticing a street sign. That’s a real street name.

Yeah, affirmed Frank. You ever come this way?

First time.

They stopped at a burger chain. Matthias choked down a laugh as he spotted an old-west style carriage sitting in the middle of the dining area. Once at the counter, he decided to order something despite a lack of appetite. It would beat sitting awkwardly across from Kerwin.

Once seated, Frank dug into his cheeseburger. Despite his thirst for blood, Matthias was otherwise a vegetarian. He looked at Frank for a moment, then began eating his fries.

Mouth still in the middle of chewing, Frank said, So what all have they told you about the case?

Sheriff killed by a… one of us, Matthias said, glancing around. That’s it.

Frank sucked fizz through a straw and swallowed. Sheriff, he scoffed. What a load of shit.

Not a sheriff then?

More of a nickname than a real job. I met Burton once, overweight blowhard.

Any leads?

Like it matters, snarled Frank. Council just wants someone to take the fall. You here to pick someone out?

What? asked Matthias. No. Jesus. He considered Blist’s words. Was that the subtext? My supervisor just wants to get to the bottom of it, simple as that.

Blist, right?

Matthias’s eyes widened slightly. Yes, that’s right.

I met him about a year ago when some guys from KC were sent down here for some sort of Southwest conference, Frank explained. We talked shop. He seems like a real stiff.

Had no idea he ever left the city, replied Matthias.

Frank nodded and took another bite out of his burger, attempting again to multitask. I haven’t seen the body, but Cargill has graciously given us clearance to carry out an investigation. I think that’s our first stop.

What for?

Hmm. You don’t do much detective work, do you?

Just not sure what you think you’ll find.

Neither am I. Frank shrugged with his hands lifted to each side. You’ll get it when we get to the morgue.

* * *

Back in the car, the two agents sat quietly. Frank slurped the remainder of his drink. It was a short drive to the hospital. They took a service elevator to the basement and met up with the coroner, a short Hispanic man in a white lab coat.

Victor, Frank greeted.

Hey, Frank, good to see you.

This is Matthias. He’s here to help, all the way from KC.

Oh ho ho, bringing in the big guns! he reacted. Frank chuckled. Matthias wondered how the doctor might taste.

Victor led the agents into a large walk-in fridge. Its walls were lined with small square hatches. He yanked the handle on one, revealing a slab. Fog rolled out onto the floor. The slab slid out from the wall, exposing a man drained of life. His pallor almost matched that of Matthias. The sheriff had a large gut and looked to be in his late forties. He had a thick mustache and male-pattern baldness. There were already incision marks down his chest.

Dose him with anti-coags? asked Frank.

Yes, he’s still nice and mushy.

Already autopsied? asked Frank.

Sí, but still waiting on toxicology, Victor answered.

Find anything?

Well, he said, pointing at the neck. There are clearly puncture wounds consistent with vampire fangs here. As far as I can tell, he went into shock due to blood loss, and this is the only wound.

Anything under the nails?

Just the usual grime.

Gotta give me something, Vic.

Shit, man, there’s not much going on here. There’s some dried blood around the neck, even a little on the shoulder. A few light scratches on his back.

Scratches? asked Matthias.

Pink, but no blood. Could be from a woman.

Anything else? prodded Frank.

I opened his stomach, said Victor. Frank winced. He ate not long before his demise. Taco Bell, more than likely.

You can tell that?

Bits of onion are easy to spot, as is partially digested flour tortilla shells, he explained. Could be real Mexican food, but there was a lot of cheese.

That reminds me, said Frank. Can I see his personal effects?

Are we done in here? asked the coroner.

I want a moment with the deceased. Can you get them for me?

What for?

Matthias cocked his head, curious as to what Frank was playing at.

Come on, get out of here. I’ll lock it up. he winked at Victor.

Victor stared back at him for a moment, then shrugged and grumbled as he left the fridge.

Ready to do this? Frank asked Matthias.

Do what?

You know, what you whiteys do.

We whiteys?

You know how we can sometimes see things, about people, when we… you know.

The fuck, stated Matthias.

Give him a taste, let’s go, clapped Frank.

That’s disgusting. Look at him, said Matthias. His face showed a rare display of emotion, his nasal muscles pushed upward, lifting his upper lip open. The blood has got to be rotten, if there’s even enough in him, and if it will even work this long after death.

You want to find the killer, get your medal, and get out of Dodge, right?

Between the fascination with the worst time period in history and the ever-present smell of bullshit, this place is growing on me.

They stood next to the body for a few seconds.

Not doing it, declared Matthias. There are rules against this sort of thing.

Come on, no one follows them. Tell you what, I will buy you a stiff drink after, Frank offered.

Hey, why don’t you do it? You’re a vampire, too.

We may only have one shot at this, and my senses just aren’t as sharp as yours are.

Because I’m white?

Really white.

Okay, so you are going to do it first, decided Matthias. I will lift his legs up, get some blood pressure to the wounds, you can suck some out.

Oh, fuck no. No, no, no. Frank crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels.

Well, that’s the deal, partner.

We aren’t partners, Frank grumbled. Okay, you first though.

Newp.

Frank shook his head. Alright, fine. No fucking problem. I can do this. You better not puss out on me when it’s your turn.

We are in this together, said Matthias, moving to the end where the legs were still partially hidden inside the slab fridge. He reached around the calves and lifted them out so that the cadaver’s feet rested against the next hatch up.

You guys still aren’t done? called Victor from the door as Frank leaned toward the sheriff’s neck. He stood up straight and shot his gaze at the coroner.

Get the fuck out of here, Victor!

Victor muttered and closed the door.

Frank and Matthias looked at each other, then down at the body. Frank leaned down again and pressed his lips around the puncture wound, then pulled away, shaking his head. He wiped his lips with his forearm then took his pinky and extended its nail to a sharp point. He poked inside one of the punctures, and blood began to seep out. It was thick, like a syrup.

Matthias’s eyes widened slightly as Frank leaned down and sucked the blood out into his mouth. Seeing him swallow, he was immediately impressed.

Oh god, gasped Frank. No, god, no! he said, sticking his tongue out and wiping it against the bottom of his shirt. He doubled over and started gagging and heaving. Matthias walked toward him, but Frank waved him away. He fell to his knees and stuck his fingers down his throat, gagging and drooling onto the tile, then stood up and ran for the door.

Matthias looked down at the open wound, blood syrup still slowly flowing out. How bad could it be, he thought. He leaned down and sucked out more of the viscous fluid. It tasted of foul meat and even stung his tongue. He forced himself to swallow, and it burned all the way down. The vampire remembered why he was putting himself through this test and concentrated on clearing his mind and letting thoughts and memories flow into him.

Brief glimpses into the sheriff’s last day flashed in front of him, imparting only a limited comprehension of their meaning. It was interrupted by a kind of panic Matthias had never felt before. This is going to kill me, he thought with absolute certainty.

He started trying to vomit, mimicking Frank’s earlier behavior, then ran after him to find something to soothe the fire that now raged in his throat and stomach. Outside of the fridge, he saw Frank with his mouth around the spout of a faucet. He shouldered him out of the way, and Frank stumbled and fell onto the floor. Matthias craned his neck to wrap his lips around the outlet and sucked the water down.

His senses returned and he pulled himself away. Sorry, he coughed.

Frank stood and took another turn at the water while Matthias slid down the wall, holding his stomach.

Victor handed a small box of effects to Frank, extending his arm to keep maximum distance. He then stared at Matthias before noticing that the fridge door was ajar. He saw blood slowly oozing from the neck of a recently deceased sheriff with his feet propped up in the air. Guys, what the fuck?

Frank straightened up, water dripping from the stubble on his chin. I think we are done here. He glanced at the box, then headed for the exit. Matthias stood and followed.

* * *

Why couldn’t I vomit? asked Matthias. They were in the car again. He didn’t know where Frank was taking them.

Don’t know. Makes no sense, replied Frank. Thought I was a goner.

Can we get some fizz or booze or something? Matthias requested.

Yeah, I’ll stop somewhere.

Did you learn anything?

I fucking learned not to drink dead blood! he said, laughing.

Matthias grinned. Yes.

Frank noted his muted response. You ever wish you had more personality?

You ever wish you were funny? Matthias quipped.

Oooooh.

That would be a sick burn, explained Matthias.

A what? I’m pretty sure the sick burn happened back at the morgue.

It’s a thing. From before the collapse.

Hm, reacted Frank. How old are you, Matthias? Such a question was considered impolite in vampire culture, but coming from Frank, it didn’t seem rude.

Well... I suppose I’m about sixty-something now. You?

Shit, not that much older than me. Fifty-six.

So you were around before, Matthias extrapolated.

Yeah, Frank nodded. He pulled to a stop outside of a run-down convenience store.

They went in and picked out a drink. Matthias a cola fizz, Frank an energy flat. The clerk had large chrome spikes protruding from his chubby cheeks. His shirt featured a group of men with various instruments and the word Deathsmith along the top. Matthias didn’t know what a deathsmith was, but he held out hope that it was some remnant of metal still refusing to die. He shook his head and sighed.

How long have you lived here? asked Matthias once they were situated in the car.

Forever, Frank smirked. I have been here since I was just a regular guy.

What about before? Your voice has a slight accent.

I lived in a couple places, he said. Parents were immigrants. They came here, had me, then we moved back to Dublin for a couple years. I don’t even remember it anymore.

This place is… different, said Matthias carefully.

Should’ve seen it a few decades ago, he replied, pulling the car out of the lot. I saw the good ole U S of A go up in flames, but not this town.

No?

Christ, it was annoying. No looting, no fires. Couldn’t even take a day off of work. Everyone just went about their business. Trucks stopped coming in to pick up meat, that was obviously a problem. Wal-Mart started running out of shit to sell. But local farmers started setting up permanent markets and the meat was just sold locally. Everyone passing dollars around like they still meant something while they blew like leaves in the wind everywhere else. Joke was on them.

Smart people.

Not really, he argued. Most the people who lived here were first or second-generation Americans. They hadn’t had time for paranoia and fear to turn their insides into kerosene. They didn’t have generations of white privilege to bind them to an idea that was failing. They weren’t invested. Just simple people who cared about their family more than a country, and whether they admit it or not, more than their god.

Not even a little looting?

Maybe a little, said Frank. He pulled a vaper out of the center console and held it to his lips, flooding the cabin with a haze.

I got something, said Matthias.

You have something.

From the blood, he expounded, watching the buildings pass by. He was with a woman.

Might have guessed that from the scratches.

This woman was young. Young-looking at least. Something tells me she was paid.

Just a feeling? asked Frank.

She was above his pay grade.

Then you haven’t seen our whores! Frank declared.

Hm, Matthias wondered. There’s got to be a few decent ones. She was Asian, maybe Chinese. Bright hair, like fuchsia or something. Thin.

Matty, there ain’t no Asians here, and what the hell is fuchsia?

It’s like somewhere between pink and purple, I think.

Frank shook his head. Jesus… okay, I know a couple guys we can ask.

Are they Asians?

Frank laughed and looked at Matthias, expecting to see a smile or otherwise indication of a joke. Instead, Matthias looked at him expectantly. "No, Matthias, they aren’t Asians.