The chapter has been sitting in my computer files for a while, lol. Might as well publish it because schooldays are back and I won't be able to update as soon as before.

This will be highly AU, and I set the Infection to happen around 2005 instead of 2009. The story will revolve around ego, slight sadomasochism, sociopathic characters and some other disturbing themes. If you have problems or any criticisms about the fic, feel free to tell me.

NOTE: matrixrefugee in LJ actually mentioned that Frankie is possibly a non-romantic jerk before the turning and even a bigger jerk as a vampire. LOL it's kind of what I'm aiming for with this fic, except that Frankie's more of a psychopathic jerk in my mind.

Will probably be rated M later.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Daybreakers.

27 July 2005

"Mr. Bromley, sir, she's too little. Too young to understand it all. Of course she'd call you a monster – she's only six. Turn, then alter her mind. Keep her in the dark until she's ready. You do want her to be able to do everything when she finally gains eternal life, don't you?"

And that is probably why Charles Bromley put his sole daughter in the back of his car and drove down to the countryside villa he had retrieved as a family inheritance. It was isolated, detached, away from the changing world of vampires. And as his little daughter laughed and sang cheerfully to the little nursery rhymes ringing from the car's old radio set, the tighter he gripped the stirring wheel and decided that the sacrifice was for the best.

"Why can't you stay here?" she had cried out sulkily, her brown curls flopping down on her shoulders. "It's my birthday – why can't we celebrate it in McDonalds again?"

"Because, sweetheart," he had sweetly said, wondering how the words could taste so wrong and easily slide out of his tongue at the same time. "The world has changed. It's no longer safe for you to roam outside." He glanced up. "Nor is it safe to walk in daylight."


"You'll understand soon, Ali," he muttered, patting her on the head.

"But Daddy – if it's dangerous, you'll have to be safe too," she pressed on, pulling her father, but he shook his head at her.

"No, sweetheart. Daddy has to go," he smiled at her, and poked her in the tummy. "Daddy has to go so that he can feed you."

That was when her eyes suddenly burst with tears and Charles Bromley had to summon all strength to hug her and maintain that she has to stay in that big house – and that no, he won't leave forever, he'd come every year on her birthday, because he still has a gift that he would one day give to her.

"And once you're old enough for that gift," he said smilingly. "You'll be able to live with me again. In that world out there."

She sniffed. "What's the gift…?"

"It will be a cure, Ali," he convinced her. "A cure that will allow you to stay young forever, make you stronger for the changed world."

He made sure he missed out the particular part that had driven her to calling him a monster, and as if hypnotized, the little girl smiled.

"And then I'll have pretty eyes like yours…?" she sniffed, pointing to the golden irises that had replaced his usual hazel ones.

"Yes," he breathed. "Yes, Ali. Pretty golden eyes – like mine."

And he stood up, ruffling his daughter's hair before opening the door behind him. "And you wouldn't be alone. There would be Bertha—" He pointed to the plump maid standing just in the doorway. "—And of course, there would be Mr. Dalton here."

Alison Bromley turned her head to the strapping young soldier standing just beside Bertha, and she found herself sniffing in indefinable sentiments as he icily nodded to the young mistress.

"They'll live here with you, protect you," her father continued, smiling at her one last time before pushing a little yellow bear into her hold. "Happy birthday, Alison."


27 July 2019

Alison cracked open an eyelid and stirred in the soft caresses of her blanket, yawning openly. The side of her eye caught the glaring digits on her alarm clock - 16.37.

Her lips immediately broke into what she assumed would be a wide, childish grin. Almost hurriedly, she pried away the covers she was ensconced in, forgetting the fact that not even the busiest maid in the house was up to do her chores yet – or the fact that she wasn't usually up until at least 8 p.m.

But today - today's special.

Excitedly she ran across the dark hallway, knowing all too well the nook and crannies of every pathway to actually pass through without shedding some light to her steps. She wouldn't want to rouse anyone - Bertha would chide her for lollygagging in the evening and probably send her to bed in disgrace as if she was five years old. Alison was determined to point out that today, all those nagging and scolding shall end.

While she thought in glee about all the things she would do, she found herself stopping in front of a great wooden door, smiling as she pushed past the unlocked frame and crept silently into the still room, closing the door behind her. The figure lying on the bed did not budge, not because she had been as skilled as a ninja in her coming – just as an act to play his little game of I'm-too-mature-to-fool-around-with-you.

Alison rolled her eyes, but she decided to play along. Slowly she crept up to his bed, bending over to raise a cheeky eyebrow at his shut eyelids and the slight frown he was wearing. Even in his sleep, he was still an uptight pain in the arse – but of course there was no denying that she wasn't attracted to the broad, bare shoulders poking out from under the covers...

"I do not appreciate the ogling, Miss Bromley."

She wasn't even surprised at the sudden response from the supposedly-sleeping soldier. She knew very well that he could detect her movements from meters away, maybe even guess what she was doing. It's one of the special, slightly creepy things she had come to adore and accustom herself to about Frankie Dalton.

"Well, I tend to stalk when said target wouldn't even acknowledge my presence," she teased, climbing up to the empty space of his bed.

This time he finally opened his eyes, sighing considerably as he turned to lie on his back and glance at her. "Nightmares?"

She twirled a curl of her hair and rolled her eyes. "Nope."

"Late caffeine dose?"

"No - you know very well how Bertha shut down the machine after six every day ever since you experimentally gave me a cup and left me bouncing off the walls the whole morning."

He let out a little 'ah'. "That's right - my bad." He pondered for a moment, during which Alison tried to analyze the subliminal message swimming behind those golden irises. She knew very well that he knew why she was up so early. He's just playing with her, like what he always did for the last few years.

After a long pause he shrugged and threw a questioning look at her. "Early morning cravings to annoy someone?"

She snorted and crawled on top of the bulk of his body before slumping herself down on his pelvis, straddling him. He quirked an inquiring eyebrow, but let his eyes wash down from her face to the bare skin of her thighs just pinning by his sides. "Crazy wet dream and still feeling randy from it?"

Alison rolled her eyes tiredly. "And why would I have a wet dream about you?"

He shrugged. "Maybe because you have a habit of straddling me shamelessly ever since your puberty spurt." He waved his hand at her, emphasizing his point. "Like now."

"Aw,come on," she breathed, leaning in so close that she was merely inches away from his face. "Little Jiminy down there seems to enjoy the attention." She glanced down at his crotch and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Normal people - or at least portrayals of normal people in movies and books would have blushed, frowned, or cringed in bewilderment at her lack of furtiveness. But of course, she had to remind herself constantly that she was talking to Frankie, who merely had to stare at her with that stone wall of a face and said: "Please. Your morning breath is awful."

She pouted as he shifted slightly underneath her and glanced down at where their hips were adjoined. "Plus," he continued, flicking the top of her head with a finger. "That down there is actually a normal morning process, little girl. And stop naming my genitalia, it's unbecoming."

"I'm not a girl anymore," she persisted, pressing her lips together in a tight frown as she drew back to a sitting position, folding her arms. "Come on, Frankie. Don't you remember?"

The soldier stared at her blankly, mocking her desperation to get his acknowledgement of how special that day actually is. It was only when she punched him in the abdomen did he let out a slight 'oomph' and raised his hands in defeat.

"Yes, yes, I remember," he muttered. "Today you turn 21. Congratulations."

She scowled at his apparent sarcasm. "You might as well pretend to be happy for me."

He shrugged. "Twenty one's a pretty normal age for me."

"Aw,come on - it's the age when you get to enjoy all the adult privileges!" She grinned widely. "I get to drink alcohol now. Legally, at least."

"You've tried beers and whiskeys since you were seventeen. I can't really see the difference."

She grimaced. "I'd really appreciate it if you stop being such a prick."

"I'd appreciate it if you get off of me."

She held her head aloof and stuck out her tongue. "Make me."

The immediate glint that flickered through Frankie's eyes instantly told Alison that she took the wrong move. A second passed and she soon went down with a yelp as he grabbed her by the waist and threw her aside as easily as one would cast a pillow away.

"Ta da," he murmured humorlessly in her ear, getting up from the bed and reaching for a black bottle by the bedside table. He opened the lid and took a long draught of whatever is inside, withdrawing only to lick the remnants of the liquid off his lips. She duly noted how fresh and crimson they had been before fading back to their usual dull, pink color as his tongue wiped past. Frankie always said it was his daily protein dose to help him stay fit, and Alison had learnt to stop trying to get a taste of the mysterious drink. If Frankie said no, it meant no.

"Get dressed," he said, sliding into his own shirt. "If you woke Bertha up and she finds us here, she's gonna get the wrong idea and I'll have to put up with her again. Besides—" He narrowed his eyes at her outfit – a loose, baggy shirt over her pale blue underwear. "—Is that my shirt...?"

She grinned at his realization. "It's pretty comfy. Thanks for not locking your wardrobe."

"I thought your dad supplied you with enough pajamas," he muttered, pulling up his military pants and shrugging himself into the iconic jacket.

Alison snorted derisively. "He bought me shirts and sweatpants with rainbow ponies drawn all over them."

"Well, they do look cute on little girls." He ruffled her hair, almost affectionately. "Like you."

Alison scowled and edged her head away. This time her irritation at his lack of regard for her coming of age had reached its limit. "Stop being a jerk," she muttered, ducking down to scowl at the mattress instead. She knew very well how mesmerizing those eyes were, how she couldn't afford to look up into them and not melt away while she needed to make her point. "... I just want a decent happy birthday."

There was a pregnant pause in the air as she sulkily drew patterns on the sheets, insulted that he didn't seem to be the slightest bit impressed by her outburst.

But of course, Frankie never disappointed.

There was a slight rustle and a gentle groaning of the bed before she became acutely aware of his breath beating down by the side of her face, the heavy fabric of his uniform lightly brushing against her.

"Happy birthday, Alison," he breathed, letting the tip of his chapped lips brush against the skin of her temple. She sucked in a sharp draught of air, turning her head slightly to actually catch his mouth with hers – do the one thing she's been dreaming and envisioning about for years. And in the building anticipation, she let herself believe that he would actually comply to her hopelessly romantic delusion – that is, until he withdrew and smirked lightly at her disappointment.

"Let's not be greedy, shall we?" he breathed lightly.

She scowled and folded her arms sulkily. "Come on. A little birthday kiss wouldn't hurt."

"So you said about Easter kisses, Christmas kisses, New Year kisses and the last five birthday kisses."

"Because it wouldn't hurt."

"You're fifteen years younger than me," he said, ruffling her hair again. "It'd be like assaulting a minor."

"I'm a young adult now. Legally."

"Well, that'd depend on your father's decision, hmm?" he said, sauntering away to the bathroom.

His mention of her father brought her mind to the 'gift' he had promised and kept so many years ago. A cure that would guarantee freedom, eternal youth, and her place in society. She knew everyone else – including Frankie, had been treated with the cure. They were these so called creatures named as vampires, and Alison tried to understand, tried to learn more about this amazing strain that his father seemed so furtive about, but no one would disclose any further to her – not even Frankie, her personal tutor, or Bertha. Her whole world spun around this empty mansion she was confined to, and curious as she was, Alison found herself perfectly comfortable with this little personal world populated by her and her three guardians.

"Do you think he'll give me the gift this time…?" she muttered.

There was a still moment as he halted in his steps and looked at her, the golden infinity in his eyes a message she could not read or decipher. It annoyed her to no end - 14 years and he seemed to be able to crack her down to the core, while she couldn't even read his monotonous set of expressions.

At final he began to spoke. "Do you want to?"

"Well, of course," she said. "I mean, it'd mean living with my father again, out of this mansion—"

"And you want all that?"

Alison stared at him, and she suddenly caught his drift. Breaking free out of confinement would mean breaking out of his grip. And Alison instantly wasn't sure about the whole concept of freedom. It wouldn't mean anything to have her place back in the real world, because she wouldn't know how to live. It wouldn't mean anything because she had come to love the little, suffocating space she now lived in. With Frankie.

And then there was that palm brushing down on the back of her head again as the soldier slumped down next to her, smiling softly, as if he knew what she was thinking and he was content with her fear.

"You know," he breathed. "I have a feeling he will."

Alison stared as he stood up again, disappeared behind the closed door of the bathroom before wondering how he managed to question her desire for freedom, then paradoxically ensured her that she would earn it.

But his words were the best she could have, and Alison found herself smiling at the lingering touch of his fingers on her head.

Kay, this is my first attempt at a possessive relationship. I hope you catch a few signs of it in this chapter.