Morrigan: Year 3101.

Brice stepped into "The Neon Oasis," a high-end strip club nestled in the heart of Paris' red-light district. The entrance opened to a cavernous space bathed in shifting holographic light. Dancer poles stretched from floor to ceiling, some defying gravity as performers gyrated in mid-air.

Patrons lounged on elegant couches, fixed on the show, some lost in virtual reality headsets. At the bar, a robotic mixologist crafted cocktails to the customers, pouring iridescent liquids that changed color as they hit the glass.

Across the room, a group of businessmen tossed crypto-chips at a dancer with bioluminescent skin. Her tattoos pulsed in time with the music, creating mesmerizing patterns.

In a corner booth, Brice spotted his target - a large man with cybernetic implants shimmering at his temples. He made his way through the crowd, dodging waitresses with trays of designer drugs and aphrodisiacs.

As soon as Bruno clocked Brice, he straightened up like he'd been hit with a cattle prod. "Shit," he muttered, hastily shooing away the scantily-clad women draped over him.

"Bruno," Brice called out, his voice cutting through the thumping bass. "What's the emergency? Your call sounded like someone lit you on fire."

Bruno's implants flickered nervously. "It's Raph boss," he explained. "He went full psycho here earlier. Got absolutely shitfaced and..." He leaned in, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper, "accidentally wasted a human."

"Goddamn it," Brice hissed. "Where's the stiff?"

"Staff handled it," Bruno replied. "But it cost us. Cleaned us out worse than a synth-hooker with a black market credit skimmer."

"And where's my fuckwit of a brother now?"

Bruno jerked his thumb towards the back of the club. "Private room. Blowing our last money on some dancer with more silicone than sense."

With a curt nod, Brice pushed past Bruno, shouldering his way through the pulsing throng. The music's beat hammered against his eardrums as he approached a row of curtained alcoves at the rear of the establishment. He paused, his vampiric hearing picking up the unmistakable sounds of debauchery from behind the third curtain.

Without hesitation, he ripped the flimsy barrier aside. The scene before him was a tableau of hedonistic excess. Raphael, sprawled across a neon-trimmed couch, had a vial of some iridescent substance halfway to his nose. A dancer with holographic butterfly wings tattooed across her back straddled his lap, her augmented assets defying both gravity and good taste.

"Party's over, Raph," he snarled. "We need to talk. Now."

Raph's bloodshot eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in annoyance. "Fuck off," he slurred, waving him dismissively. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?"

Brice strode forward, yanking the vial from his brother's hand and tossing it aside. The dancer yelped in protest as he lifted her off Raphael's lap and set her on her feet.

"Hey!" she squeaked. "That was a premium package!"

"Package canceled," Brice growled, fishing out a handful of euros and shoving them into her hand. "Now scram."

As the dancer huffed and stomped out, Brice turned his attention back to Raphael. His brother looked like hammered shit, clothes disheveled and reeking of alcohol and cheap perfume.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Brice said, hauling Raphael to his feet. "You killed a human? Here?"

Raphael swayed, drunk out of his mind. "What? No... I didn't... It was an accident!"

"An accident? What, did you trip and fall fang-first into some poor bastard's jugular?"

"I... I don't remember. Everything's fuzzy. There was this girl... She smelled so good..."

Brice fought the urge to slam his brother's head into the wall. "You stupid, reckless piece of shit. Do you have any idea what you've done? The risks you've taken?"

This is bad. If word got out that a vampire had killed a human in such a public place, it could unravel everything they'd worked for. The fragile balance between their kind and humanity hung by a thread, and Raphael's idiocy threatened to snap it.

He slapped Brice's hands away, nearly losing his balance in the process and fumbled for his drink, sloshing half of it down his shirt as he took a swig.

"Why the fuck do we have to hide?" Raph slurred, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "These humans... they're fucking ants compared to us. We could crush 'em without breaking a sweat."

Brice's eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. "You're not wrong about them being weaker. But you're forgetting one crucial detail."

"Yeah? What's that?" Raph challenged, swaying on his feet.

"Numbers," Brice pointed out, grabbing his brother by the collar and pulling him close. "They outnumber us a million to one. And those 'ants' have rail gun cannons and gene-tailored bioweapons that could turn us into ash faster than you can say 'hangover.'"

Raph's face twisted in confusion, the alcohol clearly hampering his ability to process the information.

"We live among them because it's our best shot at survival," he continued. "You want to see what happens when humans find out about us? Picture a witch hunt with orbital strikes and nanite swarms. So pull your head out of your ass and start thinking beyond your next fix."

He shoved Raph back onto the couch, where his brother landed with a graceless thud. "Now sober up. We've got a mess to clean up, and I'm not doing it alone."

Raph fumbled another bottle, spilling more on himself as he took another swig. "What happened to you, man?" he slurred. "Ever since you went all politician on us, it's like... like you forgot how to have fun. We used to tear this city apart, remember?"

"Is that what this is about? You're drinking yourself stupid because we don't 'hang out' anymore?"

"Maybe," Raph mumbled, his head lolling to one side.

"Grow the fuck up. It's not my problem you're stuck in a century-long adolescence. I got tired of the endless party. There's more to immortality than getting wasted and chasing tail."

"Like what?"

"Anything but doing this. To find a better purpose."

Raph snorted, his laugh turning into a hiccup. "Better purpose? You're a fucking lapdog for the rich humans. Ambassador this, politician that. What happened to our freedom?"

"Freedom? You call this freedom? Look at yourself. You're a slave to your vices. At least my 'enslavement' serves a purpose."

"Purpose?" Raph spat. "What purpose? Kissing human ass and playing nice?"

"Keeping our kind alive, you idiot," Brice growled. "While you're here getting shitfaced and risking exposure, I'm making sure we have a future."

Raph struggled to sit up straight. "Future? What future? We're immortal, remember? We don't need a fucking future."

"Immortal doesn't mean invincible, idiot," Brice retorted. "You think humans won't find a way to wipe us out if they discover us? Wake up. The world's changed. We need to adapt or die."

"Adapt? You mean become their pets? Fuck that. I'd rather go out in a blaze of glory than live on my knees."

"Is that what you call passing out in a strip club after killing an innocent person? Real heroic, bro."

"At least I'm not pretending to be something I'm not. You strut around in your fancy suits, playing human. It's insulting."

"You think I enjoy playing nice with these humans? Kissing ass in the EU Federation building? I'm doing it for us, for our kind. While you're here pissing away your potential."

"I'm not pissing away my potential."

"And what do you call it?"

Raph sighed and waved his hand. "I doesn't matter. You wouldn't understand."

Brice leaned in. "A hundred years of this shit is enough. Do something with your life for crying out loud. Find a purpose beyond the next high. Because this?" He gestured at the surroundings. "This leads nowhere good. And I won't always be around to clean up your messes."

Raph stared at his brother, a flicker of something—realization, maybe even shame—passing across his face before being swallowed by the haze of intoxication. "You know, father was right about you," he said. "You're a freaking good liar. A pretender. That's why he always used you to sell his meth."

Brice's anger flared, his blue eyes glowed as he gripped Raph's throat and lifted him off the ground. "Don't you ever mention that waste of space again," he snarled, fangs bared. "That drug-addled drunk was never a father to us. He cared more about his next fix than his own flesh and blood. He was the reason why our mother died of drug overdose. He is a worthless piece of shit who deserved his fate. And I hope he burns in hell like a pathetic person that he is!"

With a contemptuous flick of his wrist, he hurled Raph to the floor. His brother crashed into a nearby table, sending glasses shattering across the ground. Brice loomed over him, finger jabbing. "You're just like him, you know that? Another fucking addict. You'll end up just like dear old dad - dead in a gutter with nothing to your name."

Raph staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his split lip. "Don't you dare insult our father," he spat.

"Insult him? There's nothing left to insult. The man was a walking insult to himself."

"You're the insult," he shot back, swaying on his feet. "Prancing around in human clothes, playing their games. You've forgotten what it means to be a true vampire. We're hunters, not fucking diplomats."

"Wake up, idiot," Brice growled. "Times have changed. The old ways are dead. You want to be a 'true vampire'? Fine. Go ahead and hunt. See how long you last before they vaporize you with a rail gun."

"You know what...fuck you!"

Brice felt a surge of frustration and disappointment. His brother's words stung, not because they were true, but because they revealed how little Raph understood. He wasn't playing human for fun - he was securing their survival. The old ways Raph clung to were a death sentence in this new world. But explaining that to a drunk, stubborn vampire seemed impossible. Part of Brice wanted to shake some sense into his brother, while another part just wanted to walk away and let him face the consequences of his actions. But he couldn't abandon his family, no matter how infuriating they might be. Raph is all the family he's got.

"Vampires will rule this world someday. But not through brute force," Brice said. "We play the long game. Every human we kill now is one less servant, one less resource for the future. A kingdom without servants is no kingdom at all. Your little stunt tonight? It doesn't just risk your pathetic existence. It risks everything we've worked for. Including mine."

"You sound just like Lucien. All talk about the 'greater good' while we hide in the shadows."

"Because Lucien understands what you can't seem to grasp," Brice retorted. "Power isn't about who can kill the most humans. It's about control. Influence. We're playing chess while you're still trying to flip the board."

Raph's inability to see the bigger picture grated on him. Brice knew the comparison to Lucien was meant as an insult, but he took it as a compliment. Lucien understood the need for subtlety and strategy in this new world.

"You know what..." Raph's mind trailed for a while before he sighed. "Nevermind. What's the point?"

Brice raised his brow. "Get yourself fixed and let's get out of here before you cause more trouble."

"Fine."

As they emerged from the private room, Bruno materialized beside them, his massive frame blocking their path. "Everything cool, boss?" he rumbled, eyeing Raph warily.

Brice nodded. "It will be. Make sure every synthetic camera in this shithole has a convenient malfunction for the last few hours. And anyone who saw anything unusual tonight suddenly developed a case of fucking amnesia. Got it?"

"Consider it done. What about the staff who disposed of the... evidence?"

"Pay them off," he ordered. "Double whatever you promised. Triple it if you have to. I want this buried deeper than last century's nuclear waste."

"What if they ask for more?"

"Whip up an NDA contract from your AI and have them sign it. If they so much violate that contract, I'll personally deal with them in a permanent manner."

"Got it, boss."

As Bruno lumbered off to handle damage control, Brice steered his stumbling brother towards the exit. The pounding music and swirling lights of the club faded behind them as they stepped out into the drenched streets of the red-light district.

Brice shoved Raphael into the back of his waiting hover-limo, climbing in after him. As the vehicle lifted off, merging into the aerial traffic lanes, Brice fixed his brother with a withering glare.

"You and I are going to have a long, unpleasant conversation when you're sober," he said. "And then you're going to fix this fucking mess you've made. Understood?"

Raph, already half-passed out across the plush seats, managed a weak nod before succumbing to his drunken stupor.

Brice leaned back, massaging his temples. It was going to be a long night, and an even longer century if they couldn't keep their kind's existence under wraps.