As he stared at the image, his predecessor's words echoed in his mind: "If you ever capture wind of this man, you must immediately inform Her Majesty the Queen personally."
"Who uploaded these?"
Whitaker asked, his voice low and intense.
"Agent Olivia Miller, sir. She captured these earlier today,"
Thompson replied.
"Who else knows about this?"
Whitaker asked.
"Just us, sir,"
Thompson replied.
"And Agent Miller."
"Good. Issue a gag order immediately,"
Whitaker ordered.
"No one breathes a word of this until we know more."
Thompson nodded and began relaying the order. Whitaker, meanwhile, turned and headed back to his office, his mind racing. This was a matter of national security, and he needed to inform the highest authority.
Once inside his office, Whitaker picked up the secure line and dialed the royal palace.
"This is Director Whitaker of M*6. I need an audience with the Queen immediately."
The voice on the other end was firm but apologetic.
"I'm sorry, Director Whitaker, but Her Majesty's health is poor. She is not seeing anyone at the moment."
Whitaker clenched his jaw.
"Listen, this is of the utmost importance. The Queen will want to see this."
There was a pause before the voice replied,
"Hold, please."
...
The corridors of the royal palace were quiet, a stark contrast to the urgency of the situation unfolding at M*6. Inside the Queen's private chambers, her personal butler, Sir Alfred, received the urgent message.
"Your Majesty,"
He said gently, approaching the Queen, who was resting in her chair.
"There is an urgent matter that requires your attention. Director Whitaker of M*6 insists on speaking with you."
The Queen, though frail, opened her eyes and looked at Sir Alfred.
"What is it, Alfred?"
"He didn't provide details, Your Majesty, but he mentioned it was of the utmost importance."
The Queen nodded slowly.
"Very well. Connect the call."
The secure line buzzed, and Whitaker picked up immediately.
"Your Majesty, thank you for taking my call."
"Director Whitaker, what is so urgent that it requires my immediate attention?"
The Queen asked, her voice steady despite her frailty.
"Your Majesty, our system has flagged an individual,"
Whitaker began, his voice tense.
"The photos and videos were captured today by one of our agents. The individual in question is someone I believe you will recognize."
Whitaker took a deep breath.
"It's the Imperial Marshal of the t*ird r*ich."
There was a moment of silence before the Queen replied, her voice trembling slightly. "Dracula? Are you certain, Director?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. The identification is confirmed. I remember my predecessor's words. He told me that if I ever captured wind of this man, I must inform you personally."
The Queen's hands trembled slightly as she absorbed this information. Her eyes widened, and she muttered the name "Dracula."
"Director Whitaker, you must come to the palace immediately,"
The Queen said, her voice gaining strength.
"Bring the printed photos. I need to see them personally."
"Understood, Your Majesty. I will be there shortly,"
Whitaker replied before ending the call.
...
Director Whitaker arrived at the royal palace with a sense of urgency. He was escorted to the Queen's private chambers, carrying the printed photos securely in his briefcase. He was ushered into the room, where the Queen awaited him.
"Your Majesty,"
Whitaker said, bowing respectfully before presenting the photos.
"These are the images that were flagged by our system."
The Queen took the photos with trembling hands. As she looked at them, her eyes filled with a mix of nostalgia and recognition.
"It's him,"
She whispered.
"It's really him."
Whitaker stood silently as the Queen went down memory lane, her mind drifting back to a night in 1939.
The grand ballroom was filled with the elite of E*rope, gathered to discuss the fate of the continent on the brink of war. The Queen, then just a princess, stood beside her father, the King. The atmosphere was tense, filled with forced smiles and whispered conversations.
A man in a black field uniform caught her eye. He stood tall, a giant exuding an aura of authority and cold calculation standing behind the mad F*hrer himself like a bodyguard It was Dracula.
"Eliza"
Her father whispered.
"Go and ask the Imperial Marshal for a dance. I need to speak with the F*hrer."
"Understood father''
The young princess said as she approached Dracula with determination.
"Excuse me, sir,"
She said, looking up at him.
"Would you do me the honor of a dance?"
Dracula smirked, his cold crimson eyes with blue pupils gleaming with amusement.
"Of course, Your Majesty The Queen"
He replied, extending his hand causing Eliza to become confused for a second but In the end, she chose to Ignore It.
As they began to dance, the sight was striking: the towering Dracula and the petite 13-year-old princess In an exquisite gown moving gracefully across the floor. The contrast drew the attention of many in the room.
Elizas heart pounded in her chest. Despite the fear and tension of the evening, she couldn't help but be captivated by Dracula's presence. His strong jawline, piercing unique eyes, and the commanding way he carried himself were unlike anyone she had ever seen. There was a dangerous allure to him, an enigmatic charm that drew her young heart in he was just like the dark prince In the romance novels she liked to read.
The queen looked up at him, her voice low and earnest.
"Sir Imperial Marshal Von Death"
She whispered.
"Please, I beg of you I know you have the power to control youre f*hrer, you must stop this madness."
Hearing this Dracula's lips curled upwards as he spooned the princess In place.
"Truly a queen In the making but tell me why should I stop this?"
Dracula asked, his voice smooth and hypnotic.
"Because I believe youre a good man deep down,"
Elizabeth pleaded.
"So please for all that Is good and sacred stop this madness If you do this youre condemning millions to their deaths."
Dracula fell silent for a moment.
"You are young and passionate, Your Highness a truly worthy queen but you do not understand. This is the only way to save humanity from itself."
Elizabeth's eyes widened with shock and disbelief. She couldn't tear her gaze away from him, captivated by the cold intensity in his eyes as they continued to dance.
"If you do this, youre not saving humanity but condemning us to chaos, death a literal hell just like World War 1"
Dracula smirked, his expression one of cold indifference.
"Compared to the 20 billion lives at stake, it is a necessary sacrifice."
Hearing this the young princess stopped dancing, her eyes blazing with defiance Ignoring the mentioned 20 billion because of her anger, mixed with a pang of sadness. The man before her, so handsome and compelling, was capable of such cruelty.
"How can you be so heartless? How can you justify such atrocities?"