Chapter Text
As a blood-bag, Taehyung's job options were quite limited, to say the least.
Blood-bags didn't really have a chance at most jobs for the simple reason that any vampire could easily outperform them. Vampires were stronger, they were smarter, they didn't get exhausted by physical labour, would breeze through tasks with efficiency as well as grace. Unlike blood-bags, who'd need breaks every few hours, who needed to drink and eat and sleep like animals, like the lesser beings they were. Why offer a job to a blood-bag, an inferior creature, when vampires could get the same job done in half the time? The job market, flooded with blood-thirsty competition, wasn’t a battlefield—it was a massacre. Blood bags like Taehyung didn’t even make it onto the starting line.
However, as is the case in any situation where inferior beings are stripped of their rights, their work and their crumbling self-respect, they get desperate. And so vampires, loving and helpful and benevolent beings that they are, had made sure to create work that only a blood-bag could perform. Work that needs to be done. Work that no vampire with any morsel of self-love would ever entertain of doing themselves. Menial tasks. Necessary tasks. Tasks left for the scum. Blood-bags didn't dare complain about the work. Desperation thrives where dignity has been stripped away.
And so, blood-bags have the choice between three varying career paths—each more degrading, more humbling than the other.
The first, and most popular, choice of career, would be that of a harlot, a lady of the night, a lonely vampire's best friend, a hooker. It was a popular career path in the dwindling blood-bag community. It didn't pay much, of course, since the job tended to only really attract the clientele that was too poor to find a vampire sex worker elsewhere, maybe in a nice brothel or a tastefully decorated club, vampires with no real social standing or monetary value to their name. These vampires had no social standing, no value beyond the cheap indulgence they sought in the dim, shadowy corners of the city. They were desperate, hungry for a taste, and more often than not, the blood-bags who fell into this profession were treated like little more than disposable objects—a commodity to be used and discarded.
It was the kind of work that didn’t come with pride or prestige but at least kept starvation at bay. It did get their bills paid and their food on the table, plus Taehyung had heard that it could make a pretty penny if done right. Which meant, if you let them bite. Vampires were willing to pay quite a lot to experience drinking fresh blood from a blood-bag, not the packaged thing they would be sold at the next grocery shop, but real warm blood right from its source. For the right price, a blood-bag could offer not just their body, but their veins as well. Taehyung had also heard of many blood-bags dying during such an act as their clientele simply drank them empty, leaving behind nothing but a husk, a shell, and discarding them in ditches like crumbled soda cans. It was a career with perilous stakes—a gamble where losing meant losing everything.
The second career path was far more lucrative than becoming a sex worker, but far more dangerous. This was the option to become cattle. The blood industry was an ever-present and ever-evolving presence, vampires needed their blood to stay alive and only blood-bags were able to sustain them in that way. Of course, over the years, alternatives to blood-bags blood have been invented to counteract the fact that the blood-bag community was dwindling starkly each year and would most probably be wiped out completely by the end of the century. These vegan alternatives, though able to sustain vampires, didn't have that fresh taste of euphoric bliss only real blood could give a vampire, though, which meant most of them steered clear of those options. Becoming cattle paid a lot. Some of those fancy, organic and fair-trade places would pay blood-bags almost as much as they'd pay a minimum-wage vampire working at a local 7/11. One of those checks contained more money than Taehyung had ever held in his hands.
But, of course, there was a catch.
Giving up litres upon litres of your blood each week wasn't exactly sustainable in the long run. Their fragile bodies weren't built to endure that kind of constant drain, no matter how well-fed or well-hydrated you kept yourself. The physical toll was devastating. The paychecks were huge, yes, but so was the cost.
Most cattle blood-bags didn't make it to their thirtieth birthday.
Which then only left the third career path for your run-of-the-mill blood-bag—thievery. A job that had fluctuating payment, depending on skill level, clientele and general courage. Vampires had senses far sharper than any blood-bags. They could feel fingers gracing their purses, could smell the sweet aroma of fresh blood, could hear their pockets rustling as fingers greedily snaked their way inside. Outwitting them required near-superhuman precision, cunning, and a fair bit of luck.
A single night of successful pickpocketing or burglary could put more coins in your pocket than weeks of slogging through other menial blood-bag jobs. But the risks? They were sky-high. Vampires didn’t take kindly to thieves, and punishment was swift. It was a hard job to master and, though the pay could be quite lucrative, being caught usually meant getting thrown in jail, where they would quickly pump you dry of all your blood and use you as an involuntary cattle worker without paying you a singular penny. The not-so-organic and fair-trade places would sell prisoners' blood for an affordable price to the average vampire.
Each career path was dangerous and most likely ended with you getting drained by a vampire and left to die. Whether that was inside a car during the darkest hour of the night in some shady alleyway, in one of those new organic blood farms, or inside a shabby prison didn't matter too much—the result would always remain the same. As a blood bag, he wasn't simply on the bottom of the food list—he was on the damn menu. Blood-bags were meant to be killed one way or another. For blood-bags, getting murdered wasn’t a question of if but when. The only choice left was how fast you wanted it to come. It was a simple question of picking one's poison, really. Would you rather spread your legs to get murdered, offering your neck to a vampire? Would you prefer halving your life expectancy in a cosy little farm? Or do you crave the quick and humble death of a prisoner behind bars?
Either way, they would feast on you. Suckling on your fruit punch lips, sinking sharp fangs into cherry wine veins, clawing at milk and vanilla skin. A blood-bag was created to die. To be graciously consumed. To be eaten alive. To be put out of its fucking misery.
In the end, all they could do was pray for a merciful killing.
Taehyung had picked his poison a long time ago.
His fingers gripping the crisp 10,000 Won bill in his right fist he ducked his head, marching ahead swiftly. Taehyung stuffed the money into his pocket, hand coming up to tug his dirty cap down just a little bit further, casting more shadow over his face. He was rather certain the vampire wouldn't notice the bill missing from his bag but he'd rather be safe than end up a hollowed-out juice bag, so he forced his legs to keep moving, to weasel his way through the crowd of vampires around him.
There was a Christmas market of some kind in the city centre, which meant Seoul was even more busy than usual. The streets pulsed with life, bustling crowds weaving through narrow stalls packed with festive trinkets and handmade crafts. Somewhere in the distance, a faint melody played—a cheerful holiday tune barely audible over the chatter of vendors and the rhythmic clatter of footsteps on the icy pavement. Neon lights flickered above, the smell of sizzling street food mingling with the cold bite of winter air. His stomach growled noisily as the scent of freshly made dumplings invaded his senses for a second.
Vampires didn’t need food—not like blood-bags did. No vampire would starve to death if they skipped a meal. Their survival wasn’t tethered to sustenance the way his was, but they ate anyway. Lavishly, decadently, endlessly. They feasted not out of necessity, but simply because they could. It was their indulgence, their pleasure, their privilege. They dined like kings—because, in their world, they were. Every meal, every bite, was a display of their dominance, a reminder of their superiority, a stark contrast to the desperate scraps that blood-bags like him would kill for.
Taehyung kept his gaze steadily fixed on the pavement underneath his naked feet, sniffling as the ice-cold air bit along his sharp cheekbones and the deep eye bags marring his pallid skin. His feet had long stopped biting from the cold, which probably wasn't a very good sign, but Taehyung simply couldn't be bothered to care. They weren't hurting. That had to count for something. Right?
Ducking underneath a festive yellow star hanging from a tree, Taehyung hurried to the left and down the main shopping street. Vampires were walking down the street unhurriedly, pale faces illuminated by the festive decorations hanging from store windows and tall lamps. It was probably a little bit past midnight, which meant the usual bustle of Seoul's crowded city centre was at its peak. With the winter nights getting longer and longer, vampires were free to roam the city far longer than Taehyung would be comfortable with. The longer they prowled, the more dangerous his world became. But he couldn't complain all that much. At least it meant more potential victims to his greedy fingers sneakily weaving in and out of purses, taking bills and coins, occasionally even a card or two, his hands steady, his eyes sharp, scanning for the next mark, the next chance to survive.
Taehyung easily sidestepped the crowds, frost-bitten feet threading the pavement with an ease that only a local could possess. Someone who'd run up and down these same roads a million times before, no matter the weather or time. Taehyung knew all of the little alleyways, the dark tunnels and hidden paths intimately. The streets were second nature to him, their twists and turns etched into his memory as deeply as the lines in his palms. He didn't need to look up to know where the busy street was leading him, to know when to turn right, when to duck underneath yet another flashy Christmas decoration.
Taking a shuddering breath Taehyung crossed his arms in front of his shivering chest, his thin coat barely thick enough to fight the sharp bite of the winter air. The coat was hardly enough. It hung loose on his gaunt frame, worn thin with time, but it was still better than nothing. It was new, too. Well—it was new to him. He'd gotten it about a month ago when yet another dead blood-bag had been left just outside one of the popular Seoul clubs to rot. Taehyung had been in the vicinity when he'd heard two other blood-bags arguing about who would get what. It was sheer luck that neither of the boys had seen him coming, too preoccupied with hissing insults at each other and fighting like stray cats.
Taehyung had made quick work of stripping the green jacket from the lifeless body, some blood staining the neck area but otherwise perfectly functioning. He'd glanced at the body quickly, making sure it wasn't someone he knew, then disappeared into the night, his new prize clutched tightly to his chest. He had not sparred a second glance at the young man.
Maybe he'd been yet another casualty born from one of those illegal blood farms that seemed to gain traction in the city. Their M.O. was drugging blood-bags and keeping them tied up in cellars, only keeping them alive for their blood. Life was nothing more than a flickering flame kept barely alive, just enough to replenish what was taken. Rumours had been swirling in the streets for a few months at that point. Stories of high-ranking vampires keeping blood-bags for themselves like their personal pets. Drinking from them as they pleased and killing them once their upkeep became too bothersome, their bodies too weak to produce any more blood. Not that anyone would care or even look for their bodies. They were just blood-bags after all. Taehyung had heard those whispers too, the horrifying tales of indulgence and cruelty from creatures who saw mortality as a resource, not a life. He didn't dwell on them. Couldn't dwell on them.
Whatever had happened to the young man, Taehyung frankly couldn't afford to care.
Blood-bags dropped like flies in these streets, it would be too mentally taxing to mourn each and every one. The grief would be fatally all-consuming, never-ending. It would snake around your throat and squeeze, suck you dry quicker than one of the vampires. Grief was a rare commodity and Taehyung wasn't willing to pay its price.
If you wanted to survive, you could not allow yourself to mourn. Once you started, there would be no end. Taehyung wasn't even certain if he'd be allowed to mourn. He wasn't innocent. These streets were all coated in red, the money dripping crimson, each hand coloured a pale burgundy—including his very own, currently clutching a stranger's bill. No one was innocent. Not the predators leaving bodies in alleys to rot, not the prey, fighting over who would get to lick the bones. It was better not to feel, not to grieve.
Sighing to himself Taehyung took a sharp left turn, the street fizzling out into a less crowded alley. The air here was colder, sharper, free from the insulating warmth of bodies packed together. His stomach growled, gnawing at him with a hunger that made his legs feel hollow. A short gasp escaped him as his knees wobbled underneath his weight. Gritting his teeth Taehyung swallowed down thick saliva and forced his feet to keep going. He did want to get something to eat with the money he'd successfully stolen as soon as possible, but first, he would have to check in with Yin.
Yin and Taehyung had met about two years ago on a chance encounter in one of the many shady alleyways. They were both blood-bags, they were both thieves, they were both alone. And it was much easier to be alone together. They'd decided to have a kind of routine, a fragile partnership born from necessity, where one of them would stay back with their belongings, making sure no greedy fingers could steal what was rightfully theirs, while the other one went out to hunt. They switched every few hours. It was a good system. It allowed them the peace of mind of knowing that their stuff was looked after, and whichever one of them would survive longer could have all of the other one's belongings. Whoever got killed first—whether drained dry, caught, or simply unable to keep going—the survivor would take whatever was left behind. It was practical. Efficient. It was nice, even.
And it was necessary.
With the dwindling supply of blood-bags, vampires had become more feral, more dangerous than ever before. They would lash out at blood-bags, emptying them like soju bottles, tossing them like trash, just for the thrill of it. Or blood-bags would get kidnapped and put into blood farms, illegal ones that didn't necessarily care about your life as long as you bled. Maybe, together, Yin and Taehyung would stand more of a chance against vampires who had it out for them. Two sets of eyes, two pairs of hands, and a shared will to survive made it just a little harder for the predators to take them by surprise. Or, maybe, Taehyung mused, when the time comes, he would at least be quicker than Yin.
Taehyung had spent the first seventeen years of his life pretty much on his own. He'd been born with a genetic mistake. A failure in his very body. Taehyung wasn't a vampire. He'd been born with plump red cheeks, blood coursing through his veins, cloying and sweet, lungs drawing in hasty breaths, heart beating inside a small ribcage, voice screaming for milk. Like an animal. Of course, his parents had swiftly given him away, putting him in one of the few blood-bag orphanages around Seoul. A place reserved for children like him, born broken.
Taehyung spent his formative years there, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and the constant hum of machinery, the distant cries of other children echoing through the sterile halls. The staff weren’t unkind, but their care was detached, clinical, as though tending to livestock rather than children. Taehyung had stayed there up to his fourteenth birthday—that's when he'd been given the choice of either moving out or working inside a blood farm. Taehyung had decided to take a chance. It wasn’t much of a plan—just a desperate gamble for survival—but it was better than the alternative. Three years later he'd met Yin and his solitary existence had become only a morsel less alone.
Taehyung turned to the left, hopping down a few stairs leading down to an abandoned parking garage. The air grew heavier as he descended, a faint musty smell clinging to the concrete walls. As soon as he entered the grey building, his shivering lessened ever so slightly. The tall walls all around him didn't necessarily keep out the chill, but they did help shield his body against the wind. Rubbing his hands together, fingers numb from the cold, Taehyung dragged his feet over the concrete sluggishly, legs getting more unsteady with each step. The echo of his dragging footsteps bounced off the walls, amplifying the emptiness of the cavernous space.
"Yin, I'm back," Taehyung called out, his voice echoing through the big building. Groaning as sharp pain inside his empty stomach erupted, Taehyung continued walking, face contorted into a mask of agony, one hand clutching his grumbling middle. Taehyung hadn't had anything to eat for at least two nights at that point, and the hunger was beginning to hurt. He'd actually hoped to get enough money today to buy himself a pair of new shoes—his old ones had been stolen when he'd bathed in the river—but Taehyung was rather certain that he wouldn't even make it to the next night if he didn't get something to eat quickly.
"Yin?" Taehyung turned around one wall, marching towards the corner where they oftentimes sat. Each step he took seemed to echo in the vast emptiness of the garage, his breath misting in the cold air. The dim light filtering through cracks in the walls painted long, jagged streaks on the concrete. He trudged toward the far end of the garage, where they usually huddled together for warmth during cold and long winter nights.
"Dude, the wind is brutal out there," Taehyung moaned, rubbing both his arms through his jacket, trying to warm himself up as best as he possibly could. "If I were you, I'd get out as soon as possible if you're planning on stealing anything tonight. The temperature will only continue to drop."
Finally, Taehyung looked up, the edge of Yin's blanket in his field of vision. Yin was lying underneath the red linen, body curled together tightly, eyes closed and mouth standing open. Rolling his eyes Taehyung poked the slightly older man with his toes, scoffing lightly. Yin didn't budge. Taehyung kicked him a little harder, eyebrows pinched in a sour expression, arms crossed in front of a shaking chest. "You know, I'm cool with you sleeping while I'm gone, but how are you supposed to protect our stuff, when you're literally-"
Yin's head lolled to the side unceremoniously.
The angry red fang marks on his neck were still trickling blood down his throat. The red was stark against Yin’s pale skin, and for a moment, Taehyung’s mind refused to register the horror in front of him. The silence of the garage pressed down like a weight, and a shuddering breath escaped Taehyung’s lips. His knees felt weak, his pulse hammering in his ears as he stared at the lifeless figure, the crimson stains spreading like a slow, ominous bloom. Yin was dead. Alright. No problem. Taehyung could fend for himself. He survived the first seventeen years all on his own, he could do it again. That wasn't the issue.
The issue was that the blood hadn't dried yet.
Which meant that whoever had killed Yin couldn't be that far away.
Taehyung's breath stuttered in his throat. His foot slammed back down onto the concrete floor, his breathing sharp and eyes glossy. Fear spread from the very tips of his fingers down his spine, cold like a wet tongue circling each brittle vertebra on its way down. A quiet gasp escaped his dry lips before he finally got his body to cooperate, to function. Shivering like a half-drowned dog, Taehyung turned on his heels, pallid face a sickly waxy shade of green, fingers boring into his too-thin jacket.
The vampire standing in front of him had a nice smile.
He stood a bit taller than Taehyung, though only by an inch or two, his red hair arranged neatly into a stylish middle part. His eyes were brown, comforting, though utterly lifeless, like those of a particularly meticulously created porcelain doll. A red tongue peeked out of pink lips, the tip still coated in crimson, in Yin. He snapped his tongue against the backside of his teeth, the clicking sound startling Taehyung enough to let out a meek yelp. Grinning broadly the man tilted his head to the left, curiosity gleaming in those slitted eyes. Like a cat deciding whether to toy with its prey or end things swiftly.
"Well, hello there." Even his voice was a nice even cadence, harmonious and rich, sweet like the scent of a Venus trap luring in its prey. Taehyung couldn't move. His body stood frozen, like a deer caught in headlights. Taehyung wanted to move, to run, to scream, but he simply couldn't. He was paralyzed, his body stiff and unyielding, caught in some primal trap his mind couldn’t override. His limbs didn't want to cooperate. They stood perfectly still. Waiting for the other one to strike. Completely useless. Weak. Like the prey he was.
The vampire kept grinning at Taehyung. Taehyung did not get his body to move, to flee from the creature towering over him. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, and his heart thundered so violently it almost drowned out the silence. Almost. The only thing he could do was slowly open his new jacket and tug his arms free from its warm confines. Taehyung let the fabric drop down behind him, crumbling next to Yin's lifeless body. Hopefully, someone else would find their stuff and get some use out of it.
Taehyung closed his eyes with a shuddering sigh, shoulders drooping as he bit down on his lower lip. Knowing that this moment would come had not made it any easier to accept, apparently. It was the unspoken truth that had shadowed him every day of his life, the inevitability etched into the marrow of his bones. He would get killed. Ruthlessly. There would be no funeral, no mournful eulogies spoken in his honour. No one would cry for him, or even notice he was gone. His lifeless body would be discarded like trash, tossed aside as though his existence had been nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience. No legacy, no remembrance—just silence and oblivion, thrown away like a discarded napkin. That was his place, his purpose: to be consumed, used, and ultimately forgotten. Not that he had any kind of choice in the matter.
He was just a blood-bag, after all.
A blood-bag was created to die.
In the end, all they could do was pray for a merciful killing.