Monday is a Terran ex-freelancer who specialized in handling sensitive diplomatic affairs for a body of wealthy clients. Having worked extensively in interpersonal corporate relations, Monday has traveled the breadth of the Sol system and conferred with major players in a wide range of professional fields, they pay handsomely to secure amicable outcomes for matters of delicate interest. People who have worked with him describe him as cold and standoffish- he tends to speak with an economy of words, and while he's usually direct and to the point, sometimes he can't help but slide a timely one-liner between the ribs of the moment. He's a man who does not smile for good reasons, and while he has a lengthy résumé of settled accounts, he maintains a strict code of professional ethics, refusing to take on a job that is outside his boundaries. Despite Monday's best efforts, he has collected a handful of friends over the years, and while he does occasionally depend on them for his continued survival, he won't ever actually admit it. Being a vampire, he does actually need all the help he can get, and he knows it.
Before his affliction, Monday used to work contracts for the system's big interplanetary corporate and financial institutions, pursuing outstanding accounts and resolving obstructions to the equitable flow of commercial interests. While he's a skillful mediator in his own right, Monday has a particular talent for employing leverageable assets he finds on-site prior to or during active negotiations- this ability to improvise and adapt allows him to move seamlessly through the high-security filters and checkpoints that buttress the corporate worldspace. Appearances are everything, so when Monday needs to move without friction he will remove his glasses, slick back his hair and put on his best can-do confident face. Paired with a smart three-piece suit and no detectable metal objects, Black Monday Blues can turn up wherever he needs to be, close out a contract and disappear into a mosaic of smart suits and plastic smiles. Over a lengthy career Monday has provided excellent and unerring service to his employers, but as any asset can quickly become a liability, those same employers realized that he could someday turn up in their boardrooms and C-suites, and so they resolved to sunset their working relationship with Monday, by contracting him for one last job.
The account in question was another freelancer, a Mercurian who had become a persistent pain point for an associate of Monday's regular employers. The associate had been visiting Station 313 at the time, a long-term mining colony servicing the Jovian asteroid cluster. Monday's job was to infiltrate the administrative bloc of Station 313 and intercept the rogue freelancer before he could make contact with the associate in question- Monday's work has seen him negotiating with agents from every world of Sol, he understands the adaptive advantages that non-Terrans possess and has a wealth of experience in leveling the playing field for himself. Mercurian accounts can be unpredictable, so he has taken to wearing a pair of electroplated gold glasses as part of his professional attire; in addition to being a smart-looking accessory when paired with his suits, the gold plating helps filter out Mercurian influence, ensuring that whatever tricks they possess, they won't be able to get inside his head. The 313 job was a delicate one, requiring Monday to pose as a clerical assistant and work his way into sensitive administrative positions in order to identify and intercept the rogue freelancer. It would take time and care to handle this contract, and his employers knew that he'd need to already be on 313 when the Mercurian freelancer arrived. What they didn't know was that Station 313 was about to become the site of a large, headline-grabbing viral outbreak, and that would skew the momentum of their plans in a way they could never have anticipated.
When the catastrophe aboard Station 313 broke out, Monday had been integrated into the station's administrative faculty, but he was nonetheless integrated with the rest of its crew as well. Those who would survive the viral outbreak did so by linking up and pooling their resources to ensure they all make it through the crisis together- this motley crew included his employer's associate, so it stood to reason his account would come here as well to make his withdrawal. While he'd joined up with this band of survivors under false pretense, he found himself working with, cooperating with and, ultimately, empathizing somewhat with some of the people whose paths he'd crossed. He was a patient ear for a ranting mechanic to talk to, a great stress relief to the latter. He became an advocate for a nurse and a waitress whose love struggled to connect with one another. He'd come to respect a stockroom manager, meeting by chance over a shared interest in sports. Throughout his time on Station 313, Monday found himself trapped in close quarters with a collection of charming goofballs who by sheer exposure helped to thaw a bit of his icy exterior; they had an impact on him that he would never confess to. He would reveal flashes of a unique skillset- and to the waitress's eye, a curious absence of social decorum for an administrative worker- ultimately lending his talents towards the whole group's mutual survival, and not just the singular pursuit of his account. Over time the crisis aboard Station 313 would stabilize and help would be on its way. The friends he'd made would be evacuated from the station, but he wouldn't board a transport vessel to join them. He had to head deeper into the station one more time, to handle one outstanding detail of his time aboard 313. He would not see his companions again for some time.
Monday would not leave Station 313 without the vampiric affliction that would set his career askew. He recalls his encounter with the rogue Freelancer, putting together how he had also been hiding in 313 this whole time. He recalls noticing the strange sight of a Mercurian with dull, red irises; that's an atypical detail he had no explanation for. He recalls the bark of his leadcaster and the bore it drilled through the man's forehead. He recalls the man not toppling backwards, and the animal hunger that swelled in his eyes. He recalls the ensuing fight, but tries not to dwell on it too much. Like many other afflicted, he'd find himself waking up to a cold sensation, beset by a hunger of his own. In Monday's case, he'd also wake up to his assailant clawing fruitlessly at a locked door, trying to get out of the room the two had been sealed inside of. He recalls snapping the shear arm off a steel paper cutter and finishing the bloody work he'd started.
The predatory nature of vampiric affliction can come as a shock to victims who had until that point kept their heads down and led quiet, peaceable lives, but Monday had worked a grim profession until his heart's last beat- his hands were already soaked in blood, he knew this song and dance well. His mark was a bloodsucker, a walking corpse who could take a bullet and still hit like a gorilla. The job was a setup, the Mercurian assassin would have had him dead on time had an unrelated catastrophe on 313 forced him to remain in hiding, unable to make his move. That catastrophe starved him out, stirred the hunger in him in a way he seemed unprepared for. He didn't kill Monday, he bled him dry from hunger, and rather than let 313 be his final resting place, he'd pull himself up off the floor, afflicted with that same strain of vampirism himself, but imbued with its beneficial adaptations as well. He knew he'd been set up and he knew who set him up, and now he had a rare opportunity to pursue his own revenge.
In the months that followed the incident on Station 313, Monday made his way to nearby Jupiter, found an isolated cave on Callisto and began to assess the scope of his new condition. He understood the drawbacks- the aversion to Sol is an innate sensation, an instinct he knew well enough not to question or test, and the need for blood could be sated from any sanguine warmth. He learned to control his hunger instincts, having seen first-hand the desperation it could inflict upon a starving vampire. Old injuries didn't seem to mend on their own, so he inferred that he should take care not to accumulate them, his face bearing a long scar from his encounter with the frenzied Mercurian which wouldn't heal on its own. As a hunter of men he also came to know his affliction's new adaptations paired well with his old skillset, and alone on Callisto, in the isolation of the wilds, he tested his new limitations and practiced ways to incorporate his new strengths into his craft. A vampire's capacity for speed and innate physical strength were an unwieldy boon, but over time he would learn to control them and make the most of what they offered him. He would hunt the carnivorous megafauna that stalked Callisto, sating his thirst with the blood of maneaters. When he was ready, he would head to Mars to find the men who'd set him up, he'd make a roaring return on their investments, and when he was satisfied with the job he'd done he would head out to the frontier worlds of Saturn, ultimately landing in Titan Garden.
If that Mercurian was a vampire, and he was a vampire, it stood to reason that there were more vampires out there, somewhere. He reflected on the notion that he'd never noticed one before over his professional career, he'd never heard of them being anything more than old Terran myths. He'd soon learn that red-eyed nightstalkers like himself were not only real but they came from many walks of life, and many found their affliction to be more of a hindrance than a help. For most vampires their suspended life was a struggle to be empathized with- a perspective Monday had acquired from his companions on 313- but for others, for those who'd found their affliction in wealth and status, their vampirism helped cement their positions of power behind the silk curtains of society. Titan Garden is a hub colony orbiting an unclaimed planet, it belonged to no one, but in its shadows he'd find men of cruel ambition imbued with immortal gifts and buffered by their wealth from the desperation of hunger and outcast that came with them. He'd reflected on his former employers, men who felt safe enough to dictate who lived and who died, who had the resources to shape the worlds around them to suit their needs, and discard the men who'd done the shaping when they were no longer of use. In his unlife he saw the silhouette of something that preferred to remain hidden, and he resolved to hunt them to the very edge of the shadows.
Monday's skillset was well-honed, but his tools needed an upgrade to meet the challenges of his new quarry. He knows sunlight has a powerful effect on vampires, so he fitted a high-caliber leadcaster with a theraputic lamp that emulates Sol's glow- he'd found that this won't burn a vampire to ash, but its close enough that a flash of this type of light can cause them to flinch, to pause, to hold in place just long enough for him to squeeze the trigger. Recalling the incident on 313, and the ineffectual bore his conventional ammunition punched through that Mercurian's forehead, he determined that he needed something with a bit more punch to actually put a vampire down. Monday's leadcaster is loaded with small explosive rounds, a hard-to-find specialist cartridge packing just enough punch to burst outwards from inside a vampire's body and render it into a spray of bone shard and mist. He knows a guy from 313, an armorer who'd been bullied by some of the other survivors on the station- he'd lent the guy a hand, and he was grateful enough to keep him stocked up on red ammo, continuing their friendship even to this day. To prevent receiving a similar such fate he prefers to wear a heavy coat with a reinforced interior lining designed to mitigate incoming harm without outwardly looking like he's wearing body armor- it's important for a professional to keep up appearances. He keeps a knife in his coat, there's nothing special about it, but it's served him well over a long career, it can serve him well in his new line of work.
In addition to new tools, Monday knows he needs new allies if he's to put any kind of dent in an emergent vampiric high society. He understands that while every vampire shares their baleful affliction, not all of them are monstrous. Over the decades he's worked Titan's B- and E-Districts, he's come to meet other vampires who are trying to hang on as long as they can, hoping to find a cure and an end to their deathless condition. Through an old mechanic friend he'd learned about Henry & Baxel; keeping in touch with the pair, he knows there's something stirring in Titan's substructure and he has a sharp eye and keen leaves on the ground to keep tabs on the situation. He's also come to meet Nico, the REM's nocturnal biologist who has been studiously documenting the vampiric condition in hopes of laying the groundwork for some kind of sympathetic diagnosis and the eventual development of a cure. He happened to cross her path when she and her assistant, Mark, were testing out blood types and their emergent abilities, and recognized the benefit in making contact with the pair as a fellow vampire. Monday has been afflicted longer than either Nico or Mark, and he's hunted vampires older than himself, so he's been a valuable resource in documenting the ways a vampire's adaptive traits grow and evolve over time. Additionally, Monday shares his insight on conditioning and controlling the more difficult aspects of vampirism, in particular the hunger and its compulsive tendencies. In exchange, he asks Nico for cocktails of blood types, often specific combinations of Outer Belt species mixed in a Terran medium. He doesn't lie to her, he tells her exactly what it's for- he's been tracking down the more powerful vampires who are trying to make a home on Titan and putting them to a permanent end, and he requests specific blood types in order to match the power of the vampires he plans to confront. Nico does not like this, but she reluctantly tolerates it- Monday provides valuable evolutionary data that is otherwise inaccessible to the biologist, and he does not hunt vampires who are struggling with their condition, he hunts rich people. It's a difficult but amicable partnership, but that's usually the case with Monday. Mark, on the other hand, is enamored with Monday, and thinks he's just really dang cool, and seeing him occasionally show up, share his stories and disappear back into the city does make Mark feel a little better about his own vampirism. Monday tries not to feed into that sentiment, he knows he's not a role model.
The last and most important need a man who hunts immortal power must account for is to have a place to lay low and disappear for a little while. Monday has a few spots he'll rotate between, but when the heat is on and he needs to clear out he'll darken the doorstep of the Ambling Alleycat, a small bed-and-breakfast down in the A-District. Liz and Alice, its owners, are old friends of his- "friends"- who he'd met in his time aboard Station 313. They'd parted ways rather unceremoniously, and when he showed up again years later he got an earful for it, but he knows if he needs to disappear, Liz and Alice would not give him up for any reason. They'd figured out his affliction without having known about it being real- Alice spotted the persistent, unhealing wounds and the puncture marks in his neck, Liz notes that he hasn't aged in forty years, and she's read a few books in her time. They don't press him on it but they get it. He's an old friend, they've got space for him and when Sol shines on Titan they'll throw anyone coming to look for him out the front door, they're not easy to intimidate. They don't try to talk to him every time he shows up, per se, but they'll open the door to the possibility of a conversation whenever he does, in case this time he might be different. He never is. Liz will usually offer him a hot meal- a steak sandwich, as she remembers- and he'll always accept the gift. That's good enough for them.
It's always bittersweet to see his old friends again when he pops into the Ambling Alleycat. He recalls them struggling to see the obvious back on 313, he remembers giving Liz the shove she needed to finally confess how she felt about Alice. It's been forty years and they've grown up and grown old together, and his own life has been stuck in place, a long streak of spilled blood frozen in time. He knows that one day he'll show up to the Ambling Alleycat and they won't be there anymore. They'll have lived a full life together and grown into something remarkable, and when time reclaims them he'll be on his own again, just as he was before he met them. He may not age anymore, but he's not that same person anymore either; a return to that solitude would be, unwelcome. He tries not to dwell on that thought too often, but each time he knocks on their door, he can't help but wonder if this will be the time. So far, each visit has been greeted with a stern look and a warm smile. There's always a place for him, a hot sandwich and the open invitation for some kind of a conversation. They're always still there. For now, that's good enough for him.