Michael Morbius

The Living Vampire

Behind Blue Eyes
Lips pursed, he leaned his own fist against his sharp jawline. With power came responsibility, but was it worth having? Not just the power in itself, but the responsibility? Could or would he use it to make the world a better place or would it be used simply for selfish reasons? Would the attempt at making things better really be deemed selfish? Everything became warped and jaded so easily. Would questioning this all even matter now? He had succumbed to it all, just in the attempt at performing his own scientific study. He had to know if he was right, if things were really playing out as they had seemed to be. Was he really controlling people with his own mere words?

Hell bound. That seemed to be the equivalent of what was going on here. There was something stagnent about the air. The deep seeded scent of cigarettes and perfumes intermingling with the scent of body odor and backsides that needed to be wiped clean an extra time. All of this almost smothered him, if he hadn't already been feeling such a way. A bad case of dry mouth, leaving Michael with the sense of moth balls covering his mouth and throat. There had been no special pillow, just a flat bed, that turned out not to be a bed. Turning on his back, he glared at the roof of the car. His body stiff, feeling the effects of sleeping in what might as well have been a tuna can. A pain shot through his head as he tried to sit up. A pounding that had came on out of nowhere, images rushing through as it happened. Even though the pain he realized he needed to get out of there. No one else was in the cab. Sitting up, he looked around to get a good view of his surroundings, but still nothing. The doors were even locked from the inside.

Pain and the barrage of images, memories hit him and caused his speed to drop, even leave him tumbling in the air for a few seconds before he realized what had happened. One word hitting him harder than the rest. One pair of bright red orbs staring at himself through the darkness, resonating through his own soul. Morbius.

Capture Every Moment You Can
The moment that his mother's own trained eye had looked away, he bent down to put his cup on the ground. Tugging off his mittens and the little dark hat that had been covering his head, the little boy giggled. The feeling of the wind blowing through his dark hair and tickling those spaces between his fingers. There was no better feeling in the world. Eyes closed for a moment, he soaked in the sun, smiling at his own luck. He wanted to experience everything, see, and touch it all. Little feet made the move to run but nothing would move as fast as he needed. More specifically due to the fact that he hadn't realize his mother sneak up on him. Hands slipped under the boy's arms and lifted him up. Rather than be bothered or startled by this action, he felt like he was flying. Sure, he wasn't moving by his own volition, but he was being pulled up into the air and off his feet. There hadn't been a better feeling in the world. One that he never wanted to end.

Fears Made Real
One misunderstanding would leave him faltered. Confusion would grab hold of him and send him back to the shadows. Highlights of the evening would be kept, as if to cherish a memory that he felt would be just that. Things were set in motion, lives would change, and that much he understood. Taking his own quiet exit, an apple held tightly in his hand to his chest, he smiled to himself. One that would no longer be seen tonight. It would leave his cheeks in minor pain, as if it hadn't happened in so long.

Only Way Out
"Monster doesn't mean killer. Monster doesn't mean maniac. Monster doesn't mean destruction." Shaking his head, his hands drops to his knees, as he laughed. "It means all of those things and more. Worse things. Why else would people hate and fear them?"

Locking the door behind him, he put the ice chest on the kitchen counter. Opening it up, a single blood pack was pulled out, as he stared at it all in awe. Fingers running over it, as if it were some sort of blessing. The chest was closed and promptly put into his refrigerator, as if it were just some regular lunch. Nothing special, after all, except with how he stared at it. The lingering gaze, as he felt the fluid move between his fingers. He wished it were warm, still pumping. It caused a certain hunger in him, a burning in the back of his throat that couldn't be quenched. As if his body were decaying there without it. A want to bath in it, to close his eyes and imagine the shattering of bones and airways. To have it spilled all over the streets.

Life Passing You By
The last thing that Michael should be doing is using himself as a source of experimentation. It was a given. It changed results and how else were you supposed to keep a clear head over it all? But all of that had gone out the window a long time ago. He needed tot know what to do. Needed to know what it was he was doing. Getting up from his place, he slammed the papers down, only to end up pacing. Eyes catching something outside, he moved towards the window. The flicker of light and warmth that came with the sun landed on his skin. It didn't burn, it didn't change anything. He was who he was. Alive and well. Maybe this was part of the living vampire. Maybe there was more to it than data.

Your Fault
Body heat signatures everywhere, hearts pumping. His head hurt still, more coming through. More things happening. He felt neurotic again. Fears coming to life. No, it wasn't him. It was the other. Could he just shut up? This was confusing enough. The noises, the people, his heightened senses.

Finally, a slow recognition came to, and Michael sat only to practically melt into the chair. A hand over his mouth. The fangs were gone, but there he was, changed. He couldn't even be so much effected by the fact that the moment had the potential to be just that embarrassing. It was the fact that he had changed. Those physical traits he had been afraid of. It left people to know what sort of monster he was. Outted in public view. Deflated, he looked at the number of views.

Fix the Problem
People would be tested on. Unknowing subjects without their own approval, except some, he did speak to. It didn't matter though, he would make them forget. There would be no memory of him or what he did. This wasn't for him, yet it was. He needed to save himself from this fate of being such a monster, even though he was using those that had the worst case prognosis to test his work on. If he could have used himself, he would have. But that wouldn't help anyone. He had done that before, done it at a point that caused him to create this living vampire that he was. All done by science and not the supernatural. He was a freak among freaks. Regardless of what he did, what he was doing, he needed redemption. The most difficult dish to gain on the table. The one that was always just out of reach.

Take it All Away
He could try. He would try. Failure was imminent, but the attempt would be true. As his grip on the knife relaxed, so did her composure. The hunger still in her eyes as she wanted a bite of flesh. Not his though, it wasn't what she craved. He wasn't right there, not for anyone. Moving for where he stored the blood bags, he wondered if it would help. It was hard enough to come by now, anyway, with all that had been going on. Donations were needed. People needed these. More than ever. But he could share, if she could handle it. The door still on his mind, even as she moved to fix it. Something else that would need to be fixed. A list piling, growing without other causes than himself. A forgotten solider lost in the sight of war. People dying and lying ill for no other reason than infestation. This was his life, his distraction.

Haunted Desires
But he could make himself promises, vows to keep true. That no more people would be dying because of him. That regardless of helping and doing what he could to try and fix everything, his own mistakes and attempts to live beyond being manipulated or used, he could work beyond it. There was more to this entire life than that. Friends were a want, not a necessity. And friends didn't mean for much unless they were good ones. The kind that cared about more than what they could gain out of you. That cared when you disappeared and wanted to actually be there for you. That could accept you for who and what you were without picking at each and every fault or setting out to hurt you. Those that would honestly believe you and you could trust fully with more than your life. Your fears, hopes, dreams, and faults. To be yourself in front of without worry.

Crimson Eyes
Knocking everything on the counter top over, he pulled the door open and stomped right out of the bathroom. He wanted no view of his own reflection. This was a bad dream. That was what he was going to think, in order to get through this day. If you didn't see it, how was it real? He had food to prepare and enjoy. To hell with this day and any to come.

Should & Shouldn't
And days before that. Staring out of the window, he felt like a force to be reckoned with. Not because no one could stop him, of that he was far from believing. If anything, he was more likely to believe that many could. It wouldn't take too much, he had to do too many specific things to make things go his way. Manipulation and logic to serve his own path. But the real problem was, just what he could do to make anyone's life difficult. What could happen in a moment of weakness. He needed to stop that from happening. He needed to keep people safe from him and all that he was locked into here.

Remembering Brownsville
His skin and shirt were still burning, smoke whirling about him. Too fresh, still fresh. He needed to get out of there before they realized he wasn't dead. Too much attention was already caught onto him as it were. Sticking up for a mother over her son. A mother that didn't want her son doing anything for some drug pusher. He had been too cocky over it, haven't had any blood. Days. That itch, it ate at him, even now. Everyone kept thinking he was a good man. How they really didn't know him. Why did everyone just expect good? He punched a guy nearly twice his size, in the face. Try to talk sense into him. The shot to his chest, it hurt. It had hurt like hell. Clear through. Ran, so that he didn't try to rip out their throats.

Dust to Dust
Life took its own progression as his eyes moved about the room. There she was, real, blinking, as it to wake from a dream. She wasn't supposed to be here. He had been trying to save her. She wasn't to be saved, there was no saving her. She wasn't special, she wasn't different, she was an abuser. Not some innocent blood dripping from his hands. A look of fear in her eyes, words were about to be processed in a way that Michael Morgan wasn't able to actually gain out of her. With his own speed, Morbius pulled himself from his own bed. He didn't want to hear it, didn't want to hear all those lies that would fall past her lips. A deep snarl fell from his own, as he kicked a wooden chair, only to zip across the room and slam it into her chest.

To Take Control
Everything was set up for him, all he had to do was to go. To be that man that he knew he was. To not worry about every little thing. It wasn't that he didn't have a right or a good reason to do so. Far from it. If anyone understood this, it was Morbius. He was the living vampire, after all. A title that didn't just come easily. He had sadly worked for it, killed for it, and all while it having been an accident of the worst kind. The sort that he would never wish upon anyone. But in a way, he felt they both deserved this, while they could still have it. Normalcy. Short-lived or not, it was worth the shot. To have something to hope for, to strive for, that wasn't about anyone else. This was their attempt, or would be. Rather than to sit around having to talk to strangers, people that one side or another knew. To argue with and find no end in sight. Some form of happiness, it was earned. And if not that, to at least be able to have people to care for. Someone outside of himself. Outside of responsibilities and to be more than this. It had been done before. But this was a chance for now. This was his chance for now.

Wash Out
Air rushing against him, pushing him, but not up, no. His entire body was falling straight down like a sake of potatoes tossed over the side. Closing his eyes, he tried not to make some wrong movement. As if that would help whatever pain that was about to shoot through him. The fall hadn't knocked him out, but it didn't leave him the most lucid. There he was, choking on his own blood. limbs moving and twitching on their own. Broken parts in need of being reset and righting themselves. Red eyes stared up into the night, only to come to realize that it wasn't the night. He had closed his eyes. That's why everything was so black. "Michael?" He didn't have the words. He didn't have anything. Why was his face moving now? "Michael! Michael! Open your eyes!"

Not a Victim
Blood trickled down the bodies that slowly began to not get up from the ground. No loud commotion was made, just a fight late at night between strangers. All within the confines of an empty park, nearly in an empty alleyway. Nothing was stopping either side, nothing until the last man was down. Pain in his side was still healing as he tried to stand straighter. Lucky shot with a knife right there in his abdomen. Hand squeezed at the wound, waiting on it to seal up. Breathing roughly, Michael looked around before looking down at himself. He was going to need a new coat, new shirt. The blood going and soaking right through it all.

There's a Reason
He didn't like that. Being told his eyes suited him. It bothered him, but laughed. It had been coming more regularly, more at ease. Had he been becoming so used to all of this? Would that even matter if he were? Would that make him any less a threat to people out there? Would it stop that lack of desire to actually get out, to do something more than be alone all of the time? To do more than make subtle attempts at talking to random people and then stop altogether due to failure? To be tired of everyone that bothered so much with the idea that he was protecting them? Just because the box appeared nice on the outside, maybe it wasn't what it appeared. Maybe, what he really wanted was to protect himself. To keep his own conscience clear after everything that had happened to him. Everything that no one was allowed to know. About all he had done to help reek havoc on the city. About the deaths he had caused, regardless of remembering or knowing, or whatever reasoning was on paper.

To Fear
The weak were not to inherit the Earth. If he could only begin changing people too. A difference in prerogative. This left a new life to be had. It just wasn't about to happen today. Finishing up, he pulled away, only to look down on the dying body that barely even had it within her to fidget with the gaping hole in her throat. There was part of him that cried internally, as he saw the body of his own mother. Her pale blue eyes staring at him. Lying there as if she were some willing offering that he had never asked for or wanted. Instead, she was just the sort of person to end up there for him. This just wasn't the way he had ever wanted. Moving from her body, as if it were nothing that actually mattered. Wiping the blood from his chin, prepared to find bigger game than this.

Scribbled Notes
Whether anyone wanted to admit it or not, here he was, an instrument of death. All the while, he only wanted to bring life to the world. To give others more time. To give himself more time. No one understood it and no one really wanted to. They only stated things, as if they did. But when it came to him going to them, it was all a sham. A wall of lies that didn't matter. Reasons why people were not dependable. Science was who stood strong, where others went by feelings. Intelligence surmised to nothing more than a simple compliment that only held meaning to the one gaining it rather than the user. Manipulation tactic to be thrown about and taken away. Indian giving.

If Crazy Equals Genius
Memories from these past weeks, of himself and not so much. Of that other side of him that came out for those special weeks. The fact that he actually had a woman in his home. A familiar face, that he had literally lifted up and threw out of his own doors. Outside, to let drop to the ground. Yes, he was on the top floor of what was more of a penthouse suite than anything, but the fall. To throw someone outside like that? Even in his own quickness, that speed to rush himself off to the edge and jump down too. To position himself in a way to get to her quicker, to not allow anyone to see it, before he grabbed her up and moved before people caught sight of them. Only having dipped down just enough, to gain a better wind as if it were needed. Something about the ability to glide, as he kept her held tight in his own arms. Her own panic that could practically be smelled, the exhilaration from her own heartbeat and blood pounding in her ears.

To Better Days
Stranger things, there was a delivery at the door yesterday. The afternoon. Nothing he was expecting, not even blood packs. There was no scent on the box, nothing to pick up from it. There was an added anxiety and borderline fear of what was to come. The preparation to fight, given what knowledge he held over what had previously happened. The means in which everything had been corrupted and shifted in weeks to months, to closing in on a year now. A few short months shy of it. He swallowed at the thought, even though his memory was sound. A comment that he hadn't forgotten from February. All because of a photo where he wrote his notes on his body rather than on paper. He ran out of paper and didn't want to lose his train of thought. Formulas necessary for what his next new theory held and he just wanted to continue on with it. These were normalacies in his life. The things that he did on a regular basis.

Time Ticking Away
The tiger in front of him, staring, watchful. He had provoked it by being in its territory, and he was hoping for it. Breaking into the zoo and getting into this little place was nothing. But he needed this, there was a craving. No one would die, but he wasn't going to be lying on the ground crying because someone was taking bites out of his stomach. No, he was going all in for this, as he called out. "Come on!" Waving the damn animal on to come for him. A sound came from it, that he wasn't expecting, but it had him smiling. His own speed would allow him to move before it pounced its full weight onto him. But little good with that do when he knew, when that's what he wanted. It was simply on his own terms. Waiting for it to try again in its own anger, he laughed again, as that weight hit him dead in the chest, his own strength shifting everything as he may as well have appeared to be playing with a large cat. All before it was flung off of him. "We'll just never let PETA know about this."


Honest and Direct
Strong-willed and Dutiful
Very Responsible
Calm and Practical
Create and Enforce Order
Always by the Book
Often Unreasonably Blame Themselves
combines honor and compassion;

doing what is good without bias for or against order;

combines a good heart with a free spirit;

reliable and honorable without being a zealot;

act naturally, without prejudice or compulsion;

represents true freedom from society's restricitons and a do-gooders zeal;

represents methodical, intentional, and frequently sucessful evil;

represents pure evil without honor and without variation;

destruction not only of beauty and life but also of the order on which beauty and life depend.


"the crusader"


"the benefactor"


"the rebel"


"the judge"


"the undecided"


"the free spirit"


"the dominator"


"the malefactor


"the destroyer"