Chapter Text
Go to Romania they said, it'll be an easy assignment they said.
Well, that's the last he heard after being shipped off to fuck who knows where in the middle of Romania. God, he hates this place and it's only been...what? Five hours? Hell, the middle of winter too! They couldn't have dropped him off in another season? Why oh why did it have to be winter? Mind you, he wasn't complaining too much: it was better than boiling heat, where he could no doubt feel himself roasting alive with every passing second on past deployments, and even then; it was better than running from debt collectors back home.
Well, if driving a rundown jeep in the middle of fuck nowhere Translyvania was any better than running from your gambling debts, be my guest.
The sky above him was a colourful bruise of violet, it was nearing evening, the dim lighting made the bare trees on the snow covered path stand out like blackened claws scrabbling up towards the heavens, clawing violently at the air as if it personally offended them. Frost glimmered brittlely on the snow smothered grass, and the quiet hooting of the owl only added to the creepiness factor for him. He hated owls ever since he was a kid, and this straight-out-of-the-grimms brothers-fairytales forest path did not help either. The jeep trudged up the snow covered path, sputtering like it was on it's last legs, and it might as well have been, but it served it's purpose for now.
Well, it would have, until he swerved to not hit a fucking red deer. Honestly, these were about the stupidest animals on earth. You step on a twig and cause a mild snap in the air? They bolt like Usain is after them, but drive down the road with your headlights on? Those idiots stand there, just staring at you, like the one moron standing in the middle of the shopping aisle, unmoving and staring into space, when you're trying to bypass them to get to the gochujang sauce.
God, he could really go for some slathered in a bulgogi sandwich right about now....oh. There goes the jeep smashed right up agasint a giant boulder. Day dreaming about food truly was hazardous, nevermind the fuck ass deer STILL standing down the middle of the rode.
So, here he was now, stuck deep in the blackened pine forest, cursing at the remains of the wrecked Jeep, the front hood wide open and belching black smoke. A string of curses escaped chapped lips, partially in English, some in Korean; all of which were no doubt directed at his own stupidity, luck, and his superiors. He hadn't much hope for help out in the middle of shitcreek here, and if his luck was not already in the toilet; the PRC-999K, the one thing that could have possibly gotten him out of this mess, had not survived, the device broken badly. This should have sent him into another angry slump, but he felt he had already verbally let the universe (and possibly the surrounding wildlife, in particular that brain dead deer), what he thought of his current predicament. In the rapidly fading light, he felt for his pack and weapons. His pack still had some MREs to tide him over for now, water in a metal flask was full. Some matches were dry, they would be useful. His weapons near, oily and cold, their barrels nicked by past violence. He pulled them free, gloved digits flexing around the grips, feeling the reassuring weight in his grasp.
If shit hit the fan, he'd have something to defend himself with...or maybe hunt some of the local wildlife if food ran low.
There was nothing else he could do in this area, so he trudged onwards. He thought perhaps he could chance upon a nearby village or such, call in for help if so. It couldn't get any worse right?
Hours later, he found no village, but a former campfire near a cemetary. If he were the superstious kind, he would have no doubt considered this ominous, but as he wasn't, he could have cared less. His practical mind chalked it up to hope there was a town nearby. Surely if there was a cemetary, there were people living nearby to take care of it, right? They would have to have a phone, because who was crazy enough to live out in the woods here with nothing for miles, and a campfire was a sure sign of possible human activity nearby...hopefully. Not that he held any optimisim for the human activity being positive. He warily approached the campfire, which had long been extinguished but still held a flicker of it's previous warmth in the air. While he inspected the campfire, southeast of it, a low fence, one of those hasty wire constructs, guarded a slope. He cautiously knelt down, and tested the wood with his hand, hearing the beginnings of a satisfying crack. Standing up from his haunches, he gave one good kick on the left side, sending the wooden post splintering. A long, thin, but sturdy metal bar clattered free, and he snatched it up like a dog with a new bone. Crude, but certainly would prove useful later on if needed, so he stowed it away in his pack.
He moved westward, towards the cemetary gates to continue his surveying. The gate was firmly shut, but rusted; that crowbar would do nicely here. Despite the momentary hesitation of breaking into a cemetary of all things, and the possible bad juju that could come his way (alongside the possibility of bringing back the not so friendly Casper the ghosts that could decide to follow him home), he wedged the cold iron under the rusty latch, and levered it until the metal screeched and gave way under his persistance. Shoving the door open, the hinges certainly rusty beyond belief, he stepped into the sad little graveyard. There wasn't much; a few tombstones here and there dotted about, like pale grey teeth misshapenly set into equally pale gums. Some of the names had eroded with time, abandoned most likely.
One stood out from the rest: an ornate stone slab, tall, and carved with a sun symbol that had long been weathered away by the elements. Crimson candles were holding vigil. Someone must have recently passed by, for they were freshly lit. Leaning agaisnt the stone, was what appeared to be a diary of sorts.The leather was cracked, the owner's name blurred to the point of illegibility. Bending down, taking care not to topple the candles, he gingerly picked it up, and undid the leather strap binding it. The pages were slightly fresh, but the ink was nearly runny, no doubt to having been exposed to the weather outside for who knows how long. He flicked through the pages, eyes searching in interest. The handwriting appeared slanted, hurried, as if the previous owner's cadence stilled carried from the beyond despite having since left this world.
A small passage, dated a few months back, piqued his interest:
"My previous assumptions of Dracula's defeat were worthless, my last failure. I was unable to eliminate that horrendous abomination. Marioara, Alin's daughter, is still under his thrall, and I fear she will be lost forever to her father as a vampire and Dracula's mistress. He was broken when I delivered the news- Van Helsing."
Horangi read and re-read the lines just to be sure his eyes were not, in fact playing tricks on him, and that this was indeed, an actual diary passage he had just read. Vampires? Dracula? Van Helsing? Sure, he was deep in the middle of Translyvania, but who the hell actually believed in these sorts of things? They made for some good Hollywood films (back when Hollywood actually had balls), and maybe a few parodies here and there (Mel Brooke's Dead and Loving it would forever be the ultimate classic in his mind, there was no point in arguing), but reality? A load of shit and you'd probably need to be hiked up on that sweet, sweet LSD, or something stronger, to truly believe in such things these days. It was modern times for crying out loud!
He scoffed as he closed the book shut, and while a part of him was simply tempted to toss it aside like rubbish, the ramblings of a madman, he hesitated. Mainly because the book would at least provide some distraction from his boredom out here, but also....something he couldn't explain urging him to hold onto it. He was skeptical, but there was something about this area that made him more paranoia than usual, and not the regular one he had when faced with human enemies; this was something unknown, possibly insane, but he just figured he'd hold onto the diary for now. He rose and followed the perimeter of the nearby tiny chapel, heavy boots crunching on frozen earth. The church's stone material was dark and damp, ice water making rivulets upon the ancient stone. The chapel's windows were shuttered tightly, preventing the outside from peeking in. He tried the door, even disrespectfully kicking it in hopes it would give way.
The weatherbeaten doors were unyeilding, thus forcing him to walk around the chapel for another entry.
He located a trapdoor tucked behind the chapel, which yielded when he forcefully pried it open, stale air wafting up in a rush, along with a smattering of dust entering his lungs. A few hacking coughs dispelled the unwanted intrusion from his lungs before he pulled his mask over his mouth to prevent anymore mishaps. He peered down into the opened up hole; it wasn't deep at all, practically his height which was a relief. He fumbled in his many pockets in search of a torch, and once lit, he lowered himself in. The harsh light provided much needed vision for him, especially to dodge the tangle of cobwebs that clung so tightly the stone passgeway. A few got stuck to him, much to his annoyance, but was nothing compared to the bats swirling around his head, screeching enough to give him a lovely migraine. Now, if he was a real bastard, he would have made short work of them with a pistol, but he wasn't like that, so he let these flying rats scream at him as he picked his way carefully through the passgeway, careful not to trip over any dislodged stones or holes in the floor.
At the far end of the passgeway lay a skeleton curled behind a rusty gate. The iron manacles still attached to the poor thing's ankles invoked pity from him, dredging up unwanted memories of his own childhood. The skeleton's jaw was hung in a perpetual silent laugh...or maybe a scream. He didn't want to think about whoever's remains that was; maybe they had cried themselves to sleep beneath the earth, the hunger and cold gnawing on their frail form, until they withered away from starvation. It was a grim thought, and one that didn't sit well with him in this location, considering it was a dead end....no pun intended. As he turned away, his torchlight caught onto a glinting object where the skeleton was. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a key, small and innocuous, as if salvation sometimes came in the form of cold iron. He prid the rusty gate until it shuddered loose; the key was tightly clutched in the skeleton's hands. Murmuring an apology to the remains, he gently took it and left the dismal place.
Having returned to the chapel, night had fallen, and he could barely see the keyhole in the chapel's doors in the waning light. He did find it though and he turned the key in it's hole, a soft click echoing in the cold night. He pushed the door slightly ajar, peering into the dim chamber. There was only one room and it was smaller than he had expected; there was only a coffin inside. The feeling he had at the grave earlier had returned, a horripilation of paranoia coursing through his veins while an icy sweat dripped down the back of his neck.
"I'm being ridiculous," he muttered to himself, his voice echoing faintly in the chamber. "There's nothing here. It's just a dead body in a box. That's all."
Yet, even as he spoke, he couldn't shake that feeling from his bones. This was a mistake, he thought, this whole entire deployment was a mistake, but there was no way to turn back now. Despite his mind screaming in panic, he could not stop himself from approaching the coffin, forcing it open with steady hands and muttered apologies.....to nothing.
There was nobody inside....
He let out a breath he did not know he was holding, looking down, his steady hands were a false calm from before, the slight tremor betraying his heightened fear. He curled them into fists, the gloved digits digging deep into cushoined palms as he steadied himself. When he calmed down, he looked back inside the coffin; there was something there after all, glinting up at him, mockingly. He frowned as he reached in, and pulled out a pacemaker to his disbelief.
"A...pacemaker?" His brows knit together in bewilderment as his brittle voice filled with disbelief. "No idea how I should make use of that..."
Maybe it would come in handy if I were to have a heart attack from being spooked here, who knows.
Snorting at his own awful joke, he tucked the pacemaker agasint his own chest for a moment, as if testing the measure....not because he planned to use it on himself. At least, he hoped he wouldn't. Shaking his head, he tucked it away into his pack.
"I gotta leave this place before I get any more weird ideas," he muttered to himself.
Seems like he'd be doing a lot of talking to himself in the future...