Did they know he was a vampire? Was that why they stared? Or did they simply not see heavily armed guards on this level very often? Sublevel 1 had the lowest security clearance, so he doubted anything or anyone here needed to be guarded.
They passed several offices, some small with only one occupant and some large with multiple desks or cubicles. The largest room they passed housed rows and rows of fitness equipment currently being utilized by dozens of sweating employees. Across the hall from that lay a gym in which more employees trained in hand-to-hand combat.
“Are those guards training in there?” Cliff asked.
Reordon shook his head. “Regular employees. Before the mercenary attack, the training was optional. Now it’s mandatory.”
“Even for the elderly employees?”
“Yes. We temper the lessons according to each employee’s physical capabilities. And physical therapists help those who wish to increase their strength.”
That explained the conversation he’d overheard in which an older man had bragged with a laugh that most of his arthritis pain had gone away after his trainer talked him into pumping iron.
Chris turned in to the next room they encountered.
Cliff followed. Surprise darted through him as he found himself standing inside a large cafeteria.
“Join me for lunch?” Chris asked, continuing forward without waiting for an answer.
“Sure.”
Men and women of all ages and races occupied dozens of rectangular tables.
The armed guards stationed themselves at the edges of the room.
Conversation halted and silence fell, broken only by Cliff and Reordon’s footsteps as the two of them crossed to the service counter.
Awkward.
Chris pointed to an electronic menu that hung above the counter. “That’s what they’re serving today. Anything look good to you?”
Conscious of the dozens of eyes boring holes into his back, Cliff felt his anxiety levels rise. It didn’t help that the burly man behind the counter stared at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “The lasagna and a salad?”
“Are you the vampire from sublevel 5?” the man blurted in what sounded like a Brooklyn accent.
After glancing at Chris from the corner of his eye, Cliff nodded. “Yes.”
The man’s face creased with a huge grin. “I thought so but wasn’t sure. You were all covered in dust and shit the last time I saw you.” He thrust out a beefy hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Mason.”
This was… weird. Cliff shook his hand. “I’m Cliff. Nice to meet you.”
“You really saved my ass when the mercenaries attacked,” he declared, still pumping Cliff’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Um. You’re welcome.”
Mason finally released him, his grin growing so bright you’d think his favorite professional football player had just given him an autographed jersey. “You say you want the lasagna and a salad?”
“Yes, please.”
“You got it. What about you, Mr. Reordon?”
“I’ll have the soup and a salad.”
“Yes, sir. Coming right up.”
As Mason hustled away, Cliff turned to Reordon.
The network head looked as though he wanted to laugh. “Not what you were expecting?”
“No.”
Conversation resumed. Cliff heard his name whispered multiple times as employees expressed their surprise that one of the resident vampires would be dining with them this afternoon. But none fled.
Mason reappeared and handed Reordon a tray with a medium-sized bowl of soup and a small salad, then left again. When he returned a moment later, he proudly offered up a second tray.
Cliff stared. It sported a plate heaped with a massive portion of lasagna that smelled incredible, a bowl twice the size of Reordon’s overflowing with salad, and two baguettes.
Mason grinned. “I heard you guys need a lot of carbs because of all the extra energy you burn with your superspeed and strength.”
A genuine smile curled Cliff’s lips as he took the tray. “We do. This looks and smells delicious. Thank you.”
“Anytime. You let me know if you want more.”
Chuckling, Reordon turned away and led Cliff to a table near the center of the cafeteria.
Reordon returned to the counter for a pitcher of tea and two glasses, then seated himself on the other side of the table.
Cliff’s stomach rumbled as he sank into a surprisingly comfortable chair.
Reordon smiled. “Dig in.”
The two tucked into their meals.
Damn, it was good. Reordon always insisted on the best for his employees. The best work environment. The best office furniture. The best trainers. The best chefs.
And they really were the best chefs. Cliff had been stunned by the quality of the meals he and the other vampires had been provided. But Reordon insisted on treating everyone—regardless of his or her hierarchical status here at the network—equally.
The delectable meal Cliff consumed distracted him for