History is written by the victors- Winston Churchill
“It’s no surprise that our kind is dying out. Ever since Drake was locked away the Praetorians have nearly hunted our kind to extinction!” Chiron, a high ranking elder on the council lashed out to no one in particular.
Lyn sat beside him on the stone tables only observing. She stared at the empty throne where Drake once sat. It had already been six years since his hibernation and the underworld of the immortals had fallen into chaos. Vampires now only made up less than a staggering one percent of the world’s population. Werewolves were thought to be either extinct or hiding underground. The blame could be put on one person, in particular, that might not have even been real.
Pavium had called an emergency meeting to discuss the dire situation they were in consisting of Drake’s closest inner circle. Lyn, his queen, and the huntress. Chiron, the wise and truthful. Rain the millionaire actress and femme-fatale. Artemisia nicknamed the goddess of war and finally Pavium who ruled in Drake’s place. Pavium gestured over to Tanner loitering in the back of the room by the projector. The thrall flicked a switch and the beaming light of the projector illuminated the darkroom with a mugshot on the wall.
Lyn raised a quizzical brow. The members of the council all looked to each other perplexedly.
Pavium cleared his throat. The mugshot was only a dark silhouette. “This person is only known as Prometheus. We acquired this intel from a Praetorian we killed a few days ago. Prometheus’ existence was only a rumor for the past few decades but this confirmed it.” His gaze was earnest.
Lyn took a long draw from her cigarette, blowing a large cloud into the air. She jiggled the glass cup of whiskey in her hands letting the ice cubes hit the edges of the glass. All she could think of right now was Drake and how much she missed him. She was still furious having no idea where he rested.
Pavium continued. “Every time that Prometheus has come into play, his actions have shifted the balance of the cold war. Which in turn, has affected the underworld as well.”
Small chatter filled the table. The conversation soon caught Lyn’s interest. She rose from her seat. “Are you sure you’re not confusing this person with Perseus? I killed that bastard myself,” she insisted.
“She has a point,” added Chiron.
“1952, detailed information of the Hydrogen bomb was stolen from Enewetak Atoll by Prometheus. Vietnam, 1968, Vietcong, and Russian soldiers orchestrated by Prometheus successfully tested the super serum known as Ambrosia on friendly indigenous villages framing U.S. troops for the massacres.” Pavium’s voice was winded yet he continued. “And finally, 1975, Paris, France-” He stopped himself looking at Lyn. She nodded at him. “Prometheus leaked intel to the whereabouts of Drake’s safehouse leading to an attack which ultimately forced Drake into premature hibernation.”
Artemisia sighed. Even in the dark her platinum blonde hair still glowed. Her beauty matched even Lyn’s. Rain sparked another cigarette, extinguishing her previous one in an ashtray. Rain twirled strands of her pink hair in a hand, oblivious to the meeting around her.
“Care to elaborate more on these so-called ghouls?” Artemesia snidely remarked. “Personally Prometheus doesn’t really sound like anything else other than the boogeyman, ” she giggled.
“I assure you Prometheus is real,” Lyn quickly answered distastefully. “And the ghouls themselves aren’t really a problem. Except for the victims of a ghoul become ghouls themselves and the process continues, a side effect of Ambrosia.”
Pavium blocked the projector with his colossal frame. He crossed his arms and took a moment to look at each member with judging eyes. “I’m convinced that Prometheus is sitting here in this room.”
Artemisia, Rain, and Lyn all became a triangle of accusing glares.
“That’s quite the accusation to make,” Lyn said sourly.
Pavium scoffed. “Is it?”
It seemed far fetched at first but the more Lyn thought, the more it made sense. Who knew Drake better than anyone in his inner circle to include herself? She knew the spy couldn’t have been her thus leaving only Pavium, Chiron, Artemisia, and Rain. The Atomic Spy known publicly as Perseus had been slain by her hand in Kowloon City in ’76. She tried to deduce who it may have been. Pavium was greedy and eager for power, he ran the underworld disregarding many of Drake’s policies trying to integrate vampires in more human affairs. Rain was too carefree and airheaded to be the spy. Chiron had plenty of brains but lacked the muscle and brawn to pose a serious threat. Artemisia was dangerous and tactful, she was perhaps one of the few people in the world that gave Lyn chills down her spine.
I wonder why they call this agent Prometheus...
Then it hit her. Prometheus was the titan in mythology that had given man the gift of fire. He was punished by Zeus chained to a rock to have his liver devoured by an eagle daily for all eternity. And Prometheus had given the far east the gift of fire, the Hydrogen bomb, thousand times more powerful than the atom bomb. One thing was for sure, she would make Prometheus pay whenever she caught him or her.
Lyn opened a rusty metal door which led to another dark room. She flicked the light switch on and waited. The lights flickered on and off before finally settling revealing an old broadcast room. Cobwebs lined the myriad of audio equipment and radios which probably hadn’t been used since the sixties. There was a desk in front of her with a single chair and a microphone resting on the counter. Lyn cautiously approached it closing the door behind her before taking a seat. She reached for a lever situated on a nearby console and pulled it down, supplying power to the rest of the audio equipment. Much to her surprise the gauges and small lights on the equipment illuminated.
She couldn’t help but free a smile before taking a cigarette out from its carton. A pack of Pall Malls she had bought from the store for twenty-five cents. She trapped it in her lips as she reached for the lighter in her purse. Lyn felt a bit overdressed for the moment, something she rarely did. Her forest green hair was in its typical high bun and she wore a skintight black dress that complimented her curves with a black choker. The pale makeup and bright red lipstick mirrored a mask on her face. Lyn was no amateur in utilizing her beauty to her advantage. Her countenance was calm and relaxed.
There was a small notepad by the microphone with a series of numbers for her reference. She pressed a small white button to turn on the microphone. Last but not least, she adjusted the knob to a nearby radio until the static ceased.
She took a long and deep puff from her cigarette which did little to calm her nerves before exhaling sharply. She placed it on an ashtray and grabbed the microphone taking a glance at the notepad. The red needle on the volume meter danced back and forth between signal levels.
In a trance-like state, she began to recite the numbers which kindled inside a row of Nixie tubes resting on the shelf above her. “Iliad. Seven, fifteen, one, two, nineteen, seven, twenty-five, six, thirteen, six, seven, fifteen, fourteen, zero,” she concluded as she took a final draw of the cigarette.
Who do you guys think Prometheus really is?
I promise you it’s one of the people in that room.
Let me hear your thoughts!
As always your votes and comments are very important!