Integral - Vampire Fantasy Cyberpunk

The City That Wasn't: Part 3

"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.