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At dawn, Black Superman appeared once again at Blade's warehouse hideout.
Old n sleep lightly and wake early—that was expected. Even Blade, who treated ditation as rest, snapped awake the mont he sensed soone approaching.
Of course, Black Superman had allowed himself to be detected. Otherwise, slipping in unnoticed would have been effortless.
The mont he entered, his gaze went straight to Jasper Badden, who was still strapped to the workbench.
"He's not dead yet, right?"
At the sa ti, he noticed sothing—Blade hadn't placed Jasper there randomly. The morning sunlight stread through the window, perfectly covering the workbench.
The man lying there, bathed in sunlight, wore a pained expression, clearly suffering.
Abraham Whistler stepped forward to examine him, focusing on the bite wound. After a mont, he said:
"The wound's still deteriorating. Looks like that garlic extract didn't do much. Got any progress on your serum?"
Black Superman reached out, dabbed a bit of fluid from the wound, and asked:
"You judge by the bite? What counts as improvent?"
Whistler, despite still being irritated about last night's hack, answered seriously:
"If the wound heals, that ans sothing's changed—either he's fully turned, or he's beaten the virus.
"But this? Pus like this? That's bad. If you don't have a serum, you'd better prepare a silver bullet for him."
"Silver bullets kill vampires?" Black Superman asked flatly. "I thought that was for werewolves."
Whistler explained:
"Silver works on most dark creatures. It stops regeneration. Once they can't heal, you can kill them."
"Other weaknesses?"
Perhaps because the topic interested him, Whistler didn't hold back:
"Garlic extract—you've seen it. A full dose doesn't just hurt vampires, it kills them.
"I've heard in Europe they use silver nitrate rounds, or UV-radiation rounds—one for werewolves, one for vampires. Never seen them myself, though."
"Want those kinds of weapons? I can develop them."
As he spoke, Black Superman pulled out a vial of serum from his utility pouch.
Neither Whistler nor Blade responded imdiately. Their attention was locked onto that vial.
Black Superman didn't care. He calmly prepared the injection—then administered a large dose directly into Jasper's body.
The reaction was instant.
Jasper's body curled like a cooked squid, limbs contorting violently. He convulsed, foad at the mouth, and let out a low, guttural growl.
Black Superman remained completely unfazed. One hand pressed firmly against Jasper's chest, keeping him from thrashing off the table.
The other two simply watched.
When the convulsions stopped, Jasper lay there drenched in sweat, like soone who had just run a marathon.
"He alive?" Whistler stepped forward.
"Not dead," Black Superman replied after a brief check. He then stepped aside, letting Whistler examine him.
The old hunter eagerly got to work, poking and prodding.
Even Blade ca closer, watching.
"It works?" he asked.
"Looks like it," Whistler said, clearly excited. "The wound's no longer oozing white pus—just normal blood and discharge. The redness in his eyes has faded. Teeth haven't changed.
"If he can still stand sunlight tomorrow morning… he'll make it."
Whistler turned to Black Superman.
"How'd you make this serum?"
Black Superman didn't hide anything. He placed several remaining vials on the table, along with a 3.5-inch floppy disk.
"This is what's left from a single batch. The disk contains the process and material ratios. Though… your equipnt isn't quite enough to reproduce it."
"Hmm. 'Black Superman,' was it?"
Whistler picked up a vial, examining the pale blue liquid.
"Why do all this? Even offering to help us develop weapons?"
"I have a grudge against vampires. Is that reason enough?"
Blade spoke up:
"Not enough. If you want to work with us, we need to know who you are. How do I know you won't sell us out?"
Fair point.
Even Black Superman wouldn't trust soone completely hidden.
So—
He reached up and pulled off his mask.
"—You!"
"—Who are you?"
Ignoring Blade's confusion, Whistler sighed and explained:
"That's Henry Brown. The guy the vampires just put on their list. CEO of Stark Pictures."
Black Superman had already put the mask back on.
Blade snorted. "That guy screwing actresses?"
Black Superman resisted the urge to punch him.
"I deny everything. If you're going to judge based on rumors, think carefully."
Whistler narrowed his eyes. "Then why are they targeting you? Don't tell you're working together."
"They want Stark Industries. Tony Stark. I'm just a stepping stone."
"…Yeah. That sounds like them."
Black Superman continued:
"I'm not good at combat. And I don't have ti to chase vampires around.
"But I am good with technology—computers included."
He pointed at their hacked system.
(As for the blatant lie about combat ability… no need to dwell on that.)
"I can fund you. Money. Serum. Advanced weapons. Better surveillance systems.
"In exchange—you hunt vampires."
He paused.
"That's what you're good at, isn't it?"
Blade and Whistler exchanged a glance.
Blade nodded. "Not a bad deal."
They were already killing vampires anyway. Getting paid for it? No downside.
But Whistler had another concern.
"Does this serum work on everyone? Or just that lucky bastard?"
"It should work on anyone recently infected but not fully turned," Black Superman said honestly.
"But for other types of vampires… I suggest testing it on soone expendable first."
"What about people with blood disorders?" Whistler asked. "Like him?"
Black Superman looked at Blade.
"You an you?"
Then he shook his head.
"I wouldn't recomnd it. That sounds like a different condition entirely.
"But if you're willing to cooperate in testing, I can develop a tailored serum for you."
He paused slightly.
"Just kill a few more vampires for ."
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