It might even work.
2THE BLOOD PACT
BRENNAN’S JOURNAL
MICHAELSON HEALTH SCIENCES BUILDING
Open Hours
Building proctors at both entrances 7 a.m.–9 p.m. M–F
Building proctor only front entrance 10 a.m.–5 p.m. weekends
Locked doors after hours
Janitors 12–1 a.m.every nightevery weeknight
Deep cleaners 10 p.m.–?? Saturday nights
Key/Passcodes?
9/10 6:59 a.m.—proctor uses key to get in, code to disable security. What is code???
9/11 7:02 a.m.—99 something can’t tell
9/12 7:00 a.m.—okay actually 09 something?
9/13 6:58 a.m.—091298 *hacker voice* we’re in!
MORALITY & ETHICS
Under consequentialism, stealing blood will prevent me from potentially harming/killing others.So that would be okay.Except no, wait, because stealing the blood will prevent people who need it from getting it. Or prevent life-saving research. So it’s bad.
Utilitarianism: only benefits me and the people I am able to resist killing with my teeth, which I would say isn’t in itself commendable.
Under altruism, the answer may actually be suicide, since cutting me from the equation means no death, no stealing, and no depriving science or doctors of blood. So. Uh. Not the most fun conclusion.
Absolutism would say I would already be fucked for stealing, let alone stealing something that could save lives. Kant would kill me with a wooden stake and no hesitation: under Kant, killing vampires is probably a Universal Good action. How comforting, to be on the Kantian Bingo Card.
Hedonism would say it’s okay because it brings me pleasure/relief. That doesn’t make me feel much better about the situation. Hedonism isn’t the peak of morality.
Moral relativism: okay, this one might work! Moral value is relative to context and culture. In this case, uh, I guess the culture of vampirism means that drinking human blood is. Less bad? I’m not convinced, but it’s better than nothing.
Aristotle’s golden mean would say there’s a middle path to virtue. So, uh, maybe if I steal blood this once but am super good elsewhere it can balance out my karma or whatever? That’s… not so bad. Maybe I can do that.
Brennan had had one required biology class in Michaelson Hall his first year at Sturbridge University. The building was modern, all floor-to-ceiling windows and curved walls, everything sleek and new and smelling like a hospital. It was the building they showed on all the brochures, yet the majority of Brennan’s classes ended up relegated to the less modern, more run-down humanities buildings around the edges of campus. The ones that hadn’t been updated in a while and always smelled like mildew and eggs. Ugh.
If he hadn’t known much about Michaelson before, now he knew too much. Because if Brennan knew how to do anything? It was motherfuckinghomework.
He knew how many entrances there were, how many windows opened, and at what time the proctors stationed at the main entrance changed shifts.
He had a crude map of the few security cameras, easy enough to avoid by using a back entrance attached to a stairwell that would takehim where he needed to be without being caught on camera. Wasn’t there something about vampires not being on film? Or photos? Or was it just mirrors?
Whatever, it was too late now; Brennan’s watch read 6:55 and he was loitering under a tree, Michaelson on the other end of the landscaped greenery of the quad. The lawn, often populated with Frisbee players and picnickers and studiers, was empty save for a scampering squirrel.
Brennan shivered in the crisp air—muscle memory, maybe? Could he stillreallyget cold?—and pulled his windbreaker tighter around him.
The thirst was brutal. His body felt feverish—not in temperature, but weak and dizzy. And there was the constant drivingurgethat felt like he was barely holding himself back, like he was one inconvenience away from breaking.
