Dracula Is a Duck?

Dracula Is a Duck?

Hearing Alvin's slightly provocative words, Director Fury grinned, his oversized mouth baring dazzling white teeth. Smiling, he said, "Restless souls mixed with blood should be a fine choice."

Alvin pursed his lips, tilted his head, and obligingly served him a beer and a whiskey. "Then hurry up, finish them, and leave. Honestly, pal, it's hard for me to make myself like you."

Fury burst out laughing. "Why? Because I don't have a sexy big ass?" Perhaps thinking he had made an incredible joke, he laughed uproariously at his own words.

Alvin looked at Director Fury with some coldness, and his smile lost much of its warmth. "I'm a hospitable man, but you definitely aren't on my guest list."

Fury asked with interest, "Why? Because of Stark's ridiculous performance on TV these past two days? Or are you racist?" He exaggeratedly widened his one good eye, looking at Alvin like a curious child eager to learn.

Alvin poured himself a glass of whiskey over ice and stared coldly at Fury. "Frank told me that one of his closest comrades, a very influential man, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury,

helped him clean up the mess after he finished getting revenge on the gangs. The price was that he was not to go after any government officials again." Alvin drained his whiskey in one gulp and looked at Fury, whose face seemed to say, So what?

"Frank trusted that man so much that he even named his son Nick after him. But when Frank's wife was blown up and his son lost a leg, where the hell was that influential bastard?"

Alvin slammed his fist heavily onto the bar. "When Frank was deceived and sent on a mission, where the hell was that bastard?" Alvin's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, fixed on Fury's single eye. "When Nick lay crippled in a hospital bed, where the hell was that bastard?"

The playful smile vanished from Fury's face. He stared at Alvin sternly and said angrily, "Then let me tell you where that bastard was."

He glanced at Frank, whose expression was complicated. "When the explosion happened, that bastard was in Europe chasing down a group of terrorists. When Nick was lying in the hospital, that bastard was in the Middle East dealing with a chemical weapons crisis. When Frank got his revenge, that bastard was cleaning up after him."

Fury glared furiously at Alvin. "To protect Nick, that bastard altered the records of the man who adopted him and made his best agent make a complete fool of himself here—a joke people are still laughing about."

Fury slammed the table and roared at Alvin, "You tell me, where the hell was that bastard?"

Alvin looked at Fury mockingly and said coldly, "That bastard was so high up and so busy that he couldn't even make a phone call? He knew his comrade's wife had died and his son had been injured, yet he couldn't even send someone to check on them? He knew how cruel it was to send Frank on a mission at a time like that, yet that high-ranking bastard couldn't say a word for him?"

Fury refused to back down and snapped, "We're both public servants. Serving our country was his duty. So was it mine. I spent all my time working to protect the entire Earth."

Alvin spread his hands and sneered. "See? That's the difference between us. That's why you aren't my friend. Next time, don't barge in during time set aside for my family gathering. Now!" He glanced at Fury and the helpless Coulson, then pointed toward the door. "Get out!"

Realizing that he and Alvin held completely different views, Fury put on a businesslike expression. "I'm not trying to convince you, Alvin. I'm only here to remind you that vampires are a huge problem. Get out before you're in too deep."

Alvin looked at Fury with amusement. "It's hard for me to understand why the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. would come tell me this. I thought that, at the very least, we should be on the same side when it came to vampires. Isn't S.H.I.E.L.D.'s job to deal with things like that?"

Director Fury glanced at Frank, who was drinking alone in silence, and sighed helplessly. "It's hard to explain the complexity of it to you. You can kill every vampire you see, then face whatever retaliation may come. You have that ability. But you can't expose them to the public. S.H.I.E.L.D. has a department specifically dedicated to hunting criminal vampires, meant to restrain the harm vampires inflict on humans."

Alvin did not understand politics and had no desire to think too deeply about its complicated issues. He only had a simple belief: wolves and sheep could never be friends. They were natural enemies. The relationship between humans and vampires was the same. Alvin found it hard to understand why, in his previous life, so many people liked vampires and thought they were cool. And why, in this life, there were so many vampire fans in this world.

But Alvin's strength alone was limited. Hadn't Stark, under outside pressure, run off to Afghanistan to test his new missiles?

After thinking for a moment, Alvin said, "Dealing with them is your responsibility. I'm only responsible for killing them all whenever they show up around me! Because—" He grabbed a Remington from behind the bar and blasted a shot toward the door. "This is my territory!"

A tall, dashing figure was blasted out of thin air.

He had short, dark-brown curly hair, a handsome face carved as if by knife and axe, and two sexy little mustaches. His lean but tough frame was clad in a tailored suit that was clearly the work of a master.

Alvin's shot did not hurt him. A black ripple flickered before him and blocked the bullet.

The mustached man showed no embarrassment at being blasted out of thin air. He twirled his cane in a flourish, carrying himself like an impeccably mannered English gentleman. He nodded in greeting to everyone present.

He walked up to the bar, first nodding to Fury before looking at Alvin with a smile. "Perhaps you could first get me a glass of blood whiskey." He looked utterly in control.

Faced with this unexpected visitor, Alvin remained very calm. An entrance like this was not enough to put pressure on him. If the man had worn a blue bodysuit with red underwear on the outside, Alvin might have been frightened.

Smiling, Alvin poured him a glass of whiskey and handed it over. "I'm Alvin, the owner of the Peace Hotel. May I ask who you are?"

The handsome man with the mustache took the whiskey, lifted it to his lips, and took a sip. With a soft laugh, he said, "You may not have heard my name. I'm Vlad Dracula, a Hungarian count."

Alvin covered his mouth in surprise. "I always thought Dracula was a duck!"