The Slayer line had a sick sense of humor, or so thought Dr Albert Ackermann. This could be witnessed from the dozen Chosen Ones called with dust allergies, or the Serbian Slayer who had lived in mountains miles away from any demonic activity. She had been one of the longest lived Slayers, and yet only ever slayed six vampires.
The latest activated Slayer was a prime example of this, of the black comedy that dares call itself destiny. The Slayer was a heroin addict who’d be better equipped at poising a needle than a crossbow. A homeless woman who’d otherwise be an obvious target for vampires on the prowl. A wanted murderess (or at least man-slaughterer) who was currently as big a danger to civilians as any cretin by dawn or dusk. At least she clearly knew how to fight, as evidenced by the crime scene she left behind.
It was so bloody that it could’ve been easily mistaken for the doing of a vampire.
Calmly; “And you say she’s the prime suspect?”
“We have an arrest warrant, yeah.”
“What if I told you she’s a Slayer?”
The policeman- whose mother had been a watcher- grimaced; “Well, there are hundreds of them, anyway. Too many, I’d say.”
“Not in this city. In fact, she’s the only one in your state, I believe.” He corrected him. “The only Slayer from Brooklyn to The Bronx, Queens to Manhattan. You know, as memory serves the nearest other Slayer is actually all the way in Louisiana. That woman is your only hope of getting rid of that troublesome subculture in your city, and no, I’m not talking about hippies. Tell me officer, how many vampire attacks have you had to cover up over the years?”
His silence was a candid confession.
Finally; “Man, can’t we can’t get one transferred over from Russia? Their slayers are tough cookies.”
“I’ve been waiting for a Slayer to be called here all my life, and it’s some low life, hard drinking criminal?”
“She. She’s a lowlife, hard drinking criminal. Not to mention your only hope of cleaning up New York. So I strongly suggest you drop that arrest warrant.”
“Seems like a pretty shitty hope.”
Dr Ackermann shrugged; “Pretty shitty country, pretty shitty slayers. What do you expect?”
He found her unconscious in a cardboard box. So different to the last slayer he trained, oh so long ago.
“Kanika Devan Celeber? My name is Dr Albert Ackermann. And I’m here to inform you that you’re a vampire slayer.”
He threw a stake at her, testing her reflexes.
“Come with me and I’ll show you.”
It’s not everyday you wake up in a cardboard box with an elderly German man casually revealing that you’re destined to fight monsters before promptly throwing weaponry in your face.
