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Cuffs, oil, and a waterbed.
We cut a bloody swath across these nations, terrorizing the locals and transforming a sizeable number of them in order to fill our ranks. The thing about vampire society is that there are just a few rules that aren't meant to be broken.
Number one, humans can never know we exist. Number two, we cannot turn too many humans into vampires because an overabundance of predators in any ecosystem will cause the food course to dwindle. Rafiq and I kind of broke that rule with our ceaseless predations in the Middle East and Africa, and became outcasts because of it. Whenever there's a lot of us vampires around, we run the risk of discovery. To our kind, that's a potential extinction-level event. If humanity were to discover our existence, they'd rise against us and hunt us down like rats. We'd be extinct...fast.
I didn't know these things at the time, but Rafiq, being six hundred years old, should have known better. Looking back, it's not hard to understand why he was so careless. For centuries Rafiq had been a rogue and habitual rule-breaker among both mortals and vampires, and he was practically daring the Elders of the vampire world to take him out. Well, this time they desperately wanted to grant him his wish. They hunted us fiercely, and tracked us down across a continent. We fled, and as we did, our followers were slaughtered, our former strongholds raided and destroyed.
We faced the full might of the vampire nation, and they ran us to the ground. At last, we were holed up in a cave in Kandahar, Afghanistan, and utterly surrounded by our enemies. With thirty vampires armed with guns and swords less than a hundred feet from where we hid, I knew that short of a miracle, Rafiq and I wouldn't make it out of there alive. Well, we were already undead but you know what I mean. In mortal life I'd been a devout Muslim, but after becoming a vampire, I doubt I still counted in the eyes of Allah. The Most High wouldn't bother with the vile creature I had become.
Rafiq and I were desperate, as you can imagine. So I did the only thing I could think of. As the vampire warriors outside ordered us to surrender or be destroyed, I took my blade and cut Rafiq's head off. Then I marched outside, holding his severed head in the air. I saved our race from the maddened traitor, I said, and hurled Rafiq's head at a towering vampire warrior who appeared to be in charge. His name was Yousef, originally from Egypt, and he'd been alive since the First Crusade. The vampire prince accepted my plea when I begged for forgiveness for following Rafiq's mad quest. Thus, I saved my skin. All it took was the life of a man I once loved. I had killed my Maker, the ultimate sin for a vampire to commit. My kind are said to have no souls, I don't know if that's true but if I do have a soul, it definitely belongs in hell for what I've done.
I returned into the fold, as it were. Since I laid all the blame on Rafiq, I was allowed to live. For the next few years, I mainly lived in America. I arrived in Los Angeles, California, in 1970, right after the Civil Rights Movement forever changed the nation. As an ancient predator masquerading as a woman of color, I was quite pleased. In the Muslim world, for all of their restrictions, color isn't the rigid indicator of social power that it seems to be in Western societies even as they push for racial diversity and inclusion.
In Arab countries, black men and black women didn't suffer through legally mandated racial segregation, though racism still exists.