The next short story theme was "Full on horror" so I again borrowed a regular character from the Judge Dredd strip and wrote a sort of vampire story. The names used are all based on other vampire writers or characters, and I end with another terrible pun.
As he regained consciousness he realised that he was strapped to some sort of metal frame. He couldn't move his arms or legs, and the pounding in his head told him he was upside down. There was a warm, wet feeling on his neck and a strange dripping sound. Through eyes that were blurred by sweat and tears he glimpsed a tall, dark figure standing in shadow. His lips and mouth felt dry and his voice cracked as he tried to speak.
""Wh-what are you doing to me me?"
The tall figure stepped towards him, the light revealing a leather uniform and a badge.
"I'm sorry but you have something that I need. It's nothing personal, it's just blood. I like it warm and fresh. The needle in your arm is giving you heparin to stop the blood clotting. It gives a slight chemical taste but it will last me longer. Draining you upside down keeps your heart beating and I get more out of you."
"Why? Well because I got taste for it back when I did my hotdog run. A senior judge takes a group of cadets out into the cursed earth. Like a camping trip with better weaponry. We got ambushed by the Kraze gang. A claymore mine took out the lawmasters and 3/4 of our group. The rest of us fought them off but it was a long battle. In the end there was just two of us left alive with just our boot knives and no supplies, 70 clicks from the city walls. It was Varney who suggested we fill our canteens with blood, said it would be our best chance is survival as we walked back. He was right too. Thing is once you've had that taste it's difficult to give it up."
"I'll be missed. Puh-people will look for me."
"No they won't. What's one more missing person after the day of chaos? Public records are still off line. The damage reports are still confused and inaccurate."
The judge reached into the man's jacket and pulled out a wallet.
"No. No-one is going to come looking for Joseph Abraham Stoker, an unemployed sign painter with no known next of kin."
"Then k-kill me now. Don't leave me like this."
"Hush now. You'll pass out soon enough, and I'll have what I need. Enough to keep me going for a while."
"I know you, don't I? You used to be chief judge, you do that tv ..." tHis words faded off into a faint mumble as a radio crackles into life.
"Control to Francisco. Your helmet cam and mic are showing as off-line. Is there a problem?"
"No, control. I switched them off for a little personal time."
"That's a Rog, Francisco. No problem. We'll mark you as on a break for the next twenty. You've earned it. Kickback and drink a cup of Joe."
"Thanks, Control." He looked at the pale, unconscious figure on the frame, and the rapidly filling bottles. "I think I'll do just that."