Enzer made no attempt to conceal his delight as he meticulously examined the alien bearing vampire genes, christening it the "Blood Xenomorph." While less imaginative than "Reverse Species," it was a perfectly acceptable designation, especially when compared to specialized variants like the "Ice Xenomorph."
The Blood Xenomorph exhibited the standard morphology of a Drone Xenomorph: bipedal, approximately 2.5 meters in height, with an elongated, smooth, surfaced head. Several dorsal tubes of indeterminate function sprouted from its back, initially resembling technological docking ports for large equipment. Its entire form was encased in a highly impact, resistant exoskeleton, rendering it virtually impervious to conventional large, caliber firearms. Even standard Drone Xenomorphs, when parasitizing ordinary humans, could withstand such weaponry without fatal injury. Furthermore, Blood Xenomorphs possessed the unique ability to derive enhanced energy from blood consumption, unlike ordinary aliens, which required vast quantities of flesh and blood simply to maintain their physical strength.
"Functionally speaking," Enzer mused, admiring his creation, "the Blood Xenomorph is essentially the Drone Xenomorph seen in Xenomorph. It occupies a social stratum one level above the Messenger." The remaining vampires, however, could only stare in abject terror.
"What in the seven hells is that?!" "Parasitic?" The sequence of events – the spider, like creature leaping from the egg, its inexplicable death, the man's sudden unconsciousness, and the rapid emergence of a humanoid abomination from his chest – seemed to follow a logical cause and effect. Yet, upon closer reflection, it defied all scientific understanding. The vampires finally grasped the horrifying reason behind the human's unusual concern for their well, being. But the realization came too late.
With the first successful transformation confirmed, the remaining two alien eggs unfurled in quick succession, completing the gruesome process. Dennis, witnessing the horrifying metamorphosis, felt a surge of desperate protectiveness. He pointed out that Enzer only had three eggs and six vampires. What would become of the rest? Surely they wouldn't be used as mere sustenance. Enzer offered a chilling reassurance, stating his reluctance to simply consume them, while simultaneously guaranteeing that none would escape their current predicament.
Then, from the deepest recesses of the cave, the silent observer – the Xenomorph Queen – stirred. Before their horrified eyes, after a moment of visible biological exertion, she deposited an egg directly into the incubation tube. "So… that's how the tube works…" Dennis whispered, his last vestige of hope crumbling as a Facehugger launched itself towards him. Despair claimed his consciousness.
Within a short span, six Blood Xenomorphs, each far surpassing their vampire hosts in raw power, stood in obedient ranks before Enzer. Driven by primal hunger, they tore into the mangled remains of their former hosts with savage bites, after receiving Enzer's tacit approval. "The local small game has been entirely depleted," Enzer mused aloud. "It seems we need a more… sustainable method of ensuring a food supply." In the following days, several meat processing companies in New York City received unusually large and consistent orders.
The subsequent days were uncharacteristically quiet, with no further vampire incursions. Perhaps the remaining vampires had concluded that their missing brethren had been brutally dispatched by Blade. However, a group of individuals openly moved into the dilapidated building next door, establishing a makeshift butcher shop in broad daylight. This blatant lack of subtlety piqued Enzer's interest. Had surveillance become this brazenly overt?
"Hey, fellas!" Enzer called out to the group next door. "You know these two buildings are slated for demolition, right? Heard they're putting up some big office complex."
"Yeah, but before the wrecking ball swings, seems like there's a decent profit to be made in the cooked meat trade around here," one of them replied.
Enzer nodded thoughtfully. "Strange," he commented. "For a delicatessen, you only seem to be selling raw meat." This time, the agent offered no response.
Enzer surmised that the discrepancy between advertising cooked meat and selling raw meat likely stemmed from cost, saving measures. Claiming to sell cooked food, while actually dealing in raw ingredients, might also facilitate easier fund acquisition from higher, ups, with less scrutiny on overhead. Meanwhile, the proprietor of the makeshift butcher shop, a hapless clone of Dum, Dum Dugan, considered himself exceptionally unlucky. He was merely mimicking the established, albeit convoluted, cover story of a certain Level Eight agent: claiming FBI affiliation to outsiders, CIA to the FBI, FBI to the CIA, and finally, when inter, agency squabbles and his own fabricated narratives became too tangled, declaring himself an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. After all, nobody ever remembered S.H.I.E.L.D.'s full name, let alone understood its actual function.
His luck had taken a decidedly sour turn when he encountered the serious and perceptive George Stacy. Dammit, he'd just been following standard protocol, confidently delegating a preliminary investigation to the local police precinct. If S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives had to personally investigate every suspected supernatural occurrence worldwide, they would have long since succumbed to exhaustion. Even with his original body's ability to deploy numerous clones sharing a communal memory archive, the workload would be insurmountable. There was no alternative now but to manage the tasks he'd accepted and the messes he'd created himself. His only saving grace was that the target individual had Blade as a known associate, suggesting he wasn't a purely malicious actor with zero regard for human life – at least, not in the traditional sense.
"What's your clearance level?" The target, the one who commanded the bizarre creatures, was leaning against the dilapidated, leaking window again, shouting across the alley.
"It was Level Three yesterday, now it's Level Two," the clone replied, utterly unsure if the mission was progressing as intended. Whatever. I'm just a disposable copy anyway. At least things hadn't devolved to the point of needing to call for backup, so that was a minor victory. Plus, this little charade might help the original siphon some extra funds from that notoriously tightfisted bald guy.
Enzer fixed his gaze on the individual across the alley. He was now certain: this man was S.H.I.E.L.D. Through its network of powerful benefactors, this clandestine agency monitored extraordinary events globally, their primary directive being the surveillance of individuals with unusual abilities. Enzer, however, was somewhat taken aback by the sheer lack of guile exhibited by his assigned watcher.
Even if Blade hasn't assembled the Howling Commandos yet, he's undoubtedly already made contact with S.H.I.E.L.D., likely as a high, ranking operative. Enzer knew that in the future, Blade would indeed become a Level Ten S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Therefore, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s awareness of his association with Blade was hardly surprising. The existence of the aliens was an inevitability, impossible to conceal indefinitely. It was precisely this open, albeit unconventional, behavior that likely prevented S.H.I.E.L.D. from categorizing him as a high, priority threat – at least for the moment. And "now" was all the leverage Enzer needed.
Enzer appreciated straightforward individuals; they conserved his mental energy. Learning that his observer was actually a clone of Dum, Dum Dugan, or "Dum, Dum Bullet" as he'd called himself, clarified the agent's identity. Dum, Dum, a Level Ten agent with a shared memory archive across his clones, was a significant asset within S.H.I.E.L.D.
Enzer exhibited no outward signs of stress under this close scrutiny. In an era increasingly populated by individuals with extraordinary abilities, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mandate was to identify and assess every such case. If a target was deemed non, threatening and lacking significant special abilities, their information would be logged, and surveillance would likely be discontinued. As long as no laws were broken, S.H.I.E.L.D. typically wouldn't dedicate excessive resources to such individuals.
… Nick Fury stared at the report in his hand, his expression unreadable. "The target is suspected of covertly conducting biochemical experiments and acquiring R&D funding through his association with Blade?"
"Yes, Director," an agent replied. "According to the local police, he commands strange and powerful creatures and has taken several vampires into custody."
"No, that's not the crux of the matter," Fury stated, his voice rising slightly as he tapped the report. "I'm asking: this individual registered a 'Vortanex Biological Company' and is conducting legal biochemical experiments?" He emphasized the word with a hint of disbelief. "These unusual creatures warrant our attention. In this world teeming with lunatics, anyone bold enough to operate openly must possess considerable resources or influence." Fury's intent was clear. He fixed his gaze on his old friend, Dum, Dum Dugan's clone, and asked pointedly, "Who exactly is this 'Enzer' working for?"