Tired and Rich

He was tired, old and felt worn thin. The long years had worn him down, even though he had looked young for a very long time now. Tired of being cold, always, of seeing his loved ones die off one by one, of watching everything he loved fade into nostalgia. Tired of seeing the world turn, year after year, knowing there were so few challenges left, so few things unseen or unwanted.
He'd been young when his choice had been made, when he begged his way into the Organization, exicted at the power and wealth connected to it, the promise of being something bigger and stronger than anything he'd seen before, knowing his entrance had a seriously high price attached.
He hadn't cared or thought about it much, given how worthless and weak he'd felt. Anything seems better than being of no value or consequence when you're young and impatient enough to feel needed.
He'd risen up the ranks, made good long term investments and setup his people in positions of power and comfort, investing in pharmacuticals and biomedical research. He lacked for nothing he wanted. He'd been head of a powerful house for some time now.
He'd found that none of it mattered any more. He wanted to feel alive, to feel the warm sun on his face, to be back among his long dead family and friends.
So he took a long walk along the beach in front of his mansion, found a fine rock and waited for the sun to come up, letting go at last of all he was and could be.
It was the next night when the younger ones found his ashes, out on a lark to suck on some fresh teenage blood on the beach, even though they had plenty of good blood on tap back at the mansion from the new plasma/blood replacement biolab.