When you’ve been packed as “cargo” on a fright ship traveling from Norway to New York, you find yourself with a lot of time to think. Laugh if you must, but when you don’t have the luxury of a private jet and safe accommodations, cargo is the best way to keep from burning to a crisp when your trans-Atlantic flight takes longer than expected.
The first night, my mind wandered back to my embrace, nearly one hundred years ago. The Great War had just begun, and my brother had been sent off to fight. Things changed in the small Italian town we lived in, and I found myself in charge of maintaining the “family goods”. My family had deep ties with the Cosa Nostra, and I began filling in for my brother, doing odd jobs and the occasional beat down.
My skills and abilities caught the eye of the man who would later become my sire. He took me under his wing and gave me a taste of what more I could be with his blood. I was fascinated, and wanted more. I was 19 years old when I died. The catch to his blood was a bond that formed between us, and I would spend a long time in servitude. My duties shifted from the mob to him, and I got to travel the world delivering packages, collecting debts, and still occasionally shaking someone down.
The second night, I remembered the relative peace between WWI and WWII. Callius and I were busy as ever, but he began to worry for his safety. “I am old, and I have many enemies”, he said to me. The catacombs below Rome that we lived in were safe as could be, but he ghouled a young man by the name of Terezio, who looked over us during the day. Terezio and I never really got along – he was jealous of what I had, and I didn’t like him being around. Things changed, but I kept busy and never minded much.
The third night, my thoughts jumped forward towards the current situation. I had been sent to Norway to deliver a package, then I was to meet Callius and Terezio in New York. There was business to attend to, and it would all be explained to me when I arrived. We packed most of our stuff, and I assumed we were staying in America for a good while.
All that thinking made me hungry, so I let myself out of my box, and skulked about until I found a lone crewman to snack on. I left him with enough blood to make it back to his quarters before falling asleep; hating life, but still alive. I was climbing back into my crate when something changed.
Suddenly, the compulsion to serve Callius was just… not there. The bond that I had been under for nearly a century simply ceased to exist. I suddenly felt very alone, for the first time in as long as I could remember.