"Well, this is it again I should say.", Count Drakon Bela Christopherus Malignacius Rechembroc XII (*1533, †1598, †1623, †1627, †1789, †1812, †1880, †1929) thought to himself as he yawned, pushed the coffin lid away and groped for his phone with one hand, taking his satin-lined sleeping mask off with the other, while the sounds of helicopters and gunfire echoed down the stairwell which led into his crypt.

He lazily flicked a pattern across the expensive slab of electronics, which obediently lit up, illuminating an angular, aristocratic face, complete with goatee and widow's peak, with only a slight hint of a bit too much canine around the mouth. "9:23 pm, barely after sundown. Really now, these angry mobs are lowering their standards every century," he murmured and habitually reached for a bellpull before remembering the new intercom he had installed ten years ago, sheepishly fumbling for the buttons on the small unit while pulling on his waistcoat and pants at the same time. "Igor, will you see to it that the mob is greeted in the usual manner, burning pitch, children of the night and all, I'll prepare myself to meet them in the ball room for the theatrical showdown."-"Oh, and send a complaint to the mayor, I thought we had that agreement since 1943 that calling in the armed forces was a bit out of proportion." he added as something large and mechanical roared so closely over the castle ramparts it made the stained glass windows clink. "Sorry to say sir, but the matter is a bit different" came a nasal whine over the comm, slightly distorted by interference " but if you please, you can discuss the matter with the mayor himself, he has just pulled up outside the castle in the Mercedes you gifted to him last year, and requested your aid." The Count paused in the middle of adjusting his opera cape, whirled around and slammed the "talk" button down so hard the reinforced housing nearly shattered. "My aid, MY AID!? By the night man, what does he think this is?! The Salvation Army? Does this man have no style whatsoever? Furthermore, if this is not an attack on the castle, what in the name of it all is going ON out there, I thought the Balkan Wars had finally died down around the turn of the millenium?" - "It appears, master, that the town is besieged by the undead." came the prompt reply. He rolled his yellow eyes upwards and arched his perfectly plucked eyebrows "I bloody well know that, you fool, I am right here!" By now Igor's trademark taciturn drawl was beginning to be tainted by the faintest streaks of panic "No, no, sir. Not 'the Undead' but the undead, plural. Zombies I'm afraid." At this, Bela sagged half a centimeter and let out a long, heartfelt sigh. “Fine, show the mayor to the red lounge, but do put the covers on the sofa beforehand. Discreetly of course.”

Twenty minutes later, the count was seated in a large, looming armchair, which was placed with pinpoint accuracy in the exact middle of the room, in front of a sufficiently dramatic fireplace complete with leering gargoyles casting foreboding shadows on the balding man in the expensive suit who cowered on the sofa opposite, wringing his hands in the time-tested 'Senór, bandits have attacked the village' pose. The effect was only ruined slightly by the fact that the Count was slouched across the armchair like a lazy cat, fiddling around with his phone, flipping through newsfeeds with growing impatience and muttering to himself. “Hmhm...started in China, hah, that'll give those uppity dragon-fondling Triad bloodsuckers something to do...military at a loss, well that is no surprise...stock markets crashing, that is a pity...” This went on for several minutes, punctuated by an occasional explosive rumble from outside, where a dramatic bay window gave a sweeping view of the village, or rather mid-sized town, below. Normally, the view was a tranquil nighttime landscape, now it was mostly fire, tracer and otherwise. After staring at the Count for what felt like an eternity, Mayor Blasko Babeș coughed. Then coughed again. Then coughed a lot louder to drown out the sudden staccato fire of some automatic weapon, not too far from the castle. This seemed to do the trick, as the count raised his head to look at him in a way not far removed from the look a cat gives to a mouse disturbing an otherwise perfect afternoon nap “Do you need a glass of water or something?” the Count asked in a perfectly civil voice, the undertones of which turned the mayor's spine into ice. “No, I, ah, yes, well, you see, the zombies have shown up, all over the planet, and well, the soldiers are doing all they can and, ah, you are, well, I though-” The count raised a hand and the mayor found his mouth snapping shut against his will. The vampire got up in one fluid motion and slowly strode over to the bay window while the man behind him was contorting his face, trying to get his lips unclenched. “This is very inconvenient, you know?” Count Bela ventured while thoughtfully gazing at the turmoil outside with the same level of interest an art connoisseur musters while studying a second-rate replica “I was actually looking forward to being torn apart by an angry mob, no really. Offers me a few decades of rest, and a nice sabbatical after inevitably resurrecting. I had it all planned out too, a nice grand tour so to speak, all the old opera houses. Vienna, Milan, Moscow, London...oh I do so enjoy fine dining.” He turned around at this to find the mayor flopping about on the floor, both hands over his mouth. He frowned a little and gave the mayor an all new-look, this one reminiscent of what bacteria see when they look through the other end of the microscope “Right. You modern day politicians have no flair for a dramatic soliloquy. Up you go.” He snapped his fingers and the man was heaved back onto the sofa by an invisible force, his mouth snapping open under the pressure of words collected behind clenched teeth “Why are you so calm about this?! Don't you see it is the end of days!? The final reckoning, the Apocalypse!” He was off the sofa now, halfway across the room with his hands imploringly raised towards the count, who gave him an incredulous stare. “That? The Apocalypse? Really now? Oh come on man, yes, yes, it's a globalized age, it's spreading rapidly across the globe and all that, but do you honestly think this is the first time I have dealt with such things? I admit, a laboratory in China releasing a mutagenic virus weapon, probably by accident, is a new trope, but it's the old theme. Used to be mysterious meteor strikes, or mystical ruins, or the odd mad scientist, but in the end, it's all the same. They shamble, they rot, they eat my food, and like any proper predator, I shall tolerate no rival,” he said while strolling over to the intercom under the gaze of the mayor, whose eyes by now held enough space for more than just one saucer. “Igor, do fetch me my hunting attire, the practical one, with the pockets and the hidden blades. Oh, and do call Dr. Brooks, Duke Johannescu and Mr. Saito, they will probably be interested in clearing this little matter away as well.” Without waiting for a reply, he clapped his hands together like a magician who has just completed a grand trick and, turning to the other man in the room, flashed a radiant yet rather too toothy smile: “And now, the hour is late, and there is much to do, so why won't you join me, we can discuss the fine details of this little plan of mine over...dinner.”