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guess. From what the camera could see, the vampire guards seemed to have rallied, but Reginald had committed the layouts of MorningFresh (and every other new building he’d been able to find blueprints for) to memory, and he felt less sure that they’d regained control. In the camera’s shot, he could see that only the outer doors of the factory were open. The inner doors, thirty yards further in, were still closed. What they were seeing were only a few combatants dueling it out in an oversized foyer. Anything could be happening in the factory itself.
    “What do you think happened?” said Nikki when the loop repeated again and the reporter began telling them what they already knew.  
    “I’d say the humans got tired of being stuck with needles and kept in cages,” said Reginald.  
    But before they could think on it for long, more breaking news began to intrude on the MorningFresh story. There had, it seemed, been an attack on a vampire city a hundred miles from the blood farm using a kind of Trojan horse explosive. The explosive, according to reports, had been embedded with silver shrapnel and encased in several nested wooden crates. It had been pushed into an indoor market, disguised as a freight shuttle, and detonated. Several vampires had been impaled and killed instantly, and medics were still attempting to cut silver out of a dozen others.  
    But there was more: in Arizona, a second rebellion had occurred at a factory that did pre-processing for HemoByte blood supplements. The factory used human labor (it was a notch above slavery; captive humans could do menial jobs in exchange for credits they could later redeem for small luxuries), and as had happened at MorningFresh, several workers had seized vampire supervisors using old silver jewelry. Early reports indicated that the supervisors had then been shoved into a massive centrifuge the facility used to separate the red blood cells used in HemoByte pills from plasma and platelets.  
    And lastly — for now, anyway — the wall of a vampire city that had been fortified in the bones of Detroit was on fire, now being held by humans carrying crossbows. The guards in the city were managing to fight back somewhat, but they had to do so while wearing lead daysuits, and each city only had so many.  
    “Claire was right,” said Reginald. “It’s starting.”  
    Nikki seemed irritated by Reginald’s vindicated tone. “What exactly, Reginald? What’s starting?”  
    “The second phase of the war.”  
    Nikki shook her head. “It’s just insurgence. They’ll knock it back.” Which, come to think of it, was a strange thing for her to say. Nikki was part of a vampire resistance that, in theory, should welcome anything that disrupted the status quo. But the way she was reacting just spoke to the group’s irrelevance. It spoke to a group that only protested in order to hear itself protest.  
    Reginald pointed at the TV. He didn’t see how she could dismiss any of what she was seeing with a straight face.  
    “ Four incidents, Nikki. In four cities. At the same time.”  
    As if on cue, the reporter onscreen touched her ear. Then she held the mic to her lips, looked into the camera, and said, “I’m being told that a bus filled with photobombs has been left in front of the EUVC parliament building in Geneva, and a human group is threatening to detonate it,” she said. “Going to our Geneva affiliate now.”  
    The Geneva reporter — a man with jet black hair wearing a jet black suit — was standing in a kind of long dark tube. The shot gave the impression of staring down a hallway, and at the end of the hallway, in the sun, was a large city bus standing in the middle of a deserted square. The reporter was sweating as scant ultraviolet made its way down toward him.  
    Nikki gasped.
    Reginald forgot his irritation as he watched Nikki react. She wasn’t gasping at the bus or the implication of the photobombs — human Anti-Vampire Taskforce