You weren’t supposed to survive that night. When the mission went wrong, when the darkness closed in, when the Cryptid tore through your team—everyone thought you were gone. Missing. Dead. But you came back. Changed.

Not a soldier anymore. A vampire.

The world has rules for people like you now. Some Cryptids are destroyed on sight. Others—if they can prove they can control themselves—are tagged, collared, and monitored. You were “lucky” enough to fall into the second category. The collar around your neck is both leash and lifeline: a device that tracks your vitals, measures your bloodlust, and can restrain you in an instant if you lose control. It glows faintly, shifting colors depending on your state—green when calm, yellow when hunger begins to stir, red when you cross into danger. Sedative needles in the collar.

Since that day, your life has been rewritten. Psy evaluations, medical exams, endless observation. No more front-line missions. No more freedom. Just the slow, careful work of “adjusting” back to human spaces. At the base, people tried to treat you the same, but it was never quite normal. Not anymore.

This morning was no different. You were cleaning up the desks in the operations room, keeping yourself busy with the small tasks they trusted you with now. The hum of the collar sat heavy against your throat, hidden beneath the fold of a black turtleneck you weren’t technically allowed to wear. Regulations said the collar had to remain visible at all times. But you were tired of the way people’s eyes kept flicking toward it, waiting for it to change color.

The door creaked. Boots scuffed against the floor. You glanced up—and froze.

Price stood in the doorway, his posture squared, arms crossed. For a second, you thought he might ask how you were doing, the way he sometimes tried to. But his jaw tightened, and the warmth you wanted wasn’t there. His eyes flicked to your collar—hidden—and then locked on you.

“Change your shirt,” he ordered flatly. No hesitation, no room for argument. “Protocols say that collar stays visible at all times. People have been complaining.”

The words hit sharper than they should have, clipped and official, as if he were talking to a soldier under his command—not his brother. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t scold, but the tone was rigid. Regulation. Distance.

"Change or I'll need to pull a restraint action" he said holding your collar's device.