This was done for National Novel Writing Month ( ) in 2005. As such, there are a few things you, dear reader, should expect.

First and foremost, the quality of this thing is, shall we say, lacking. Anyone who's done Nano knows that oftentimes, good writing must take a backseat to the need for forward progress; there is little time to revise anything, even (sometimes especially) the stuff that makes you want to tear your hear out for writing it. This is to say nothing of the times one has no idea where to make the damn thing go and just starts writing insanely purple prose to keep padding the word count. There's quite a few instances of that in here, for certain. I won't even get into how many instant plot devices are in here for the sake of adding more words. I've also deleted a medium-sized portion from the end of the document that largely made no sense whatsoever, so the word count seems low, though I did, indeed, win National Novel Writing Month for 2005. It's not a big deal, as the plot doesn't really go that far despite the word count still present, mostly a symptom of trying to get more words in.

So, I'm posting this just for the sake of sharing it, really. This is what happens when someone does a World of Darkness story for NaNo. For better or for worse. Probably for the worse. This is also unfinished. Though I still work on it (indeed, I know what the plot of the SEQUEL would be) I'm not sure it'll ever get done, since the quality is so strikingly bad and it would be a lot to go through and totally revise.

This is based on "Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines" and picks up six months after the game, so obviously, there are spoilers. The main character (my character in the game) is a male Ventrue. The story picks up from the game's Anarch ending.

Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines

Blood of Ages

ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom – alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom

I didn't really think it was a good idea to walk right back out onto the streets so soon, especially now that all hell had broken loose in this neighborhood. But I didn't want to stay in one place too long, at least not at Mercurio's. Even if we went back to my Haven at Skyline, we'd at least be on a higher floor where hunters couldn't jump out the window after us and would have a hell of a time getting through all the security locks.

To say Santa Monica was an absolute frantic mess would've been an understatement. At least for a couple of blocks. The first thing I saw upon leaving the building was a line of police cars on the street behind The Asylum. Barnes didn't seem too worried about it, I think his first night as Kindred had already shocked him into a state of desensitization.

The various police officers and detectives paid us no real mind; we were just casual civilians wanting to see as much of the carnage as possible, really. Some of them were taking notes while staring at the burns on the brick walls of the club and the building next to it, some of them just seemed to be putzing around. The bodies of the hunters we'd killed were long gone, and I wondered how long it was going to take for them to realize how techie their gear was and start asking questions about it around the neighborhood.

It was then, as Barnes edged closer to me and started whispering, that I realized just how much he was falling into the role of an apprentice. I wasn't sure I liked what that meant for my developing role in his unlife. "What now?"

Then again, it never hurts to have friends around in the unlife. "I honestly don't have a clue."

I first met Barnes (or as he would still rather be introduced when he's feeling homesick, 'Staff Sergeant Jason Barnes,') at the Last Round not terribly long after my 'business' with Prince LaCroix had been settled. For six months I'd puttered around downtown Los Angeles and Santa Monica with nothing terribly exciting to do beyond the occasional movie night at Isaac's place in Hollywood. Sometimes I checked news of the world at large (to say nothing of briefing myself on the nuances of my new existence) with the remaining Nosferatu.

It wasn't the night we 'met' Barnes that I really consider the start of this insanity. And flamethrowers on the streets of Santa Monica weren't the least of which I really had to worry about by the end of it.

Cab drivers wearing sunglasses at night would, in the end, scare me a lot more than fire.

No, the first night where I remember something happening to set events in motion was the night before Barnes showed up on our doorstep. I say 'we' and 'our' because I'd been considering myself an Anarch since the city had become a free state again. A Ventrue Anarch probably isn't considered antitribu by most, though, considering we're quite happy to team up with the Camarilla when push comes to shove.

My moralities and sensibilities aside, I was finding unlife to be rather boring when people weren't trying to use me or kill me again. And so it was that many nights, like this one, I found myself trudging away from my suite at Skyline Apartments to the local Anarch Elysium, the Last Round.

Turning the corner, I glanced up at the local Tremere chantry when I passed it. Regent Strauss had a glowing light on top to label it, and he himself was walking out of the front door and getting into a bright yellow cab right out front.

I didn't even try to cross the street until that cab had gone by, Strauss shooting me the dirtiest of looks as it passed. The old Tremere was bald, spectacled, and dressed out of date like many an elder, and very, very angry with me.

I think he was also afraid of me; word had gotten around quick that I could resist a three-hundred year old Ventrue's attempts at Dominating me, and it wasn't long after LaCroix's untimely demise that I learned how insane that truly was. His cab driver was the usual cabbie of nighttime Los Angeles; oh, I'm sure there were more, but this was the only one I saw, a dignified Kindred wearing sunglasses and betraying no trace of his lineage.

That guy gave me the creeps sometimes, but he was always there when I needed him, so there wasn't much room for complaint, here.

The music volume in the Last Round was a constant eleven on a one-through-ten dial, blaring and filled with a cloud of cigar smoke. As the night first started, there were plenty of people there, regulars who had no idea Kindred existed, because we were good little vampires who upheld the Masquerade.

It was actually a little busier lately since the hoopla over the Ankaran Sarcophagus, to say nothing of the plague bearers that had been running around, were gone. Los Angeles was a bit of a happier place, if only slightly. And mostly in the human world. Even so, Damsel still stood next to the stairs to the second floor. The owner, doubling as the nighttime bartender, made a hell of a lot of cash serving Blood-Lite, so there was no problem there.

One thing I loved about this place, I could carry the Tel'Mahe'Ra sword around and not even get any weird looks. And so it was that I went upstairs, where the music barely reached and my fellow Anarchs were passing time watching movies, apparently with absolutely no thought to their own intelligence levels.

You stupid girl, what do you think is gonna happen, LaMagra? That's just a fairy tale told to scare little vampires...

I couldn't believe my ears. "Oh for the love of...tell me you're not watching vampire movies."

Then again, I shouldn't have been surprised. I might've lived in a world of darkness, of politics and intrigue beyond mortal imagination...but my friends lived in the same world, and they...well, we were the type of people to entertain ourselves with whatever craziness we could come up with.

Jack was the first to answer me. "Smiling Jack," I'd heard him called sometimes. "Of course we are. Hey, at least this is the first one...the sequels in this series were fuckin' crap!"

"They're all crap, Jack." Propping my sword against the table I sat down at, I couldn't help but stare at the television set loudly playing Blade for a few moments. It was almost over anyway...but I couldn't help but chuckle at the wonders of Hollywood fight scenes while Blade and La Magra went back and forth with their swords. Real swordplay was much less...elegant, usually. "Unless Wesley Snipes is really a Brujah, but I've seen him give interviews in the daytime, so I doubt it."

"Hey," Jack snickered, putting his cigar out on his own hand. "Not everything needs to be a head-case think-fest, you know."

I caught a glimpse of his palm; the burn was quite an aggravated spot of skin, it wouldn't heal as fast as, perhaps, a cut would, but it was so small it didn't matter that it had been caused by fire. It was more impressive that he could touch even the smallest fire to himself without wincing. "A head-case think-fest? Jack, you're ten times my age, and yet, you act like you're sixteen on purpose. "

"Yeah, just wait 'till you're my age, Kid," Jack went on, not batting an eye, really. "You'll act like an infant just so you're not bored."

Slumping into a chair, laying the sword against the table and folding my arms on top of said table as a convienient headrest, I sighed. "I'm already bored. At least when I was in school, I had homework to pass the time."

"It's just cause you've got no politics to play with." That came from Skelter, he of little nonsense, some muscle and a lot of hidden philosophy. "Poor Ventrue bastard."

"Please, my biggest experience with politics was on the swim team," I chuckled. "I bet they went nuts when I vanished. Big power vacuum and all that, everyone probably tore themselves apart like whoever thinks they should try to move in here and replace LaCroix."

"Won't happen," Nines waved me off. "They'll be scared shitless of us for awhile."

"Sabbat won't even realize something's wrong until they stop hearing from their Tzimisce, and that's after they realize the crazy fucker's not just being crazy and quiet," Jack chimed in.

I remembered being all cryptic when Jack mentioned I was pretty good with a lockpick...I didn't want to mention that I was not, in fact, some hardcore cat burglar and merely picked up some skill from my locksmith father many years ago. That came from making the most of my surroundings, not age. "I know that, I was kidding. You think I don't know how to play politics myself?"

Nines, in a bit of a patronizing moment, turned his attention back to the TV when Skelter swapped out Blade for Underworld. "Maybe when you're older, Kid."

The movie was an improvement, at least. Relatively speaking. If only werewolves were that friendly in reality...ah well, good motivation to hang around the city.

The sprawling, huge city. With surprisingly little to do. It was getting to the point where I was considering a visit to a nightclub that didn't double as an Elysium just for the change of scenery. But then I'd just be sitting bored there instead, with no one I knew to idly pass the time with. I wasn't a great dancer, after all.

It was around when Skelter started daring Jack to shave odd designs into his beard that I decided to head downstairs. The movie had run through by then anyway, and I wasn't really eager to see what they were going to put on next. With my luck, it would be Van Hellsing.

The bar was a much different scene since I'd arrived a little over two hours ago. The regular drunks had long since shambled out, and the Last Round was once again Kindred-exclusive by virtue of the time. I sat down and, while I wasn't particularly hungry, I had some empty space to fill. "Bloody Mary, in fact, make it a double."

The owner had a strict policy of not letting anyone else decide when it was and wasn't appropriate to use the goofy little code for ordering blood. "Let me get the tomato juice."

That meant he thought it was safe and didn't feel like running through the rest of the little blurb.

The vitae kept on hand at this bar wasn't the best, but it was far from the worst, and the bartender even went through the extra care to make it look like an actual Bloody Mary.

Halfway through my drink, I turned an eye to the door when it opened and a fairly attractive woman walked through. The kind who'd make it worth it to expend a little blood and pretend I was human again.

Her sunglasses came off as soon as she had the door closed, and then I realized I should've wondered why she was wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night; she wore them for the same reason Beckett wore them, it turned out. A Gangrel, with a fondness for 'Gleam of the Red Eyes.'

I don't know why they called it that, really. These weren't the Dark Ages, 'Gangrel Nightvision' would work fine.

Heck, 'Dominate' was nice. And people say Ventrue are stuck up. But really, 'Command,' 'Mesmorize,' 'Forgetful Mind,' all of these were simple and descriptive without being theatrical.

Not that I was going to say any of this aloud, of course. The Gangrel kind of scared me, to tell you the truth. Not that they're bad or anything, but they talk with animals and grow claws and all that crazy stuff. I prefer they not be anywhere near my personal space in case I run my mouth off without thinking. I never actually asked Beckett, but I guessed that a Gangrel who could just switch a Protean talent on and keep it like that for awhile without blinking had to have some kind of skill and age to them.

What with the Gangrel sitting at a table and waiting for the bartender to come to her, I finished my 'drink' and shoved the glass close to the back of the counter. She was starting to read a newspaper someone had left as I walked back upstairs.

Much to my dismay, Jack was throwing on another movie. The way the Anarchs would hoot and holler over these things, I couldn't help but think even a good movie would be a chore to try watching seriously in this room. "What is it now, "

" Nosferatu, " Jack smiled. Yes, Smiling Jack smiled intentionally and with punctuation more than with any emotion.

Needless to say, I found this absolutely absurd. "Why, why Jack? There is no possible reason for you to enjoy this unless you see the irony!"

"Hey, I get plenty of iron in my diet," was his answer to me. Indeed, he just sat down and lit a new cigar.

At least Nosferatu was a silent film. He had to devote all attention to the TV to see it, and it made him quieter. So I decided to touch on my curiosity. "Anyone know the woman who just walked in? Never seen her here before. She's a Gangrel."

"Gangrel?" That came from Skelter as he threw a dart at the wall. There was no dartboard, just a piece of paper with a lopsided bullseye drawn on it. I wondered if the owner would be annoyed.

"Yeah, she's got the red eyes thing going on," I nodded.

"New girl?" Nines' eyebrows went up first. The Last Round, I'd noticed, had it's pretty fair share of regulars during the night. It was entirely possible that someone 'new' was a human who usually came around during the day, a bum with nothing better to do than get sloshed. It was, sadly, good business.

"Gangrel," I said, again, noticing that Nines hadn't been paying much attention. "Her eyes are red."

"Aw, I know that one," Jack chuckled, lighting another cigarette. He took a puff from it before going on. "I see her in here every now and then, I think she's one of those Gangrel who only comes into the city when the werewolves notice her. She'll be around a few nights, then she'll just poof away."

"Weird," Nines said. "Most Gangrel get along with werewolves."

I thought that entire concept in itself was weird. It was clearly something I hadn't yet heard about in my six short months as a member of the undead. "They do? So werewolves don't always try to rip a Kindred's throat out?"

"You should pretend they do, Kid," Nines chuckled. "Even the Gangrel aren't always on speaking terms with those things."

Indeed, the best idea anyone could ever have in the unlife is to trust no one and always expect something to come at you from behind. Of course, vampires were once humans, and humans are too lazy to do that all the time, so we either make actual friends or simple acquaintances and watch each others' backs.

I absolutely refused to sit through Nosferatu with Jack. Sometimes, the guy just smiled too much, and I think Damsel was dead-on when she said she thought he used to be a pirate. Smiling Jack created the pirate stereotype.

Bidding the Anarchs farewell, the Tel'Mahe'Ra again in my hand, I stalked past the Gangrel in the bar and left the Last Round. It never ceased to amaze me that I could get away with carrying a sword around in public. Not all the cops trolling on the streets even stopped me about it anymore, content that I was just a late-working citizen concerned for his own safety.

I guess they don't crucify you for fighting back if you're mugged here. No burglers hurting themselves while robbing someone and then suing them in this place, nosiree.

No, the real problem with the downtown area right now was the deluge of police and federal investigators surrounding Venture Towers on a daily basis. It had, after all, been the victim of not one, but two acts of terror in the span of a week. The entire country was noticeably, perhaps understandably looking at it through the news cameras, although the attention had waned considerably in the past six months.

Right now it was still the ground zero of the west coast, but that would pass. Eventually, Al Queda would prove to have nothing to do with it, no suspects or motivation would ever be found, and it would probably be passed off as a case of corporate espionage gone terribly, terribly wrong, perpetrated by horrible people who would destroy a kind philanthropist like LaCroix.

Frankly, I agree with Jack; trust no one with an 'x' in their name.

But for now, I gave the building a wide berth and walked to the still taxi cab as far on the other side of the road as I could. Much to my delight, Regent Strauss was nowhere in sight, long gone from my favorite ride.

The cabbie, his nighttime sunglasses still on his face, was typically non-chalant. "Long time no see."

"I've been sleeping in lately," I said. It was a half-truth, sometimes I would just stay home and go outside not too long before sunrise for some fresh air. "Hollywood. I'm gonna pay Isaac Abrams a visit."

"Mr. Abrams seems most complacent in

Missing scene

"Damsel, you're being unusually social." Nines' comment was worded seriously, almost like something I would say myself, but he said it with a chuckle on his lips.

It inspired Damsel to shoot him a dirty look, but she was clearly more exasperated than anything else. "Yeah, well, sometimes I'd just rather not deal with the things that walk through the door, ugh." Her trademark gag of distate preceded her trademark way od addressing me. "Yo, Cammy. While you're here, wanna make yourself useful?"

Refraining from reminding her, yet again, that I considered myself an Anarch for the time being, I crossed my arms to possibly deflect some of her attitude. "Why do I not like where this is going? What's up? Did another plaugebearer walk in the door or something?"

"Hardly. This is Elysium, if a Plaguebearer walked in I'd just follow them out and do the job myself. But anyway, you're a talky fuck, right? You can blab at someone and convince them to do shit? Pretty good at dominating minds?"

I'd long discovered that the trick to dealing with Damsel was playing along with her. It inflamed her much less. "Well, I am Ventrue. I seem to be finding context to remind everyone of that every five minutes, lately. Why?"

"'Cause a member of our illustrious nation's armed forces just walked in," she rolled her eyes. "And I bet ten bucks that if I try to get him out of here, he'll try to get into my pants."

"Hah!" Jack laughed. "Been awhile since we've had one of those wander in. Great fun."

"I don't get it. So there's an army guy at the bar, what's the big deal?" I truely didn't understand. An Elysium that ran as a business had to expect to have mortal dealings every now and then.

Jack just laughed. It made me want to wipe that smile off his face, in all honesty. Skelter, instead, took up the role of Explainer to the Noobie. "Think about that for a second, man. You really want anything to do with the government hanging around Elysium, poking around vampires? Some punk Kindred ambushes him in the alley and drains him dry, next thing you know, the place you should be safe is crawling with mortals wanting answers."

"Military guys make good ghouls, too," Nines added. "Probably a few of them in the upper ranks."

I had to admit, it all seemed like a lot of common sense. Usually, I was pretty good at common sense, so I couldn't help but be a little annoyed with myself for not figuring out these concepts on my own. "Oh."

"So," Damsel went on. "You gonna get rid of the dude?"

"Fine, fine," I rolled my eyes at her. In truth, I was absolutely thrilled as I stood up and headed downstairs. It was a chance to mess with someone's head, maybe get some practice at Dominate. Above all, it was something to do. "I'll see if I can...gently nudge him. Better than sitting around waiting for Jack to decide he wants to watch movies again...hey, you owe for this, lady."

Pointing to Damsel as I said the last sentence, I promptly sauntered down the stairs, looking well like I had absolutely no real reason to head down into the bar. This, in truth, meant that I looked every bit like I had an ulterior motive, but no one was paying attention to me, so it didn't really matter.

It didn't take me long to figure out why Damsel had fingered the person in question as military. The guy was sitting at the bar, looking all buff and well mannered and so very military in full dress uniform. I knew he was a Marine right away...I'd had enough friends in the armed forces, a proverbial lifetime ago, to know the difference between most of their uniforms. Sometimes it still bothered me when I thought about how I hadn't seen one of them in the three years since he'd joined the Navy and gotten shipped to Japan, and now, I'd never see him again, for his own good. I wondered if any of them would ever seriously wonder what happen to me, but god help them if they ever figure out I'm not that far away.

I didn't know enough to figure out his rank from the stripes on his shoulder, but he was relatively young, brown hair and eyes, the kind of Marine you see on the recruitment posters trying to tell you pretty boys are welcome. He was about my mortal age, I guessed, though built much larger, whether naturally or by virtue of boot camp I couldn't tell. It amused me, to see that he was twice my size and know that I could let him break his hand punching me; even my admittedly horrible skill with Fortitude would be enough for that. Still, he couldn't possibly represent more Americana even if he tried.

What appeared to be the typical attitude of a Marine was there, as well. Or at least, what my admittedly limited view of what that attitude would be was there. He was drinking a beer straight from the bottle, and chatting with the bartender like nothing else in the world mattered. As I non-chalantly took the stool next to him, I heard him mention something about family before he took a swig of his drink.

"I'll have a Bloody Mary," I told the bartender. "In fact, make it a double."

It was almost ludicrous in complexity, the Last Round's code for serving my kind. But now, there were Kine still at the bar, so I didn't complain when the owner went on with the rest of it. "I've got the vodka, but I'm afraid I'm fresh out of tomato juice."

"I'm sure there's one can in the back room?" I threw a twenty down.

"I'll check," was the answer.

He left, an understanding nod my only acknowledgement. I found that I looked forward to my nightly 'martini' at the bar, it was becoming a mental habit. Even undead bodies could develop automatic expectations to a constant event, it seemed.

Once I was done with that, I faked a sigh of relief and, as soon as my "drink" came, I took a swig. This accomplished, I turned on my stool. Marine Boy was big enough that he took up enough space to make it a somewhat uncomfortable action. "How's it going?"

A little surprised at being approached for random conversation by someone who actually looked classy in a joint like this, he almost spilled beer all over his nicely ironed uniform. "Oh, hi...not bad, not bad, just stopping in for a quick drink before I hit the hotel. Well, maybe three or four...hey, what is that?"

"Nothing you'd want. Hotel, eh?" I chuckled. "I was just going to say I don't recognize you, and I recognize everyone who always comes in here. You know, the kind of way regulars in places like this, like...bond or something."

I was so full of shit, and I knew it. I couldn't possibly have done well in the Camarilla chain of command; for a Ventrue, I was pretty bad at dominating a conversation without Dominate. Then again, it was something I carried over from life (Samantha used to say the only way I ever got laid was by letting my ability to be a total, 'sensitive' dork charm the ladies.)

"My buddies from boot camp and I all went to a place like this sometimes," he looked around, "Little bit bigger, though. More noisy. It's pretty cozy here. But I guess it was easier to get lost in the noise after all that...you know, the stress."

"That it is," I said. "So, what does bring you here?"

"Oh, I'm on my way to see my family while I'm on leave," he smiled. You could cut the political correctness with a knife. Or maybe the Tel'Mahe'ra. "It's about a three hour drive or so...y'know, just gonna crash somewhere in town till the bus leaves in the morning. And I can take this damn uniform off. I'm halfway tempted to change in the bathroom, I tell ya, but I don't want to drop something and get it dirty."

What a retard. I wondered if I could have a little fun with this. I religiously kept, in my pocket, the phone number given to me by the cryptic cabbie Jack had 'introduced' me to. The man was Kindred, the most laid back I'd met. So much so, I couldn't even tell his clan, though I suspected Gangrel. Heck, I could put him up at my old Haven if I really wanted to.

Granted, I didn't really want to, and I was betting that I had more than enough money to pay my cab driving friend to drive him all the way home. Besides, sometimes I worried that my old ghoul might randomly pop up there again...just because I told her to go back to her life, well...I wasn't sure it guaranteed anything.

Nevertheless, I wanted to Dominate him and just send him on his way. It technically was still a discipline, and thus technically not allowed at Elysium, but it wouldn't be the first time, and it would serve a purpose that wasn't really all that evil. Granted, I was thinking of something sadistic just to amuse myself, but still, I knew how to be harmless.

I even had blood right in front of me to replenish what I would call on to make it work. Still, I held back. At the very least, I was actually thinking that my conversation skills needed some work, and it never hurt to practice. "So, what do you do? Besides the obvious, I mean? Just come back from overseas?"

He seemed more than a little flattered that I would suggest such a thing, which probably said something about his attitude. But he was also flustered, and I hadn't figured out why. Considering I wasn't calling on the blood to make my presence more well known, it couldn't have been that frightening to be in my presence. It was laughable, watching his face turn red. "Oh, no, no, I mean, I wanted to, it's almost why I signed up, I guess, but they think I'm a better salesman or something like that, so I help out at the recruiting office."

The office he spoke of was, if I remembered glancing at it on a map like I thought I'd had, about thirty minutes away from this part of town. Thinking on this, I kept listening to him. "I mean, I guess it's okay. Maybe I'm not shooting dudes like whoever bombed that building down the street. But at least I'm convincing others to do it, I can help without holding a gun, right?"

What a stereotype this man was. He kept chuckling every time he said something; I really did make him nervous. Or he just thought he was all that and a bag of chips, which made me want to vomit as much as an actual bag of chips. I was so used to being around Kindred who saw my appearance as a mark of my clan that I didn't think I stood out anywhere, anymore.

And I marveled at how good he probably was at his job. I still let him talk. "So, what's your thing? That's a nice jacket. You must have it good."

If only he knew I bought my leather jacket from the arms dealer usually sitting next to Venture Tower. He'd moved into the parking garage close-by last I'd heard. "Oh, I'm just a businessman..."

"My parents bought me one like that," he kept chuckling, "One of those leather ones that says 'MARINES' across the shoulders...and it's all thick and good for the winter. It's waiting for me at home."

He pantomimed the shape the letters were embroidered in, or at least how it looked in his mind. I saw this as an amazing opportunity to toy with him. Steeling myself, I concentrated on altering his mind just a touch. "You really want to have it. You're going to go change in the bathroom and let me call you a cab."

"Yeah, I really want to have it," he took another gulp of his drink, but the action was mechanical, a puppet with its strings being tugged on. "I'll hitchhike home..."

But it was not to be. The stool next to him on the other side suddenly found itself occupied by the Gangrel who'd been hanging out here the last few nights, though her eyes weren't gleaming red at the moment. "Hey."

Whereas I was polite, she was nothing but seductive. I could tell where she was going right away, and I had no objections, even though I thought it was...odd for a Gangrel to pick up someone in a bar. But what did I know? I was only six months old...

In its own right, watching her speak to him was just as much of an amusing game as what I'd been doing, only not with my participation. If he'd been nervous talking to me, he downright spluttered once he turned to her. "Uh...um, hi...how's it going?"

"Can't complain," she said, paying me a nod before making eye contact with him. I appreciated the acknowledgement and just watched, pretending to go back to my drink. I really did drink, I just didn't pay much attention to the feeling of it while I listened to her continue. "Couldn't help but hear you're in town for the night...I'm going to be gone from these parts by dawn, myself...but it couldn't hurt to...well, have someone to talk to."

"Absolutely not, Babe," he nodded, already entranced. She was good, watching her made me think I'd need to take oration classes to be that effective without Dominating people. Oh, her words were simple enough, but her body language spoke volumes. Seducing young men wasn't something I aspired to do, but it wasn't what she was doing that made her good at it, it was pure skill. Suddenly, he was a lot less apprehensive about someone talking to him.

It didn't take her long to go for the prize, either. Pretending to look at the wall behind the bar, I watched out of the corner of my eye while she ran her hand up the inside of his thigh and grabbed once she reached the top.

That sent him right into what must've been the biggest hormonal frenzy he'd been through in quite some time, if the subtle changes in his body language were any indication. "Well then. I guess you're not new around these parts?"

"I've been here a few times," she said. I would've almost called her voice wooing or seductive, but she was still a Gangrel, and her idea of seducing someone was just as much an animal as her bloodline, right down to how she sounded. "Maybe this time it'll be something to write home about."

The chance of a decade, as far as most mortal men were concerned. He may have been thinking that, but he couldn't quite admit it. It might have been true, but somewhere in the back of his little mortal mind...oh, I could just imagine the conflict, the political correctness he had to uphold versus good old-fashioned hormones. The mortal version of the Jyhad, one might say. If one were Malkavian.

The next step of her seduction was simple. "C'mon."

"Yeah, show me around," he smiled, moving to follow, and then turning back to throw a modest wad of dollar bills onto the bar. As he did so, he glanced back at me, and I pretended I was completely oblivious as he said, "Hey, uh, nice talking to you, man."

I waved once, said 'Take care,' and tossed the rest of my drink down, finally getting a good enough look to make out "Barnes" on his nametag. So, political correctness failed the mortal this night. I can't say I was surprised, though it was amusing to watch his will be so utterly shattered by a simple hand on his crotch. He couldn't have bounded out the door fast enough, a silly little grin plastered all over his face.

I remembered being the same.

The bartender took the glass and cleaned it immediately, and I chuckled when he rolled his eyes in my direction. "I tell ya, the things you see people do in here, makes television boring."

"Quite true." I left him more money as a tip, wiped my mouth on the closest napkin, folded it neatly before tossing it into the trash, and went back upstairs. "Hey, Jack...is it normal for Gangrel to go around picking guys up at bars?"

"Was it normal for a Ventrue to pick you up at a bar?" He snickered at me as I resumed my place at a table. I resisted the urge to mention that I hadn't met my Sire at a bar and let him continue. "Hey, you can stereotype the clans all you want, people'll still surprise you. Just look at you, Mr. High and Mighty Ventrue hanging out in a seedy little bar with Anarchs. There are even a few of you guys in the Sabbat, see what I'm saying?"

"I guess." Something still seemed odd about it, something that Jack's explanation didn't really explain. "Looked like they were heading around the building when they left."

"Yep," Jack turned, looking out the windows, "They just slipped around the side."

My mind drifted back to six months ago, the party I'd been invited to by a bunch of people I knew from college. Samantha was one of them...I was supposed to go study with her and some others the next day, but she'd probably seen how much I'd been drinking before I left with a woman in tow. The hosts had bought all that expensive liquor, I was afraid of insulting them if I refused whenever it was offered.

Thinking back on it, she definitely had me in tow.

But that was in the past.

I was vaguely aware of Jack walking by my table and heading into the bathroom, leaving the door open. "Hmmm, I wonder." The sound of the window opening reached my ears, and then Jack started laughingas he walked back. "Ooohhh yeah, right in the corner of the alley, hah hah! Man, the engine block's gonna come through the tail pipe! And in uniform, too, what a fucking poser!"

I sighed; Anarchs could be so...gossip mongering sometimes. Not that the Camarilla was any better. Nines seemed to think it was amusing, at least. "Yeah? Probably doesn't want to get it dirty."

"Hey, I wouldn't." It was the only thing Skelter had said in awhile. He had once told me he was a Vietnam veteran...

It occurred to me, at this exact moment, that I could hear him moaning through the bathroom window. "Jack, really. Why in the world would you want to watch that?"

"Cause I'm waiting to see if she goes all the way and then leaves him in the ditch," he laughed. As soon as the moaning changed from something distinctly male to something distinctly male and female at the same time, he went right back to the window, came back with a smile on his face, and started performing the most obnoxious pelvic thrusts he could manage.

Damsel thought this was absolutely hilarious, while Nines and Skelter suddenly wondered how many tiles the ceiling had.

The lack of sex in the unlife could be really boring, sometimes. I just had to wonder why any self-respecting Kindred would want to remind themselves of it. "Jack, you are bizarre. "

"You shoulda seen me in the old days," he answered. "Had a sword myself, back then."

The low scream we all heard not long after had an obvious source. Jack looked rather pleased with himself, going back to the window to watch the poor guy get his blood sucked.

"Another day, another pint," I commented, going back to my usual status of crossing my arms on the table and resting my head on them. "Poor guy didn't even get a good romp. I went three times before she bit me."

"You sure you're not Malkavian?" Nines asked. Funny thing was, I couldn't tell if he was serious or not. "Sounds like something a Malk would enjoy, that much of it, anyway."

"Yes, Nines," I looked up at him. "I seek the astral light to set the sky on fire. Know where I can get some? I'll tell you the one about the tuna in return."

Of course, Damsel took this opportunity to chide me, as always. "Dumbass. Malkies who talk like that are either in the mental ward or faking it so you don't see why they're really fucked up."

Sometimes, I really wanted to smack her. "It's called a joke, Damsel. You should know what one is, considering mirrors only fail for Lasombra."

In truth, I expected my vague insult to go right over her head. So I was a little surprised, but not totally unprepared, when she put a hand on the chair right in front of her and flung it to the side, stalking towards me a second later. I stood, ad if she were just a bother. It pissed her off even more. "What was that, Cammy?"

"Isn't this supposed to be Elysium?" I chuckled. If she took a swing, I had no doubts that she would hit me, and it would hurt. Celerity and Potence made a painful combination. Then again, I was still here to talk about going toe-to-toe with LaCroix's sheriff. That had to count for something.

"No head-bashing, Damsel," Nines piped up. If she was totally willing to rip my head off and step on it, she was more loyal to Nines, and she backed off.

Not before Jack came running back in. "Hey, hey! That crazy chick out there is embracing the bastard!"

That earned a big "holy shit" expression from everyone's faces. The same thing ran through all of our minds...endangering the Masquerade, a likely Caitiff being made...but it was ten times worse, and as I followed the common sense train of thought to its logical conclusions, I suddenly realized just why Masquerade-oriented Kindred, even Anarchs who refused to use the word and called it "common sense stuff," wanted government agents and military types far, far away from the Embrace. I really didn't want to think about what kind of hell this could make for the Kindred still in the city if the guy's Marine buddies realized he was AWOL instead of just plain dead.

As I made my way into the bathroom and towards the window while everyone else made a mad dash down the stairs and out the front door, I realized this was the reason any Anarch would tolerate the Camarilla so long as they minded their own business. The Camarilla brought with it a Prince who could pull favors and nudge carefully placed ghouls, or at least more important Ventrue than myself with similar resources who could also sneak around and make liberal use of Dominate to kill bad news from spreading.

But all of this was really neither here nor there. All that mattered was that, while the window 'exit' was much more cumbersome than the front door, it was faster. Besides, even if Gangrel Lady got mean and thrashed me, she'd have to be an Antediluvian to get by the three

I saw them even as I started to climb out and onto the awning beneath it. She had her prey against the bar's dumpster on the far side, holding him up with one hand, her other bleeding wrist to his mouth. He would've looked like he was getting strangled at a glance.

She was feeding him from the wrist, I gathered. Watching this, I forgot all notions of stealth, and my foot hit the awning with a loud metal clang.

The Gangrel woman's eyes were gleaming red once more, and she stared up at me with them, glaring right through me. She took two steps back, and then roared, the blood flow from her wrist stopping as her hands became feral claws.

I'd never really been on the receiving end of Protean before, and I was caught totally off guard. In an instant, she leapt into the air at me, and as one of her clawed hands found my face, too fast for me to move away from, I could only think about how much I wished I'd brought my sword with me out the window.

I didn't feel the contact, I only felt the momentum as I was flung off of my perch and through the air, until I crashed into the wall of the next building over and tumbled back to the ground. During that one motion, my mind sped up and I saw everything around me, the Gangrel already leaping onto the rooftops, a familiar looking yellow cab out on the street, and the Anarchs coming down the alley at superhuman speed.

Nines almost caught me. Almost. His arms weren't quite close enough to stop my fall, and I slipped out of his grasp and hit the ground anyway.

The dust was clearing when I regained my composure and slowly began pulling myself to my feet. Jack, being Jack, helped me up with the comment of, "Well, hey, that must've sucked. At least you kept your jaw, though."

Immediately, I reached up to my face and felt the massive claw marks streaking across my cheek. It hurt worse than getting shot, no doubt due to the source, and wasn't healing nearly as fast as I would've liked. The wounds stretched and inflamed all over again when I talked. "That...hurt."

Of course, I couldn't move my mouth very well, and it sounded more like "Tha...erth." If it was even that annunciated to begin with.

Moving it around a little to build up a tolerance to the pain, I followed the four of them behind the dumpster and to the sight of one sorry Marine. The poor man didn't even have the dignity of being fully clothed, what with his pants being around his ankles, but he had bigger things to worry about now.

None the least of which, apparently, was the Kindred in his immediate presence. Nines spoke first, and for the first time, I realized just how subdued he was since the Camarilla had been blown out of town. The fight had simply left him, a warrior without a war for the moment. "Well, that's just great...anyone think they have a clue what to do with him?"

"Eh," Jack lit up a cigar and took a long drag, idly kicking the Marine's leg the way one checked to see if someone on the ground was alive. I didn't believe for a moment that Jack didn't carefully calculate this action simply because it looked appropriate. "Poor bastard's in for a shit storm no matter what."

I'm certain I was biased about the best course of action to take, but needless to say, my bias was not in Jack's favor. "Maybe," I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets, fully aware of the hypocrisy in what I was about to say. "Maybe we should just throw a stake in him and call it a day."

"Oh, that's mature." This from Damsel, of course. "Fuckin' Cammy. We could've let you die like that!"

I gave her a glare. "I'm not saying anything anyone here hasn't at least thought of. You can't always afford blind altruism! Is he worth the trouble he could cause? What happens if he runs away and...and god knows what he tells his superiors." As if on cue, our Marine friend stirred; he was waking up, his skin already much paler than it had been five minutes ago. He was, quite obviously, dead. I waited for his eyes to find me and, before he started talking, I rather violently pointed a finger at him. "Sleep!"

He conked back out; one word commands, don't leave home without them.

"Blind altruism my ass," Jack crossed his arms and gave me that usual Brujah look of displeasure. "You'd be a pile of ash if Nines hadn't stuck up for you. Yeah, he could cause more of an Oops than you might've, no reason to just toss him away and let him turn into a Caitiff. Besides, the way luck works, he'll probably survive long enough for those Sabbat fucks to pick him up, and boom, they've got a Pander in the fuckin' Army."

"Marine," I corrected him.

"Oh, whatever," he rolled his eyes. It really just proved my point, that Brujah tended to hate a Ventrue's guts no matter the situation, but oh well. They would deal. I'd only single-handedly stormed Venture Towers for them.

Though I'd still like to know exactly why the Ankaran Sarcophgus exploded. I figured Nines must've had something to do with it, but even with the Anarchs, some politics weren't worth getting into. Don't ask, don't tell; it was over and done with, the results were favorable for all the people I cared about (or at least not life-threatening, as far as the local Nosferatu and Mercurio were concerned,) best to just leave it all behind.

Then again, maybe that coffin really did have an Antediluvian in it...Beckett hadn't had the equipment to run a bomb check on the thing. Maybe he figured out it was something contained because its power was out of control that it was destined to just destroy itself.

Heavy stuff. And it still didn't help with the present situation one bit. "Alright, look. I'm not saying I want to kill the guy. But at the very least, we shouldn't afraid to. Tell me he's not more of a risk than I was."

Silent until now, Skelter actually backed me up on this. "He's right, for what it's worth. No one joins the Suck because they can deal with their world turning out to be a farce, man. All this shit's gonna send him into a frenzy just trying to accept it, I bet."

"Great." I tried to shove my hands deeper into my pockets, but there wasn't anymore room. What Jack was saying finally caught up with me...I really did owe Nines and the Anarchs my life. Far be it for me to question their stance on the issue. "I'll take the lieutenant here to my place for the day, and we'll see what happens in the evening."

"Sergeant," Skelter corrected me. Apparently, he rememebred how to read those stripes. "He's a sergeant."

Speaking of Nines, my idea finally encouraged him to speak. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"Are you kidding?" I gestured to our friend on the ground, "It's the best idea. If he freaks out with any of you, you have to hit him, or shoot him, or worse. If he freaks out with me, I just need eye contact."

"Benign use of mind fucking," Damsel said. "There's something you don't see everyday."

I took the liberty of pulling Sergeant Barnes' pants back up for him, intent on carrying him over my shoulder when a new set of footsteps drew all of our attention to the front of the little alleyway.

It was the cab driver, the first time I'd ever seen him out of his wheels, now that I thought about it. He looked so stupidly dignified and regal, I never would've guessed what he did for a 'living' if I'd seen him walking around first. In truth, my theory about this guy was that he was some sort of eccentric Elder bored to tears with the Jyhad, or at least with unlife in general. When I thought about it, I couldn't help but guess that being a cab driver gave him a unique and very broad perspective on the goings on of the area and the people in it.

Despite his tendency to always be around, I doubted I was his only vampire regular. He didn't seem to mind. "Gentleman...though I obviously bear no weight in the decision-making of your group, I feel as though you should know the noise has awoken some of the local Kine, and if they call the authorities, our lives might be made rather...inconvenient in the here and now, regardless of what the future holds."

Given the lights popping on in the apartment building next to the Last Round, I was inclined to agree. "That's a good point...ah, are you free for a drive?"

"Of course," the driver answered. "I drive for those with Caine's blood more than humans as it is. Please, allow me."

He reached down and picked Barnes up by the front of his uniform jacket, as effortlessly as any vampire would, though he gave no consideration to comfort and simply held on there, letting Barnes' feet drag on the ground.

The cab was as cozy and cigerrette-scented as ever, really. He put Barnes in the back seat and I went around the other side so I could be sure he wouldn't wake up. "Where to?"

" Skyline Apartments," I said.

Even though the ride was short, he didn't fail to be the usual conversationalist he always was. "A fresh neonate, yes? Did you lose control having a snack and feel this would make amends?"

"God, no," I almost laughed, rubbing at my jaw where the wounds had closed but hadn't healed over yet. "Some crazy Gangrel dragged him into the alley. And, well, you see the result. Considering she fucked his brains out and gave him a ton of blood after she drained him, I think she just got off on it."

"A 'city' Gangrel, perhaps," Cabbie answered. "The Gangrel themselves have been known to create their fair share of Caitiff...still, and antitribu likely would've shown her face during the recent events anyway."

"I don't care, really," I said, slumping back into the seat. "She up and left. Jumping over buildings, no less. If she rears her tail again, fine, I'll deal with it."

"Or perhaps she will deal with you instead," he intoned, pulling over onto the curb. "Do you wish for me to help you carry him?"

"No, I'm fine," I said, handing him a pair of twenties. The ride from the bar to Skyline was all of five minutes, if that, but this guy had saved my ass and been a general, all around help otherwise. He deserved an...expression of my gratitude. "Thank you."

"Take care, young one," he added, as I opened the door. I could never tell if he was looking at me in the rear-view mirror through his dark sunglasses. "The trouble of months ago may be gone, but in this era, the apocalypse is ever-near, in everyone's minds if not in reality."

He had a point. Really, if I wanted excitement, I could probably find it just by going to another city where the general tension never ended. That was the real treasure of the Anarch Free State, I think. There was no tension, no fear that someone was going to come for you at a moment's notice because you sneezed wrong.

Dragging Barnes up the stairs was easier than it seemed like it would be. I threw him over my shoulder and realized the weight of a single man (or even a single corpse, in this case) really wasn't all that much for Kindred. Maneuvering into the small elevator, that was another story, but it wasn't anything more than a minor inconvenience.

The familiar 'ding' of the elevator opening signaled why walk out into the little hallway containing the door into my apartment, so graciously acquired by Prince LaCroix before his demise. So graciously paid for by large sums of his fortune, itself gracefully routed through as many dummy banks and businesses as needed until it hit my own accounts.

I owed the Nosferatu big for that one. But I'd been smart enough to only get Mitnick in on it, so I really only owed him, and I took care of as much of it as my good, if not Nosferatu-calibur computer skills allowed, so I owed him a little less than I would have otherwise.

He would one day collect my debt in the form of a favor, not the ridiculous amounts of money I now had, but that was okay, payment for services rendered. Still, we'll see how jaded and uncaring I am by then, and whether or not I'm good enough to Dominate him into forgetting. Not that I didn't like Mitnick, but I wouldn't put it above a Nosferatu asking for something a little ridiculous and outside my few morals.

But all of this was really irrelevant to the current situation. I dragged Barnes up the stairs and tossed him onto the floor in my bedroom; the first thing I did with him would've been the dream of any gay porn director, the swim team captain stripping the Marine out of his uniform. But damned if his clothes didn't have to go. They were filthy from the alley as it was, and it would be a good start towards convincing him that he wasn't going back to his base, or rather, his recruiting office.

It was a disturbingly simple way of thinking about how he also wasn't going to go back to his friends, family or the Military or anything he knew at all, really. And one way or another, I'd make sure of that. I think Nines and Jack and Damsel thought I just wanted to kill him, but I wasn't that in touch with the beast. No, I just thought in practical terms. If the beast had something to laugh at because of it every now and then, so be it, but I had to make sure I was alive first if I was going to keep beating the beast back in the first place.

In truth, I absolutely pitied the guy. He couldn't have been older then me, and here he was in the same situation. Without his Sire, without a clue and without a very good chance at all. I went through it myself, I wasn't unsympathetic. I would try to help him, I wouldn't have gone through this much trouble already otherwise.

Sergeant Barnes was going to adapt to his new existence, or his first word of vampire terminology would be "Final Death." End of story. I left him the dignity of his extraordinarily bland standard issue undershirt and boxers, and truthfully, I'm not sure if my aberration at the distinct lack of fashion in the military was from the Ventrue bloodline or from my own humanity. Probably a little bit of both. If I hadn't cared about such things in life at all, I would've joined the football team instead.

I didn't have the heart to rip off his dogtags, either. They could be hidden once I gave him a set of clothes, something I specifically wanted to do when he was awake, hoping it would inspire trust. I hoped his tags would remind him of being human, give him an easier time holding onto his humanity. Gangrel were much more in tune with the beast, I'd heard.

He easily slipped from my commanded sleep to normal sleep; the sun came up by the time I'd hit the Internet to check what time it was going to go back down. so I could set my alarm clock for a minute before. He wouldn't be waking up before then.

Feeling the sandbags on my own eyelids, and having no wish to fight the urge, I did the last thing I absolutely needed to do: I double-bagged his dress uniform in black trash bags, tied them tight, threw it in a third tied that, and went out into the hallway to toss the bundle down the garbage chute. Better to not have to fight with him over getting rid of it.

All of that done, I took one last look at Barnes on my bedroom floor. Sleeping with him two feet away was a little unnerving, but I didn't think it was that big of a risk. I had a gun in the nightstand on the opposite side of my bed from him, and I locked the door, so if he tried to sneak out, he would have to make noise opening it.

Satisfied, I flopped down onto my insanely comfortable mattress, felt precisely one second of pity that I was making him sleep on the floor, realized I was going to be a little hungry in the morning after having my jaw heal and that small Discipline use, and then I passed out like the dead.

Usually, I didn't dream.

Or maybe I dreamed and just didn't remember it like normal humans do. I'd never thought about whether or not Kindred went through the same stages of sleep and thus, dreams as mortals. But if we did, I never remembered it. Until now.

It was what they call a Lucid Dream, where you're perfectly aware that you're lying in bed snoring and that all of this is happening somewhere in your subconscious, but I had no control over it like in every story about the phenomenon I'd ever heard.

I recognized the people in this dream...I was seeing it through m own eyes. I was me, that is, and we were sitting around a campfire in the woods. Why vampires would waste nighttime in the woods building a campfire, I'm not sure...but Beckett was here, I suppose if he was bored, he could just relax and then sink into the Earth.

Jack was here, too, and so was...that cab driver? And Barnes? They were all sitting morosely around the fire, though Barnes was picking Beckett's ear off about their clan. I'm not sure how I knew that, I couldn't actually hear them. They both had red eyes, though. The Gangrel look and attitude didn't suit Barnes at all, he was permanently stuck looking like the perfect, all-American pretty boy soldier with the muscles and haircut to prove it. It might work to his advantage; someone who wanted to attack him might assume he was a Brujah or even Ventrue depending on what he was wearing. Someone trying not to make eye contact with their target and finding themselves against a Gangrel with any competency at Protean was in for a world of pain.

"Nice night?"

I jumped. Suddenly, the cab driver was standing next to me. He was still wearing those damned sunglasses, too. Immediately, scenarios and possibilities entered my mind, culminating in the hastily put together theory that this man was projecting this scene to me, maybe he was a Ventrue after all, an old one with enough power to use our discipline over great spans. "Are you doing this?"

"Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps not. Perhaps this dream is a prophecy. Perhaps it is just a dream."

I was actually starting to think it might've been just a dream after all. Jack was smoking a cigar, Beckett was now wowing Barnes with some Thaumaturgy spells. "So what if it's a prophecy? What if I'm never around this fire with these people? I could kill him tomorrow night, I may have to."

"But a prophecy is only a guess that comes true," Cabbie said. "If it doesn't, it's only a metaphor."

I wasn't sure where I was taking this was the place he (or my subconscious, if he was just cooked up by my imagination) intended, but...prophecies, metaphors, gloom, doom, there was a lot of that going around lately. And some of it had only left Los Angeles because the Ankaran Sarcophagus had proved a deadly phony. "Like Gehenna?"

"Who's to say Gehenna will or won't come true," he said. "I suppose the real question should be...is Gehenna a certainty, or just a guess?"

I remembered Beckett talking about this, that Gehenna might very well be wrought about by man's design, a prediction proved true only in the sense that given enough time, people would create similar circumstances for themselves anyway. Break the Masquerade for good and watch humanity fling napalm at any Kindred it sees while the damned throw back with their disciplines. Poke an Antediluvian and it'll rise with every intention of eating you whereas it never would've fulfilled the prophecy if it hadn't been disturbed. "Maybe it's a guess about certainty. If the Antediluvians really are around...well, wouldn't their sleep fall under the old adage, 'nothing lasts forever?'"

A thoughtful nod from Cabbie. "Hmm, quite right. I suppose, then, that if the third generation rising is a matter of inevitability, rather than prophecy, Gehenna would be a guess. It implies they could be stopped."

It didn't just imply. In my research through the Nosferatu's networks when I'd been able to idly look through Bertram's stockpile of non-secrets, trying to get a better grasp on vampire society, I read about the Week of Nightmares a few years back, when the Ravnos Antediluvian had risen and been destroyed. That one event had caused the world over to slip into its current state of untold tension and fear when night fell and things like me woke up to go about their business. "So this dream is a prophecy about a prophecy being subvertable?"

"Or perhaps it's just a dream."

I woke up. The alarm still had a few minutes to go, but I shut it off anyway. One thing I loved about being a vampire, I'd yet to have a restless day of sleep. It was really just a matter of time, so I just sat their, leaning up against the headboard, hands behind my head, waiting for Barnes to stir.

And he did. He started to roll over and groan, until he realized he was most certainly not in his usual bed, and then he bolted upright out of shock. I watched him take in the room, very mindful of the Glock in my nightstand. It was my favorite firearm, I think...I wasn't particularly good with them all, but like Jack had said, keeping up with modern times meant guns, and I seemed to have more luck with that one if I needed it.

It was, at the exact moment Barnes saw me, realized his uniform was gone and quickly stood up, that I realized I'd left the Tel'Mahe'Ra at the Last Round.

"Hi," I said.

"Uh," he started, absolutely mortified at his position. I guess I couldn't blame him. He looked a little twitchy, too...his Sire had given him a decent amount of vitae, enough so he wouldn't frenzy right away, but I was guessing he still felt hungry. Only he didn't yet know what for. "Oh... oh, it's you, man, hey, how trashed did I get last night? Is this your place?"

"Has been for a few months," I slid forward off the bed, opening the door and walking out, letting him follow me down the stairs.

"Oh...well, thanks, I guess," I heard him scratch his head as he plodded down, his footfalls anything but graceful. I hadn't thought he'd have a modesty problem, if my own friends' stories about boot camp were any indication, but nevertheless, he still, eventually, looked over himself with some worry and said, "We, uh...we didn't, like...y'know, last night..."

"My clothes are still on," I answered, making sure to throw just enough sarcasm into it to make sure he knew I thought he was an idiot. He didn't sit down like I did, he just sort of hovered next to my coffee table.

"Oh...well...that's a relief...um...where's my clothes?"

Now for the bombshell. He was glancing around with a glazed look in his eyes, searching for that thing he was missing, wondering why he felt like he had an itch he couldn't seem to scratch. "I threw your uniform away."

"What!" His already dead-looking eyes bugged out and he bared his fangs unconsciously. And he stumbled back like I'd struck him, looking down at himself and just now realizing he was standing in my living room wearing his standard issue socks, underwear and T-shirt. "You...you threw it away? That was my dress uniform!"

"It was already trashed," I kept calm, letting him have it bit by bit instead of all at once, "You can't wear it anymore."

His hunger was driving his anger now, slowly driving him over the edge. If he was fidgeting before, he was a complete nervous wreck now. "I...shit, I feel fucked up...what the fuck did that bitch pass me...she must've spiked my drink or something..."

It was never going to get easier. The fact that he was on the subject of his Sire made it seem easier, though. "No, she killed you."

Actually laughing, he finally looked at me for more than a few seconds, but he kept finding distractions to not make eye contact...rubbing his eyes, or his temples, or the occasional glance at the wall behind my chair. "Dude, quit fucking with me...c'mon, what'd you really do with my grays? You are fucking with me about that, right?"

"Don't you feel it?" I finally stood and met his eyes; the second I did, I Dominated him. "Look at me." Satisfied that he was still and paying attention now, I went on. "Aren't you hungry for something you don't know? Don't you even notice that your heart stopped beating?"

The last one got his attention. I remember it had seemed obvious to me, as well, kneeling on the stage once the stake had been pulled. Of course, I thought it was odd I could be 'alive' after that, but it tipped me off that my normal bodily functions had...changed. I watched him scowl and put his fingers to the opposite wrist.

His face fell faster than I thought it would, he was too hungry to come up with logical explanations for problems, like saying that not everyone could find a pulse there. He put those same fingers to the side of his own neck. "I...I don't...there's no..."

"No pulse?" I nodded. "Because, my reluctant friend, you are quite, quite dead. Undead, technically."

For the briefest of moments, it looked like he was taking it well.

And then I saw why he kept looking down; the drawer in my coffee table was slightly open, enough to see into.

Even if I knew Celerity, I doubt I could've stopped him from slamming the drawer open and grabbing the Desert Eagle I kept there. I knew there was a reason I'd put the shotgun under my bed instead of out here...

Not one second later he had it cocked and leveled at me. "Who the fuck are you, huh! What the fuck's going on!"

"I never touched you," I shrugged. "You can blame your one-night stand for what you are."

Just like that, he turned and, still carrying my gun, ran right out the door. And he was still in his underwear, no less.

I simply allowed him to leave; I could've stopped him, but it wouldn't have helped getting the situation across in his head. I didn't want him to shoot me inside, either...the neighbors would hear and say things.

Instead, I walked into my bedroom, pulled the Glock out of my nightstand, and turned the safety off. I reached over to where I usually kept my sword, propped up between the nightstand and my bed...only to remember I'd left the it at the Last Round. My foolishness aside, I'd wanted it more to make me feel safe; I wasn't planning on slashing him up if he didn't make me.

Now, Barnes seemed to be a smart fellow; he had barely any clothes on and couldn't hide his new gun, so it came as no surprise to me when I looked out my window only to see him scaling the fence that blocked the alleyway next to Skyline.

I got out into the fire escape and just dropped right down, almost on top of his head. Even my meager skill with Fortitude was more than enough to protect me. "I know it's hard to think," I said, once I stood up from the squat I'd landed in, "But you really need to calm down."

Unfortunately, his reaction, after the shock of seeing a man effortlessly jump at least thirty feet to the ground, was to take a step back and point the gun at me again. He was breathing heavily even though he didn't need to, and this time, he fell into a proper position to shoot with, both hands on the gun, legs spread a little, leaning in slightly. "Get the fuck away from me you freak!"

"Oh, now we're calling names," I said, drawing my own pistol. I didn't point it at him, but I didn't act like the gun he was pointing at me was a concern. In truth, it wasn't; still, I wondered just how much of his shaking was from fighting the beast. You'd think he would've shot me already. "What's wrong? You started out so brave. Go on, pull the trigger."

"I...I will!" He took a step back when I stepped forward. "I will, I'll shoot you!"

Yet, he still didn't. "Never thought you'd be pointing a gun at a fellow American? Just tell yourself I'm a terrorist. I had a hand in bombing the Venture Tower and now I'm trying to subvert good patriotic servicemen to do my evil bidding. So obvious, huh? Didn't you say you work in a recruiting office? Guess you never pointed a gun at anyone before, period."

I raised mine. At the same time, he finally pressed the trigger and his shot rang out an instant before mine, the bullet hitting me square in the head just as my gun went off, sending the much smaller round off-target.

It still hit him, though. The last thing I saw before the massive hunk of lead slammed cleanly into my skull was the little nine-millimeter embedding itself in his stomach. I tried my damndest to stay on my feet, but I was simply unprepared for the large force throwing me off-balance and I hit the ground, back first, with an audible thud.

"Well," I groaned, "I guess you know how to use one after all."

Even as I forced myself to sit up, he was already gawking at himself, wondering why the hole in his abdomen wasn't there anymore.

In fact, he went as far as dropping the gun right there and lifting the front of his shirt up, poking a finger through the bullet hole in it, and then to patting himself down frantically in that general area. He tried to figure out just how a gun, an object with effects he'd grown intimately familiar with in basic training, had just completely failed to injure him. He must've thought he was in a videogame or something

And then he looked at me, which made things even worse. "How did you...how did I...I...I got you in the...I was..."

I didn't like where he was going; freaking out plus the distinct need to feed he had going right now was going to send him into a frenzy sooner or later. But on the other hand, he still didn't know what making eye contact meant to me, and I used this to my advantage yet again, snapping my fingers to make him look at me. "Calm down, follow me."

Instantly, he was calm, though his eyes betrayed the fright and morbid curiosity of his questions. But he followed me back upstairs nonetheless, where I led him to my bedroom and told him to stop.

Once I'd rummaged through my wardrobe for clothes that would fit his frame (the competitive swimming I'd done as a mortal left me with a build much different than boot camp had done for him,) I saved myself the trouble of convincing him to follow my instructions and simply Dominated him one more time. "Change your clothes"

Needless to say, the baggier muscle shirt and jeans I had weren't so baggy on him, but they fit. I'd left his combat boots, they didn't scream Military without the rest of his uniform, and I didn't have extra footwear anyway. He obeyed me without question once more, considering the amount of effort I put into it, and soon enough, he looked passable as a normal, living civilian, if not a civilian who thought he was some big bad marine, considering the haircut.

I saw something I hadn't noticed when he took off his undershirt; his dogtags weren't the only thing around his neck; he wore a little, plain silver cross, too. Great. Nevertheless, he kept both hidden when he put the new shirt on.

All in all, he looked like a fratboy without a fashion sense. That was good enough for me. And it would do as far as going outside, which I fully planned to do. The will he had, probably built up in training, made Dominating him a large effort, and I needed a refill. "Let's go."

Fortunately, he was so numb from shock that he followed my in a very obedient fashion. It was a simple trek down the elevator and out the door, and then down the street where Cabbie was parked, idly waiting for some business.

I wondered how much of his business I was, actually. I didn't know if Barnes realized we were going anywhere just from heading towards a taxi, but I wasn't going to risk him running off; I gestured for him to get in first, and Cabbie waited for me to plant myself inside. "Where to?"

A brief thought later, and I reached an answer to that question. I wanted to leave the downtown area because we all had to lay low with the authorities hanging around Venture Tower. Chinatown was...ugh, please. Hollywood was farther away then the only other choice, and I really, really wanted to get some blood in Barnes before he lost it. "Santa Monica."

Fortunately, he didn't even need to inch by the slow-going road next to Venture Tower before we were on the route to Santa Monica, home of just as much sleaze and ridiculousness as the downtown area, but I'd gotten used to it.

Cabbie was as social as ever, if you can call cab-talk 'socializing.' "The LA nightlife, it seems, has grown interesting again, no?"

Trying to ignore the distinct feeling of ants crawling around behind my eyes, I wondered if I should actually be weary of this man. Maybe that dream yesterday wasn't just a dream. Who knows?

Barnes knew none of this, though. "What's...what's he talking about?"

I really think Cabbie was just fucking with him, waving his own seniority at him for nothing other than ego. "Caine's blood runs through me as well. No need for Masquerade."

"He doesn't know a thing," I sighed, unable to keep still. I imagine Barnes didn't like being talked about like he wasn't in the car, but as Cabbie took the highway's turn.

"Hmm," he said. "Many a Caitiff would give a limb to be in his position, with someone to introduce them to the workings of the night. Do you imagine the Caitiff princes in the East knowing their true lineage, and exerting it as seniority along with the power that is already untold for those in their position?"

"Please, it's a lot of bullshit," I waved him off. I think I believed in Caine a little more than most vampires, certainly more than any Ventrue who aren't flat-out antitribu, but sometimes, one needed common sense instead of faith. Even I, at six months, could see what happened in these situations. That was probably why, actually. Older vampires were too busy screaming 'oh no, Caitiff princes! It's the Final Night!' "It's politics. It's a bunch of pretentious old men playing at ruling the world, and the ones who care about these things had their backs turned at the wrong time. The Elders were having a slapfight while the dogs slipped out of the kennel and into the leather chairs."

"Perhaps," he said. "Then again, if it turns out to be one of the first events in a series of social changes that ultimately destroys the Camarilla or, forbid, leads to a second inquisition, who are we to say it is not the predicted Gehenna?"

Right then, I knew my dream the day before hadn't been a dream at all, and that if Cabbie hadn't been directly responsible for it, he was, somehow...important. "We're no one. But I'll say one thing; for those Caitiff princes to be around long enough for us to be talking about it like this? They're a hell of a lot more competent than people like LaCroix. I'd say vampire society benefits from them."

"True," he answered.

I could see Barnes out of the corner of my eye, looking oh-so-very confused at the massive amount of buzzwords we were throwing around, afraid to ask for an explanation. His eyes had grown wide when I'd said the word 'vampire.' I hadn't meant to break him in like that, but at least he had something to consider, now. He would probably have the peices put together by the time we were at our destination. Still, I obliged him a little. "A Caitiff is what you almost turned into, someone abandoned without even being told what's going on."

"Oh," he nodded, barely. As if he wanted to call me on baiting him into asking questions, he deliberately stayed rather silent.

Soon enough, Cabbie announced, "We're here."

He left us right near where we were going; the Asylum, Jeanette and Terese's place. Literally. Two Malkavians in one body, yeah, those girls were always good for a hoot. I suppose Barnes was lucky he hadn't tried to have a one-night stand with them. My thoughts aside, he wasn't oblivious to hsi surroundings. "What's 'here?' Looks trashy..."

"Trashy means easy blood," I leaned forward, eyeing the scene in front of the club...I could see Knox just walking in.

"Blood?" He turned is head to me again, obviously not following. Or maybe he was, just not letting the reality of it all sink in. As annoying as it was, that was entirely understandable.

"Welcome to your first time," I answered. None of the prostitutes out front would be easy pickings, way too many people skeezing around...better to stick with the wannabe blood dolls inside addicted to being fed off of. "I promise it'll feel great."

I was thinking that I would stop by the blood bank on the way home. I had a horrible habit of procrastinating now that the only thing I needed blood bags for was to keep in the refrigerator for when I was too lazy to go out, and they usually tasted fine. I had yet to vomit any of it, at least.

"Feel great, right." Seeing Barnes wrap his arms around his stomach and hunch over made me pause from getting out. To his credit, Cabbie just sat as he usually did, one arm hanging out the window. "Fuck...I feel like my insides are on fire."

"Get used to it," I said. I didn't want to tell him to fight the beast yet, better he not have to worry about the real extent before he didn't have to worry about it.

Barnes got out of the cab and shuffled around the front, our driver seemingly complacent in his position.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught motion from the driver's seat; he reached his arm out...I don't remember seeing him ever move that one arm from the window, but he moved it now, and grabbed Barnes by the arm to get his attention.

His grip looked like an iron vice from how I saw it, like he would almost break skin. "Remember, Neonate...wherever we go, it is the blood of Caine that guides us." If reaching out the window was a surprise, I thought I would lose consciousness when he plucked the opaque sunglasses from his face, staring at Barnes with the most intimidating eyes I'd ever seen. "Take good care of yourself."

Apparently as taken off guard as I was, Barnes simply nodded and then turned to me, a blank look on his face. "What...um...what are we doing?"

"Just follow my lead," I motioned him along through the door with me, "Feed now. Slake the hunger first, the ask questions."

His silence told me that he did, if nothing else, acknowledge being hungry.

Thundering bass hit me as soon as I opened the door into the Asylum, no surprise there. Though the way Therese had of dragging people into her business and the way Jeanette had of dragging her business into other people could be...entertaining, I was nowhere close to being in the mood for it right now.

To make matters worse, the second I stepped over the threshold into the club proper, I tripped over my own feet and almost fell flat on my face. That damned ringing in my head was starting to get distracting.

"Hey man," a very, very familiar voice drawled out not far from the bar's front door, "Almost took a nasty spill there! Lucky you don't even need to worry about it, huh?"

"Hi, Knox," I forced a smile. Bertram had told me his ghoul's...personality, as it were, was a complete farce...and these days, even if I still wasn't a year old, I knew enough about Kindred and the way the world works to feel foolish for having ever being fooled. No self-respecting Nosferatu would ever ghoul someone like this. But Knox's act was a part of how he did his job, so I played along with him. I was mostly glad that Bertram was still in town.

"Hey man," Knox gave me a playful punch on the shoulder, "He looks kinda twitchy...you two badasses here to get plastered off of plasma?"

"Say it louder, Knox," I motioned for Barnes to follow me again, and again, he came right along. I was starting to hope his total confusion would still make his transition easier once he was well fed, but it was a false hope, I knew.

I gave a cursory wave to the bartender and sat down at a stool near a regular I knew well. Sort of. She had red hair and a figure to die for, though she was rather airheaded and I knew her more by taste than by name. Sometimes I wondered if she realized what I did every time I 'kissed' her. Unknowledgeable humans weren't a big deal in non-important Elysiums. Especially a club like this where no one would be able to make out the act amongst the sheer darkness and noise.

But actually, she did. "Hey, I missed you!"

What she really meant by that was "I miss the ridiculous feeling of ecstasy I get when you suck blood from my neck." It was all the same to me, and I said, with the charm turned on, "I brought a friend; I was hoping I could share?"

Standing next to me, Barnes seemed rather shocked, thinking I couldn't possibly mean what he thought I meant. Apparently, while random sex in an alley wasn't an insult to the ol' Marine honor, a threesome was . "Share?"

"Sure," my regular drink smiled again, flinging her red hair over her shoulder, leaning towards him so her neck was bare and exposed. "Go right ahead, stud!"

"I...I don't," he started, but the sight of her skin, of the little, tiny spot where her pulse was visible to the trained eye, was far too captivating for him. If he had been denying what his hunger was for, he couldn't resist it any longer. "What do I do?"

She thought his was funny, from the giggle she let out, but I just wanted him to feed and get it over with. "Just go for it," I couldn't help but smirk. "Hey, I was captain of the swim team, not the wrestling team...but it'll be as natural as what you did a few hours ago around the bar."

My attempt at needling him was more reassuring than I thought it would be...with a last glance at me, seeking approval, Barnes slowly covered what little distance there was between himself and the girl. Two slow steps later and he had one arm slowly snaking around her back. The other hand quickly wrapped around her head and held it in place, keeping her neck exposed as his instincts took over and he dived right in.

I could've sworn he snarled like an animal just before his teeth sank in. Maybe that was normal for a starving Gangrel, I don't know. She certainly enjoyed it as much as she did when I was the one doing the sucking, but whereas I was soft and held my willing meals tenderly, my newfound friend was absolutely ravenous. I could swear he was humping her leg every now and then like he could still get off on it, perfectly synchronized like clockwork along with the actual sound of liquid passing from her veins into his mouth, and the classic animal growls from his throat.

He was a wolf, plain and simple, the complete, perfect picture of a Gangrel the way everyone else tended to see them. And I couldn't help but wonder how much of it was Caine's blood (that damned cab driver's sheer conviction on that topic really had me believing in the lore these days) and how much of it was his humanity. I'd known him for all of five minutes before his embrace, and he'd fit the public image of his job as well as he now fit the attitude of his clan. Maybe the two were just compatible.

I hadn't warned him not to suck her dry, I didn't think it would matter, which is why I'd stayed close. Once I could tell he'd almost taken more than would be healthy for her, I raised a leg from my position on the stool and kicked him in the hip.

It was more than enough to break him out of the ecstasy, out of that feeling that the entire world had vanished. He stood rooted to the floor once he stopped stumbling, a look on his face Jack said I'd had after my first meal.

I can't blame him, I suppose. All the while, his meal plopped onto the stool next to mine, a goofy grin on her face before she tipped over, her back flat on the bar.

The bartender was not amused. "Oh, c'mon, can't you fucking kids leave them enough to stay awake? "

Despite his displeasure, he went right back to wiping the rest of the counter off.

And Barnes had managed to look at me again, that same look still on his face, slowly mixing with horror as he had his revelations. "Did I just..."

Through the music, it sounded like a whisper. No more coddling, he'd had is right of passage, and if he had any common sense now that he could think straight, he knew what he was. "You drank human blood and you enjoyed it. I think that's obvious."

"I...did I...did I really," Before he finished, he swiped an arm across his mouth, only to look at the smeared blood on his skin and staining the hairs. He sat down on the stool to the other side of me, so I had pathetic looking people to my left and right. Were it possible, he probably would've started crying as soon as his face fell into his hands. "Oh god...oh my god... "

I couldn't help but think, that if the blood of Caine is really what makes our fate, then, "God doesn't like us anymore." Once I stood up, I pulled my shirt down to smooth it out and turned to him. "Are you still hungry?"

For such a simple question to make him look at me with so much shock in his eyes was truly incredible. "How can you ask me that..."

Shrugging, I pointed to his first meal still splayed out on the bar. "See that smile on her face? They'll beg for it as long as you don't drain them dry. That's all it takes to kill. You're going to have trouble resisting the temptation to go all the way, mark my words...it's in your blood. Just remember what it's like to be human and look at it like you're giving them something for what they're giving you. I'd keep an eye on you, but if I don't feed myself I'm going to be worse off than you were a minute ago. Try upstairs."

I pointed to the stairs leading to the Asylum's second floor, usually easy pickings with other people who knew about vampires. With a single, reluctant nod, Barnes slowly walked off. At the very least, he wasn't fidgeting anymore. He was carrying himself like he had when I'd first seen him in the Last Round, even if he was still absolutely terrified. Acting calm was probably what he'd been taught to do while panicking.

Before I moved off, I waited for Barnes to get out of sight and passed the bartender a hundred-dollar bill. "That guy I'm with? He doesn't leave the building."

"Hey, for a tip like that," he pocketed the money without skipping a beat, "You can make 'em pass out right on the dance floor."

That wasn't a bad idea, really. With Barnes (hopefully) covered from running out on me, I went right over to the dance floor. It was never the most happening place, but at this time of night, it was as it should be. If some of these people didn't know vampires are real, they would go home with stories of freaks that liked to think they were.

Embarrassing was a good way to describe my dancing skills, but among the goths and the vampire fanboys who realized that my pale complexion wasn't makeup, nothing was uncool.

Not long after a song with a more subdued, dare I say "erotic" rhythm came on, my need for company was filled, by a young man, no less. Then again, in a place like this, I should've been more surprised that this hadn't happened until now.

He was Hispanic, assuming the club's lighting wasn't messing up his skin tone badly, looked about my mortal age, sharing my build as well, and I could tell he fit my pallet for the middle class. His fashion choice of a flagrant harness spidering out across his upper body and shiny black pants were pleather, not the leather he probably wished he could afford. Maybe the fact that I was wearing the real deal is what grabbed his attention.

In the time it took me to make that assertion, he was already trying to catch my eyes, and I let him. From the way he smiled, I gathered that he probably would've moved on otherwise. Having no wish to feed and drop him on the floor, I played up the part of the overly erotic vampire like my unlife depended on it. "Like what you see?"

He wasn't so much dancing with me once I spoke as he was swaying against me, and I started leading him to the nearest wall. "Oh yeah."

Funny, how mortal hang-ups meant nothing so soon after death. I still remember Jack telling me that blood would be my new heroin...but I can't imagine drugs being anywhere near as satisfying.

"I've never danced with a man before," my newfound dinner told me. I wondered if he had just never been to a place like this or was just trying something new. Then again, I would definitely give him something new anyway.

"Always a first time," I grabbed his hand and put my other arm around him as soon as we were on the edge of the dance floor, going right with my back to the wall near the rear door.

This close, so close I could already taste his blood...I can understand why some Kindred think Caine and his children will devour us, if my simple, inconsequential hunger was this demanding. I moved my arm around and ran my hand up the side of his face like I wanted to kiss him, waiting for him to get the idea and lean in.

But I was still holding his hand, and once he was off balance, I pulled to the side, spinning him on his heels before he realized that I'd done something, letting his back fall against me. I still had one hand on his even now, holding him there at the chest, my other hand at his head.

He shivered, and chuckled nervously over it. Hard to believe someone could be in Jeannette and Therese's club, wearing what this kid was wearing, and be embarrassed about something involuntarily. "Wow, you're chilly."

I couldn't resist. The seductive vampire act was easy, because the people I acted it around simply fed it. "I can warm you up, if you want."

"Yeah." He must've been turned on by now, if his voice was any indication, but I didn't care. All I cared about were my fangs sinking into his neck and the blood rushing down my throat only a second later, pushing away the cloud over my perception, the ringing in my ears that changed pitch every few minutes.

The second I tasted it I knew my guess had been right...Ventrue like LaCroix would say they simply had picky tastes. Personally, I don't like puking blood out of my guts, so I was perfectly content in admitting that bums and hookers were raw sewage and the upper class was just plain sour.

Having never had much of a problem keeping my humanity over the beast, it was a simple, though dissatisfying action to pull my teeth out of the kid. To let go, to let that beast take over and be the monster I really am would be liberating, but a luxury I couldn't even afford on any enemy I'd yet met. I can't imagine hating someone so much that I would lose myself in the act of draining them out of anger instead of the necessity of a combat situation.

Every single time I fed like this, I thought like this as well. Maybe it was my own personal demon...the same way Barnes had to resist being a wild animal, I had to leave the kid to slump against the wall, contemplating how sex would be boring until he forgot what that bite felt like. And the alternative was asserting my position on the food chain in a pointlessly violent manner.

Oh, if Isaac could see how well I swished away from him, it was like I'd gotten high, but without the more negative effects, only the realization that my hunger was gone, the absence of it giving me so much more room to think. All I needed was Bela Lugose's cape.

Not totally full, I still felt satisfied. I had enough in me to last for some time unless I had to use it for less benign reasons, like Dominating the dear Mr. Barnes again if I really needed to. I went to find him upstairs, and there were indeed people he could have fed from...of course, the one person he had chosen, or who had probably chosen him...the one person who new exactly what to say for him to forget his anxiety and fear and welcome her offer...

He was about to bite into her wrist, her arm extended across the table they sat at. I actually leapt over the table between theirs and me, grabbing her wrist and yanking her arm away just as my feet touched the floor again. "Jeanette...how's it going?"

Pigtails swashing, eyeliner making her creepy as always, Jeanette blinked her eyes at me for the sad puppy dog effect. "Awww...we were just having some fun...right, big boy?"

I wasn't fooling either of them, nor was I trying to. Barnes knew right there that he was about to do something I would disapprove of, and by extension, was automatically worried that it was something an upstanding young man such as himself shouldn't be getting involved in. As if biting women in a nightclub was something an upstanding young man should be involved in.

He slinked back into his chair, unable to bear the perceived ire from everyone in the room, most of whom didn't actually realize he existed.

"He doesn't need your kind of fun," I yanked her to her feet and kissed her right there, the mortal kind of kiss, with enough tongue to write home about.

She was pretty good at it, and it seemed she thought the same of me. As long as it satisfied her need to be voracious, I was happy. "Not nearly as fun, but only relatively speaking...I guess types like you have had a lot of practice, hmm?"

Now she went for the schoolgirl pose, leaning on nothing with one hand on her hip. I wasn't really phased, even in my mortal life, I would not have considered this woman all that attractive. "Whatever, Jeanette."

Seeing that she was never, ever going to have her fun as far as I was concerned, she conceded defeat with a sigh and left us. "Whatever, yeah, yeah...but a Gangrel is so much better in the sack."

With one last wink at Barnes, she left us for other pursuits. Or maybe because Therese wanted to come out. I sat down next to Barnes instead of across the table so I didn't have to shout over the music. "If that woman ever asks you to do something, anything, or even offers you something, don't do it."

"She didn't seem that bad," he said, licking his lips. He wasn't kidding when he'd admitted he was still hungry.

"It's not even that," I went on, knowing full well that Jeanette was that bad. "If you drink another vampire's blood, you're bound to them and they have power over you. It's a good way to indentured servitude, and worse."

So, I'd let the magic word drop again. To his credit, Barnes didn't flinch, much. Then again, he also went into denial ASAP. "Dude, that's the second time I thought I've heard you say 'vampires.' For real, man...what's going on?"

"Are you that unable to accept it?" I threw my feet up on the chair next to mine, reclining with my arms crossed, turning my head towards him. "You drink blood. You gain nourishment from it. Surely you must've noticed you can see, hear and smell a little better than before. Your heart isn't pumping, your body is...need I go on? Are you going to keep denying it?"

"This is fucking gay," he declared, shoving away from the table. His chair slid away, but his hands stayed holding onto the edge, as if he was bluffing. Like he couldn't really leave unless I told him what he wanted to hear. "That's...that so fucking stupid. There has to be a logical explanation. If vampires were real, I'd...we'd..."

"If vampires were real," I went on, eyeing a bored-looking girl staring down at the dance floor. "They'd probably do whatever it takes to stay secret because mortals would outnumber them a hundred-thousand to one. Well, unless you're a Sabbat idiot who thinks it's cool to go around showing off and killing everything in sight...damn shovelheads. But that's a topic for another conversation."

"This can't be happening," he half-groaned, half sobbed as he let his forehead hit the table, his arms wrapping around his head as if the act would shield him and make everything better. I let him angst, watching as he soon sat back up and reached down into his shirt. "Wait...wait, I can't be a vampire...see? This would burn, wouldn't it?"

He wore a crucifix around his neck, I'd forgotten. It was tangled in with his dog tags, I wondered if that happened often. "Nice try. You'll find garlic and running water don't do much, either."

I had amusing memories of a man in a biohazard suit waving a cross at me...poor bastard. His blood had tasted horrible through that material. Barnes was another beast entirely.

And then, he slammed his fist on the table getting up and glaring at me like he'd probably been trained to. "Screw you, you rich little punk, I bet the biggest rifle I know how to use would still tear that fucking bitch's head up if I ever see her again. Or better yet, yours. Hell with this, I'm going the fuck home. "

Well, I never...

Hah, as if the first rude awakening wasn't enough for him. "Sure you are."

But he was already out of earshot, rushing back down the stairs. When I bothered to get up and trot down after him, I found him at the door...with the bartender blocking his exit. Being a rather large man, the bartender just had to stand there, cross his arms, and look mean...all in all, he made out pretty well, considering what I'd paid him to just stand there and look intimating.

"We'll leave now," I smiled, once I'd caught up. True to his temporary job, the bartender gave me an amused chuckle and left us for the bar once more.

I led Barnes out, my arm around his shoulders, holding him from running away, though he desperately searched around for some escape route once we were on the streets.

I'd planned on going home, it was almost five in the morning at this point, but strangely enough, the ever-present bright yellow cab was just...gone. For the first time, my mysterious friend had failed me.

So I led Barnes into the alley next to the Asylum instead.

"Who the fuck do you think you are!" He demanded, growing angrier as I briefly ignored him to glance around and make sure no one was in sight for the moment. His attitude, his sheer selfishness, was getting on my nerves. "What do you think-"

Instead of letting him finish, I grabbed his neck with one hand and lifted him against the wall of the Asylum. As high as I could reach, his feet were a good four inches off the ground, and he reflexively grabbed my arm as if he had to worry about breathing.

Still, it had to be uncomfortable, and that was just what I'd intended. "Listen to me, you ungrateful little stuck up soldier-boy, I could've let you wander around and let the sun handle you before you even knew it would be a problem like so much Caitiff, like I'm sure your Sire wouldn't have cared about, like my friends in the bar didn't care about either!"

Feeling something metal on my shirt, I glanced down to see that he had the gun he'd originally taken from me pressed against my heart, his eyes still pointed up from the angle I had his neck from. "You tried that in the head and it didn't work, remember? Acts of kindness in the real world are few and far between," I squeezed tighter, enough to actually inflict pain, and stood on the tips of my toes to slide him up the wall that extra inch, determined to get the point across. "So you better learn to appreciate them! Understand? Give me some sign that you understand."

Just like that, the gun pressing against my ribcage went away. Satisfied, I let him down gently. "Good. Now, let's find..."

This was the second time one of us would be interrupted, for I stopped dead when a line of rope, honest to god, black rope, fell from the sky and across Barnes' head. We both looked straight up at the same time, but he was the one who managed to say, "What the?"

I had neither the time or the inclination for such a thing when the person sliding down the rope, appearing to me only as a blob of black with legs extended, fell into me. The pair of boots that hit me did so with such velocity that I tumbled right into the opposing wall with a resounding smack, regaining my composure just in time to watch this person, a Sam Fischer wannabe if there ever was one, raise a pointy wooden stick like a dagger and lunge at me.

Against the wall or not, my reflexes were more than enough to clap my hands together around the stake and easily prevent it from reaching my heart, but the shock of this new situation froze me there in place as easily as if it had gotten through. Still, the idiot didn't have a hope of overpowering me.

And it didn't matter. A pair of large arms reached over my attacker's back, encircled his head, and broke his neck with one simple snap.

It left Barnes standing there, looking down at the body, almost as shocked as when he'd first fed. I was shocked as well, because this person was undoubtedly human. "Hunters? In public?"

As if this wasn't enough, two more men in ridiculous skintight suits with ridiculous glowing night-vision goggles appeared at either end of the alley...we had no cover and no room, this space was tiny, sandwiched between the club and the local computer store.

I flung the stake at one of them, not that I had any idea how to do so properly, but it was frightening enough to make him duck back behind the shop.

Of course, this meant that the other one had no reason not to pull the shotgun off of his back and point it at us. "Down!"

Barnes flung himself down onto his stomach even faster than I did, but I'd gone through the trouble of pulling the Glock out of my pocket beforehand, and I fired off two rounds towards our attacker.

Sadly, my marksmanship was...lacking, and I ended up hitting the Asylum, instead. But a crack louder than my pistol could make came from the Desert Eagle that Barnes liberated from my coffee table, and the only shot he fired went right through the hunter's skull.

It even shattered his goofy green goggles...it was so ludicrous I couldn't help but smile.

Still on top of his game, Barnes rolled onto his back and took a shot at the other hunter, but he hadn't come out of hiding enough and remained untouched.

This became a problem when said hunter leveled a flame-thrower at us and set about setting the alley on fire. "Shit, run. "

"Don't have to tell me twice," Barnes was on his feet and following me onto Main Street before our pursuer was close enough to fry us...and he didn't even need to know that fire was deadly to us to be afraid of it.

The gunshots were sending people scattering and cops swarming, but I put my gun away and Barnes had the sense to follow my example, so that we looked like two people simply trying to get away from the flames.

Flames were frightening on their own...I didn't want to die by them, not if I ever had anything to say about it.

Satisfied that we'd lost the hunter for the moment, Barnes and I walked quickly to the parking garage near the pier...it was a way to get to Main Street without being spotted, though for the life of me, I didn't know what we would do there yet.

I had no clue if the hunter was still stalking us, but we kept low to avoid drawing attention through the fences. Still, his curiosity got the better of him. "Why are people trying to kill us?"

"Because they hate vampires," I answered.

Once we peered out onto Main Street, the sight of an entire platoon of police officers running off of the street and around various buildings greeted us, except for that one alley we'd been in; it was on fire, after all, and the smoke was still rising next to the Asylum.

"That guy's totally crazy," I heard Barnes say, but I didn't bother to look at him, paying attention to the scene was more important. He did, however, get my attention for a moment when he audibly sniffed the air almost like a dog would. Huh, stereotypical Marine in life, stereotypical Gangrel in unlife. "Smells like Napalm."

"I can't smell it from here," I shook my head. I believed it though; hunters were insane enough to do these things.

"Hey, you!"

Frightened, I snapped my head to the side to see a police officer just coming out of the tunnel Main Street turned into. And he was a lot more intimidating than Officer Chunk. Fortunately, he was also oblivious. "You fellas alright? Stay down, head back to your bar if you can."

He kept going, and I had to admire the response time of the Santa Monica PD while Barnes just kept putting his foot into his mouth. "Our bar?"

"Probably thinks we're a couple," I said. Once the police had adequately swarmed the hunter's last known position, I motioned for him to follow me out and we dashed quickly across the street. "Better than thinking we're the perpetrators."

As I led him into the apartments next to my old Haven, Barnes said to me, "That's sick, dude...I ain't a homo."

Once the door was closed I breathed a little easier, so to speak, and made my way down the hall I first saw splattered in blood months ago. "I just told you you're a vampire, you have proof it's true, and you're worried about homosexuality. Great, great..."

Sometimes, I wondered how I was ever human...his next sentence certainly didn't help the species' reputation. "Yeah, whatever, I saw you dancing with that dude in the club and neckin' with 'em on the damn wall, for crying out loud."

"You'll excuse me," I knocked on the last door on the right side, rapping as loud as I dared without waking up the rest of the building. "If my tastes are based on financial heritage and not gender. Mercurio? Mercurio!"

It took a full minute, during which I felt exceedingly exposed and vulnerable in this hallway, to get any sort of response. And then another ten seconds for the grumbling and obscenities on the other side to translate into the door opening.

Obviously, Mercurio had been trying to get some sleep. His bathrobe and barely opened eyes seemed out of place for him, along with his slurred speech. "Hey...woah...what the hell, I know you guys can't help but do the night scene, but us ghoul types need our beauty rest every now and then, you know?"

My urgency was well represented in my voice. "Shut up and let us in!"

I think Mercurio trusted me enough to let me in anyway...I hadn't seen him in some time, but we'd had some good business together regardless of what I'd done to his superiors, and he was in no frame of mind to stop me regardless.

In fact, all he did was plop down onto the couch he'd once bled on and almost fall asleep again. "So...what can I do for you gentleman," he yawned. "Christ, you got any idea what time it is?"

"It's five minutes after a hunter just came at us with a flame-thrower," I damned near screeched while I obsessively checked every room, to make sure there was no way in except the door, and that it was sufficiently light proof for Kindred. "We need a place to crash for the day."

That got his attention. "Flame-thrower? Someone let a flame-thrower rip in Santa Monica? That's gotta be a first...hey, who's he?"

Before I could answer, my Marine friend crossed his arms. Somewhere, deep down, he must've cared deeply that a person from the world he'd been forced into cared enough to ask his name instead of laughing at his ignorance. That care would probably pass as he grew more in touch with his heritage. "Barnes. Staff Sergeant Jason Barnes."

After five seconds, Mercurio was wide-awake.

And laughing. "You're kidding. You're kidding. Man, you're so lucky you ran the Camarilla out, they'd have your ass for this one just like your Sire...hey, are you his Sire?"

"Oh, shut up," I finally sat down, though Barnes...Jason, opted to stay standing. "He's a Gangrel. It's about an hour until sunrise...you got a lightproof closet or something?"

"Aw, Jesus," Mercurio looked like the act of thinking was straining him right now, not that I could blame him. "The closet in my bedroom should work...but it's not too big. There aren't any windows in the bathroom, though."

And so, there was sleep. Mercifully, perhaps miraculously, it turned out Barnes and I hadn't been tracked. No one tried to burn down Mercurio's building or barge in with stakes and more flamethrowers. I had taken the bathroom and found myself profoundly uncomfortable upon waking up and realizing I was not on my cushioned mattress at Skyline but, rather, in Mercurio's bathtub.

I suppose there were worse places to be, really. At least Mercurio kept his place clean instead of sleazy and dumpy like my first Haven. What a rot-hole that had been. But again, I hadn't complained, once I realized the Nosferatu live in the sewers.

I didn't really think it was a good idea to walk right back out onto the streets so soon, especially now that all hell had broken loose in this neighborhood. But I didn't want to stay in one place too long, at least not at Mercurio's. Even if we went back to my Haven at Skyline, we'd at least be on a higher floor where hunters couldn't jump out the window after us and would have a hell of a time getting through all the security locks.

To say Santa Monica was an absolute frantic mess would've been an understatement. At least for a couple of blocks. The first thing I saw upon leaving the building was a line of police cars on the street behind The Asylum. Barnes didn't seem too worried about it, I think his first night as Kindred had already shocked him into a state of desensitization.

The various police officers and detectives paid us no real mind; we were just casual civilians wanting to see as much of the carnage as possible, really. Some of them were taking notes while staring at the burns on the brick walls of the club and the building next to it, some of them just seemed to be putzing around. The bodies of the hunters we'd killed were long gone, and I wondered how long it was going to take for them to realize how techie their gear was and start asking questions about it around the neighborhood.

It was then, as Barnes edged closer to me and started whispering, that I realized just how much he was falling into the role of an apprentice. I wasn't sure I liked what that meant for my developing role in his unlife. "What now?"

Then again, it never hurts to have friends around in the unlife. "I honestly don't have a clue."

That wasn't entirely true. While I wasn't at all sure what a good course of action would be, I had some thoughts on how to figure it out, at least. Barnes, though, had other concerns. "Those jokers last night had some high-tech gear."

"You know," I paused, stopping right as we crossed into the parking garage. "You're right. The vampire hunters I've seen were never like that...Society of Leopold bastards are supposed to just hole up in some obscure church and pray until they set out to kill things."

"Church?" He blinked. "Church, what church? A church tried to kill us?"

"Welcome to the real world, 'sergeant,'" I sighed, leaning against the concrete wall. "God fearing church-folk don't really appreciate our curse, you see. To be fair, I can't really judge the entirety of organized religion based on those idiots. Someone once said to me the Society is so secret they don't even know for sure if they exist."

"Curse," he said, looking more desperate by the minute. "This...this is a curse?"

'Information overload' was shaping up to be the word of the day. "You don't want to hear this now."

I started walking again, and while Barnes fell in step behind me, he was anything but complient. "Bullshit. I think I have a right to know what the fuck's happening to me so I can tell my family why I look like death. "

At that, I whirled around. "Let's get one thing straight, soldier-boy; you are not going home. You are never going home. You look like death because you're dead. And don't even think because I'm friendlier to neonates than any other Ventrue on the planet that I won't kill you the second you start parading around like everything's normal."

I turned and started walking again, out of bravado than anything. I wondered if he might try to hit me over the head and run for it, but it was too late now; it was either up with the attitude or lose whatever fear of me he already had that made him cooperate.

I was a little surprised when he just fell in step with me once again, but I wasn't about to complain. Still, he wasn't about to shut up, but it was better than arguing. "So...this...this is a curse, you said? Isn't it...isn't a vampire just, like, infected with some different strain of blood?"

People and their goddamn vampire movies...I needed to have a talk with Isaac about getting a good vampire movie on the market, I think. Even if it couldn't tell the truth, he could at least do something to make people forget Wesley Snipes. "You watch too many movies...look, the short version is, if you even believe in that sort of thing," I knew he did, "That Caine killed Abel and was cursed to be the first vampire. He sired three more, and they sired thirteen between them, and those thirteen started the bloodlines that turned into the clans, today."

I honestly thought he was going to freak again. I was dumping a lot of heavy-handed religious implication on someone who went to church maybe not every Sunday, but maybe every three Sundays, and it was probably a lot to take in. "Do you...actually believe that?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, turning onto Main Street. Cabbie was parked here, and I walked towards him. "But to tell you the truth, I'm more inclined to believe in something like that these days," once I reached Cabbie, I cut off my sentence. "Hey, where'd you go last night?"

His elbow still resting on the door, he only so much as glanced over to me out the window. "Ah, last night...my apologies. I was not aware of the hunters until you and your companion had already left."

"And you couldn't have done something about it," I deadpanned. I suppose asking a vampire who passed eternity driving a cab to fight vampire hunters was asking a bit too much, but still.

"Next time, if you wish, I will do what I can to warn you. However, it will increase my fee."

"Everybody wants something," I said to myself.

"Such is the way of things," he said. "Where do you want to go?"

Looking up and down the street, I considered that for a second. "Nowhere, not yet...we have a few things to look into first..."

"Very well," he answered.

I led Barnes back down the road, still giving the cops a wide berth...I noticed Therese out in front of the Asylum, seemingly bickering with the police about their investigation. Clearly, she wanted results about why the side of her club had been torched by people whose corpses had been found there, even if she must've had a good idea about what those people were.

Halfway to where we were going, he had the courage to speak again. "What, um...what 'clan' am I?"

"Gangrel," I said. "Unless that chick just wanted me to think that..."

"What do you mean?"

"Her eyes were red when she didn't have to worry about getting into your pants," I went on. "It's something Gangrel do. They're... your signature discipline is called 'Protean.' It's a magic for changing forms and shapes into various animal-like things...the red eyes let you see in the dark. I bet you could do that already, if you put your mind to it. That being said, plenty of other vampires have learned Protean in their times..."

He didn't get the right idea. "Like you?"

"Nah, that stuff's not my style," I shook my head. "I stick with my clan's disciplines, like Dom...well, we share the penchant for vampiric Fortitude, you and I. But the Gangrel tend to be loners, drifters, more in tune with the beast, I hear. Most Gangrel practice Animalism and commune with various wildlife, too. Personally, I think Protean is more impressive...I'm acquainted with a competent Gangrel, maybe I'll introduce you sometime. I've heard of Gangrel with sufficient skill in Protean just sinking into the Earth to sleep when the sun comes up."

I really wanted him to remain ignorant of certain things, at least for the time being so he could wrap his head around it all much less stressfully. Though my motivation for keeping the word "Dominate" out of my expository was solely over my intention to make liberal use of it every time he started stepping out of line. If he wouldn't learn to be a good little Kindred, I'd try training him before killing him.

I didn't know if Bertram would still be around his empty oil drum, but it was worth trying. The gate was, as usual, unlocked, and we creapt right through the hole in the side of the big round enclosure.

Sadly, Bertram was nowhere to be found. But I couldn't help but notice his computer and lightbulb weren't disturbed. "The hunters couldn't have been through here, they'd have trashed the place..."

"Right you are, fledgling."

I jumped, calming as soon as I realized it was Bertram's voice I'd heard echoing off of the walls. Trained not to startle but to respond, Barnes pulled the gun he'd stolen from me and still carried, tucked under his belt. He looked around anxiously, waiting for whatever it was to show itself.

Bertram appeared out of thin air right next to me, having obviously been under the cloak of Obfuscate. I saw him first, but when Barnes turned back and noticed him, he jumped like I first had, with a little yelp, so shocked he couldn't even shoot Bertram like he'd done to me the night before. Though he kept the gun pointed.

"Yeah, I have that effect on people," Bertram said. I couldn't help but like the guy, he had this...charm most Nosferatu lacked. Gary was theatrical, Imalia was... ugly and Mitnick was just really wired. Bertram, however, just chilled out. "And here I thought there were only four vampires in Santa Monica. He have anything to do with those Leopold-in-Leotard freaks last night?"

"I wouldn't think so," I said. "He's kind of new, actually. Long story. To tell you the truth, I was hoping you'd know something."

"Sorry kid," Bertram tilted his disfigured head to the side, eyeing me with thoughts of sending me out to look for information, no doubt. "Even Gary's at a loss. Been talking back and fourth with the others since the sun went down. News of it's hit everywhere, though. Isaac Abrams is actually trying to convince Gary we should all work together against a common threat, and blah blah blah."

I just couldn't believe that. "That doesn't sound like Isaac."

"Yeah, well," Bertram shook his head, quite sadly. "It sounds like Isaac if you consider he's calling Gary a self-loathing selfish bulbous-headed bastard while Gary tells anyone who'll listen that Isaac's a pretentious old Tory secretly playing a big hoax while hidden cameras film his latest movie."

"Yeah," I scratched my head, "That sounds more like Isaac and Gary."

Gary...Gary was the quintessential Nosferatu. He fucking scared me, and he probably scared the Nosferatu he hung around with, too. Considering he used to be an actor, he was like a Toreador with Obfuscate. And a whole lot of ugly. Then again, that plaguebearer Brother Kanker in the sewers had been much, much worse. By far. I don't want to think about what his Haven looked like now with all that rot going...unattended.

Not that he probably attended it anyway. But that was then and gone. Right now, Barnes was feeling a little nervous and scared, his gun still pointed at Bertram's head. Bertram, for his part, seemed unimpressed. "Watch yourself with that, Fledgling. Might put someone's eye out...damn new guys...what's his story, anyway?"

I think Bertram asked me because he was worried Barnes would just answer with gibberish. I can't say I blame him. "Some Gangrel ripped into him in an alley and...yeah, well, turned it into one hell of an Oops."

"Could've been a City Gangrel trying to help get the Sabbat back on its feet in this city," Bertram.

"I don't think so," I said, motioning at Barnes to lower his gun. Still shaking like a cat, he found it more than a little difficult to command his arms to drop, but he eventually did. He took a step back, seemingly worried that Bertram was going to eat him or something. "You know Smiling Jack at all? He said he knew her."

"Jack? You trust Jack?" Bertram laughed. "Of course I know Jack. He's still in town?"

Uh oh...I didn't really like where this was going at all. I trusted two people; Mercurio and Beckett. Maybe it was foolhardy to listen to a thin blooded seer telling me things that I could very well be misinterpreting, but...I don't know, I had a feeling those two never meant me harm.

But Jack...Jack was an Anarch, right? That meant he at least wouldn't manipulate and take advantage of people...right? Then again, he was also older then any of the Anarchs in the city and had been through a lot more in his time. "What about Jack?"

"Hmm, you should see your buddy Mercurio about that," Bertram said. "He'll be leaving soon, soon as he's done with a few last favors for me and I feel like giving him a good supply of blood to last him until he gets to a Camarilla city. I figure you were in on all this weirdness, hanging out with the Anarchs and all...by the way, the next time you see Isaac, tell him really do appreciate the land use. You might wanna butter up Mr. Rodriguez with some Camarilla news, the Ventrue Justicar is apparently pretty happy you guys all gave LaCroix the finger."

"Well," I said, "That's kind of amusing...I never realized he was that much of an upstart. Anyway...what about Jack?"

"Duh," Bertram snorted, "Jack's the one who bought all those nice explosives from your buddy Mercurio. Though I doubt Mercurio would've sold him all of that if he knew what he was going to do with it."

Suddenly, I started to wonder. I'd known the Anarchs had been responsible for blowing LaCroix to high-hell, it just made sense. But Jack, personally? No wonder no one had ever talked about it at the bar, I wondered if Jack was the only one who knew. I wasn't sure how hard I'd hit Nines if he knew when he was giving me his speech at the hotel in Hollywood, when I'd found out he was still alive.

Talk about getting screwed with your pants on. And people said Ventrue were manipulative...

Such was unlife, I suppose. I made a note to talk to Jack. If Jack had rigged the sarcophagus to blow sky-high, he must've been talking to Beckett. And if I could find Beckett, I might have good chance of discovering what was going on in Gangrel-land. Someone his age might know about random women in his clan making Caitiff in West Coast bars.

Secretly, I hoped to pawn Barnes off on him. I don't know, I guess I thought that if Barnes turned into some bizarre archeologist's assistant, he would calm down from the shock of the change a little easier. Settle into his undead groove, free from the worries of civilization, forevermore working to unearth the mysteries of his new condition.

It probably wouldn't be that simple. I suppose I could at least 'offer' to help Beckett on the money side of things the next time he needed funding for a project. Surely, he couldn't do everything on his own with only the arcane to help him. If he ever found the ruins of Enoch, I'm sure he'd appreciate at least one digging crew.

Right, Enoch. Even if I believed in Caine, I chose to take some of these ideas with a very large grain of salt. Ancient vampire messiahs were one thing, ancient cities no one actually has any evidence of are just a little ridiculous, I think.

But whatever. "Peace, Bertram."

"Don't look for me here anymore," he said, vanishing back under the veil of Obfuscate once more. "I don't plan on hanging around any longer then it takes me to wrap my electronics in a plastic bag."

Barnes was just rooted where he stood as I started to leave, and I suppose I couldn't blame him for being utterly terrified at his first sight of a Nosferatu, but man, he was a Marine, wasn't he? He should've been able to deal with shock and awe. At least now, when his inability to pick his jaw up off the floor. "Hey."

He actually jumped when I tapped him on the shoulder. "What...what the fuck was that!"

I guess he thought Bertram was teleporting around, because jumped again, gun raised once more when we heard Bertram's voice echo off the walls. "I'm still here, thank you very much. Fucking Gangrel...join civilization, for crying out loud."

I was glad there was no one around in the oil yard outside, because there was no way in hell Barnes was going to hide his gun before getting out of that oil drum. Fortunately, he finally tucked away once we were out.

"Bertram's a Nosferatu," I said, before he could demand answers in an extraordinarily vulgar way again. "Think about them whenever you hate yourself for being a vampire. It could be worse. Just don't tell them that, they're good friends to have, really."

"What the fuck, " Barnes failed miserably at being at all macho over this. Bertram had spooked him, plain and simple. "How many of these damn things are there?"

"Thirteen clans," I said, peering down the street after slowly nudging the fence gate open. "Well...twelve...the Ravnos are mostly gone, I've heard."

I may have sounded calm, but I practically stormed back to Mercurio's apartment, not even remembering that Mercurio hadn't even been around when we'd woken up.

Fortunately, the codger of a ghoul had just gotten in when I slammed his door open. "Oh Mercurio... "

"Whoa, hey," he damn near flew into the ceiling, "What's with the noise, hey? Man, I thought I got away from this gangster shit when I hooked up with the Camarilla..."

"Hooked up with the Camarilla who always treated you right," I nearly spat. "Do you know what Jack wanted those explosives for?"

"I've figured it out, thanks," he threw his jack onto the couch. "S'not like I knew at the time. Yeah, sure, he's the most famous Anarch this side of the globe, but you guys usually manage to, I dunno, co-exist with the guys upstairs, at least."

"Bullshit," I said. "You know as well as I do LaCroix was overstepping himself. The only reason Maximilian Strauss hasn't barged in here to make into one big Sins of Father example is because...wait."

"What now?" Mercurio deflated.

Strauss. Why hadn't I thought of Strauss? Who said those 'hunters' were Society of Leopold anyway. They obviously hadn't been Tremere, but maybe the Regent had hired them. He hated me with a passion. "I can't believe I never gave Strauss a second thought."

"The warlock dude?" Mercurio knew of him, at least. "Why, what's he got to do with anything?"

"He's never once even thought of leaving the city since we kicked out the Camarilla," I said. "I don't know, maybe he just wants to stay near the Nosferatu or maybe he feels safe with the Tremere in the chantry. Maybe he's not going to let the city go that easily."

Sitting down, Mercurio let out a long sigh. "Hoo boy...vampire politics. What a hassle. This is why I turned down Mr. LaCroix when he offered to sire me."

I hadn't known that. I guess sixty years as a ghoul was plenty of time to prove one's worth.

I'd almost forgotten Barnes, ever-present behind me, his gusto gone into thin air. "At least you had a choice..."

That reminded me of other things. "Mercurio, do you know where Beckett is?"

"Beckett? That frumpy Gangrel? Nah, haven't heard anything about him since he left the city."

"Figured I'd ask...if you happen to hear anything, let me know," I turned to leave, with Barnes close behind.

There were other places I could've conceivably gone for information gathering...Isaac might know something, but I was really more intrgued with what Jack would have to say, and the Last Round Anarchs were pretty good at being on top of the news. I was sure they would have some idea about what was going on.

"Where to?"

"Downtown," I told Cabbie.

I made a note not to go near the Tremere chantry on the way to the Last Round, but I planned on paying Regent Strauss a visit before the night was done. If that bastard had anything to do with my being attacked on the street I was going to rip his teeth out, and I was pretty confident I could do it, too.

Maybe arrogance was going to get me killed one of these nights. But I wasn't really thinking about that when I walked back into the Last Round. The atmosphere in the back room was, needless to say, tense. It hadn't taken long for word of an attack against vampires to get out.

And Jack, ever deserving of his nickname, was the first to comment upon my entry. "Well well well, if it ain't Mr. Popular himself! Man, we were afraid the hunters roasted you good."

"Really," I deadpanned. "Jack, I just had a fascinating conversation with Bertram about where the explosives used to blow the top off of the Venture Tower came from. You could've warned me, you know."

"Nah, not with LaCroix so close to you," he said. I hated to admit that he made sense, and I was rather glad he didn't describe LaCroix as 'that damn Ventrue who can Dominate minds' with Barnes close by.' "Besides, if you opened it, it'd be your own damn fault."

"Right," I said. I still didn't like the thought of an Anarch playing me like that, but right now, I had more important things to consider. "So. Does anyone have a clue about what's going on?"

"Search us, Cammy," Damsel didn't look at me; she was standing by the windows, keeping one eye on the street. "Even the ghouls are clueless. The dudes that tried to whack you weren't seen anywhere around here, before or since."

"Great," my hand went to my head in an old habit, rubbing at my temple as if there was still blood flowing there. Quite suddenly, I remembered I'd left my sword here, and when I bothered to look, I noticed the Tel'Mahe'ra was still leaning right there against the same table I'd left it at. Needless to say, I picked it up and found great comfort in holding the blade. "Jack, where's Beckett?"

"Beckett? The spelunking dude?" Jack simply leaned against his wall, arms crossed, a good indication that he was bullshitting and didn't even care if I realized it. "Now why would I know where he is?"

"Because he ran at me in a panic after nights of talking about how there wasn't anything more than a mummy in the Ankaran Sarcophagus, freaking out about how anyone who opened it would be royally screwed and begging me not to open it," I said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Now, I never once saw any kind of equipment he could've hauled up to LaCroix's penthouse that would've told him what was really inside the damn coffin, Jack, so I can only assume that whoever bought all those explosives from Mercurio told him to stay the hell away from it, and why."

"You know, if I were Mercurio," Jack said, idly lighting a cigar and taking a puff, "I'd be pretty pissed that I'd sold explosives to someone who turned around and blew his boss up."

"He's getting his blood from Bertram Tung until he can clear out for somewhere else," I answered. "All in all, I don't think he really cares much. He can probably use it for street cred and just tell everyone himself, considering how many people were starting to hate LaCroix."

"Whatever," Jack took another puff. "Beckett was in a port-town up north in Washington, last I heard. I forget which, just something with boats and stuff."

For the first time since entering the Last Round tonight, Barnes found a reason to speak his mind. "Bremerton. There's a naval port in Bremerton."

Inspired by the idea of politics to interfere in, it seemed, Nines also spoke up instead of continuing to remain out of everyone's business. "Bremerton's right next to Seattle, and they're both in the Camarilla. Always has been. I hear from the Anarchs there that the Prince usually leaves them alone. Usually."

"'Usually' is a good word for vampire politics," I commented. "Why does a port town next to Seattle have a Prince when it's...well, when Seattle is right next to it?"

"Seattle does have the prince. But Bremerton's a good port town," Nines said. "Navy base, too. Plenty of opportunity for Elders to get fat off of their games or for newbies to stake out some claim of their own. Seattle's a joke, though, mostly Brujah, mostly Anarch. The Camarilla there doesn't know up from down, and the Anarchs let them exist because they organize the city into something that can fight back whenever the Sabbat send roving packs in from Canada to scout for targets."

"What the fuck's a Camarilla and Sabbat?" Barnes reminded us all just how green he was, to say nothing of how absolutely frustrated he was.

I can't say I blamed him. I can't say I cared at the moment, either. I raised a hand at him, not even turning my head all the way. "Not now. Right, anyway...as much as I'd like to go pay Beckett a visit, he can't exactly solve our hunter problem."

" Our hunter problem?" Damsel turned to me from the window. "They were after you, Cammy. In fact, you shouldn't even be here, you'll lead them right to us. I bet they know who you are from your dealings with Mr. High and Mighty LaCroix. Jack, you know Auspex, right?"

"Kind of," Jack scratched his head. "Got bored once, thought it might be fun to give it a try. Why?"

"Because I swear there's someone looking at us from that wrecked building across the street."

Uh oh, I didn't like the sound of this. I think I knew where this was going, actually. In fact, I thought Damsel was about to get her foot shoved firmly in her mouth when Jack walked over to the window and said, "Yep, that's someone all right, probably a homeless guy though, or...oh shit. "

All I remember before I was tumbling through the air was the RPG shattering the window as it flew in and up, Jack grabbing Damsel and diving to the floor with her. The explosion wasn't the worst I'd suffered through, but it still equated to a burst of fire searing my skin off. It was almost amusing, really, how the force of it didn't hurt us nearly as much as that quick burst of heat.

I heard Barnes scream; clearly, he wasn't used to feeling nothing from the force of an explosion only to be in total agony from what shouldn't have given him more than minor burns. But there was more to worry about now.

Nines had avoided it completely; being close to the bathrooms from his usual spot on the wall, he'd dived in and had now come out in leader mode, the Nines I'd grown accustomed to whenever shit was hitting the fan, the mood he'd permanently been in while the Camarilla had been in town. There was no noise after the blast over the smoldering material of the ceiling and already-broken glass crumbling further under our feet, and being dead, we didn't suffer from combat shock. Or maybe we did, and this just wasn't nearly enough to induce it.

Nines didn't need to shout. "Everyone okay?"

I went to Barnes on the floor; he was curled up like a baby, his hands grabbing at his arms where his shirt hadn't covered, the burns quite evident. No one else spoke up, either a sign that someone had taken too much of it to talk like Barnes had or that they were, indeed, mostly unharmed.

This, of course, prompted Nines into further action. "Jack, Damsel, stairs. Skelter, back window." He looked at me, "And you make sure he doesn't get killed."

Gotta hand it to Nines, he really was a rare breed of Kindred, concerned for others even in the face of danger. If more of Caine's children were like him, it wouldn't be so much of a curse. I saw burns on everyone, some worse than what Barnes had over his arms, but everyone was old enough to have a higher pain tolerance. It still hurt like hell for them, I bet. I'd gotten off easy; I may not have had much skill in Fortitude, but I had good reflexes and the situation had seemed to snap me into a higher awareness of it, because it usually didn't protect me that well, at least not against flame.

Still, there were better things to consider. I picked up the Tel'Mahe'Ra from where I'd dropped it, next to a now-overturned table. The rocket hadn't done much damage to the room aside from breaking the window and blowing a hole in the ceiling; most of the furniture had simply slid across the floor or fallen over.

Sword in one hand, I tried to pick Barnes up off the floor with the other. As he grew used to the pain and it dulled, he became more responsive, but he still leaned against the wall and slid up it for support. "Shit...shit...what the fuck..."

"Fire," I said, " Bad. Think you can fight? Because I think we're about to get swamped."

As if in answer to my suggestion, Damsel fired a gun down the stairs, Jack ducking out from behind his cover to empty half of his Mac-10's clip shortly thereafter. "Two in the bar!"

"Two more coming," Nines shouted. He'd taken a place next to the window.

Skelter shouted from the bathroom, "Back is clear!"

He stayed, though, in case it wouldn't be clear for long. It wasn't an escape route anyway, considering it just went around front.

"I'm fine," Barnes pulled his (mine, really) Desert Eagle and cocked it. I still had the Glock on me, but with my sword, I felt no need for it. A gun wasn't Barnes' only issue; I watched him bring a hand to his face and try to rub something out of his eyes, and I hadn't even noticed why; they were glowing red. It seemed like as much as watching a rocket sail into Elysium had inspired me to improve my Fortitude skills, it had nudged him into his innate skill with Protean.

I beat him to it. "It's supposed to do that. Ask questions later, be thankful you have night-vision now."

"These guys are chumps," Jack yelled over his gunfire. "No way in hell either of us are gonna go through the stairs."

"Until they throw more explosives up," I shouted.

Nines motioned at me and then pointed to the bathroom door. "Kid, take your buddy out back and try to get the jump on 'em before they think of it. Just distract," Nines had to duck back behind the wall next to the window when gunfire from outside rained up at him, "Just distract them, you don't need to play hero. Let us get down the stairs and they'll have nowhere to go."

"If he kidding?" Barnes rubbed at his arms again; I could see him twitching, though he was trying desperately not to show that it hurt at all. "They've got automatic weapons from the sounds of it."

"Shotguns are worse," I said, dragging him with me. "Remember, bullets don't kill you."

Barnes actually made it by Skelter and out the back window with much less trouble than I had; feats of athletics that didn't involve the swimming pool were never my strong suit, vampire or not. He waited for me before we ran around the building, and right into one of the hunters.

Sure enough, they were they same ones as the previous night, the same black sneaking suits, same night-vision goggles. Barnes raised his gun, but the hunter was close. Not that I knew Celerity, but I was still faster than a mortal, and I covered the two steps needed to let me slash his chest open in a split second.

That slash came and went, and the hunter just looked down at himself, likely feeling the blood I couldn't see through his black suit. Not really caring, I brought my sword back up and swung for his neck; the Tel'Mahe'Ra was too lightweight a blade to decapitate someone, but I still cut the jugular clear open and then some. He went down.

I kept moving, until I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard Barnes in my ear. "Wait."

Raising his gun up, and an angle, he pulled the trigger and I watched a window on a building across the street shatter, having the vague impression of someone falling behind it. "What was that?"

"He had the rocket launcher," he said. His eyes were still red; I'd forgotten he could see perfectly in the dark now. "Looked like a Stinger, maybe."

"Right," I said. "Well, that solves that problem...let's go."

Only one hunter was still outside, but he was staying across the street, waiting patiently for someone like us to run out. I motioned for Barnes to head for the door and I ran across the street quickly, taking a shot from the rifle the hunter had that went right through my neck. The next went through my leg; something occurred to me, right there. These guys didn't know about vampires, or they wouldn't try to shoot us at all.

This didn't make me feel sorry for him when I stabbed my sword through his night-vision goggles and an eye socket. When I went back to Barnes, he was just starting to carefully lean into doorway, and I watched as he took a shot and then stood, much calmer and missing the body language of someone in the trenches.

I assumed that to mean all the attackers were dead, and I proved correct when Nines, Skelter , Jack and Damsel walked out front. Staying on top of things, Nines spoke first. "This isn't gonna be pretty."

"I thought it already wasn't pretty," I said, looking around at the dead humans.

"Not them," Nines said.

True to his guess, sirens began to reach our ears, growing louder by the second until, finally, the first police cruiser came speeding down the road. Jack pointed at it pretty obviously. "That."

"Great," I said. "Just let me do the talking."

"Knew you were good for something, Cammy," Damsel added, her hands behind her back, hiding her gun the same way Jack was doing. She turned to Barnes. "Yo, newbie, turn off the headlights."

"I," he started blinking, the world around still perfectly, frighteningly visible to his glowing red eyes. "I don't know how. "

"Here there be monsters," Jack laughed, handing Barnes a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. "Now, I'm gonna want those back, so don't go dying on me."

I dreaded this...a vast amount of the control I had over Barnes came from very liberal use of Dominate and I didn't want him to know what it was yet. At the very least, he'd never take those sunglasses off and I'd never get eye contact again. At the very worst, he'd get pissed, run off and do something stupid like join the Sabbat or, worse, start blowing the Masquerade.

Still, these were possible problems in the future and it was more important to deal with the hear and now. Fortunately, when the police cruiser stopped, three more right behind it, and the cops jumped out, they actually already assumed we were either witnesses or just passing by and looking at the carnage. It made my job a whole hell of a lot easier when the lead cop, gun drawn and pointed down, said to us, "Did you folks see anything?"

"No, and you're going to ignore us," I had eye contact with him right away, being in front of everyone, "And go right in to talk to the owner."

It couldn't have worked better if we'd planned it. Though out of the corner of my eye, I caught Barnes giving me a weird look. He might not have known what exactly I'd done, but he was pretty sure he realized I'd done something to make the problem go away that simply, something quote obviously having to do with being a vampire.

"We should get out of here before anything else happens," Skelter suggested. "Or before those cops remember we're out here."

"My place is big, close and high up," I said. "Skyline, unit 4 if anyone cares."

"We'll go in pairs," Nines said. "Won't draw as much attention."

He and Skelter left through the alley that wrapped around a building that had been one of the Southland Slasher's murder grounds. Ironic that it got more death walking through it now. Jack and Damsel went in the opposite direction first, Barnes and I actually taking the direct route.

My suspicions were confirmed before too long. "What did you do to that cop?"

"What do you mean?" I played dumb. I didn't want to Dominate him into forgetting, he'd just ask again.

"Don't bullshit with me," He spat, looking pretty intimidating and at the same time goofy wearing sunglasses at night...scary that he could see everything perfectly, I thought. "You talk and someone does what you say. How do you do that?"

"Charisma," I said. "You'd be surprised how much your body language can help you win an argument."

He didn't believe me for a second, but he didn't press the issue, thankfully.

No one had a key to Skyline except for me, which wouldn't have mattered if everyone else heading there weren't Brujah with varying degrees of mastery over Celerity. It was quite a site, to see Damsel and Skelter pacing around out front, Nines leaning against the wall next to the front door as though it were his usual wall, Jack puffing on a cigar like they were all a human street gang out to fuck with anyone who looked at them.

"What's my landlord going to say," I commented, sliding my keycard through the lock and listening as the front door clicked open.

"You're landlord's not gonna say a thing as long as you're offshore accounts keep dumping cash into his rentbox," Jack laughed. "Fucking Ventrue."

I rolled my eyes; for an Anarch, Jack sure was hard to please. Oh well, he'd deal, or he'd walk alone to his Haven and worry all day about being set upon by the hunters.

My apartment had never seen so much company; I was glad I'd sent Heather home, really. She probably would've thought she had to please my friends in any way possible and kill herself to do it. "So, let's see what the mortals are up to."

I turned the TV on to the local news, and my favorite night anchor was already droning on away about the incident. ...early reports from the scene seem to signify a possible mob war or even a business rivalry gone bad after the attack on the Santa Monica club 'The Asylum' last night. Sources say The Last Round was the site of a similar attack only moments ago, dispersed and done before police actually arrived on the scene. Police so far are refusing to comment on the situation, and are answering 'no comment' when asked about the supposed explosives used to attack the establishment. More on this story as it develops... "

"Supposed explosives, right," Skelter chuckled while I muted the program. "Those guys weren't Society of Leopold. Leopold doesn't use military gear, the wear dusters and swing swords at us."

"And occasionally use sniper rifles," I remember Grunfield Bach, "But you're right. Those weren't vampire hunters...maybe it really is a business war. Jeanette and Therese might have something against the Last Round. "

"Except they attacked you , Cammy, not the bar" Damsel said, dropping herself down onto my couch, putting her (very dirty) feet up onto my coffee table. I was not amused in the least.

"Get your stinking feet off my furniture, god dammit." I was surprisingly calm.

"Make me," she flipped me off.

"Oh, that was mature," I glared at her.

Nines to the rescue, again. "Damsel, show the man a little respect in his own Haven,"

"Fine," she sighed, pulling her feet back down, much to my delight.

Sometimes, I really wanted to hit her. "So what do we do?"

"We sit pretty on our asses until things calm down enough to go outside," Nines said. "I think it's safe to say whoever these guys are, they're not just after one single Kindred."

"So the question is," Skelter added, "Who's behind 'em?"

"Oh, shit," I threw a hand to my head, in a total, true idiot moment. In the chaos, I'd completely forgotten what else I was going to do tonight before combat had proved to be another staple of the evening. "Strauss. I completely forgot about Strauss."

"That old wrinkled Tremere bastard?" Damsel leaned forward on my couch, "What's he got to do with anything?"

"I don't know," I answered. "Maybe nothing. Maybe everything, maybe those guys are just weird Homonculi for the twenty-first century or something. But really, he's so bitter and miserable and probably having a nervous breakdown over having to deal with his Chantry being in an Anarch Free State again that I don't think I'd be surprised if he was pulling the strings here."

"Man, I ain't walking into that place if he's really pissed off," Skelter answered me. "That guy may be an idiot, but he's still one powerful motherfucker. But you know, commandos with night vision and automatic weapons doesn't really seem like the Tremere style. Unless he knows that we know that and would try to throw us off."

"You're right. And I don't think he's nearly as powerful as he likes everyone to think he is," I went on, "Or he probably would've tried something on us sooner. Still, even if he's not behind it all, he might know something, at least."

"You really want to walk the streets again after what we just ran from?" Jack laughed.

"I've had worse." Were I still alive, my knuckles probably would've turned white, considering how hard I held onto the Tel'mahe'Ra. There really wasn't much of a difference now. "Besides, I'd rather be doing something. "

I dragged Barnes with me outside, both for strength in numbers and to keep him near. He may have been a total neonate, but he was a Gangrel, and if what I'd seen of him so far was any indication, a pretty badass Gangrel.

My eyes were never in one place, but looking around as we walked tghe streets toward the Tremere chantry. We could actually hear the commotion from a block away where the Last Round was swarmed with police and god only knew what, but just this little distance from there, passing by the building the plaguebearers had used as their Haven (though the word 'Haven' is a gross misnomer for that place,) there was absolutely nothing. It was like normal. Even the Venture Tower wasn't really blocked off anymore.

"Just so you know," I turned to Barnes, "This might get...interesting."

"Interesting? After everything that's happened to me," he ripped Jack's sunglasses off of his face, his eyes normal again, "You're telling me going into some brothel straight out of the sixties is going to be interesting?"

Brothel, that was a good one. I made a note to tell the Regent that Tremere chantries were little more than brothels the next time he got all holier than thou mage on me. "Yeah, well...this guy really doesn't like me at the moment...In fact, he's pretty pissed at me."

"Great...a pissed off vampire and we're going to, what, talk to him," he said, nigh incredulous.

"Yep," I shoved the door open. I still had no clue just how the Tremere kept their undesireables out, maybe the door was enchanted not to let Kine in, but whatever. I went down the hallway and turned the first corridor I saw, well aware of what the glistening lights appearing out if thin air around us meant as we walked into the study. "If we're lucky, he won't just try to throw a magic missile up our ass."

For once, Maximillion Strauss wasn't in here pouring over his archaic tomes. "Oh Regent Strauss," I drawled, hoping to draw him out of the woodwork. I didn't think Tremere usually knew Obfuscate, at least. "Great. The one day I need to talk to the guy, and he doesn't even have the decency to be anti-social and stay cooped up in here."

I sat on the closest couch, and remained thankful that I couldn't be made drowsy by the insane amounts of incense and who knew what else was burning in the place. I thought fire in the fireplace looked kind of funny, actually.

I'd heard through Bertram Tung's grapevine that Beckett was actually somewhat of a Thaumaturge, and it made me wonder, if he could be reasonably normal (as normal as any Gangrel going around and digging up vampire lore because he apparently has nothing better to do,) why did the Tremere have to act like such cliches?

"Smells like a fucking crack house in here," Barnes said, more to himself, I think. He stood there with his arms crossed, looking around as if hoping to find something on the walls that interested him. He still wasn't broken away from being a mortal, really. Not that I expected him to be, which was mostly why I'd dragged him here.

As luck would have it, the dear Regent Stauss waltzed right in, a Thaumaturgy book in his hand. " Excuse me, Neonate, but if the scents of the chantry are offens- you. "

"Yes, me," I said, now that he'd noticed me.

"How dare you set foot in my chantry after...after," he really wanted to let me know how he felt about that whole Gargoyle thing, but he wasn't about to openly acknowledge it in front of another Kindred. "After what you've done to the Camarilla, and you call yourself a Ventrue! And you bring Gangrel filth into my study to anger me for the sake of it!"

Barnes might not have known vampire politics, but he certainly knew when he'd been insulted. And he liked Maximilian Strauss' elitist attitude about as much as I did. "Hey, you wanna come a little closer and say that?"

It was really pathetic of Strauss; the only reason he had to outright insult Barnes was that the Gangrel had given the Camarilla the finger in recent times. But that didn't stop him. "You dare to challenge, me, Neonate? I am more powerful than you can imagine. "

Scraping the Tel'Mahe'Ra's tip across the expensive, probably ancient carpet, rending the threads apart, I let out a smile when Strauss stared at me the way a normal person stares at someone killing a baby or the way most people ignorant to the horrors of the world watched news about Iraq. "Children, please. I just want to know if you know anything about the hunters that have been dogging me."

"As if I care in the goings on of an Anarch, " he spat the word. I swear, his creepy sunglasses fogged up. "You could've secured yourself a fine place in this town if you'd only taken the time to dispose of LaCroix by the rules."

"I'll pass," I said. Something occurred to me, then; Barnes' eyes were normal, and he'd never frenzied yet, he had no animal features. "Wait, how did you know he's a Gangrel?"

Barnes gave me a look, one he'd adapted quickly when wishing to convey displeasure about being talked about like he wasn't in the room. Not that Strauss really cared all that much, but then, Barnes didn't care that Strauss didn't care, so it really was just one big clusterfuck. "Excuse me?"

Strauss still ignored him. Man, and I thought he looked down his nose at me. "You really think the hunters are after you? How much do you really think you matter in the grand scheme of things?"

That was certainly interesting. "Wait, what are you talking about?"

"You are no longer welcome in this Chantry," he intoned. "Get out."

He turned and walked through the doors, dramatically opening both, walking through, and slamming them shut. "Hey," I shouted, wanting to know whatever it was he wasn't telling me. But when Barnes and I ran through the door, we were outside again, on the front steps, little colored fireflies floating in the air around us and dimming within seconds. "God dammit, I hate that old bastard and his fucking Thaumaturgy."

"What just happened?" Barnes was, needless to say, a little confused.

"Blood magic is what happened," I said, glancing at the Chantry once more before I just walked away. "Thaumaturgy. As with everything, especially in Kindred society, people can be really annoying with it." That said, I turned to Barnes and looked him voer, voicing the obvious question. "So what's so special about you I wonder..."

"What?"

What a jarhead. "Duh, did you hear what he said to me?" I pantomimed Regent Strauss overly proper body language, "'What makes you think the hunters are after you? ' You were the only other one in the room, you know."

"Well don't look at me, " he was almost yelling, "I certainly didn't ask for this...this..."

"Oh, waahh," I started walking again. "Join the club. God, this guy I knew in the Navy would've killed to have been in your place."

"And that should tell you something about the Navy," he answered, catching up with me.

"We're going to go find Beckett."

"Beckett," he said, clearly remembering the name. "The guy up in Washington? What the fuck makes you think I'm going with you anywhere else, let alone Washington state?"

I turned on my heels, but I didn't try to Dominate him yet. "You'll come if you know what's good for you. I can't baby sit you even if I wanted to. Beckett's one of two, literally two people in this world I trust, and I think he'd be sympathetic enough to actually bother teaching you about being a Gangrel. Believe me, you'd rather have a clan-mate who can at least tell you the ins and outs of unlife and your Disiplines. I certainly wish I had."

"You didn't?" Barnes looked at me with a small amount of confusion. "But you're so... stuck up. "

"I was stuck up before this," I said, satisfied that I'd seemed to convince him. "But no, I was embraced while the Camarilla was in town, and I promptly watched the now-dead local prince, the only other Ventrue in the city, cut my Sire's head off for breaking the rules."

"That's...harsh," he eventually said.

Indeed, I couldn't help but think I might have a better mastery over Presence and Fortitude, had I known another Ventrue to at least teach me how to elevate my skill with them, even if not outright teaching me what to 'do.' "Yeah, I know. Get used to it, that's unlife. Anyway, Beckett. Beckett can help you make more sense out of it all then I can, and I'm hoping news about you has either spread so fast that he knows why the Hunters care so much or that he'll at least be able to help us figure out why."

Having nothing else to do in Los Angeles, no leads to follow, no other vampires who might know something, I decided, on the walk back to Skyline, that we were going to be leaving tomorrow night. There wasn't any point in sticking around unless we wanted to be attacked again, and I was quite sure we would be attacked again if we just sat around doing nothing.

So, I planned accordingly, and I made Barnes follow me past the apartment building so that I could see the ever-dependable taxi driver I'd grown to enjoy so much.

He greeted me with his usual lines when I approached his window. "Where do you want to go?"

"Nowhere at the moment," I said. "What do you say to a road trip tomorrow? Paid at your normal fee, of course."

"Round trip," he asked, "Or one way?"

"Round trip," I said. "More than one day. I'd rather pay for someone I can rely on."

"Five thousand dollars for one week of my services," he said. "And an additional five-hundred for any night beyond. I require the initial payment to clear before leaving, you would be...surprised at how many vampires think they can fool me into believing they are wealthy."

"Done," I said, digging into the inside pocket of my jacket. Fortunately, my cheque book has never fallen out in any of the commotion, though something else had. "Uh...do you have a pen?"

Turned out he did, and handed it to me, waiting patiently as I filled out the little piece of paper that would give him a hell of a lot of money for relatively simple work. Simple, but honest and valuable. "I will be outside of your building at sunset tomorrow," he said. "I will wait for you to leave at your leisure."

He drove off, and Barnes was a little surprised at the exchange, it seemed. "Did you really just pay that guy five grand to drive us around?"

"Yep," I answered. The walk back to Skyline didn't seem very daunting, really. "He's a good guy, it seems...I don't really know him, but he's pretty close to being the third person I trust."

Jack was the only one left in my apartment when we walked in, and he was stinking the place up pretty badly with one of his cigars. Still, I didn't say anything. "Party's over?"

"Yeah, everyone decided to sneak back to their Havens early in case they were being staked out. We'll all get calls if there's another problem, I bet. So, did Baldy say anything interesting?"

"Not really," I said. It was a bit of a lie, I suppose, but I saw no reason to brief Jack on matters that concerned me (or another gullible newbie like Barnes) after the way he'd played me over the sarcophagus. "He's pretty pissed, though."

"Good, maybe he'll actually leave," Jack took a puff, "But probably not. Tremere don't like giving up their personal space."

"I'm bringing him to Washington tomorrow," I pointed a thumb at Barnes. "We're going to try to find Beckett. Would you check in on this place every now and then for me?"

"Sure, Kid," Jack laughed. "Only if I can crash here if I feel like it."

"Not in my bed," I added.

"Deal," Jack answered. He caught the spare key I tossed him once I had it off of my keyring. "Well, have a good day, Kids. Don't let the hunters bite."

With Jack's departure, I wondered how I should go about controlling Barnes for another night. I could always Dominate him again, but given the current situation, I had no desire to wake up tomorrow night hungry.

"And I used to think I had no life because my Friday nights were dull before my Embrace," I said, with what might best be described a flop onto my couch. Taking the nearby chair, Barnes seemed to forget I was there, slumped forwards, hands clasped together like they were trying to grip reality instead. As calm as he could act, I still didn't think he was taking this very well at all. I contemplated turning the news on again, but I didn't want to listen to the early-morning newscaster go through everything I'd already known had happened. Although with nothing to pay attention to, my eyes eventually played over the various magazines I'd found myself with subscriptions to sitting on the coffee table. One of them caught my eye more than before, an issue of "World War III" magazinegenerally dedicated to the gloom and doom of politics in the mortal world. The cover was a picture of a few Army guys in front of a tank, and the headline was, quite simply, quite flabbergasting enough, Lt. Robert Barnes; when he speaks, people die. "Hey, you have family in the military?"

"My father," Barnes said. "He was a little mad when I ended up in the Suck instead. But he was discharged not long ago."

"The Suck?" I could've fallen off my couch if the impending daylight wasn't starting to make me sleepy.

"Y'know, the Corps," he shrugged, as if it were obvious. "Well, we call it the Suck. Sometimes."

I started laughing. How could I not? "Good god, do you realize how ironic that is, coming from you, no less?"

"I wish you'd stop doing that," he said, back to sounding morose.

"Do what?" I really didn't know what he was talking about.

"You know," he said, shrugging again. "Taking the Lord's name in vain like that."

"Oh, shut up," I threw the magazine at him, "I told you, God doesn't like us anymore. You bear the weight of a millenia-old curse on your shoulders. You are now descended from the first murderer and you'll suffer for the sins of the Father like the rest of us." I kicked back, my hands under my head. "That is, if you believe in that sort of thing."

That last part was more to be malicious, I admit. Barnes lost me when he'd looked at the magazine, anyway. "What the fuck? Fucking liberal media bullshit! They have no right to talk about my father like that!"

"Hey, if it makes you feel better," I said, "Just imagine what Kindred will write about you after a few decades."

I heard him toss the magazine aside, littering my pristine floor with it. But I'd have to pick it up tomorrow; his little tantrum wasn't nearly enough to keep him awake, and he was sitting so close to the edge of the chair that he slid right of and slumped onto the floor when he passed out.

I wasn't far behind.

The next night found me waking up to see that magazine neatly placed back on the coffee table, and Barnes standing idly behind the kitchen counter, looking a little bored, really. "Evening."

I considered that waking greeting as more of a running gag, really. And he obviously wasn't all that amused. "Are we going or what?"

"We need to get a few things together first," I said. I set the Tel'Mahe'Ra on the coffee table so I wouldn't forget it, and I walked over to the refrigerator. "There should be a small cooler in the cabinet next to the sink, gimmie that, would you?"

He obliged, and the first part of our packing was accomplished when I tossed in half of the blood packs I kept chilly in the fridge and sealed it. I dragged him upstairs, where I took my leather jacket off and tossed it to him. "It's going to be colder up north, you'll look weird dressed for spring."

He looked at the leather in his hands for a few minutes, and I wondered if he was thinking of the jacket he'd said his parents were going to give him when he got home, something he'd never see now. Nevertheless, he shrugged it on, and I went into my closet for the heavy leather trenchcoat I didn't wear as often. It was a little harder to move in, but I could manage.

His hands shoved as deep into his pockets as they'd go, his back slumped, Barnes said, "You look like a reject from The Matrix. "

"Thank you, and the next time you can't turn off the red eyes, see if I feel sorry for you," I rolled my eyes. I grabbed the extra magazines I kept for my Glock out of the drawer and hid them in various pockets, instructing Barnes to do the same as we walked down the stairs again, the extras for his gun sitting in the drawer of the coffee table he's taken it from.

Realizing I'd forgotten something mildly important, I ran back up the stairs, taking them too at a time, went into my computer desk and grabbed the smart phone from the drawer. I (and I presumed, most Kindred) didn't use mobile phones for actual vampire business because they were traceable, but there wasn't much harm in keeping one for going away, and the added PDA functionality would let me check my e-mail and the news more quickly.

"Now we're going," I said. Jack had that extra key, but I locked the door anyway.

To say we were suspicious going outside would've been an understatement of biblical proportions; Barnes put his sunglasses from Jack back on so he could see with his red eyes and figure out if there was anything lying in ambush.

There wasn't. There was only a large van parked out front, a nice-looking van, one person occupying it, in the driver's seat. It was Cabbie.

That actually caught me a little off-guard. I'd fully expected a bright yellow taxi cab to chauffer us north. I walked around to the driver's side. "What's this? "

"While I enjoy driving my taxi," he said, "The company feels that extra comfort is warranted for long distances. I do not complain, because more of the fee goes to my pay then with a normal run."

Funny, I never thought of Cabbie as being an employee. He always seemed to be too on top of things, like he should've owned his own private, one-person, one-cab taxi company. Barnes and I pulled the back doors open, and I was more than a little surprised to see that we wouldn't be making our little trip alone.

"Hey hey, you guys made it!"

"Jack?" I blinked, for indeed, Smiling Jack had a big smile on his face, and he was definitely sitting in the van with his own gear for a long trip.

"Yeah, our friend here told me all about your plans when I went to get a ride this morning, so I figured I'd tag along. Someone has to stop you newbies from getting killed, Kid. Did you even think to bring body bags or were you just hoping you'd find a good motel before the sun came up?"

"I don't believe you," I said. And body bags? How tacky. "You're way too hyper to want to travel cross-country in a van with other people. I figured you'd want to figure out what was going on here. "

"Nah, Nines can handle that. It's more his scene anyway. I only get put to use when he needs the muscle. Hah, me, muscle, who needs muscle when you're dead, right? Besides, I figure wherever you're going, it must be important."

Relenting, I stepped inside, prompting Barnes to follow before we closed the doors and sat on the bench seats nicely mounted to the sides of the van. It was almost like riding a bus, but with less light. "We're going to find Beckett," I said, not mentioning that I was hoping Beckett might know why Barnes was so important.

"Yeah, I figured as much once Cabbie here mentioned we're going to Wahington and the port town," he said. "Washington borders Sabbat territory, you know. Gotta be careful. Then again, it's already Camarilla to begin with."

"Same old, same old," I said, "You've seen one part of Jyhad, you've seen it all."

"Wait," Barnes said, fidgeting in his seat, "Since when are vampires Arab?"

"Hah!" Jack laughed, so hard he couldn't even answer, and I couldn't bring myself to do anything but sigh.

Although Cabbie proved to be just as much of a conversationalist from the front of a van as he was from the front of a taxi cab. "Clan Assamite is sometimes stereotyped as such. Although I assure you, Neonate, those who carry Caine's blood are as diverse as the mortals."

"Well, except for the Ravnos," I added, "If the rumors about a few years ago are true."

"Pretty sure they are," Jack lit a cigar and took a puff between words, "They say the whole clan went nuts when the Antediluvian went down. You hardly see any Ravnos these days, if at all. I hear from a guy who knows a guy that a thirteenth-generation Ravnos he knew is still around, though, and his skill with that Chimerstry shit went through the roof after that week."

"I hate to sound like a broken record, here," Barnes said, clearly more frustrated with the entire situation than ever, "But what the fuck's an Antediluvian?"

My hands folded over the Tel'Mahe'Ra's hilt, the tip of the blade held steady on the floor as the van lurched and bumped about, I figured it couldn't hurt to humor him. After all, what I didn't learn from Bertram's networks, I'd learned from asking people. "The clans all trace their lineage back to an 'original' vampire, an Antediluvian."

"Three steps away from Caine, man," Jack took a drag from his cigar, "Not shit to fuck with. You get your weakness and your innate Disiplines from your progenitor. Assuming they exist. The Camarilla likes to deny all that shit, but I'll tell you, after that stuff with the Ravnos, it seems pretty damn real to me."

"Your turn," I said, eyes never leaving Barnes. I was really curious about my question, actually. "What's the deal with your father?"

"My father? What about my father?" He was suddenly more than a little defensive. "My father's a good man, don't tell me any of that shit they say about him is real."

"Woah, it's that time of the month," Jack laughed. "Man, and the Gangrel say we don't control our passion."

"My father did not do anything wrong, " he practically frenzied right there, I was thinking. "My father is a good man, and the media crucified him because they had no one else to blame. What the hell was the Army supposed to do with everyone baying for his blood? But they didn't just ditch him, you think they wouldn't have done worse than give him a desk job in some backwater base if it was really his fault?"

"You know what scares me," I said, never budging otherwise, "You'd actually do well in the Camarilla." I had to explain to him what the Camarilla was now, if the look he gave me was any indication. "The Camarilla is a Kindred sect made of the Ventrue, Malkavians, Nosferatu, Brujah, Tremere and Toreador. The Gangrel used to be in there, but I guess sometime before I was embraced, the clan sort of gave them the finger."

Jack added to my exposition. "'Kindred' is our word for 'vampire,' by the way. Because 'Cainite' is oh so tacky."

He let his wrist go limp and Barnes chuckled with him, obviously getting that he was mocking the Ventrue. "Right. Anyway. That chick at the bar with the pigtails? Malkavian. Run away."

Seeing where I was going, Jack waved his hand above his head like the only student in the class with the answer. "Brujah, baby. Don't you forget it."

"The Anarch who claims Hollywood for a domain is a Toreador named Isaac," I went on, "I'll introduce you when we get back. Bertram, the freaky dude in the oil drum, is a Nosferatu. And you were there last night when I...talked to Strauss, the Tremere regent. The guy we're looking for is a Gangrel, like you."

"I don't get it," Barnes almost threw his arms up; he didn't really have room. "What the hell's it all for?"

"Depends on who y'are, Kiddo," Jack said, putting his cigar out in his hand like I'd seen him do before. "If you're an Anarch, it's about unlife, liberty and the pursuit of not letting the elders take it from ya for their games. If you're Camarilla, you're playing those games. And if you're Sabbat, well, you're an asshole."

"Don't remind me," I let my head thunk onto my hands, still folded over my sword's hilt. "I still smell that Tzimisce's Haven. Filthy, disgusting, bloody... ugh, damn Fiends."

"I met a Tzimisce in New Mexico once," Jack scratched his head. I'd heard this story before, at least the basics. I think he was trying to scare Barnes into not even thinking about going for the Sabbat just because he didn't exactly like me and the Sabbat was what I hated. "Real freaky shit, he took this little village of illegal aliens and made the 'alien' part a little more real. Hah, dude was totally off his rocker, too, I think he was independent from the Sabbat, he made the children look like those little grey aliens everyone thinks they have at Area 51 and some of the adults I saw looked like...well, I won't go there. Let's just say the napalm I called in a few favors to get dropped on the place was a good thing."

"Napalm?" Barnes was still in 'I want to know more' mode, it seemed. "I've never heard of napalm getting dropped in New Mexico..."

"Well, duh," Jack rolled his eyes.

"Wouldn't work well for the Masqeurade if word about the things we all do got out like Bill Clinton's sex life," I chuckled. "Man, I remember my class in high school referring to oral sex as 'Clinton-jobs' for a year...right, the Masquerade; there are roughly a hundred thousand humans to every one Kindred, depending on the city. Compared with six billion humans and technology like phosphorous bullets, the aforementioned napalm, nuclear weapons..."

"So don't go having fun with your big bad vampire self where everyone can see," Jack finished for me. "Cause, y'know, we'll have to kill ya otherwise."

"What, you think I like this?" Barnes slumped against the wall, the van's bouncing around making him look even more forlorn, if that were possible. "You think I'm proud of it? Are you crazy? Like I'm going to show it off so everyone I care about can hold up crosses at me and tell me to burn in Hell?"

"Yeah, seeing anyone you care about is pretty high up there on endangering the Masquerade," I said. Try as I might, there really wasn't any way to say that politely or in such a manner that would make the person I was talking to understand the logic of it.

"Eh, don't worry about crosses too much, Kiddo," Jack waved him off. I doubted he was actually that oblivious, that he didn't understand what Barnes really meant. It was almost funny, seeing Jack in his natural element of conversation and a tiny pinch of manipulation. "Just shove it right up their ass. Running water, whatever. Garlic won't do much either. Well, except make you throw up, just like any other food..."

"What!" Barnes almost shrieked, sitting up quickly. Even if he'd been displeased and pretty much raped into this situation, in a manner of speaking, he'd at least had the generally held notion of vampires as romantic, overly testosterone-filled creatures of beauty, and here we were destroying his Anne Rice-inspired notions of the myth.

"Yep, no more food," Jack went on. He ticked these things off on his fingers, his eyes on the ceiling. "No food, makes you vomit. No sunlight, you die. Unless you master Fortitude, I've heard of some Gangrel being able to withstand it for a couple minutes. Anyway, no sunlight, no sex, but who cares, feeding is like ten years of great sex rolled into one anyway."

"I," Barnes started to argue, but he couldn't. He'd fed off that girl in the club, after all. He knew Jack was right. I imagined him thinking about going back to the barracks to show all of his testosterone-high buddies. But then he'd remember that he'd have to feed off of them to do it, and that might be a little... gay.

I was wondering something that Jack hadn't touched on yet. "What's the Gangrel clan's weakness? Beckett never mentioned that to me, really."

"Oh, yeah, that," Jack snapped his fingers. "Look Kiddo, we're all damned, we all have to keep the Beast at bay and hold on to our humanity. But you Gangrel types, you're all in tune with the Beast more than the rest of us, or something. I dunno. But when you guys don't feed or you get too pissed off or any combination thereof, and you frenzy, you tend to come out of it with animal parts."

With Jack having been a little too blunt, it almost sent Barnes back into the state of unacceptance he'd been in when I first told him what he was. "Animal...parts?"

"Sure, fur, tail, tuffed ears, whatever," Jack pantomimed all of these, quite obscenely as far as the tail was concerned, I might add. "Makes hell for blending into the crowd, you know, can't cover it up with sunglasses like those pretty eyes of yours, so try to keep your cool and not let the Beast take over, eh?"

"And that stuff you were talking about before, with the...with the Shim...whatever," Barnes went on.

"Tzimisce," I corrected him.

"Whatever," he repeated. "What do you mean it...turned people into aliens?"

"Just that, Kiddo," Jack laughed. "Tzimisce are flesh crafters."

Taking this opportunity to interject a rare comment, Cabbie said, "They practice a discipline called 'Vicissitude.'"

"Whatever," Jack said. "Anyway, this one was bored, I guess, so he crafted the people to actually look like something out of a bad sci-fi B-movie."

"And he was just allowed to do this to people?" I never went through this phase, but I couldn't help but pity Barnes, having his impressions on kindness in the world completely destroyed.

"Get used to it, Kiddo," Jack sat back, sensing the impending end of the need for his exposition. "There aren't many nice people in the world. It's not good vampires versus bad vampires out there, it's bad vampires versus worse vampires. If the Camarilla actually cared about people and protecting the humans from getting caught in the crossover, it'd probably be better. But you know...that's more work, and who wants to do work when you can have others serve you hand and foot?"

That was one way to end a conversation, but then again, what Jack said was true. Not liking the awkward silence that followed, I kicked open the cooler at my feet and tossed blood packs to both of them. I almost bit the IV cap off of the third one I picked up, but I remembered our other companion first and shouted, "Need a drink?"

"No, thank you," Cabbie never turned his head, always looking at the road, but I wondered if he might be making eye contact with me through the rear-view mirror, underneath those sunglasses of his. "I'm not hungry."

Odd, I never knew myself not to be a little hungry after expending the blood to wake up, though never ravenously so, as I was always careful to sleep on a full stomach. But oh well, maybe it was an age thing. While I couldn't figure out what clan the guy was, I figured he was pretty old, with all that talk about Enoch and Caine. He must've been Embraced long ago, old enough to be some sort of Noddest scholar, like Beckett, though also old enough to have been around some ancient time when there was no Camarilla and people weren't nearly as skeptical over the myths and legends of vampire lore.

Jack tore the top of his blood pack off with his teeth and spit it out, Barnes did the same, happy to have someone he could drink and laugh with. Maybe I should've asked Jack to take the guy in, he was surely more comfortable around the Brujah's attitude and light-heartedness. I guess I just wasn't Hoorah! and Semper Fi! enough for him to be comfortable around.

I sipped my blood curtly when Jack spoke up again. "Hmm...man, we've got some time to kill, I guess."

"We will be at our destination tomorrow night," Cabbie said. "With time of the night to spare, though I intend to pull off of the highway before this morning, camping on the road in a large vehicle during the day is...unsafe."

"Agreed," I said.

"Yeah, like I said, long time to kill," Jack repeated. "Ninety-nine bottles of blood on the wall, ninety nine bottles of blood, you take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of blood on the wall..."

It was amazing, absolutely amazing how gut-wrenchingly annoying Smiling Jack could be, alone, in a van bouncing up and down endlessly, to the point where I totally lost track of how much time had passed.

"Sixty-six bottles of blood on the wall, sixty-six bottles of beer, you take one down, pass it around, sixty-five bottles of blood on the wall..."

It was made a lot worse by the fact that Barnes joined him every other iteration or so. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. My attempts at curling into a ball in the corner and entering Torpor utterly unsuccessful, I finally halfway-screamed, "Shut up, Jack! No more! It's been hours! "

"S'almost daylight, actually," Jack said. Part of me didn't want to believe that, that I'd been listening to him sing for twelve straight hours. Malkavians weren't that batshit, and I'd met some pretty batshit Malkavians. "Hey, you should be thankful for my singing voice. You know how weird it is to have a Brujah, a Gangrel and a Ventrue in a car not killing each other?"

The van made a rare turn, and we all leaned to the center off of the benches to get a look out the windshield. Cabbie said, "The sun will be up shortly. Better safe than sorry."

Cabbie was true to his job as our chauffer, going to rent the room in the motel he parked us at while we stayed inconspicuously in the van until he opened the doors and motioned for us to scurry out. I kept the Tel'Mahe'Ra with me, and Barnes had a hand over his Desert Eagle just in case. The sun was almost up, though, night giving way to day, and we probably wouldn't have been able to do much if something nasty happened to be waiting in ambush.

The motel room, as motel rooms tended to be, was bland with the appearance of cleanliness, but who knew what was still on the sheets, really. I can't say I really wanted to know or find out. The bed, on the other hand, was on a frame and it had ruffles around the bottom, perfect for keeping out any errant sun from the windows. "I'm scrawny enough for this, I think."

"Go for it, Kid," Jack said, pulling the few curtains closed. Barnes went for the bathroom, presumably to claim the bathtub, while Cabbie just stood with his arms crossed. I wondered if he felt tired at all like I did already.

Of course, I should've expected Jack to dive onto the bed in an extraordinarily rude manner. There wasn't really all that much room underneath for my little ceiling to shift around. "Ow jesusfuckingwept Jack! Was that nessasary!"

"Nah, but it was fun," I heard, muffled through the mattress. At least he had the courtesy to roll over to one side as I heard him hike the blankets over himself.

Not long after, I passed out.

And I dreamed again. It was the same campfire scene, the same people, only the arrangement was a little different. Beckett was poking at the fire with a stick, but after a few seconds, he tossed the stick in and made it larger with something flashy and Thaumaturgical.

Barnes was leaning against a tree, his eyes red like the last dream (and he certainly knew how to do that now,) looking depressed and angsty as usual, though his red eyes lit up briefly at the site of Beckett's magic.

It occurred to me right then, and it was like this in the last dream, too, that Barnes wasn't wearing the clothes I'd given him, but a set of BDUs like a normal Marine. How odd...I can't imagine any of us letting him do that, given the intention it could draw. It had to have already been bad enough that his haircut the physical shape he was in, meaningless though it was now, would be locked forever like it was and just looking in the mirror would remind him of his life.

Cabbie was next to me again. I turned to him. "I know you have something to do with this."

"Perhaps," he said.

"Are you Ventrue?" I asked. "Lasombra? Tremere? I can't imagine anyone but a master of Dominate being able to do this."

"No," he answered. "Though you're right, this is someone creative use of Dominate. The power to influence the minds of others is not limited to eye contact once you pass a certain point. Though you'll always find it more powerful done the old fashioned way."

"I see," I said, thinking more about the fact that he must've been extremely old and extremely powerful to be Embraced into a clan without Dominate and to learn it anyway to this magnitude. "Why are we here?"

"I have never met Mr. Beckett," he said. "Though I have read his annotations to the Book of Nod. He and his friend Anatole, they are an intelligent pair. I believe Mr. Beckett's social theories on Gehenna are more truth than wishful thinking, that one must fear the insinutation of an end time that happens to match a prophecy more than the actual prophecy coming true."

"So you believe Gehenna is true because if the Antediluvians are alive, and they wake up, they'll destroy the world because it's what they do, not because it's written in a book," I said.

"Essentially, yes. The Sabbat almost has the right idea, wanting to stop them. Sadly, the sect has seen itself care more about toying with mortals and all-around bloodshed then accomplishing its goals," Cabbie answered.

"That's an understatement," I deadpanned.

He looked at the fire, no doubt seeing it as unnaturally dark through his shades. Then again, I wondered if he'd spent any time learning Protean over the years. "Indeed."

"So what do you want with me?"

Turning back to me from the fire, he said, "Why would I want something from you? You don't even know if I am responsible for this."

"You said so," I pointed out.

"I said 'perhaps,'" he reminded me. "Neither denial nor confirmation."

"But you answer my other questions," I said. "Like when I asked about your clan."

"You're dreaming," he answered. "Can you really trust that as an indication that is a good indication of reality, if any kind of indication at all?"

"I," unfortunately, I had to admit he had a point, and there was only one real response I could think of. "Shut up."

"Hmm," he grinned. "Then again, there would be a certain...quaintness to manipulating the dreams of others. I imagine many Malkavians have done it."

"I bet," I frowned. Fortunately, I had yet to meet any, though I'm sure if I gave the idea to Jeanette, she'd spend years learning Dominate to have fun with it. Idly, I wondered if Jeanette and Therese were separate people to the point where their abilities werwe different, if one might be a master of Dementation while the other specialized wholly in Obfuscate.

And then I woke up, another night upon us, as usual. Crawling out from under the bed, I found that Cabbie was already up and alert, sitting in a chair, his legs crossed. I tried to fix him with a stare, but he didn't seem to notice, or was deliberately avoiding it. Maybe I really was giving this old crusty vampire too much credit...maybe his vague and cryptic mysticism was just an old vampire playing at making himself out to be more than he actually was.

Jack was next to rise, looking every bit like the walking dead as he sat up, having forgotten he was covered in blankets and getting tangled in them in the attempt to throw them off.

Barnes, however, was less than elated as he came out of the bathroom at a run, only to stop dead once he was in the room proper. "Does anyone else smell smoke?"

Apparently he'd already gotten quite used to his heightened senses...I didn't know if being Gangrel helped with that, something to ask Beckett about.

Cabbie, never moving from his chair, reached over and pulled a curtain open. "Fire."

One word, one simple word, and we all knew what it meant, even Barnes who'd had his first run-in with flame only recently. Fortunately, it obviously wasn't to our room yet, and night had fallen; it probably wouldn't be that much of a problem. In all likelihood, emergency services would be here shortly. "Let's get the hell out if here."

Of course, after I'd taken precisely three steps out the door, Jack in front of me, Barnes and Cabbie behind, the gunfire started ringing out. It wasn't anything heavy; indeed, the bullets I felt sink into me didn't do much damage, but that didn't mean caution wasn't the better part of valor and I dived with Jack behind our closely-parked van. "How the fuck did hunters find us!"

"They probably stake out this place, figure our kind'll stay here if we're traveling," he said. "Stupid idiots, though, waiting till night."

With that, he jumped to the top of the van and off of it; I recognized his skillful application of Celerity instantly. The Tel'Mahe'Ra close in hand, I willed my blood into strengthening me against damage and ran out from behind the van...

...only to be blindsided by large wooden torch swung by the hunter coming around at the same time I did. Fortunately, the flames only licked me and I had been prepared anyway, so I didn't receive much harm. I think the hunter was expecting me to fall over, and I caught him completely off guard when I stayed standing and ran the sword clean through his heart.

A look to my side showed Cabbie walking right by me, calmly, as if nothing was wrong, towards the driver's side door while Barnes had to fend off two hunters himself. But he didn't need help after all; even though the hunter carrying another torch managed to jam the flaming end right into his neck, and he cried out a good one over it, he quickly turned and demonstrated every greater proficiency at Protean, his hands donning the trademark razor-sharp talons that he promptly used to tear the woman's throat out.

Acting unfazed, he spun around, those claws dripping with fresh blood; the other hunter, wielding a sword, was scared shitless and couldn't move, unable to believe or understand that his holy mission from God had just taken a turn for the worst and that a simple vampire had killed his comrade like that.

I heard Barnes growl; his claws retracted and he leapt for him instead, the hunter making an ineffectual swing that Barnes actually stopped, catching him at the wrist and holduing his arm up where the sword would do no damage before he threw his head down and sank his fangs into the hunter's neck.

This all happeend so fast that Cabbie had just gotten to his door and opened it when another hunter dived over the car next to our van, going at him with a wooden stake, shrieking a holy battle cry, confidant like the others had been against Barnes as he brought the wooden weapon down ferom above.

Cabbie just caught his hands, turned the stake around, and brought it down right into the hunter's gut; the sheer lack of effort he demonstrated in this act caught me off guard; even vampires with quick enough reflexes to do something like that were either on Celerity or were employing a trained skill; this didn't look like a skill, it looked like sheer, raw talent.

And he hadn't even killed the hunter anyway, but he'd condemned him to a pretty slow death with a giant hole torn through his abdomen like that.

It wasn't long before Jack came back, Barnes was done feeding, looking horribly ashamed of himself all over again, and the motel was quite unsalvageable. It was time to leave...but I had a thought. I turned to the bleeding hunter with the peice of wood jutting up through his stomach and crouched down to him; even injured like he was, he tried to scurry away, sceaming at me not to touch him, but he just bumped his head on the next car over and I got into his face anyway. "How'd you find us?"

"Go back to hell," he cursed at me. These right-wing conservatives and their religions...sigh.

I grabbed his chin and made him look at me; he wasn't nearly as hard to Dominate as Barnes was. "Hey, hey. Tell me how you found us and why you didn't set the fire during the day."

"We...we just got here. The...the manager called us...we pay him off to tell us if anyone checks in for a day instead of a night."

"Guess he won't be doing that anymore," I said, hearing the fire trucks' distant sirens. "Tell me why hunters have been shooting at us right on the streets in Los Angeles."

"There are none of us in Los Angeles," he said. "The Society in Los Angeles was destroyed by a vampire in June."

Well, that was me, alright. And that was pretty interesting information, that the dudes with the high-tech gear weren't Society of Leopold after all. I put him out of his misery, slashing his throat with the Tel'Mahe'Ra as I stood, and we piled right into the van, Cabbie driving us out of the parking lot before we even had the doors all the way closed.

It was pathetic how long it took the fire trucks and police to get there, really. We were already on the road and looking quite inconspicuous before anything, and I didn't even see anyone at the motel. Though Barnes probably didn't have it in his head yet to put effort into not violating the Masquerade (something that would have to be talked into him very shortly ot it would get him killed, if not by hunters than by us or other Kindred) I imagine Jack didn't either, or he wouldn't have run around like Superman.

But anyway, we heard the fire trucks and cops go by even if we couldn't see them through the painted-over back windows...such was the un-life.

"So," I eventually said. "Anyone want to venture a guess about what's going on?"

"Pfft, search me, Kid," Jack said. "Thinking about what's going on isn't really my forte, if you get what I mean. I mostly just hurt people."

I half expected Barnes to offer some input or at least ask what I meant, vis-a-vis the Society of Leopold hunters from just now (and typically untrained in the ways of killing people as Society of Leopold hunters tend to be) weren't at all related to the dudes all teched out who had attacked us in Los Angeles. But he was busy, realizing he had blood all over his mouth from feeding with pretty bad manners, not that I could blame him.

I thought he might rub his lips off trying to make the blood go away, and then he had to worry about getting it off if his arm, and he almost tried to wipe it off on his pants, but he thought better of it, undoubtedly realizing that it would stain and give him away. Give him away as a vampire or a murderer, I don't think he knew which. I would say both, really, but that was just my opinion.

"Aw, just lick it off, Kiddo," Jack chuckled at him. "Happens sometimes. Gotta clean up somehow, right? All goes into the same place."

I think that horrified Barnes more than most of what he'd been through already. Amusingly enough, Cabbie came to his rescue, tossing a bottle of water back from up front. Barnes scrambled to it like a frenzied vampire looking for blood at any cost and had the entire bottle splashed over his arm and face, the blood soon gone, in short order. I was glad I'd waterproofed the leather jacket I was letting him wear.

"Or that works too," Jack gave a good 'hah hah' and felt no more need for discussion.

Barnes did, though. "Those guys...that...that girl, jesus, I can't believe I did that to her...who were they?"

"The actual Society of Leopold," I said. "The vampire hunters from the church I was talking about the other night, when I said I'd never seen them like the dudes wearing the goggles? I guess I should've realized those guys weren't Leopold hunters...I just don't have a clue where they could be coming from."

"Do they," Barnes paused for a second, "I don't know, do they...do they actually hunt you...us...in God's name?"

"What, people don't do fucked up shit in God's name?" Jack said. "S'not the first time people have killed whatever they think the Bible's telling 'em too. They got what they deserved."

That last part struck Barnes the wrong way, and I think Jack was expecting it to. I really couldn't tell if Jack was being a bastard or a manipulative bastard, finding hard-luck ways to wake Barnes up to the reality of his condition.

It really just reduced Barnes to curling up in the corner; it was awhile before I realized he was holding the cross he wore around his neck; maybe he was praying for forgiveness for ripping people apart with supernatural claws, maybe he was asking to be struck down for being an abomination against God.

He'd find no comfort in his prayers, I was pretty sure. Maybe once he realized the real world didn't accept sugar coated people he'd have an easier time doing what he had to do to get by and make of unlife what he could.

Curiously, Cabbie gave some input after awhile. "I have run across the Society of Leopold on more than one occasion...always, they believe they are doing God's work, but it seems to me they don't understand the will of God is not a task for mortals to carry out, it is what He set in motion by creating everything in the first place."

"Where'd you get that idea?" Barnes finally spoke up. How...very shallow of him. He'd learn to take the world more at face value, I was betting.

"Once you've lived for a fraction of the time I have," Cabbie said, "You will come to realize how...transitory everything is. Not just the mortals, but the world around you. Not just the changing of the ages; the transitions from the Roman Empire to the Dark Ages to the Victorian Age to the Industrial Revolution, to the Age of Information, this age of wonders we live in now...none of it changes basic human nature. Civilization is merely a mask and a comfort away from the original sins. Even in Enoch, civilization was based on wants, not needs. Your wants, your wishes and your dreams are what fade away into nothing with time. Even if you live a mortal life and die a mortal death, no one will remember much of your life a year, six months, a week after you are gone. To be a vampire, to be immortal, is to outlive your own space in the world. Ask the Elders who play Jyhad, never knowing a moment's joy because they believe they've seen it all, when in fact, they have simply put so much effort into their civilized existence that they've failed to understand what it is to simply exist. "

For the first time since getting himself wet, Barnes sat back up. "You're saying I should just give into it? Let this control me?"

He was wrong. If that were Cabbie's advice, he would've turned into a raving Beast-controlled long ago. So he explained further. "No, I am saying you should control it, " Cabbie went on. "To give into your vampiric nature is not to indulge in an excess of your abilities or to allow the Beast to take hold. These are merely facts of your existence, things that happen if conditions are met, be it your state of mind and having entitlement issues, or of not feeding and falling into frenzy. Simple logic controls these, not your attitude. No, to truly give in to your nature is to fall into the trappings of society, no matter what society it is. Mortals spend their entire existence giving into what others want, be it service or expectation. How many vampires spend their existence in an un-life of unceasing service to the societal structure, until they are so numb to the world that all they can find worth their time is playing the Jyhad? Transcendence is not a spiritual awakening, it is awakening to the idea that you are worth your own time, that God's will is for you to be a better person, that you are, in essence, your own God. Indeed, if you are made in God's image, how can you not be?"

It was funny...I'd never heard a Kindred wax philosophical, let alone make some kind of sense doing so. In a few short minutes, Cabbie had given Barnes more to think about, more to honestly truly think about than Jack had, and certainly more than I ever had at this point. Briefly, I wondered if I should try to pawn Barnes off on him instead of on Beckett, but I had a feeling Beckett might be more apt to take on a traveling companion. It wasn't like Beckett wasn't a competent person himself, I wondered if Cabbie would like him, he was certainly never one to bow to the whim of others out of a need for self-worth.

Maybe that was the biggest problem with the Camarilla; the Elders knew how to manipulate societal structure like that. I remember my history teacher giving us the quote "How fortunate it is for leaders that men do not think" and wouldn't tell us it was from Joseph Stalin until we guessed it.

Considering we'd spent nearly twelve hours driving before hitting the motel, we were in Washington state while the night was still young, and from the state border, it would be a short journey to where we were going, I was sure.

But Cabbie didn't know where we were going, because we didn't know either. "Do you wish to go to Seattle or the port town first?"

"Good question," I said. "Jack, how long ago did anyone see Beckett in Bremerton?"

"Not long," he scratched his head. "I don't know what he was looking for, but apparently he was talking to those freaky mermaid Gangrel about something."

"Mermaid Gangrel?" Barnes' eyes went wide, fear of his legs someday turning into a giant fin obviously playing through his mind.

"Oh, uh, don't worry so much about it, Kiddo," Jack laughed. "They're a particular bloodline. So you only really end up like that if you're Embraced by one of them."

"We should go to Seattle, first," I said. "Seattle is where the Camarilla is based here, right? We should present ourselves to the Prince, even if they're all idiots up here. We don't want to cause ourselves any trouble if we don't have to."

"I have been here before," Cabbie said. "Though only passing through; I have never felt need to present myself to the Prince, but I know what building he makes his Haven in."

Jack didn't raise any objections, neither did Barnes, though more probably because he wasn't sure what we were talking about.

"Much as I love sitting in front of pampered Camarilla babies," Jack leaned back as much as he could, given the limited space, resting with his hands behind his head, "That's a good point. I suppose I can be civil and upstanding for a few minutes, maybe ten, twenty."

"Great, we'll be on the Red List by dawn," I rolled my eyes. Smiling Jack must've gotten his nickname from the creepy smile he always displayed when he knew his mere presence somewhere was going to cause trouble.

Cabbie drove us straight up the highway, right by the Seattle airport until we were on the giant hill that was Downtown Seattle. Upon exiting the van, I didn't find it all that different from downtown Los Angeles, except for the smell. The air here was very...oceanic. The smog of LA was far more powerful then whatever scene Santa Monica's beaches would let in, but here, it was very sailor-ish, very Americana, in its own little way.

I hoped the smell wouldn't stick to my leather coats, either the trench I was wearing or the jacket I'd loaned Barnes. That had been a good idea, it was chilly here, and he would've looked out of place in just the muscle shirt. Even Jack had the sense to wear a long-sleeve shirt under his favorite vest, and Cabbie rolled the sleeves of that expensive, fancy looking shirt of his down.

Of course, Barnes switched on his glowing red eyes of doom and threw Jack's sunglasses on again, while Cabbie never took his off in the first place. I couldn't blame Barnes, though, I was a little paranoid after the burning down motel incident myself, so at least we had someone who would be very difficult to sneak up on. For all of his viciousness at the hunter who had come at him with that stake, Cabbie seemed pretty senile as far as combat went.

"So where is this Prince," I asked the obvious question. My voice was low, he'd put us in public parking and there were any number of mortals walking around the streets.

"There," Cabbie pointed upward...toward a sizeable skyscraper.

"The Bank of America Tower?" Barnes looked at it in awe; I wondered if he'd been here ebfore, he sounded like he thought he knew this place and was now learning the realities of it all over again. That didn't really seem to happen with Los Angeles, considering there wasn't organization to the Kindred society there, it was just vampires blending in and not bothering anyone.

"The local Prince owns a floor of the building," Cabbie said.

Well, that figured. It was the biggest building in the city, I guessed. Even if it wasn't, it was certainly horribly pretentious even looking at it from down the block.

I felt so out in the open walking down the street, not because I was here, but because we were so fucking obvious to anyone who gave us more than a passing glance. And I was also curious about something, so I fell in line next to Cabbie. Barnes' oh so military walking posture was kind of annoying, anyway. "Why are you coming with us?"

"To protect the company's business, of course," Cabbie answered. "It is why I protected it against sunlight, as well. Those of our kind are in constant danger, and therefore, I protect you. If any of you die, it will reflect badly on me, I will be investigated, the company will be investigated...you understand."

It was surprisingly logical, but given this man's tendencies to appear in my dreams, I didn't believe him one bit. "Indeed. Well, I suppose I can't complain about having an extra hand around, going into unfamiliar territory."

"Remember," Cabbie intoned, in a manner that I knew what he was going to say, " Wherever we go, it is the blood of Caine which makes our fate."

Whenever he said that, I couldn't help but think he sounded a lot like Belle Legosi's Dracula.

Security inside the lobby of the tower was...not pleased, to say the least, at four people looking like us walking in, but that was okay, because there was a nice, huge sign on the wall with a directory before one had to talk to reception.

Cabbie looked over it briefly, and pointed out the floor we wanted. "There. Aaron Hansen, that is the Prince."

I was hoping this Prince was at least smart enough to make it clear that he was open to visitation from the public; fortunately, security waved us through without an issue once we said where we were going.

The elevator, though fancy, was fairly cramped. It was twenty floors before anyone said anything, and that was just Jack clearing his throat. Barnes started after floor thirty. "So...why are we here again?"

Cabbie took the expository reins. "It is customary for Kindred new in a city to announce their presence to the Prince, so that he may keep track of his city's population."

"Oh," Barnes answered. A pause, and then, "You know...they let us in here way too easily. Terrorists would have a field day."

"And that's why the Camarilla here is so funny," Jack said. "Hah, silver-spoon morons."

"Jack," I intoned, "You promised you'd behave."

"No, I promised I'd act civil. There's a difference." Like Barnes before him, Jack gave a pause. "Do you think Prince Hansen would have his sheriff kill someone for making an Mmm-Bop joke, because, man, I don't think I can re-"

"Jack," I tried to glare at him, but I didn't have room to turn. Fortunately, he cleared his throat and stopped talking.

Finally, the doors opened, mercifully letting us out. We didn't get more than a few steps, because we were being waited on since security had called ahead.

The man standing in the middle of the corridor looked...stupidly young, obviously Kindred if his pallor had anything to say about it. "What business do you have with the Prince?"

I wondered just who this guy was. Maybe the Prince's childe, but his trenchcoat-length vest and simple attire underneath it didn't have much in the way of sophistication.

Regardless, being the Ventrue of the group, I felt a need to speak for us. "We're newly arrived in the city and we wish to present ourselves."

"No sunglasses," he answered.

And he didn't budge until Barnes and Cabbie took their shades off; the altter made me a little more uncomfortable. I wasn't sure he really new anything about Dominate, but his eyes just scared. me. Regardless, this probably meant the Prince was, indeed, Ventrue, and wanted to be sure he could Dominate anyone who came into his inner sanctum.

Then again, LaCroix couldn't Dominate me. What did I have to worry about?

"Follow me," our greeter said, gesturing as he led us down the corridor and beyond banks of windows showing the business conducted on the floor, cubicles and aisles of people doing who knew what for the Prince. If only his power over vampire politics was as good as his business interests...

Eventually, he led us through double doors into a lavish office; the sight of a middle-aged man, old enough in terms of mortal appearences to be our escort's grandfather looking out the windows with his back to us reminded me instantly of LaCroix. His demeander as he turned to us showed the typical Ventrue confidance.

"Sir," his subordinate said, "These Kindred wish to declare their presence in the city to you."

"Thank you, Brendan. Well," he answered, "I suppose I should be thankful someone respects the traditions nowadays." He sat at his expansive, modern desk, the computer built right into it as he folded his hands and rested his chin on them. "By all means, Gentleman, introduce yourselves."

I gave him my name and clan first, of course. It all went downhill from there. "Name's Jack, Brujah."

" Smiling Jack, I suppose?" Prince Hansen raised an eyebrow.

"Well, what can I say," Jack gave him a mocking bow, arms out to his sides, a big, toothy smile. "I'm easy to amuse."

"No doubt," was the simple answer. "And oddly popular right now; no one liked Prince LaCroix, and you Anarchs of Los Angeles are rather famous for whatever rolls you've played in his downfall." Hansen turned to Cabbie. "And you?"

His demeaner never changing, Cabbie answered him like he answered anyone I'd ever seen him talk to, myself including. "I do not carry a name, nor do I have a clan lineage."

"Caitiff, then?" Hansen's eyebrow went up all over again.

"No," Cabbie said. "Not Caitiff, merely clanless."

Would-be Caitiff taken in by others weren't unheard of. It had happened to me, though I had a feeling Cabbie was lying. Very few Caitiff were taken in under circumstances where they could find out nothing regarding their Sire,.

Hansen seemed to be thinking the same thing, at least the first part. "Very well."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Barnes, standing neatly at Parade-Rest, nervously glance at us all as he realized it was his turn. "Staff S-"

A jabbed his ribs with my elbow; ex-military vampires, fine. Ex-military vampires throwing military words around like they still applied bad. He got the idea. "Jason Barnes...um, Gangrel."

The Prince looked us all over one last time, and he leaned back in his chair. "Well then. Thank you for having the courtesy to announce your presence in my city. As you can imagine, with the amount of Sabbat attacks here, I find it...an absolute necessity to keep track of who is present. You'll find Camarilla loyalties and Elysium here or you can take the ferry to Bremerton. If the Sabbat attacks while you are in the city, you are expected to aid in the defense."

"Hah," Jack rolled his eyes. "Sabbat bastards...I'll take any excuse to break their faces a little."

"My lord," I said, figuring a little buttering up would get me what I wanted easier. "May I ask a question?" He nodded. "We're here looking for a Kindred named Beckett, do you know for certain if he's in your city?"

"Beckett," he said, looking right at me. "Now, that's interesting, Beckett did have the courtesy of announcing his presence when he arrived, tell me what your business with him is."

He was trying to Dominate me, I knew it. I decided to play along and let him think I was harmless, at least slightly. "We're acquaintances of his, and we think he might know someone who knows someone who's trying to kill us."

"Hmm," that got the Prince's attention. His confidence that he had manipulated me into answering with absolute truth (indeed, I was pretty sure the funky hunters with night-vision goggles were just after Barnes) gave him the illusion of control. "Well, far be it for me to interfere with Jyhad. Understand, however, that I maintain a mutually beneficial relationship with the Anarchs of this city; I keep my politics away from them while keeping the city functioning, they help me defend it from the Sabbat. Do not endanger the well-being of any Kindred here with your actions."

I gave him a slight bow. "Of course not."

"Beckett said he would be in Bremerton for several days, my Sheriff will take you to him. Brendan?"

He motioned towards us, and I realized, quite stupidly, that he was giving orders to the vampire who had escorted us in. Maybe it was because the only Sheriff I'd ever met was LaCroix's towering sword-weilding gorilla, but this guy really didn't strike me as the Sheriff type. And as he gave Prince Hansen the same little bow I'd just given him, I took a grave view of the situation anyway. "Is that really necessary, My Lord? Surely your Sheriff has better things to do than..."

"My Sheriff," he cut me right of, letting me know he thought I was being rather rude, "Is tasked with keeping the peace in this city. He has a much better job of it when those who live here understand his presence is not limited to appearing at my side, inspiring either camaraderie or fear of being caught breaking the traditions."

"Quite so," Brendan almost smiled; I wondered if he'd caught a few Kindred unawares doing things they shouldn't be doing by just walking down a street. He walked right by us towards the door, and motioned for us to follow. "What did you use for transportation? Is it still suitable?"

"There is quite enough room in the van," Cabbie answered, while we just sort of fell into line."

Secretly, I was glad Cabbie had declared that; I'd left the Tel'Mahe'Ra in the van and I wanted to keep it close. But I was more than a little surprised that Jack hadn't protested.

On the walk back to the parking lot, Jack, Barnes and I gravitated back enough from the other two to talk a little more openly. So I asked him about that. "Since when do you bow to Camarilla wishes, Jack?"

"Since they make themselves useful," Jack chuckled. "Like you said about our driving buddy, can't complain about an extra hand. Besides, Mr. High and Mighty Ventrue up there has nothing the Anarchs here don't give him. I bet the Sheriff is his entire staff. Not a good position to back stab someone from."

"There was something wrong with that guy," Barnes said. "Prince dude, I mean. He just...I don't know. Didn't feel right."

"Felt stuffed up and high and mighty," Jack said. He turned to me, "You be careful, Kid, that ya don't end up all bloated and hoity toity in your old age."

"I'll try not to," I groaned.

The Sheriff, Brendan, took shotgun in the van; Cabbie didn't seem to mind. Aside from his directions to the ferry, no one said a word until we parked on said boat and got out of the van again, for no real reason other then to stretch our legs, I guess.

Brendan gave us some information. "The ferry captain is one of the Anarchs here. He won't call an emergency just at the sight of us."

It wasn't until right then, I'd noticed that Brendan's off trench-vest was gone, replaced by a modest denim jacket. I hadn't seen him change...how odd.

"Ah, this is the life," Jack stretched his arms out, and I watched him take in the scenery of the nighttime water and the cityscapes in every direction. "Fair winds and following seas and all that good stuff. Man, I need to go back to the Caribbean one of these days. Good weather, wide open water and I tell ya, a party in every town. That's the life, man."

He seemed to intrigue Brendan. "I don't think I've ever met a Brujah who gets excitable over water."

"Used to sail around all the time back when I was still human," Jack laughed, his arms crossed in the strength remembering good times gave him. "Yo ho, a pirate's life for me...and really bad eggs!"

I took that to mean the rumors Damsel had heard about him were true, that he used to be a pirate. He'd mentioned the Caribbean, I wondered if he was in any history books on the area. Regardless, it was almost frightening to think of Smiling Jack, of all people, as a happy go lucky, carefree swashbuckler on some wooden ship floating along the tropics, doing god knows what. I didn't know what was scarier, really; the mental picture or the idea that Jack was a couple of centuries old, almost old enough to be called an Elder; he must be immensely powerful, though he doesn't show anything beyond what he needs to get out of a situation.

Maybe Cabbie was the same way.

"So," I said, "Last we heard, Beckett had been wanting to talk to the Mariners in Bremerton."

"Oh," Brendan suddenly grew rather deadpan. "Hmm. Perhaps I'll leave talking to him up to you, then."

"I see," I didn't look at him, choosing instead to lean over the railing and watch the water go by. What an odd thing to say. Eventually, I turned back and walked toward Barnes, leaning against the van.

"I don't like that guy," he said to me, crossing his arms. "The Sheriff. Something about him just...turns me off."

"You know, as a mortal, I'd have been worried," I sighed. "What's sad is, I'm six months 'old' and my reaction to that is already 'of course you don't, all vampires are untrustworthy.'"

"So I shouldn't be trusting you all this time, then?" He seemed to be half-serious.

"Wait until I'm his age," I said. "Then again, maybe I'll turn out like Jack...even he can be manipulative when he wants to be, though."

"And you still expect me to enjoy this?" He said.

"Are you kidding?" I chuckled. "I never expected you to enjoy it. I expect you to deal with it. Make of unlife what you can. I'm sure you enlisted because you wanted to do good things and all that. Just because you're an undead monster doesn't mean you have to be an asshole. "

"It's almost...it is empowering." Barnes was talking so quietly he was almost whispering, clenching his hand into a fist and rolling the fingers back out in front of his face, perhaps imagining the claws he'd grown earlier. "At first I was thinking...you know, being an undead monster, now that I know undead monsters are real was just being some abomination against God...but your friend there made some creepy kind of sense when he was driving. I couldn't think of an argument, anyway."

This topic was something I tended not to think about. It gave me a headache, really. "You know...if you believe in Caine, it's pretty much a given that you believe in God...having been an atheist before the Embrace, and having heard a convincing argument about why Caine didn't exist, I find myself strangely...convinced of the idea that he did. What's that sound?"

I was surprised I heard it before Barnes, but he was too distracted by his own thoughts. As I glanced around, trying to find a source for the approaching, high-pitched shriek, he pushed off of the van as he tried to pin it down, and then all at once snapped to total alertness. "Rocket fire! Get down! "

He tackled me just as the car only one space behind our van exploded in a ball of flame that lit up the dark night of the sea; we probably would've been singed, had we remained standing.

The next thing I remember was inching upward, only to see Jack dashing back to us. "What the hell's going on?"

Another rocket blew through the air and exploded, this one on the side of the ferry. People were panicking around us, the ones in their cars frozen inside out of fear, the ones outside running to whatever looked like cover.

"I think we've got another visit from the green-eyed monster," I half-shouted to him. The commotion, aside from the things exploding, was all a little loud.

"We'll be fine," Brendan said, quite calmly, I might add, as he crouched down with the rest of us.

Well, except for Cabbie. He was leaning against the van, arms crossed, as if he couldn't hear or see any of what was going on.

We were used to it by now, though Brendan found it rather...off-kilter, and as Sheriff, it was, in a roundabout way, his job to make sure anything off-kilter was also harmless. "Does he always do that?"

"So far," I said. "Right, so, can we take these fuckers down easily without taking the Masquerade and stepping on it before throwing it into a trash barrel that's lit on fire?"

"Don't worry about it," Brendan said. "We don't have to do anything."

I wondered how he could possibly be thinking that. I wondered what Prince in his right mind would have a Malkavian Sheriff.

The actual gunfire that came to our ears once the rocket propelled grenades stopped was the answer. At first I thought it was just gunfire coming in at us, but none of it hit the ferry and soon I realized there was more than one set of guns going off.

We all peaked over the edge of the guard rails and saw what Brendan meant; the local law enforcement was more than a little picky about who was in the water around here. And from the three sizeable boats they had surrounding the two semi-inflatable boats ridden by the goggled hunters, it seemed like they were prepared for very bad things

"Well," I said, watching the hunters get slaughtered:"That works."

"The real trick is getting off without going through any reporters or the SWAT team if they end up wanting to talk to everyone," Brendan added as we ushered ourselves back to the van. Better to be out of sight. "Shouldn't be too hard, though."

"No," Cabbie said. "It won't be."

I was positive Cabbie just Dominated everyone who would've stopped us from just driving right off as soon as the ferry docked, because that's exactly what we did, right by the cops and the press and the general crowd gathered to freak out about everything.

"Well, now that that's all done," I eventually said, more for breaking through the awkward silence. "Where do we find Beckett?"

"You said he's been socializing with the Mariners?" Brendan answered. "They have their little gathering spot outside the naval base's jurisdiction. Not hard to find as long as you know what you're looking for, really. I think I should stay in the car, though. They don't like me very much."

"Uh oh," Jack laughed. "Haul one of them in for illegal fishing?"

"In fact, I did kill one of them, several years ago," Brendan went on, no less dignified. Clearly, he felt he'd taken the right course of action. "He thought himself a daredevil, one of those types who likes to skirt breaking the Masquerade as closely as possible because he has too much free time. I killed him the first time he had an Oops."

"Man, remind me never to live here," I said. "I have a feeling I'd be just clumsy enough to piss you off."

"Oh, I have no problem letting an actual accident slide," Brendan replied, "But I don't think it's a good idea to encourage stupidity like that by implying it'll never be punished. I'll tell you one thing, we haven't had a single, actual breach in the Masquerade since then. But all of that aside, the Mariners didn't like me when I first got here anyway. Not that it matters since they don't consider themselves part of the Camarilla anyway. They probably would've killed that one themselves if I hadn't beaten them to it since they like their privacy as much as I like them to have it. I did it to set an example, and they didn't like that I stepped on their toes."

I don't really remember how long it was before a distinct thunk sounded in the van, accompanied quite ominously by the feeling that some very, very heavy had landed on the roof.

"Uh oh," Jack said. "That's never a good thing."

"Indeed," Cabbie agreed. He didn't even so much as look up; I guess he figured without any plain evidence he could see, it wasn't worth the distraction.

Plain evidence presented itself in the form of the one of the most vile, most inhuman and yet somehow recognizeably human faces I'd ever seen showing itself through the windshield, upside down, the owner of said face clearly on top of the van.

It was gone again by the time Cabbie slammed on the breaks and swreved the van either off the road or at least to the side of it.

I don't know if Jack or Brendan had caught it, but Barnes had. If Bertram Tung had freaked him out, this downright scared him. "What the fuck was that!"

The back doors flew open, and there was that hideous face again, on top of a completely anoexic body barely covered in pleather. Strippers who survived budget plastic surgery chop-shops were more attractive than this.

I'll tell you, at least Andrei looked like you expect monster to look, decked out in his suit, all spiney and creepy and fearsome. I knew right away this was a Tzimisce, and seeing it made me wish I'd appreciated Andrei's company a little more.

I think we all thought similar things, considering the looks on all of our faces. Except for Cabbie, he just turned his head up to look through the rear view mirror.

Sheriff Brendan was the first to say something. "A fiend?"

It was a fiend, all right. And the fiend promptly tilted its strangely shaped head and blinked its overly beady eyes. "Ravnos? How quaint. How useless!"

Jack, ever the ice breaker, just raised his eyebrows. " That's interesting."

With lightning speed, the Tzimisce grabbed Brendan by the arm and hurled him right out of the van, a good twenty feet away and back onto the road before looking back inside. "And finally it's...not Beckett."

It was looking right at Barnes, too. I didn't care what it wanted, I sprang into action, only the vaguest registration in my mind that it had referred to Brendan as a Ravnos. Odd, but not life-threatening like an obviously skilled flesh crafter.

I did the natural thing; I swung the Tel'Mahe'Ra at it, as best I could within the confines of the van.

And it caught the blade, in one hand, no less, pulling so hard and so fast that I was yanked out and onto the grassy ground before I could let go. Needless to say, I continued to put up a fight, spinning to my feet and slashing away, but to very little avail.

In fact, I only succeeded in cutting Jack when he joined the fight so fast I hadn't noticed, and the fiend ducked away from me instead of remaining between us. Jack wasn't amused, of course. "Hey, watch it!"

"Hah, how incompetent," it laughed.

Brendan had gotten up by now. "Incompetent this, you Sabbat prick!"

"Language, crook, language. " The fiend crouched down onto all fours, kind of like Creepy Ring Girl before she pounced. And it did pounce, ignoring Brendan and going for Jack, only to run into a tree.

A tree that hadn't been there before, which made it kind of funny, actually. Suddenly, there were a lot of trees that hadn't been there before.

I dived out from behind one of them, swinging my sword with as muich ferosity as I could manage...only to have the Tzimisce step right to the side and shove its hands up the back of my shirt.

I didn't like where this was going.

As it turned out, I was right to be worried, and I knew it as soon as I heard the creep speak right into my ear. "Pretty little Ventrue likes to play with Samurai swords?"

I dropped the Tel'Mahe'Ra when it dug its (oddly feminine) hands into my back and pulled, crafting flesh and bone right out of me, tearing through my shirt as it stretched the new, completely unnatural extensions of my body outward, only to reach around, grab my face with one hand and pull downwards, accomplishing the same effect.

The real horror of this didn't hit me until it used those appendages as handles to throw my threw the air, over the guardrail and at the forest of real trees. The last thing I clearly remember was being blasted with an honest-to-god fireball as I fell; apparently, this fiend was a good thaumaturge.

It hurt like hell, and I screamed, moreso when I hit trees and the ground, rolling down the hill and hearing the snap-crackle-pop of the bones in the meter-long extensions of my back and face. I felt it all, the broken bones, the saggy skin tearing open, what was left of my shirt nearly burned into my chest...

Eventually, I came to a rest at the foot of the hill; everything was gone, I didn't remember Cabbie and the others were up there, I didn't know if I'd passed out at all, but I knew it was still nighttime, because I was alive.

And I had completely unnatural body parts. But where there's a will, there's a way, and I willed the vitae in my stomach outward to those unnatural growths, unwelcome injuries from combat, and...absolutely nothing happened.

What the fuck?

Try as I might, I couldn't will my injuries to heal. Maybe my body was too stupid to realize they were injuries. I certainly considered them injuries, at least...

I was beyond caring; I wouldn't suffer this indignity any longer, and fortunately, I had other ways of fixing it. Painful ways, but ways, nonetheless. I wouldn't be stopped, I acted without even considering if what I wanted to do would work right. I forced blood into the tips of my fingers, strengthening them, making them like iron and I clawed into the excess skin sagging from my face. It was a bloody mess, the vitae I'd tried to abolish the abnormality with was still there and it splashed to the rest of my face and covered my hands as I screamed despite myself. Eventually, I got my slippery hands around the new bone and pulled it clear off, letting the sack of disgusting flesh flop onto the ground with a squishing noise.

My back, surprisingly, wasn't as tricky. There were two bone extensions, but the skin broke more easily and I had them ripped off in no time.

I don't know how much blood I spilled from those massive holes in my body or how much I expending strengthening my hands to make the tearing possible, but I expended even more when I worked to seal the damage.

Even as the wounds closed I knew something was still wrong. After the vitae had done its thing I patted my back and face, realizing the mounds of flesh had left horrible scarring that a vampire shouldn't have to suffer. The space between my shoulder blades and my right cheek felt like they'd developed craters and, really, they had.

I couldn't stand it, from a mental standpoint as well as from the pain it caused. I'd always prided myself on my good looks and the body I'd worked on through swimming got me a hell of a lot more pussy than any of the football jocks...subtlety is better than obviousness, be it my build compared to a body builder's or manipulation compared to aggression. There's a reason I choose to turn my attention towards mastering Dominate instead of Fortitude or Presence, and why I used a sword instead of a gun.

Fat lot of good it did me.

I couldn't even cover the disfigurements up; my shirt, laying in tatters, was good only for wiping the smears of blood off of my face and off of my back (as best as I could reach around, at least.) I suppose I should've been thankful that it wasn't so dirty it wouldn't make a good cloth, but I wasn't.

I managed to get through that before I started feeling the beast inching its way up my spine.

The ants were crawling behind my eyes again...I didn't know how long I had before sun-up, but I knew I needed to find shelter soon, and it would be nice to find food, as well. I couldn't feed off of the local wildlife, so I kept walking in the direction I'd fallen down the hill, praying it would lead me to civilization.

I probably looked more like a zombie, dirty and half-naked and seeing nothing but blood that wasn't really there covering the trees that may or ma not have been there as well. I mean, I did remember the Sheriff was a Ravnos, and though I'd never met any of the surviving Ravnos before, in my addled mind I was pretty sure I remembered Clan Ravnos being the ones with the power of illusion.

Wait, of course that was the Ravnos. Sheriff Brendan had conjured trees out of thin air for that crackpot Tzimisce to run itself into, right?

I was so fucked up.

I don't remember when forest became back roads and back roads became the outskirts of town, but I somehow made it there without going into a complete frenzy. I knew I was still somewhat in my right mind, because though I had instinctually started breathing again, breathing quite heavily, I knew enough to stick to the shadows between the quant buildings and to keep off the well-lit main streets.

It was late enough that anything that wasn't a well-commercialized area during the daytime had nearly no activity. Reduced to the stalking and meandering of a hideous Nosferatu, only without the benefit of Obfuscate, I found my relief walking down one of the residential streets. I was poised between close houses, instead of on the opposite side of the street, where the houses were far apart and had white picket fences. No room to hide whatsoever.

My mind so clouded, I really thought it was an angel at first, the clothes so white it was almost blinding to see them under the moonlight in my condition, perhaps Gabriel come to relieve my suffering as an apology for cursing me through Caine.

It turned out to be a military man like Barnes. But unlike Barnes, a Sailor instead of a Marine, in full, blindingly white uniform. Even the goofy hat, but I hardly noticed as I slinked back into the shadows, waiting patiently.

Poor bastard, he sounded so happy, too, whistling to himself as he trotted down the sidewalk, likely on leave. Boy, was he about to get a surprise. It was perfect, he had to be well-suited to my tastes; enlisted military personnel were usually middle-class, right? Better chances than going for an officer, at least.

I didn't have the strength or, who am I kidding, the coordination to leap out and grab him. I had to make him come close, and leaning against the house's wall for support, it wasn't going to be easy. "Hey... hey. "

He jumped. He took a step back when he saw me through the shadows, desperate to reach him.

And it all worked out for me in a way Ihadn't expected. His first reaction wasn't to run, because my wrecked appearance won him over right away. "Holy shit, are you okay? Did you get mugged?"

"Need...blood..."

Maybe he didn't hear me, because, after a pause, he came right to me. "C'mon, I'll bring you my place and we can call the cops...or something..."

I didn't hear him. "Need... blood... "

I think he knew I was going to attack him as soon as he was in arm's reach and the look on my face changed from a poor bastard pleading for a blood transfusion to an undead predatory monster.

It was too late. He turned to leave. I mustered the strength I had left, or maybe I just gained a new strength, seeing that lovely, pink neck of his.

With a growl, I grabbed him easily from behind, arms all the way around, I sank my teeth in as soon as he tried to throw his head back and break my nose with it. Needless to say, he missed and I didn't, my fangs sank in like his skin was butter.

For just a second, I swore I could taste him like food, real food, but that washed away in the outpouring of red from his neck while he squirmed and quivered under my grasp. As much as the ecstasy of feeling that blood fill my stomach overwhelmed me, the ecstasy of a vampire draining him turned the Sailor into my little plaything.

His last twitch hit me like the throwing of a switch; I became myself again, free of the hunger and of the pure chaos working its way into my mind.

But at what cost?

I dropped him like a piece of meat, let him fall right to the ground, not before instinctively licking the wounds on his neck to close them as if it mattered. What had I done? Had I already been in the Beast's grip, had I not been strong enough to fight it off long enough to only satiate myself, killed an innocent man because I'd wasted too much blood trying to make myself appear human again?

If my vanity had been the cause of an innocent's death...then how hard was it really, for the Beast to take over?

He was still breathing.

I couldn't believe it, but I hadn't drained him dry after all, I could see his breath fog as he inhaled and exhaled oh so slowly, teetering between this world and the next. I remembered I'd brought my phone with me on this little trip, the first time I had need of it. And as luck would have it, I'd put it in my pants pocket instead of my jacket pocket; I had it with me.

I dialed 9-1-1, gave them the street, said "Someone needs a blood transfusion yesterday, " and ran my ass off back the way I'd came, back towards the forest, or at least, to what I hoped was towards the forest.

I made it just through the treeline when the unmistakable howling of a wolf echoed through the night, and its source bounded through the forest, from off my my right, and stopped in front of me. Turning to look at me, the overly fierce-looking animal suddenly reshaped from wolf to man just as I recognized the patterns of its fur. "Beckett?"

"In the undead flesh," he chuckled, eyes red behind his glasses as always. "And here I thought we'd never cross paths again. But you do seem to have a knack for proving people wrong about you."

"Gee," I said. "Thanks."

I guessed he'd expected me to open the Ankaran Sarcophagus myself...talk about lack of inspiring confidence in my life. Of course, this was Beckett, and he wasn't really too concerned with the past...beyond digging up the interesting parts, of course. "Now that the friendly Hellos have been taken care of, what are you doing here in little old Bremerton, Washington? Hardly the hotspot for vampire activity unless you care about the occasional Sabbat pack thinking they're going to take Seattle all by their lonesome."

"From what I hear," I said, growing more than a little self conscious about the ragged potholes in my exposed skin, "It wouldn't be all that difficult."

"Indeed, Prince Hansen does seem to wallow in the reputation of a court jester," he took on that slightly condescending tone, the one that meant whoever he was talking to had missed something obvious. "But if he and that Ravnos of his were really such pushovers, don't you think the city would've been taken by the Sabbat years ago?

"Uh," was pretty much all I could say. Damn Beckett and his logic. "I guess you're right. Uh...so what's up with that guy, anyway? I thought all the Ravnos were gone."

"No, there are a few still wandering about," Beckett's gesture made me think he felt sympathy. "About a hundred after the Week of Nightmares, probably less since then. All of them 13th generation or outright Thin-Bloods."

"That can't be right," I answered. "I mean...I saw the guy conjure up just one illusion, but it was...it was perfect. You'd never know the difference."

"Yes, I'd wager it has something to do with the death of his progenitor," Beckett went on. "When the rather unpleasant creature some refer to as Ravana finally turned to ash, the entire clan started killing each other, except for those with the thinnest blood. But it would seem those were not immune to the immense skill all Ravnos were suddenly displaying with their Chimerstry as they ate each others' flesh."

"I see," I answered.

Somewhere, a real wolf made noise, and Beckett said. "We should probably get going," he motioned for my to follow. "After all, you must be horribly chilly with those new holes someone dug in you."

Wanting very much to change the subject, I said, "I thought you didn't believe in the whole Antediluvian thing."

"No, I told you I believed Caine to be a metaphore for society," he said. "There's a difference. Kindred had to come from somewhere, so logically speaking, the antediluvians exist, even if they're not what anyone thinks they are."

"Oh," I said. Damn archeologist.

"Speaking of things that go bump in the night," Beckett went on, "How did you enjoy your little run-in with a Tzimisce?"

"About as much as I enjoyed my last little run-in with a Tzimisce," I glared at him, but since I was walking behind him, he didn't really notice. Beckett seemed more concerned with maintaining proper footing as he went over the particularly big roots of a nearby tree. "You know, as a child, I once had to have an eye-tooth pulled by a three-hundred pound man named Bubba. That was more fun than this."

"Harsh," Beckett chuckled. "That Tzimisce...is a 6th generation elder, you know. Sascha Vykos, embraced somewhere around the year 1000."

"Never heard of him," I said. Great, a one-thousand year old Tzimisce was seriously pissed off.

"It," Beckett corrected me. "Sascha castrated itself in...oh, I don't even remember the years it either first started bragging about or grew bored with that information. But the wonders of Vicissitude never cease, it seems!"

"Evidentially not," I said. "How do I fix this?"

"Oh, that's the fun part," Beckett chuckled. "You see, Vicissitude doesn't return to normal if someone of lower generation than you has done the damage. So you need another Tzimisce to fleshcraft your pretty little face back together."

Great, just great. I needed to find a hoodie with a really big hood to keep my face hidden, I was thinking. For that matter, I needed to find a shirt. I didn't like being so...exposed, let alone with that leftover Vicissitude crap on my back, too. "Wait...wait. If this Vykos is that powerful, then...what happened..."

Beckett saw where I was going, it seemed. "Oh, don't worry, your illustrious traveling companions are fine! I did, of course, leap to their aid not long after you had been incapacitated. For all they needed it. Sheriff Brendan...don't you just love saying that? Sheriff Brendan could've fooled poor Sascha for hours, the way he is with illusion. And your driver, well...just batted it around."

"Just batted it around?" I blinked. Cabbie was batting around a 6th generation Tzimisce? I knew the guy was a little crazy and probably a little powerful, but this was ridiculous. "How did he just bat him around?"

"With a sledgehammer," Beckett told me.

"A sledgehammer," I repeated, letting the word roll off my tongue slowly, deliberately, as if it was some strange kind of word in Ancient Summarian that I couldn't understand if my life depending on it. Or at least not without Dominating a language specialist into translating it for me. "The guy uses a sledgehammer as a weapon?"

"Quite effectively, it seemed. Honestly, I've never seen Sascha quite so humiliated, really...well, there was that time I told some of his, ah, 'friends' that his given name was Myca, and they laughed at him. And that time when I beat him to finding this rare book of hermetic spells, and just to be a bastard, replaced it with a forgery. I hear he was enchanting things like 'May the beans rain upon you!' for awhile until he bothered to translate any of it when it wouldn't work. Ah! Here we are."

"Beckett," I said, clawing my way through the brush, "This is a pond. Why is 'here we are' synonymous with a murky pond in the woods?"

"Because it's almost daylight," Beckett pointed upward with a single finger, never looking away from me. I hadn't noticed, but he was right; light was starting to encroach on the night, dawn was arriving, and the sun would be over the horizon very, very shortly. It'd been easy to miss through the trees. "And while your friends are safety sequestered away, and I did promise them I'd find you, we really don't have the time to find whatever hotel they may have inhabited."

Fair enough. He hadn't answered my question, though. "But why are we at a pond? "

"We're not at a pond," Beckett gestured over said body of water. " You are at a pond. Now, the Mariners tell me this particular pond was dug out a little by them, so if any of them ever have to sneak around land for any reason, they can come here if they don't make it back before sunup. Being friendly clan mates, they mentioned, forgetting that us landlubbing Gangrel need no such help, that I should feel free to use the alcove dug inside to shelter myself from that bright burning ball in the sky. You, however, do need shelter."

"Are you kidding?" I blinked; this went from bad to worse. First, my favorite shirt was gone and in tatters. I was horribly, viciously scarred by that fucking Tzimisce, and I had no way of fixing it, because I certainly didn't know any of the fiends personally, nor was I owed favors by any of them. Looking out over the water, I noticed it was, indeed, fairly large, almost a lagoon, really. But the water was so...stagnant and murky.

"So, off I go!" Beckett gave me a mock salute, obviously prepared to drop himself right into the Earth.

"Wait," I near-cried.

The look on Beckett's face was rather good; what could possibly be so important as to delay in the face of encroaching sunlight? "Hmm?"

"Like I'm going to make things any worse, " I intoned, leaning down and kicking a foot up one at a time to pull my shoes and socks off.

I handed those to Beckett, and he didn't seem thrilled at all, but he was so numb from shock he took it all anyway. "What in the world are you doing?"

"Well, your clothes will go down there with you, right?" I had to hop around some more to get my pants off; my boxers might not've been the most modest garment to keep myself decent with, but they were also generic and hadn't run me sixty dollars like the aforementioned pants had. "Here. So just tuck all this under that jacket of yours and take it down with you."

"You know," Beckett said, making one hell of a face as he crumpled up my pants (I'd have to iron them out later) and begrudgingly tucked the ensemble under his duster, making one side of it poof out ridiculously. "At least Sebastian didn't act like a Malkavian. Just FYI, I can't say I've ever tried this, so don't blame me if your clothes go flying into the trees!"

"Whatever," I said. He gave me that mock salute again, only this time, it was much more rude. And then he sank right down into the Earth, just like that, no mess, no fuss. Fortunately, my clothes had cooperated.

"Well," I said, suddenly acutely aware that I was standing in the middle of nowhere in my underwear. The murky pond didn't seem like such a bad idea now, especially when it grew more difficult to keep my eyes open.

I waded in slowly, marveling at how utterly serene and simultaneously the swirls of gook and pond scum and god knew what else looked around my knees as the water rippled outward.

I took another step, and suddenly, I was worried. A quarter of the way across, and I was only up to my thighs. And I was supposed to hide in this well enough to sleep? "Oh gross, I'm supposed to sleep in this?"

Another step...and I fell right in, just like that, with about as much fuss as Beckett had sunk into the Earth. Not having the night vision of the Gangrel, I had to heave myself around the bottom and feel for the hole Beckett had mentioned. Clearly, Mariner Gangrel caught outside in the daytime with another was in big trouble.

Eventually, I found it as a little too much light for comfort made it through the murky water. Beckett hadn't been kidding when he said it was an alcove, an entire chunk of underground/underwater stone had been pretty much hollowed out, complete with an entrance smaller than the inside space just to stop sunlight from creeping in if the surface of the pond grew too clear or dried up too much.

With bubbles of air escaping my nose that had been simply trapped during my 'journey' underwater, I pulled myself inside, tried to brace my legs up at an angle so I wouldn't happen to float out, and closed my eyes. There was actually an air pocket inside, but I wasn't sure if that was good or bad; would my body be attacked by who knew what kind of microorganisms faster underwater or above water but soggy and gross?

For once, I was glad I didn't have to breath. I really didn't want to know what this smelled like as I fell asleep for the day.

When I woke up, it was with a start; thunder and lightning. The thunder was more of a surprise, since the lightning just barely made it inside my little hollowed rock temporary Haven (Haven of Grossness, that is.)

I hoped it was raining, because I really needed a shower. Failing that, and I would definitely fail it, because I wouldn't find any method of showering out in a forest, I needed any kind of water that not either part of raw sewage or part of this god-forsaken silly pond.

The total blackness told me it was defiantly night. Well, that and the fact that I had no trouble remaining awake helped. Being in pitch blackness, it was more of a chore to maneuver myself out of the little hole in the stone/sediment/whatever than I would've enjoyed, but eventually, I got an arm clear out of the opening and managed to use it in order to pull myself free.

The next, somewhat unexpected challenge was figuring out which way was up. Again, with no light, it was pretty easy to miss all these details I usually took for granted.

And on top of all of this, the pond had risen because of the rainfall. It was a pretty good rainfall, it seemed, and my suspicion was confirmed as soon as I swam up and my head broke the surface.

I almost gasped for breath on sheer instinct, but I made more of a point to paddle over to the edge and haul myself out. Or I tried too, but I tried to climb out on mud and slipped right back in. "For fuck's sake!"

So, I dug myself out from another spot, finally back on figuratively dry land. I raised my arms up and appreciated the rainfall to its fullest extent, both in the downpour of water and the huge rain drops that formed on the leaves of the trees and fell after getting too big.

The biggest problem, really, was my hair. I spent a good minute trying to figure out the best angle to hold my head at so it took the most amount of water it could while I vigorously tried to scrub the gunk out. It worked better than I expected, really...I guess stuff that floats in water washed out easily with water.

"I see your aquatic nap hasn't risen your spirits any."

I whirled around, half afraid of being face to face with a certain, subtly inhuman Tzimisce. "Becket-jesus-fucking-christ-I'd die of a heart attack right now if I wasn't fucking dead!"

"Nor has it improved your disposition," he chuckled, handing my pants and shoes, all in one hand, neatly arranged.

I just took the pants. He frowned. I frowned back. But he didn't get it, and I was surprised. I mean, he was supposed to be all intelligent and scholarly, right? So I twirled my finger in a "turn around, for fuck's sake" kind of gesture. "Beckett, do you want to watch me strip?"

His eyebrow twitched. "I thought you were going to put clothes on. "

"Beckett!" Why in the world couldn't he see the ridiculousness of that thought? "You think I'm leaving these on? "

After all, my boxers had started off as white. Now they were so dark, dark green I might add, that I could probably give them to Barnes and he'd mistake them for standard issue. Not that my underwear would fit him, but oh well.

The important part was that I got it off, got enough privacy from Beckett to rinse the rest of myself on in the rain, and get my pants back on. "There, was that so hard?"

"Yes," Beckett rolled his eyes. "You Ventrue, even the ones with a modicum of intelligence are prone to the stupidity of class."

"Oh, like you don't try to be classy," I shot back. "Besides, most Gangrel can walk upright like you can, you know. They just choose not to."

Sure, I was flat-out ripping off Bertram Tung, but he didn't need to know that.

"How civilized of you," he deadpanned. "So, just who is the new Gangrel traveling with you? He has a strange little air about him."

"Barnes?" I said. "Ah, excuse me," I threw my voice into a mocking pitch. "'Staff Sergeant Jason Barnes, United States Marine Corps.' Recruiter, actually."

"Hmm, interesting," Beckett chuckled, obviously not ignorant of the implications, but not stressing out over them, either. "Well, if that's not a walking Masquerade violation, I don't know what is. What idiot boob sired him?"

"Hell if I know," I shrugged. "Some Gangrel lady who tore at me with claws when we caught her doing it. Actually, I was hoping you might know her."