Cameraman Never Dies

Drip... drip... drip

The faint echo of water droplets hitting a puddle tugged Flora out of her daze. Slowly, her consciousness clawed its way back, like a grumpy cat forced out of its nap. Her mind, still foggy, took a moment to piece together her surroundings— or rather, the utter lack of them. Pitch darkness enveloped her like a bad metaphor, and that could mean only one thing: Vampire territory.@@novelbin@@

The realization jolted her brain awake faster than someone accidentally gulping a scalding cup of tea. Vampire territory. Of all the places to end up after getting knocked out, it had to be Vampire territory.

She cursed her luck and whoever had decided that "darkness = spooky, spooky = Vampires." Couldn't it have been a nice kind of darkness for once? Like the comforting dimness of a cozy bedroom? No? Fine.

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Her logical side immediately made itself known with a loud and clear suggestion: Do absolutely nothing. Yes, logic had a point. She'd read enough adventure novels and watched enough plays to know that Rule No. 1 of being kidnapped was: Don't draw attention to yourself. Rule No. 2 was: Don't monologue your escape plans aloud, and Rule No. 3 was: Try not to antagonize the kidnapper unless sarcasm is your love language.

So, Flora sat there, staying as quiet as possible, though her brain had decided it was time for a mental caffeine overdose. Her thoughts were racing faster than a caffeinated squirrel trying to outrun its predators. Meanwhile, her heart seemed to have joined an underground rave, pounding away at record-breaking speeds.

'Alright, Flora, focus,' she told herself, which was easier said than done given her current state of mild panic.

Let's assess the situation. I've been abducted— obviously. My head hurts like I lost a fight with a brick wall. The throbbing pain is keeping time with my heartbeat, which is infuriating, by the way. And it's pitch black in here. Vampires like the dark. Conclusion? I'm in Vampire territory.

She paused, her thoughts briefly derailing into melodramatic territory. Great. I'm going to die here. Maybe they'll drink my blood. Or turn me into one of them. Or worse... make me keep in the dark for days to come, literally.

Her spiraling thoughts came to a screeching halt as a memory resurfaced: the voice she'd heard just before she blacked out. It was deep, smooth, and annoyingly dramatic, like the voice of someone who took themselves way too seriously. "Ah, the Light Blessed, would you be as kind to traverse with me?"

Traverse? Traverse?! Who says traverse? She groaned internally. This guy had clearly been spending too much time in libraries, thumbing through the thesaurus. What next? Would he describe her as "a maiden of luminous countenance"?1

Before she could contemplate further, a sudden light flooded the room, the light seemed to seep power out of her instead of giving.

Flora squinted, temporarily blinded, as her eyes adjusted. The room wasn't exactly the grand Vampire lair she'd imagined. It was... underwhelming. Four plain black walls, a single door, and two chairs. No fancy candelabras, no creepy chandeliers, no coffins. Honestly, she felt a bit cheated.

The only notable thing in the room was her situation: tied to one of the two chairs with what looked like an impossibly sturdy black chain. Across from her sat a man— presumably her kidnapper. He had black hair, piercing dark eyes, and sharp features that practically screamed, I'm broody, and I want everyone to know it.

But it wasn't his appearance that annoyed her. Oh no. It was his voice. His incredibly deep, overly dramatic voice that sounded like it had been stolen from the gods of overacting. If he auditioned for the theater role of a hero called Batman, they'd cast him on the spot, no experience required.

"Awake, are we?" the man said, his voice seeping with an infuriating combination of conceit and theatrics.

Flora narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"

"Who?" he repeated, tilting his head like he was pondering the mysteries of the universe. "Who is but the form following the function of what. And what I am is a mysterious abductor... if I do say so myself."1

She blinked at him. Twice. "…Are you serious right now?"

"Deadly serious," he replied, leaning back in his chair as if he'd just dropped the most profound statement of the century.

Flora sighed, feeling the patience drain out of her faster than water through a sieve. "Alright, fine. Let me change the question since you did not understand me, What's your name?"

"Obviously, you can ask that," he said, completely misinterpreting her tone. "I was not questioning your power of observation. I am merely remarking on the contradiction of asking a mysterious abductor for his identity."

Her brain stalled for a moment. "...I literally have no idea what you just said."

"Leon," he said, finally relenting. "Captain of the First Hunting Team. Vampire general. The right fang of the Progenitor. The title list goes on, but I digress— "

"Please stop," Flora interjected, her voice strained. She tried to wave her hand dismissively, only to be reminded that it was inconveniently tied behind her back. "Just... stop talking. Your voice is giving me a headache."

Leon frowned, clearly offended. "Why do you ask me to stop when you were the one demanding answers?"

"Because listening to you is like wading through a swamp made of pretentiousness," she snapped. "Why am I here? And keep it short, I'm begging you."

Leon's frown deepened, but he complied. "You'll know when the time comes."

Flora groaned. "Of course. Cryptic. My favorite."

"However," Leon added, "since you're so curious, I can at least tell you what it means to be the Light Blessed."

Flora perked up slightly. "Finally, some answers."

Leon leaned forward, his expression annoyingly serious. "The Light Blessed? Who is that but the embodiment of divinity bestowed upon mortal form? And what they are— ah, now that is the essence of one carrying the sacred power of Veritas himself. Divine power, so to speak."

Flora stared at him, deadpan. "You know, you could've just said, 'You've got divine power,' right?"

Leon smirked, clearly amused by her exasperation. "Where's the explanation in that?"

"This is exhausting," Flora muttered, slumping in her chair.

Countenance means facial expressions, which here translates to radiant or ethereal face.

Reference from 'V for Vendetta'