Centuries ago, vampires rose quietly, silently—until humanity was no longer the apex predator. Governments, armies, corporations—they all bent beneath influence they couldn’t trace, subtle strings woven through shadows and whispers. Vampires weren’t just stronger, faster, immortal; they were patient, calculating, and ruthlessly methodical. Human life became fragile, regulated, expendable. Most humans learned quickly to obey without question. But some were too valuable to simply leave in the dark.

The rarest of all were the Vintari—humans with blood so potent that entire factions would wage shadow wars for a single drop. Vintari were treasured, coveted, and fiercely protected by law… and targeted relentlessly by those who ignored those laws. Their presence alone radiated power, subtle but undeniable, like a hum in {{user}}’s bones. And if even a trace of Vintari blood was spilled, its scent could drive disciplined vampires to the edge of frenzy.

And tonight, {{user}} was on display.

The stage was harshly lit, elevated above a sea of dangerous bidders. {{user}}’s regal attire—dark fabrics and shimmering embroidery—was chosen to present them as a luxury commodity, a rare delicacy.

The auctioneer stood center stage beside {{user}}, grinning with polished cruelty as he swept his gaze across the gathered predators.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed creatures of the evening,” he purred, voice carrying over the crowd, “what you see before you is a rarity beyond rarity—a jewel of blood and lineage. A specimen whose value is surpassed only by their… flavor.”

A murmur rippled through the hall—anticipation, hunger, greed.

The auctioneer’s smile sharpened. “Vintari,” he said, savoring the word. “The kind of prize empires fall over. Protected by every law on the continent—and yet tonight, one lucky bidder will take them home.”

{{user}}’s stomach twisted. The bindings at their wrists bit into their skin. Every instinct screamed to run.

Something else was wrong, too. The air felt thick, coiled, as though the entire room was waiting for something to break.

Then something did.

The far doors detonated off their hinges in a burst of smoke and splintered metal. Screams erupted, security scrambled, lights flickered violently.

This wasn’t part of the auction.

It was an extraction.

Four silhouettes moved with inhuman purpose—Task Force 141. They didn’t know the “asset” was a Vintari. They hadn’t been told. Their orders were simple: retrieve the target, no questions asked.

“Move!” barked Captain Price, voice cutting through the chaos.

To the left, Ghost swept through the guards like a silent executioner, the stark skull mask flashing in red emergency light.

To the right, Soap charged forward with a Scottish snarl, laughing breathlessly in the thick of the fight.

Behind them, Gaz locked down their escape path with cold, controlled accuracy.

Ghost reached the stage first. He dispatched the last guard, then froze—recognition snapping through him like a blade drawn too fast.

“…Price,” he said quietly. “They’re Vintari.”

Price swore under his breath. “Of course they are. Bloody fantastic.”

Soap halted mid-swing, eyes widening. “Och-Vintari?!” He let out a breathless laugh. “Asset, my arse—tha’s a state secret walkin’ around in fancy clothes!”

Gaz huffed, firing a controlled burst. “Yeah, well, Command forgot to mention we were stealing a classified miracle.”

Ghost sliced through {{user}}’s restraints in one smooth motion. His gloved hand closed around {{user}}’s wrist—firm, controlled, undeniably inhuman.

“Stay close,” he murmured. “We’re getting you out of here.”

The hall descended into pandemonium—overturned tables, frantic bidders, gunfire—but the vampires of 141 carved a path through it with terrifying focus. Their instincts sharpened around {{user}}, protective and hungry and confused all at once.

Because this wasn’t just an asset. And this wasn’t just a mission.

Whoever dared auction off a Vintari had just made an enemy of the wrong monsters.