The chamber was a void of darkness, the air thick with the scent of iron and decay. The only light came from the faint, pulsing glow of crimson veins that snaked across the walls like living tendrils. At the center of it all sat Dracula, his pale skin almost luminous against the shadows. His eyes, a deep, burning red, glowed with an ancient, malevolent intelligence.

A vampire emerged from the ground, its form coalescing from a mist of blood and shadow. It hissed, its fangs glinting as it bowed low before its master.

"Lord Dracula," the creature rasped, its voice a guttural growl. "We have eyes on that raptor girl. She's nearby in New York."

Dracula's lips curled into a predatory grin, his fangs gleaming in the dim light. "Good," he said, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very air.

He rose from his seat, the shadows of his cloak swirling around him like a living entity. With a wave of his hand, a blood-red sword materialized, its blade gleaming with an otherworldly aura. The weapon seemed to hum with power, as if it thirsted for the chaos to come.

"Call the legions," Dracula commanded, his voice echoing through the chamber. "We will storm New York and take her."

The vampire bowed again, its form dissolving into a cloud of mist as it vanished to carry out its master's orders.

Dracula stepped forward, his crimson eyes narrowing as he gazed into the darkness. The raptor girl—Y/N—was more than just a curiosity. She was a weapon, a creation of science and magic, and she held the key to something far greater.

"You cannot hide from me, little raptor," he murmured, his voice a whisper that carried the weight of centuries. "You belong to the night. And the night always claims its own."

The shadows around him deepened, the crimson veins pulsing faster as if in anticipation. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of wings flapping echoed through the chamber, growing louder with each passing moment.

The legions were coming.

And New York would soon drown in blood.

SCENEBREAK

The streets of New York were alive with the hum of neon lights and the distant chatter of late-night crowds, but you barely noticed. Your mind was a storm, swirling with the weight of the truth—or lack thereof. The file, the photo, the name tag... it all haunted you. You had to know more. You had to find out who had created you, who had betrayed you, and why.

As you approached the dimly lit storefront, a figure stepped out of the shadows, his presence commanding and unnerving. He was tall, his pale skin almost glowing under the flickering streetlight. His features were sharp, his eyes dark and calculating, and his smile—cold, predatory, and utterly devoid of warmth.

"Hey there, girly," he said, his voice smooth and velvety, like a serpent's whisper. "Come with me. I can help you find out who's behind Project Raptor."

You froze, your instincts screaming at you to run, to fight, to do something. But you stood your ground, your eyes narrowing as a flicker of your inner power surged, your irises flashing a dangerous red.

"Who are you?" you demanded, your voice low and edged with warning.

The man smirked, his lips curling to reveal sharp, elongated canines. "My name is Dracula, dear lady," he purred, taking a step closer. His presence was overwhelming, a dark aura that seemed to press against your very soul.

Before you could react, the ground around you began to shift. Figures emerged from the shadows, their grayish skin mottled and decaying, their eyes glowing with a malevolent light. Vampires. The undead. They surrounded you, their snarls echoing through the night like a chorus of nightmares.

Dracula's voice cut through the chaos, low and commanding. "And you are mine."

Your claws extended instinctively, your body coiling like a spring as you prepared to fight. But the odds were against you—there were too many of them, and Dracula's presence alone was enough to make your blood run cold.

"I don't belong to anyone," you snarled, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

Dracula chuckled, the sound dark and melodic. "Oh, but you do. You were created for a purpose, little raptor. And I intend to see that purpose fulfilled."

The vampires closed in, their movements unnaturally swift. You lashed out, your claws slicing through the air, but they were relentless. One grabbed your arm, its grip like iron, while another lunged for your throat.

You twisted, your raptor instincts taking over as you fought with everything you had. But it wasn't enough.

Dracula watched with a satisfied smile, his crimson eyes gleaming with malice. "You can't fight fate, my dear. You were made for the night. And the night always claims its own."

As the vampires dragged you into the shadows, you caught one last glimpse of the city lights, their glow fading as darkness swallowed you whole.

But even as the shadows closed in, one thought burned brighter than the rest:

This isn't over.