Hi there.  Hear is the _complete_ part 4 (parts 4a and 4b).  Just a bit of
warning,  it has been modified quite a bit from the first posting.  As I
said in part 3, part 5 will be coming out a little later.  This part I
just can't seem to get right.  Here it is anyway.


Comments from the first posting:

Hello.

Sorry this part took so long.  I had a little difficulty with it.

I will also probably be rewriting/cleaning up the earlier parts to the
story, correcting spelling, grammar, and generally trying to make it more
understandable.  These will probably be coming out before Part 5.  Sorry
about that.


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


IMPORTANT:

Warning: This section of Night Sabers is very, very DARK.  We are talking
about descriptions of murder, rape, torture, and perversity.  If you take
objections to this sort of material and do not like such material, please
do not read further.  WoD stands for World of Darkness, and while this is
nowhere near as bad as will become later on, is _DARK_.  Just to warn you
and all that, so you won't like flame or yell at me.  I have toned it down
extremely from the first draft, but it is still pretty bad. Consider this
the watered down, R-rated version.  It is written this way to give the
reader an idea of how evil the Sabbat is, and what Mackie has gone
through.


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*



An apology in advance if I have written this too poorly.  I have never
written a Vampire fanfiction, and never actually published a fanfic.

This part has a lot of flashbacks.  I hope they are not too confusing.

Thanks to all those who have given me response and feedback.  Those who
sent me characters, thank you very much, but it will be a few chapters
before they actually show up.

I also have an open apology to the list and those who have read part 3 of
Night Sabers;  the spelling and grammar were atrocious, with several words
left out!  Again, gomen.

Some people were confused by what is happening in the story; I don't blame
you, as much of the story was never a part of the original White Wolf
material.  It is an expansion/extrapolation of that material.

The two cameo references in the last chapter were Snow Crash (last
sentence of the first paragraph, refering to the title _Snow Crash_; very
obscure) and Hades Project Zeorymer, when Linna mentions Tekkoryu and the
infamous Kihara Masaki, creator of the Dimensional Coupler System.

Feedback is always appreciated :)

Again, a brief glossary will be included.


Now, on with the 'fic!



Lexicon (Glossary):


Blood Pool:  An arbitrary, mathematical system used to measure the amount
of vitae a vampire can hold in their body.  Vampires need only blood to
survive, the oxygen in the blood providing the minimal amount of upkeep
necessary for a vampire to continue to survive.  A vampire drinks human
blood and their system converts it to vitae, vampiric blood.  Most
vampires use one point of vitae each day as they sleep.  The amount of a
vampire can hold or use is determined by their generation (distance from
Caine).  A normal human can hold ten blood points. A 13th gen holds 10
blood, to spend 1 of that at a time to use in disciplines, or for healing.
A 11th gen holds 12 blood, able to spend 1, a 9th gen holds 14 blood able
to spend 2, a 8th gen 15/3, a 7th gen 20/4, a 6th gen 30/6, a 5th gen 40/8
and a 4th gen 50/10.  The limits of the Antedeluvians (3rd gen) can only
be guessed at. It is important to note that the human body can only hold
10 blood points, thus those of lower generations have more concentrated
and potent vitae, as there is a limited volume of blood in any body.

Frenzy:  Just what it sounds like, the frenzy is another defense mechanism
of the Vampire, inspired when the Beast of a Vampire demands a shift to
pure animalistic behaviour.  A vampire in a frenzy is irrational.  There
are terror frenzies, caused typically by the bane of vampires like fire
and sunlight (also called Rotschreck), or when the vampire feels
threatened, angry, or very hungry.

Beast, the:  The dark side of a vampire.  The Beast is a primal force
within the vampire that urges the vampire to feed, to kill, to become a
total animal.  The Beast is the connection to the supernatural that
vampires have, and thus can never be truly conquered.  Many vampires fear
when the Beast will overtake them, turning them into mindless savages. In
the dark times of 2035, the Beast is stronger than before.

Hunger, the:  The need of all vampires is their one true pleasure beyond
love, power, cruelty, or carnal desires: the desire for blood.  If a
vampire has a low blood pool, the vampire will lose control to the hunger
and frenzy.

Kiss, the:  The act of a vampire puncturing a wound with fangs and
drinking the blood.  While at first there is pain, the vessel soon
feels indescribable pleasure of variying description, from religious
transcendence to the ultimate orgasm.  Can be highly addicting to the
vessel.

Golconda:  A state of vampiric enlightenment, involving a balance between
the nature of their Beasts and their humanity.  Achieving Golconda can
take centuries, but provides numerous benifits, such as needing only one
blood point to survive per week and not per day, a lack of frenzy from
fear, a sense of inner peace, understanding, and the ability to rise as
high in skill in disciplines beyond generational limits.  Similar to the
human state of Nirvana, and even rarer among the savage and evil race
called vampire.  Discovered and taught to others by Saulot, Antidiluvian
founder of Clan Salubri, and those remaining members of Clan Salubri.

Inconnu, the:  A group of vampire elders (4th to 6th gen) who have grown
sick of the world and the Jyhad, and thus retreated to isolation and
torpor.  Fearing diablerie or predatation by younger vampires, they banded
together for defense.  Intended to provide a system of protection, the
Inconnu officially have no part in mortal affairs beyond the immediate
(i.e., drinking blood, etc.)  Not much is known about them.  A sizable
minority of the Inconnu have achieved Golconda, thus are powerful indeed.
Many Inconnu possess lost/forgotten disciplines and knowledge.  In 2035,
some of the Inconnu leaders have been revealed to be Infernalists and
the invisible castle headquarters of the Inconnu has been destroyed.  The
majority of the Inconnu were horrified by this revelation of Infernalism
and were confused at what to do.  Two factions exist now, those who want
to re-enter mortal affairs and those who want to continue isolation.
Given the fact Inconnu are very old and patient, the debate has been going
on for nearly twenty years with no end in immediate sight.

Five (Clans), the:  A new player to vampiric politics (at least recently),
these strange vampires come from the East, according to rumor.  Comprised
of five clans and their bloodlines, with each group associated with a
'caste'; they are: the Warrior caste from Clan Dai'Shar,  the Worker caste 
from Clan Ilvcien, the Leader caste from the near extinct and rare Clan
Royal and their bloodline descendants the Imperial, the Powers caste from
the vanished and unspoken of Clan who are succeeded by their bloodlines
the Illuminis and the Seers, and the mythical fifth clan who guides the
other four clans.  Strongly motivated with a pathological hatred of
demons, the Five strive for Golconda as a whole, revering the Salubri as
the greatest of all the Clans.  In 2004, the Five attacked the Sabbat,
using strange magics, one of which prevented the Sabbat from creating new
vampires.  Cut off and surrounded by a superior foe, the Sabbat suffered
grievious losses.  In 2008, the Clan unspoken of (the Clan of Power)'s
Antideluvian founder appeared, lifting the curse placed by the Tremere on
the Assamites that prevented them from diablerie, in exchange for helping
the Five in their war against demons. In 2009, the Five and the majority
of Clan Assamite attacked the Sabbat home city of Mexico City, which
resulted in the deaths of the Sabbat Leadership, the destruction of the
Baali bloodline founder, Shaitan, and the Mexico City Massacre, which
resulted in the deaths of millions from the fires, storms, and earthquakes
unleashed by both sides in their war.  The Five then allied themselves
with the newly formed vampiric sect called the Conclave, their numbers
gravely reduced by the last war.  The Five call their Jyhads 'BloodWars'.
Few trust these strange vampires, let alone understand them. It is
interesting to note that the Assamites, who seem to have known them
longest, always refer to them as vampires, never Cainites.

Conclave, the:  The newest vampiric sect to appear, it is largely found in
the Americas, with rumors of areas loyal in Asia.  Created from the 'Dark
Alliance' of Prince Seigfried of Vancouver B.C., it encompasses from
California to Canada,  with significant chunks of the mainland as well.
The 'Dark Alliance' is continued, stressing close cooperation (though
nowhere near remote liking of one another) between vampires and
werewolves.  Werewolves remain in close alliance with the vampires,
dividing wilderness and cities between themselves, using Gangrel,
Ravnos antitribu, Bone Gnawers, and Glass Walkers as intermediaries
between the two groups.  The reason the werewolves remain in the Conclave
is the startling amount of caerns that ripple with power throughout
Conclave territories.  The Conlave follows a loose Masquerade and allows
no one to harm their "charges", i.e. humankind.  This has resulted in the
near-open war against Pentex, a hatred of the Sabbat, and the open
warfare/genocide of the Red Talons and Black Spiral Dancers in their
territory.  Many of the remnants of the shattered Sabbat and dissatisfied
Camarilla, as well as tenative alliances from Inconnu members, has
resulted in the rapid establishment of the sect.  Like the Five who are
allied with them, little is know about the Conclave.  Caitiff have equal
rights in the Conclave, and disciplines and knowledge are shared.
Regarded by some as redemption for vampires, few actually trust the new
sect.



Description of Clans:

Lasombra:  This clan is the clan of power, manipulation, and darkness.
Their disciplines reflect this, being Dominate (mind control and command),
which is used to command and make others obey them,  Obtenebration
(supernatural control, manipulation, and creation of shadows), to allow
them to control the darkness around them and within them, and Potence
(supernatural strength), to prove their control and strength to others.
Their clan weakness is the inability to reflect in mirrors, including
being unable to be captured on film or seen through cameras.  Lasombra are
infamous for their power games, earning the nickname "Puppetmasters",
manipulating others to do their dirty work, or for just the sheer thrill
of it.  The Lasombra are also known for their games, including playing
chess with human playing pieces (what happens when a piece is captured is
up to the Lasombra who takes it...), causing calamities or deliberately
creating 'accidents' for practice in controlling others, and forcing
people to do horrible things (like forcing a father to kill their children
or other such deed) to amuse themselves.  Of course, the Lasombra never
ever get caught in their manipulations, always manitoulating from the
shadows. The Lasombra are one of the two clans who originally created the
Sabbat.  The Lasombra follow a strict evolutionary Darwinism, seeing
themselves as the greatest clan, and thus do not suffer incompetent
leaders.  Their own Antideluvian founder was judged unworthy and
diablerized along with all those who stood with him.  Those who sided with
their founder, yet escaped alive, formed an anti-clan (antitribu), the
Lasombra antitribu, who are very few in number, and hunted by the
Lasombra. Lasombra who are judged incompetent by their leaders (the
accused are rarely present) are allowed to be diablerized by any who wish
to do so and can succeed.


Now, part 4:


"Some have said that to be a vampire is to be many things:  to be a lover,
a lost soul, the ultimate animal or predator, even one of the chosen.
But I tell you this, for there is no deception in my words on this matter:
For above all things, you are truly and eternally Damned"

-Alex, 9th generation Baali to an anonymous vampire


"Bad, evil?  Those are human concepts, and I am a vampire, one of those
who are the most evolved creatures on the planet, beyond such petty,
_human_ morality.  You better not forget, pretty boy, I am one of the
free, free to kick your ass if you keep looking at me like that!"

-Bad Chester, 11th generation Sabbat Pander to an Inconnu Monitor, 6th
generation, shortly before Chester's final death


"Free, you say? FREE? Are you really so naive? You dance on the strings
that _I_ command, you obey _my_ commands when I wish you to. Does that
frighten you? Indeed? Well perhaps I should tell you this; I control
dozens, if not scores, yet I know for all that, I am a puppet myself,
strings invisible to me, pulling and pushing my every move, like everyone
else.  And do you wish to know something even more scary than that, my
young associates? Those who control me, like you, do not realize that
_they_ too are merely marionettes in this macabre dance that we call
reality.  And that is the scariest thing of all."

-Lord Marcus, 4th generation Lasombra, founder of the Sabbat, speaking
before his fellow Sabbat, before his dissappearance



Night Sabers 
A BGC/WoD:VTM Crossover/Fusion
Written by Me


Part 4: "Old Friends and Painful Memories"



	The sun sat like a noble angel admist the brilliant blue heavens,
or at least it would, if not for the constant grey and yellow pall of smog
that hung like an ephermeral taint of filth in the air, seperating the
purity of heaven with the banality of Earth.  Genom tower sat on the
horizon, imposing as ever, an eternal reminder of the presence of Genom.
The front of the Junction Airport of MegaTokyo stood busy as always among
the massive traffic that forever clugged Japan's roadways.  The scream of
aircraft coming in for landings, and the dull and rising roar of vertical
launch aircraft and spacecraft filled the air with noise like a thousand
radio channels howling tuned, to no particular station or song.  There was
the smell of burnt oil, the scent of chemicals, and the aroma of other
human byproducts around, the olfactory senses reminding any passerby that
this was a modern, human city.
	Mackie tried to ignore the sight of Genom tower after his mental
declaration of war, which was actually rather difficult, as it dominated
the skyline.  But then, there were other things to take into
consideration, like the bodyheat from the shapely and very _alive_ young
woman at his side, who he felt very good to be around, as she made him
feel almost alive.  Almost.  The constant reminder of the beating sun and
stiffling warm air caused his Beast to stir restlessly, flashing out
angrily whenever a cigarette like the one his sister was smoking passed
too close for comfort.  Almost.  Almost human, but oh so very animal and
inhuman.  Almost.  But almost was not complete, not total in any real
sense, not whole.  Looking out at the faces of the people walking around,
their emotions so evident, be they hope or hatred, the interplay of
emotions and _life_ that could never be his again.  He felt sorrow.  All
he had now was power, near facsimiles of emotions, and the Hunger that
filled him, the only way he knew life, when he took, either suddenly or in
gradual amounts.  Ruminating slightly, he felt a tension and looking down
into the emerald eyes of the Nene, smiling up at him.  He tried to smile
back down at her as convincingly as he could, but his eyes must have
revealed an insight into his inner turmoil, for her smile turned into a
small frown of concern.  He smiled as reassuringly as he could, giving her
arm a slight squeeze.  His senses became incredibly sharp as he marvelled
in the vibrant creature beside him.  He felt... whole when he was with
her.  But even then, his eyes tracked down to her neck, the perfect neck
flushed with blood, the vein and arteries there pulsing with life, with
that delicious life, so sweet, he was not hungry but so sweet, it was so
sweet, he felt the pits of the canines tingle, the sound of her heart beat
was filling his ears like a drum, the smell of her sweat, the sound of her
breathing, so alive, so alive, oh how he needed that,  as he leaned
closer....
	"Are you OK?", asked Nene in a half concerned, half mock-
scandalized voice.  The others, Priss and Linna, snickered, while his
sister was looking at him with a appraising gaze.
	"Fine, just fine Nene",  he tried to say to her as relaxed as he
could, chastising his Beast, rejecting its soothing and siren song as it
called for him to feed, resisting him as it shrieked for satisfaction.
(Always be in control, always! Dominate a situation, make yourself known
as a power!), chastised his mentor, (and always remember to put yourself
first in that appraisal!)
	Inwardly furious, at himself, swearing at himself, while the
lingering effects of the hunger of his Beast still called to him.  He
looked down at Nene, saying as warmly as the air was, his voice hot with
the passions he was feeling, "With you Nene, just fine."
	Nene squirmed under that fiery hot and passionate gaze that seemed
to bore into her.  He seemed so primal as he tossed his head a little, his
eyes glowing, a cocky grin on his face as he turned with a little spring
to his step.
	Mackie felt alive again, admittedly the dark life that the
animalistic side of him granted, but alive no less.  Now, onto important
matters.  It would be so simple for him to just Blood Bond those young
women to him,  he thought wickedly.  Then they would do whatever he
wished, hentai thoughts dancing in his head as he saw all of them scantily
clad in the most racy lingerie, his grin turning even more hentai as he
realized...
	(That he had better pay closer attention to his surroundings), he
thought to himself, his hentai thoughts scattering like smoke, though he
knew they would return.  His contact would be around here somewhere.  He
looked around, acting like a newcomer to Tokyo, hoping not to look _too_
obvious in his searching.  He knew his contact would probably give the
exchange in a more isolated location.  But still...
	People from the airport were mingling with each other, as friends,
associates, and family greeted each other.  He heard snippets of
conversations.
	"...and my God, you wouldn't believe how bad the service was on
the flight, it was so bad..."  Nothing of interest there.
	"jeez Koenma, don't you guys like not hafta bother with airplanes?
Hey don't go ignoren me!  Hey Botan!" As a group of young punks escorted a
guy with a.. pacifier? in his mouth?  Catching a glimpse of the blue
haired woman with him, Mackie thought, (Yep, good old MegaTokyo, home of
the weirdos.  I guess I truly fit in now).
	"....Ohaiyo Ferio-kun!" as a group of three girls with a fat white
pet in their possession, greeted a well-dressed green haired boy.
	None of these were helping.  There was a short, blond haired
woman, obviously pregnant, being helped into a car by a tall, black man
with a cybernetic arm.  A boy with black hair and a pigtail embracing some
girl. A businessman meeting a competitor, from the way their auras were
flaring. Then something caught his eyes.  A tall, dark-haired man stepped
out from a custom done, red sports car, his eyes covered by shades and his
hair held back by a headband.  More important, he saw the blonde woman
approaching the man, as she had been with him in Stockholm, Sweden.  His
eyes narrowed; was _she_ his control?  The Sabbat rarely kept human
looking ghouls, though his trained eyes could see evidence of her being
fleshcrafted; a Revenant perhaps?  He paid more attention, directing his
focus to the pair.
	The man was approaching her hesitantly, as he grinned a goofy
grin, saying, "Wow! That Swedish clinic really is great, isn't it?"
Backing away, he held up his hands.  Mackie looked intently for evidence
of any Hand counter-signs.  The man spoke again, arms open, "You look
better as a blonde Rally, honest! Honest!".  The woman came up and slugged
the man, slipping into passenger's side of the car, muttering, "Shut up,
Bean."
	Damn, nothing there.  He would have to wait.  Turning to Priss,
who had apparantly just asked him a question.  He shrugged, saying,
"Sorry, I didn't get that; being back in MegaTokyo feels great though."
Priss shrugged as well, her question apparantly unimportant, though Mackie
couldn't help but notice how her shrugging had made her chest push out
slightly, her breasts molding to the sweat drenched shirt.  (Oh, yes), he
thought, (it was good to be back).  Still, it was hot and stuffy, the air
seeming to choke him, the smog pouring down his throat, like when it did,
back then, the warmth choking him....


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	....the warmth was choking him, pouring down his throat, though he
no longer he needed to breath.  The warmth was so sweet, the delicious
nutrition everywhere.  He felt alive, no he was alive!  It was all around,
coating his body as it flowed thickly, as was the wont of the liquid.  He
opened his mouth, drinking deeply, so deeply that he thought his body
would burst from the fire snaking throughout his body. So alive!  Even the
burns from the sigils, runes and tatoos that had been burnt into his
body felt less painful.  He understood now why this was done! There was no
drug as good as this, none!  He felt the liquid move as he stood up from
his squat slowly, his legs working against the heavy liquid.
	Mackie, now Lord Mackie Stingray of Clan Lasombra, rose from the
three foot deep pool of blood that he had just bathed in.  It ran in
streams down his body, catching at the tatoos, sticking there and leaving
them coated with a thin layer of human blood.  As he arose to his full
height, Mackie became aware of more things, things he had forgotten in the
beloved oblivion of the BloodBath.
	He stood near the center of a dark chamber underground, the only
illumination coming from candles lit, placed around the walls.  Before him
stood three Sabbat vampires, standing around an altar on which perched a
slow burning brazier.  They faced him as he faced them, looking up as they
stood cowled in rich red robes the color of blood, save for the one who
stood to the side, his face in a mask, his robe the blackest midnight.  A
mocking tribute to the Catholic church they parodied, he knew.  The entire
scene looked like a ritual from some horror movie.  And it was indeed
horrible.
	Trickle, trickle, drip, drop.  He did not have to turn, his heart
sick and twisting, compassion and horror vying for greater claim.  As he
began to walk forward to the altar, up the stairs that led up from the
depression in the room.  Trickle, trickle, drip, drop.  He passed by a
pale arm hanging, the fingers still feebly twitching as the blood
continued to trickle down the arm.  He could hear the moans and pitful
crying from those who still had the strength to do so, the pitter-patter
of the blood falling from the hearts still pumping weakly from the cooling
human bodies, the clank of the iron chains that held them suspended upside
down above him, the soft swish of the blood flowing down runnels in the
floor to <ignore it!> the pool that he had just emerged from.  He now felt
sick to the core of his being at his pleasure in the BloodBath.  How could
he forget the screams <block it!> that had once echoed through this
chamber, the pleas, the begging for mercy from those who had been taken
from their families and children for this dark ritual; a perversion of the
ritual for the annointing of a Messiah, some of the victims children.  He
felt tears beginning to form, felt them fall, hidden from the sight of
those before him as they mingled <hide it!> with the blood that flowed
like a thick sludge of molasses from his hair, his hair heavy and slimy,
like the snakes that were the hair of the Medusa. He controlled his sorrow
by force of will, controlled his anger by force of will, and channeled his
hatred of the monsters before him into a memory that would be forever 
graven <never forget it!> into his mind.
	It was as if in a dream of madness that he walked forward, his
senses distorting weirdly,  sounds and other perceptions twisting, but not
as twisted as the monsters he walked forward towards, to be accepted as a
Lord among them, formally.  No, never as twisted as these monsters.  In
the reflection of the highly polished altar, he could see the woman that
was suspended above and behind him, looking fat, but he knew it was not
fat, not fat at all, as she begged that they not do it, that they spare
her baby as they cut into her belly and throat-
	No, he decided, never like these monsters.  They thought humans
animals, themselves Gods.  Mackie felt nothing but contempt for such
monsters.  (Monsters like he was), reminded a small voice inside his head.
No wonder the Five had so easily defeated them, no wonder their hatred had
been so great.  These freaks deserved it,  deserved to burn in hell.
Hell? Given the attitude of these beings, he was not surprised that so
many Sabbat had sold their souls.  He wondered if they had ever had any.
(And with this ritual, I will become one of them, forever.)
	He reached the altar as each of the two red robed vampires, one
male and one female, reached out with daggers to cut their wrists, doing
the same with him.  It felt odd that in a place of such pain, he such
should feel any, but he did as they cut him and poured the blood from his
cut, along with theirs, into the jewel encrusted gold cup in an obscene
replica of the Communion.  He willed his wound to close as they did the
same, the male holding up the cup as the female intoned, "Mackie Stingray,
by the tradition ancient, by trial of wits, skill, and Monomacy, you have
slain your superior, proving yourself a Lord of the Lasombra.  In this we
shared blood we acknowledge our loyalty to Sabbat, Clan, and you.
Partake-"
	It must have been accidental, but the tendon that the iron hook
had been attached to had snapped, and a body fell heavily to stone floor
like a sack of potatoes.  But these were no potatoes, and the boy, the
reason the tendon had broken, his back broken, no more than eight to ten
years of age, stared with dull eyes at Mackie, within them the silent plea
for mercy, for death, for something no child should ever have to beg for.
He flopped pathetically, almost no blood in his system, yet still he held
on with the desperateness of youth for the joys of life.  His back
obviously broken, his eyes begged Mackie.  Mackie stood gazing back.  The
others continued as if nothing had happened.
	"-now drink, and thus affirm your bond, as Caine gave you-" 
	He accepted the blood in the bowl, though rich with the power of
vampiric vitae, still tasted putrid and bitter to him.  He never took his
eyes from their target, even as he drank, even as he felt the magic
weaved into his undead body destroy the infant Viniculum that formed,
like an abortion of an unwanted child.  Still those eyes bored into his,
the last tears falling from a face that had been crying in agony and fear
as his blood and life had slowly drained from him.  He had soft and short
black hair, with simple brown eyes.  (He looked like me), thought Mackie,
numb in thought and body.  The words of the other Lasombra droned on in
the background.  He had only done this because he had challenged by one of
the local Lasombra who wanted to diablerize Mackie.  (And for the power he
would have as a Lord among the Lasombra), he admitted.  Soon he had found
himself here.
	The ritual came to a close, and still his eyes did not leave the
challenge in the boys'.  He tried to plea in his mind, realizing the child 
could not hear, but desperate in his sorrow.
	"You are now Lord Mackie Stingray of Clan Lasombra.  Continue to
serve well."
	The boy was dead now, and Mackie felt the sudden urge to run over
and Embrace the boy, while his logical mind argued against him, saying
with solemn silence, (would you wish this life for him?), to which he
could only answer no.
	It was about this time he noticed something, something he had not
noticed, something he simply _could_ not notice, something denied him
since his unlife.  For as he had watched the boy die, seen the life fade
from his eyes now glazed with death, he noticed something impossible in
those brown eyes.
	He had seen the image of a demon, body red and black with
slickness, fangs crimson in the dim light, his hair tainted red and oily.
It was then he had realized he was seeing something impossible, something
denied him, as he was a Lasombra.  For in the boy's dying eyes, Mackie had
seen his own reflection.
	Musing in horrid fascination, surrounded by bodies, blood, and the
stench of death, Mackie thought, (They say the eyes are windows to the
soul.  Perhaps that was what I saw.  The demon that now possesses this
once mortal body.)  His eyes saw his own reflection in those oh so dead
eyes, as a noise began to pierce into his mind, telling him....


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	"...watch it, konyaro!"
	Mackie started.
	A car swerved to avoid another in the busy and large parking lot
adjecent to Junction airport, both drivers screaming at each other.  It
was always busy, cars roving about like sharks, looking for the best
parking place, each driver watching with eyes keener than that of any
hawk.  The place smell of oil and gasoline fumes, and the grey concrete
was stained and dirty.  His sister was proceeding to the car, checking out
while the rest were arguing over who was going to ride with who.
	"I'm going with Sylia!", piped up a bubbly Nene.
	Priss raised one eyebrow, "Honto? Well, shit, my bike's still in
the shop and I need a ride to Raven's.  I guess I'll go with Linna then."
	As Nene nodded vigorously, Linna spoke up, "Priss, my new firm
is downtown and I'm not going to be going anywhere near Raven's.  You
might want to go with Sylia."
	Mackie was by and large ignoring them, though he made a great
pretense of paying attention.  There, leaning up against the wall, was a
man wearing two mismatched socks, the upper left corners of the hardcopy
of the newspaper he was reading were folded over outward.  To the
untrained observer, he was totally normal, just a man waiting for someone.
For Mackie, waiting for his contact,  he recognized the signals.  The man
was his contact.  Casually brushing the right side of his nose while
looking at the man, he saw the man make eye contact before stretching, his
right hand facing Mackie palm out with his thumb tucked in and all four
fingers splayed out.  The man when back to his business.
	(Damn.)
	Mackie knew what that meant, though he had hoped for some time to
get settled in.  Oh well.  He ignored the man, as he was just a normal
man, he knew, Dominated into giving the responses he did when presented
with certain stimuli, his mind already having forgotten his actions.  He
turned his attention back to the others.
	"I swear, you are so cheap! You're not gonna make me ride with
those two", she jerked a thumb at Mackie and Nene, who were standing by
each other, "in the back seat of Sylia's car."
	Nene started to blush a little more, already flushed from the hot
weather, when Mackie to a small step forward, saying "Actually, I would
really like to see Dr. Raven again, if you don't mind coming along.  And
don't worry, I'll stay up front", in a condescending tone.  (Better that
way, to keep the rear-view mirror from exposing me.)
	Priss's face darkened, not liking his tone at all, remembering how
he had just ordered her around earlier, and started to say, "Hey, listen 
you-"
	Exactly at that moment, apparantly coincidentally, but in truth
carefully calculated by Mackie, his sister walked over and started to
speak to them all, "Well, have we all decided what to do?"
	Priss looked annoyed, but decided to let it drop.  Mackie smirked
mentally, (Priss, Priss, Priss; so easy to manipulate.  No wonder my
sister found it so easy to recruit you).  Priss caught the look in
Mackie's eyes, and glared at him, when he felt his arm squeezed a little
too hard by Nene, he looked down to see what was wrong, when he noticed
Nene looking hard at something, which he looked toward.
	Linna was walking up to Mackie, one button on her jacket
'accidently' having popped off.  Mackie found his gaze rooted to her as
she walked up, her hips seeming to sway slightly as she said, "Nice to see
you again Mackie", while smiling, "here's my card", her hand dipping into
the pocket on the front of her jacket (man Nene was squeezing his arm
awefully tight), before handing it him, "I work as a stockbroker now.
Come by anytime; we'll go over your options."  With that she walked to her
car, got in, and drove off.
	(Got him), thought Linna, (he hasn't changed a bit! All that
money will soon be mine!).  Humming happily, Linna turned onto the exit
ramp.
	His appearance still that of a lusting young man, internally
Mackie felt amusement.  (A good effort, just the right hints, but a little
overdone, especially with the loose button), he thought, (still, this
could prove useful if I need to make Nene jealous, like I am doing now).
Indeed, she was examining his face as though he was hiding something,
finding nothing, as he was hiding his true thoughts behind a mask.
Turning to Priss and his sister with a reluctant Nene beside him, he
slipped into the classic rebuild,  grinning slightly at the feel of the
engine purring to life.  Behind him sat Priss and Nene.  Immediately the
disc player started to life, beginning to spit out one of Priss's songs as
they pulled out of the parking space, manuevering to the exit, his sister
driving.
	Priss, leaned forward, seeking a little feedback from Mackie,
asking, "That's one of my songs.  What do you think?"
	What did he think, indeed?.....


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	"What do you think of this?"
	What did he think, indeed?  It was with some surprise that the
voice that came from beyond the mask was female, but whatever sexism he
once had was long gone.  A woman could kill you as easy as a man, and you 
were much less likely to notice it.  But more important, what did the
question the Dominion was asking mean?  Why was the masked woman asking
him in front of his "family"?  Did she honestly expect him to answer
honestly in front of his kin?  The memory of the dead child whom he had
just taken his eyes off of still burned and he felt bitter.
	"Whatever do you mean?"
	He could sense the amusement from the woman admist the seriousness
of the situation.  Turning slightly, as if she was just noticing them for
the first time, she addressed the two Lasombra, ordering, "Leave us."
	The other two Lasombra hesitated only briefly before turning to
depart, one chuckling as she stomped cruelly on the crotch of another
nearly  dead human who fallen.  A pitiful moan was the only response.  The
door to the chamber, iron like a vault, closed like the entrance to a
tomb.
	"Again I ask; what do you think of this?"  Too late, Mackie
realized his mistake, as those eyes bored into his head, and he felt the
sudden urge to answer her truthfully.  He tried to resist, but to no
avail.
	"What do I think of this?", he repeated rhetorically, his voice
rising in anger and contempt, "This is foolish and idiotic, that is what
this is!  My Clan", he spat some blood that remained in his mouth on the
floor to show his disgust, "only does this for enjoyment, never even
thinking about the consequences.  This ritual only serves to pleasure
themselves, delude them into thinking they are mighty by killing a few
children, or by manipulating them."  He gestured to the child (who had
died so young, too young) and continued, "I understand the need to feed,
the need to kill, but waste only destroys, providing nothing.  The Sabbat
is supposed to defeat the Antedeluvians, but instead they content
themselves with killing mortals, children to us, never having the courage
to face true threats! With leaders like my kind, and with incompetents
like those that remain, no wonder the Sabbat is so pathetic and is now
almost gone, it deserves to be!"  The last came out in a shout.
	Spent, Mackie realized with a growing sense of horror that he may
have betrayed himself, for many would consider what he had just said to be
treason.  Realizing her Domination, Mackie kept his eyes fixed on a point
outside her vision.  Well, whatever would come, would come.  Even if it
was his death, he would not die without a fight.  They were just cowards,
afraid to face the truth.  Like this Black Hand Dominion, unwilling to
remove her mask for fear of discovery of the truth.
	"Oh, is that so?"  The Black Hand woman's voice sounded playful.
	Time passed, as Mackie resisted the urge to shiver as he stood
there.
	<I agree>, spoke a voice in his head, recognizable as the woman's,
as he became aware of a layer of alien thoughts touching his own, <on what
you have said and left unsaid>.  With that, the woman took off her mask.
	She was beautiful, her brown hair and skin nice, but her eyes were
cold even with the humor that showed in them.  Mackie was panicking, his
thoughts racing.  She had read his mind!  Taking off her mask, revealing
her identity to him? Why? The only answer he could think of was that she
intended to kill him.  He had thought his services, his assassinations for
the Black Hand had earned him some respect and trust.  Apparantly, he was
mistaken.  Well, he would not go down without a fight.  He felt the blood
in him start to burn with strength as he judged the distance between them,
already calculating how long it would take to kill her and escape.  He got
ready.
	She laughed, a sound like silver bells ringing.  She looked down
at him.. fondly? as she shook her head slightly.  "You need not fear", her
lips twitched, "_Lord_ Mackie Stingray.  We shall not harm you."
	His eyes met hers briefly, before what she had said registered.
(_We_!?).  His eyes darted from side to side, watching carefully for the
tell tale signs that were... there!
	The air and walls around him to seemed to shimmer or dissappear,
patches of darkness and the wall becoming man-shaped forms as the vampires
who had surrounded him until now became visible, abandoning their
Obfuscate, Obtenebration, or whatever art or skills they had used to
remain hidden.  They all were wearing black robes like the woman.  He also
noticed that they had put all the mortals out of their misery swiftly.
	Mackie crouched, not believing a word they said, ready to spring
and take at least one of them with him-
	<Do you really think you can take even one of us?>, the woman
asked, laughing in his mind.
	A few of the others around him chuckled, but even then, they
seemed as dangerous as a pack of wolves.  Or a pride of panthers, in their
black robes.  Take one of them?  Probably not.  This did not seem like an
execution.  Then what did they want-
	"Enough", commanded the woman, and the room fell silent.  The
power of her presence drew his eyes to her face, and her eyes were very
serious as she looked down at him.  The others around him removed their
masks as well.  This was serious.
	"You are to be honored twice tonight, though from what you have
said and thought, I doubt you consider the first an honor."  She paused,
and the others surrounded him in a circle.  They brought forth a simple
wooden cup, passing it around, each filling it with a portion of their own
vitae, before it came to the woman, who grew a claw on the tip of one
finger, drawing it across her wrist, allowing a little blood to fall into
the cup.  She held it up, her eyes never leaving his, before addressing
him.  (What could she want; no, what did the Black Hand want with lowly
him?) She spoke gravely to him: "Lord Mackie Stingray of Clan Lasombra,
Sabbat, we offer unto you to be the Black Hand."
	If Mackie still had a living heart, it would have stopped.  The
world seemed to shrink around him.  Him, a member of the dreaded Black
Hand?  An assassin?  A killer, wizard or leader great beyond compare?
There was only a moments hesitation, even as a voice in the back of his
head warned him that to refuse might result in his Final Death, before he
replied.  There was no real argument, no real decision.  Speaking as
steadily as he could, he replied clearly, "I accept."
	The woman nodded as if this was a forgone conclusion and indeed it
was.  Among all the vampires of the Sabbat, the Black Hand were the only
ones he actually admired.  They were intelligent, wise, cruel only when
necessary, patient, and perfect killers;  everything he strived for in his
unlife.  The Black Hand was the only among the Sabbat he even considered
worth anything.  He knew what they wanted.  He raised his right hand, palm
up towards her.  She stared at him.
	"You are young, perhaps the youngest ever to be accepted to the
Magnus Nigrum.  It is not because you may be, in truth, a vampire prodigy
of the myths and legend, not because of the Lasombra who whisper you may
be a true Lord of the Shadows;  these are not the reasons for our offer.
It is not because of the discretion you have shown in making alliances,
the skill you have shown in using your power.  It is not because of the
network of mortals you have woven around yourself, proving you are indeed
a true Lasombra.  It is not even the success you have in the assignments
we have given you.  Those are merely the basic requirements for
acceptance.  It is the discipline, talent, and perhaps the most important
thing, you care for mortals, you martial your resources and do not abuse
them like your kind.  That is why you have been accepted."
	Mackie did not reply as all of them gathered around the altar.
The woman grabbed his hand, holding it over the brazier.  She looked at
him again.  "I ask you one last time;  do you accept to become Magnus
Nigrum?"
	As if in a dream, Mackie nodded, one of the few ambitions he had
truly held coming true.  "I do."  The others passed the cup around, each
taking a drink, before the woman did as well.  To each side of her, a
vampire began to chant, the rhythm of their voices fall and rising in
patterns no ear could truly capture, the magic laced throughout their
arcane music.  The powers began to move in an almost palpable mysticism 
around in the chamber.  Almost unconciously,  Mackie began to sing a
counterpart to their magic ritual, power blossoming within him.  A slight
frown appeared on the face of the woman, as well as the two wizards beside
her as they strained slightly under the added difficulty to their ritual.
Mackie himself felt blood sweat form on his brow as a spell he did not
recall passed his lips in a continuous stream of utterances.
	The flame of the brazier began to burn with black flames, shedding
no light, but still burning with heat.  His Beast roared at him, every
urge fighting to jerk his hand away.  His hand was turned palm down as the
woman spoke again,  "There will be pain, but your will must conquer your
fear."  She started to press his hand down, into those painful and very
hot flames.
	NO!  Mackie wanted this, but he wanted to show he did this of his
own violation, by his choice.  Jerking his hand away from hers, staring
defiantly in her eyes, he thrust his hand down onto the metal cover of the
brazier, his voice rising as the spell began to reach the height of it's
power.
	PAIN!  Pain, pain, pain! There was Pain. His flesh crawled as it
burnt in the writhing flames, his Beast screaming, drawing to him to the
point of frenzy.  He held on, forcing his Beast to obey _him_.  He was the
power, the master here, as he tried to ignore the bloody tears that flowed
freely down his cheeks, staring up at the woman.  In those cold eyes, did
he see... respect? acceptance?  Who knew.  For Mackie, for an eternity,
the world was those cold eyes, the pain the seared him, his Beast, and the
power that coursed through his body.
	He gasped as his spell finished along with the other wizard's
spells, something flashing throughout his being, leaving something new
there.  He sagged, his nude body covered in the dried blood of the humans
and the blood pouring from his pores.  With a sense of wondering, he felt
a stinging ache in his hand, which he removed from the brazier which no
longer burnt.  It was a peculiar sense, a dull ache, like an old wound, or
what he had heard arthritis described as.  Turning his hand, so that his
palm faced him, not surprised that his hand was unburnt.  In the center of
the palm of his hand there was a black cresent moon residing there.  It
was peculiar, it felt like it was a... _part_ of him now.  Raising his
gaze, he looked at the woman, rising from the half crouch he had fallen
into from the pain.  She spoke, saying simply, "You are one of us.  You
are the Black Hand.  Now and forever."
	It was that, he realized.  His ceremony of Lasombra leadership had
been one of pomp and extravagent words.  This one was short, refined, and
almost pure in its simplicity.
	She grinned at him,  "Every time, every new member does that",
gesturing to the brand on his hand, which he continued to examine.
Several of the others grinned at him,  and he felt... a kinship, a sense
of belonging, even to the hideous visage of the Nosferatu that was 
present. Tense and wary, like anything in vampiric life, but there 
none-the-less.
	Mackie turned his hand up, showing the others his new brand, and
concentrated.  Before a few startled gasps and open gazes, the brand on
his hand faded away.  One of the others, one of the warlocks, said
openly, "How?"
	The woman laughed, an honest laugh, shaking her head, "Looks like
you were indeed a good selection."  She looked at him, "An interesting
trick.  You think it will be enough?"
	Willing the brand to appear again, which it did, Mackie grinned
and shrugged, "Maybe, maybe not.  It's just a matter of luck and edge."


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	"...and I really think this will be my big break.  You think it's
enough?"
	It was Priss, asking those in the car their opinion of her song. 
>From the tone of her voice and the worried eagerness, it seemed that Priss
was at the breaking point, desperate for her big break.  That could be
used to his advantage as well.  A desperate and devastated Priss could
easily be turned to him... and to do whatever he desired.  A pleasant
thought. Both Nene and Sylia answered, before Priss turned to him.
	The remnants of his memory still echoing in his mind, Mackie
grinned and replied with a carefree grin and a shrug, "Maybe, maybe not.
It's just a matter of luck and edge."  (So true).
	Priss sat back, mollified somewhat by their replies.  The lack of
success had apparantly made her very much on the edge of abandoning her
musical career.  (Interesting indeed).
	After an uncomfortable silence, Nene spoke up again, saying, "Hey
Mackie,  umm.. sorry about the accident.  I felt really bad."  Her small
hand crept up to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
	"Yeah, me too.  I mean, bike accidents are bad enough, getting
splatted by a truck...", Priss trailed off, feeling embarassed.
	Sylia flushed, guilt flooding through her again.  Her brother had
been through Hell, and she hadn't been there for him.  And he had come
back so.. so.. _changed_.  She was about to say something when Mackie
spoke.
	"It's OK.  One of the things they talked about at the clinic was I
have to accept it, not to flinch when it is brought up.  I accept it.
Don't feel bad",  he said while looking over his shoulder at Nene and
Priss, throwing in a smile to put them at ease.  "Besides, I scarcely have
nightmares anymore."
	A sudden tension to his side told him he had made a mistake.
While one part of him had realized that a Sylia wracked by guilt could
serve his purposes, being distracted to the point of not prying, the human
part of him rejected that cold logic,  trying to think of some way to make
it right again.  (Not that it ever could be).
	"It really helped to know that I had a loving family and good
friends here, waiting", he tried to make it sound good.
	Another uncomfortable silence persisted.  The car continued down
the street, the traffic bad as always.  The city seemed to swelter with
heat, people traveling outside with as little on as possible, trying to
beat the heat.
	"But you look good Mackie, real good."
	Everyone stared to look at Priss, who flushed under the scrutiny.
Then Nene started to giggle, and then Mackie joined in, and even Priss
giggled a little, still red in the face.
	Mackie brought his gloved hands behind his head, smiling.  "Yeah,
I do look good, don't I?"
	Priss hit him lightly in the arm, saying, "I see it's all gone to
your head now."
	"No, not really.  They didn't have a real good photo, so I just
asked the doctor to do his best.  And he did better than I originally
looked."
	Nene pouted, "I don't know about that.."
	Priss laughed, "Yeah, sure.  You look real good. I might have to
go there someday."  Grinning at Nene, "But maybe somebody else should go
there, as they need it _real_ bad.  That doctor can work miracles on you,
must be good, real good."
	As Priss and Nene began to argue, Mackie felt the smile fade from
his face.  (You're wrong Priss. Skilled perhaps, but that one was not
good.)  Shivering slightly at the memory, (Not good, he was...)


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	He was evil.
	"Ah, Mr. Stingray, I hope you find your accomidations
satisfactory?"
	This bastard was pure evil.
	The monster in human guise stepping into Mackie's view said those
words with utter insincerity, his blood stained doctor's coat giving a
hint at what he was.  Mackie was in an almost soundproof room, one which
allowed no sound to exit, but allowed sound in.  Even in the background,
he could hear-
	Trying to forget, Mackie examined his surroundings, limited in
scope as they were.  The reason for this was that Mackie was strapped
quite securely to a table in the room, bright lights beating down on his
naked body.  The table was at an incline giving him some view of the
doctor and the bloodstained walls.  He could move little, his wrists,
legs, chest, neck, and head all secured to the table that still smelled
and was stained with blood, urine, and other things he tried not to think
about.
	"Not really, but it doesn't seem like I have much of a choice",
answered Mackie. (Fucking asshole).
	The Tzimisce "artist" turned to him, saying in a patriarchal tone,
"Well, we do have to keep you tied down, so you don't _hurt_ yourself."
	Mackie tried to ignore the look of inhuman and perverse hunger
that crossed the inhumanly smooth face of the vampire.
	"Well it seems that I am to do some rather... extensive
modifications.  And it seems you won't be enjoying some of my 'special'
services; pity.  I even have orders not to get creative. Sigh",  the
vampire began to speak in a pathetic imitation of a doctor's bedside
manner.  Outside, he could hear another scr-
	He ignored that, there was nothing he could do.  That was why he
was here, for the Tzimisce were masters of the discipline of Vicissitude,
the bizarre power which allowed them mold flesh and bone like wax and
putty.  Mackie had heard the rumors, heard that it was really a disease,
really a supernatural parasite that took over the host, making it a
perverse monster.
	(Not that you could tell with this one), Mackie thought sourly.
Again, he could hear-.  Mackie again pushed it from his mind.  The man
took off his gloves, rubbing his hands, asking, "Well, shall we get
started?"
	Reaching out, the vampire pushed and prodded Mackie, feeling him
this way and that, mapping to out his body.  The vampire paused at his
shoulder, at the one he had broken.  Raising one inhumanly long and thin
digit, the Tzimisce pushed down, Mackie's skin parting.  He could feel the
finger in his shoulder, the cold touch on his dead flesh.
	The vampire smiled a grandfatherly smile as he said, "Don't worry;
this will hurt a bit."
	The tip of the finger seemed to burn cold for a second, before he
felt the scapula in his shoulder crack and reform, distorting and tearing
his flesh before finally reforming perfectly.  Lost in the agony, Mackie
screamed.
	Noticing this, that gleam in his eyes again, the "artist" shook a
finger under Mackie's nose before moving it across Mackie's lips, sealing
them with a membrane that now grew across them.  "There, there, all
better."  Again, his own screams muffled now, he heard-
	He felt pain anew, concentrated on it, trying to forget what lay
down in the-.  Forget, let the pain take away all.  The Tzimisce moved
across his body, fingers becoming tentacles as they slid in his flesh,
every bone in his body cracking and reforming.  Mackie screamed again and
again.  (Nothing is worth this), he thought, (how did I let myself get
talked into this?)
	The pain receded for a moment, the man looking down at him with a
smile on that inhumanly beautiful face.  He caressed Mackie's cheek,
before reaching down to just below his neck, then yanking down.
	The flesh pulled back, revealing the ribcage, and the previous
pain became a black pit of agony.  The Tzimisce took an obscene pleasure
in telling him what was going on, much like he must have to the air-.
(No, forget, lose yourself in the pain), thought Mackie, as he feverently
cursed the "doctor".  The torture instruments, the doctor's hands moved up
and down his dessicated and shriveled organs, moving and prodding them,
reforming his ribs and back.  The bastard whistled happily, his reformed
lips making a beautiful song.  Even that and the sound of the jerking of
Mackie's body in pain on the table could not hide the sounds outside, the
coarse laughter, and-
	He was now working on the leg;  or was it the head?  Mackie could
not tell, as he was delirious with pain.  He couldn't feel anything but
pain, couldn't know anything but pain, but still he heard it, in his mind
if nothing else, the-
	The doctor paused in his work after what seemed hours, stopping to
drink from a pitcher that held blood, given to him by one of his monstrous
ghouls.  With the door open, and clear headed from the pain, Mackie could
hear, could hear the sounds, the thumping and squishing and scr-
	Trying to deny it, trying to ignore it, Mackie tried to run away
from his heightened senses, damning what he had once enjoyed so.  But with
them, he could not escape the sounds, those horrible sounds that he knew-
	Looking down at him, the doctor smiled proudly and said, "Don't
you hear that?  Didn't you see my wonderful creation?  Beautiful, yes?",
before returning to his work on Mackie.
	(Bastard, motherfucking, shiteating asshole!),  fumed Mackie, red
tears coming to his eyes, but not from the pain of the "doctor's"
minstrations.  (I'm gonna leave you to the sun, you fucking monster!)
Because Mackie had seen, knew where the sobs came from, from the creature
outside and below that had once been a human girl, before the doctor had
gotten his hands on her.
	Trying to deny it, but unable to, he saw it again.  The girl, or
what had once been a girl, her muscles rendered useless, laying on the
table as the other Sabbat had 'played' with her. (ASSHOLES!)
	She lay there, breasts enlarged to ludicrous size, the nipples
lactating in a constant trickle, squirting occasionally as one the Sabbat
would play with them, directing the streams at one another-
	-Hatred burned in Mackie's heart- 
	She had once been normal, but the eyes had been moved to the sides
of her head, her hair turned into spikes.  He could see her crying,
knowing she wished for it to end-
	-Mackie knew he could do nothing, so he memorized the Sabbat 
there-
	She had her legs wide open, revealing something Mackie, in all his
hentai dreams, would never want to see, tiny teeth around the top of her
slit, digging in that sensitive and over-enlarged bud whenever she moved
or the Sabbat touched-
	-One day he promised, they would all die, die HORRIBLY-
	Two snakes had been fleshcrafted around there, their fleshcrafted
heads showing clearly what they were intended to parody, as they moved in
and out, plunging in despite their greater size than the openin-
	-They were monsters, all of them, laughing, taking _pleasure_ in
this-
	The doctor continued his work, and Mackie disappeared into an
oblivion.
	A sacarine, honeyed voice called to him from the abyss.
	"All done Mr. Stingray",  said a voice.
	Mackie sat up as the monstrous ghoul loosened his bonds.  He felt
different, more limber, stronger, tougher.
	"An excellent job, if I do say",  the doctor beamed, turning to
grab something.
	"Here, look", said the doctor as he motioned,  holding up a mirror 
in front of Mackie, in which he saw nothing, of course.  He was a  
Lasombra.
	The doctor slapped his knee as he laughed, saying, "I love that
one".  The ghoul chorteled along.
	Freed from his bonds, Mackie gave the Tzimisce a gaze that stopped
it's laughter, a gaze with a promise-
	-One day you will die in great pain-
	Mackie turned to leave, back to the horror outside, scarred for
life, though now perfect in physical form. (Things will never be OK).


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	"...OK.  Mackie, are you OK?", asked his sister, her voice very
concerned.
	Turning, Mackie saw the women all looking at him with concern in
their eyes.  The car was stopped, and they were looking at him, seatbelts
undone.
	"I'm OK, really, just thinking a little too hard I guess",  Mackie
said, the lie sounding poor even to him.
	The others seemed to take this at face value, but Mackie thought
back on the flashback.  He had never gotten his vengence on the 'good
doctor', as someone had beaten him to it, though he had killed a good
number of the Sabbat there.  A large part of his innocence and humanity
had died that day, when he had learned the girl was nothing more than a
student whose only crime had been to pick a flower from the land of the
territorial Tzimisce.  No one deserved that, no one.  The brand on his
right palm burned, reminding of the strength he now had to fight such
monsters.
	"Hey Mackie, you coming", asked Priss.
	Looking around, Mackie saw the reason they had stopped, for they
were in the crevasse created by the Second Kanto Earthquake, home of Dr.
Raven and Raven's Auto Shop.  Partially succeeding in dispelling the
painful memories, Mackie turned a wistful grin to the area he had spent
much of his teenage years in.  Exiting the car, he left to join Priss
while the his sister and Nene remained inside.
	Raven's hadn't changed much, still as run down as it always was,
still ringing with the verbal sparring of Priss as she called the old man
"Pops" as he insisted on being called "Doctor".  The word 'doctor' brought
back painful memories, but Mackie put them aside as he joined the duel of
words and wits between the two.
	"What do you mean my bike isn't ready yet!", fumed Priss.
	"What do you expect for work done on credit?", harumphed Raven,
"and besides, you wouldn't have these problems if you didn't ride them so
hard!"
	"Listen Pops-"
	Deciding this had gone on far enough, Mackie step forward into the
shadows of the garage, saying, "Hi Doctor."
	Turning to look at Mackie, squinting against the sun that
backlighted him, the annoyed expression on Dr. Raven's face dissappeared
as he cried, "Mackie", before enveloping the larger young man in a hug.
	Mackie returned the hug to the man who had been like a second
father, always there to answer his questions or help in out in matters
when his sister was too busy, or when he needed to talk about things with
another guy.  Patting him on the back, Mackie pulled away, smiling, "Good
to see you."
	"Good to see you as well.  You're looking mighty spry,
considering, umm, that is..", Dr. Raven floundered.
	"It's OK Dr., like I have been telling everyone", Mackie
explained, "I have-"
	A sudden exclamation from Priss caused Mackie and Dr. Raven to
whirl around, to be confronted by two young and stupid toughs harassing
Priss, one armed with a wooden baseball bat perched over one shoulder.
Both of them wore the colors of the Outrider gang on their mismatched
clothes.  Junior gang members, by the look of it, not yet having bikes of
their own.  Both of them were making crude passes at the uninterested
Priss, who was getting angrier by the second.
	Fury exploded in Mackie at the sight of the two.  How dare they
interupt his homecoming, those two guttertrash.  Before he even realized
it, he was beside Priss, his hand reaching out as he forcefully pushed one
punk's shoulder, his Potence pushing him back a half a meter.
	The punk turned, shouting something incomprehensible.  He moved
too fast and too jerky, either high or possessing some bad second-hand
cyberware.  He shouted again, swinging the baseball bat at Mackie.
	Not really thinking, too angry to care about the consequences,
Mackie's hand reached up and intercepted the bat before it reached his
face, his fist surrounding the head of the bat, ignoring the pain from
several of his metacarpals breaking.  The punk stared, amazed and a little
stoned, before trying to pull the bat out of Mackie's hand.  Mackie
casually pulled the bat towards him, out of the punk's hand.  His blood
surged briefly as his hand healed.  (How dare they), he thundered
mentally.
	Beside him, he heard Priss say, "What the fuck-", before he acted.
	Holding the bat up next to his face in his right hand, the other
hand reached out and grabbed the punk by his shirt, hauling him up, face
to face with Mackie.  With a savage grin and use of his supernatural
strength, Mackie squeezed his hand, the wooden bat shattering to splinters
in his hand.
	Staring at dawning horror at Mackie, his mouth already forming the
words "Boomer", Mackie growled, glaring at the hapless punk, saying, "Get
out of my sight, and don't you ever bother me or my friends again!"  He
dropped the punk.
	The punk didn't look back, immediately bolting, fear driving him
away.  His companion looked at him, saw the odds, and also turned tail,
shouting, "We won't forget this!"
	Still angry, Mackie turned to Dr. Raven and Priss, face flushed,
who were staring at him.  Realizing his error, Mackie grabbed Priss's
hand, saying,  "Are you alright?"
	Confused by the question and what had just happened, Priss
waffled, exactly as Mackie had hoped.  Dr. Raven just sat there, a
thoughtful expression on his face.  After a few seconds of talking to
Priss, Mackie turned and said to Dr. Raven, "Sorry about that.
Unfortunately, we have be going.  Why don't you just forget about it OK?"
	Much to his surprise, Mackie felt his mental domination slide off
Dr. Raven with no effect, who commented, "We'll talk about it later,
Mackie.  You had better go home."
	Taking that advice to heart, hurt at the tone of voice in Dr.
Raven's voice, ashamed at his attempt to Dominate the man who had been
like a father to him, worried why he had not been effected, Mackie led
Priss to the car, before she threw off his comforting arm, looking at him.
Contact.
	"Priss, you had better forget about this as well.  You handled
those punks just fine, with a little help from me.  I didn't do anything
special in helping you", said Mackie, as he forced his mind upon hers,
bending her to his will.  Confused and startled, she was still remarkably
strong willed and he felt her surge against him, their wills battering at
each other like two primal forces clashing.
	(That little shit was trying to order her around again!)  She
suddenly realized the truth.  The superhuman strength, making him able to
break a baseball bat one-headed.  The stage presence, the incredible
looks; it all added up.  She had read the files, had known two others like
this.  It explained the long hospital stay.  Mackie was a boomeroid, a
33-S boomeroid.  Or at least something like it.  She had known boomers:
Adama, Anri, Sylvie... but a real person, becoming a boomer.  Priss took a
few steps, glaring up at him.  "What the hell _are_ you?"
	Mackie stopped suddenly, stiff as a board for a brief second
before his body relaxed, panic welling, up within him.  (She knew!) Then
logic hit him.  (She suspects, nothing more.  It _was_ a pretty careless
display back there, I must admit), thought Mackie.
	"Hell, I know what you are."
	Mackie relaxed slightly.
	"How long until you need to drink blood?"
	Mackie went into choice.  He rapidly reviewed his options, and
came up blank.  No choice now.  She knew.  He would have to-
	"After all, your body _is_ based off of a 33-S, isn't it?  Figures
a pervert like you would go for being a 33-S.  Seduce all those women,
eh?"
	"A 33-S?!?  I'm not-", gasped Mackie, almost collapsing in
hysterical laughter, relieved.  She thought he was a boomer!  Which,
admittedly, was a logical enough conclusion, given that she was ignorant
of the Truth.  Mackie chuckled mentally, recognizing the laughter as a
catherisis for his stress.  Gathering the twirling pieces of his concious
mind, he called upon the gathered experience and advice of his mentors and
his clan, desperate for a solution.
	And there was a response.
	Priss saw Mackie's face twist to one of almost unimaginable
sorrow, sorrow that someone he considered a friend would betray him so,
cause him so much pain.  The eyes beckoned to Priss like those of a puppy,
lost and alone.  Priss felt ashamed of herself.
	"I just... I just wanted to come home.  I couldn't help it.. the
accident", Mackie said plaintiffly, resembling his old self, so sad,
looking like a lost little boy.  He looked like he was about to cry.  (How
could she do such a thing?), she thought, pity filling her (he was in a
hospital for months, and you can do is hurt him more?  Besides, Anri and
Sylvie were people).  She saw him trying to be strong; her emotions surged
from bitterness and anger to compassion and motherly instinct.  She opened
her arms to give Mackie a hug, showing her acceptance.  She heard his dry
sobs, and her heart almost broke.  It felt good to be needed like this, to
give comfort, to-
	She looked at Mackie in the eyes, sympathy and understanding on
her face.  His face the same position of sorrow, Mackie played her like an
accordian, manipulating her emotions subtly, as his mental power
reconstructed her memory and feelings.  The coldness whispered to him,
guided him, as he probed and played with Priss's mind and concious self.
	Priss felt glad that she could be a friend and comfort Mackie.  He
must have been scared in that fight with those punks.  It was luck that he
had been able to break the baseball bat on the concrete.  She felt a
little funny, her head a little fuzzy, but she was glad she could be a
friend to Mackie.  Together, they walked back to the car.
	As he led Priss away,  Dr. Raven gave a sigh that came from the
heart.  There were a number of unanswered questions hear, like how much
cybernetic augmentation Mackie had gotten, where he had gotten it, and
from who.  But more important, Dr. Raven had recognized the look in
Mackie's eyes, a look he had seen many times before.
	He wanted to know when Mackie had become a killer.
	As Mackie walked back with Priss, he felt cold.  Alien.  Bizarre.
Like a weird sense of deja vu when you're walking down the street,
remembering the pet you lost a long of time, when you find it again and
then it gets hit by a car. Mackie found himself numb, his thoughts
flowing with the words he was speaking and the actions his body was
taking, none of them actions wholly his own.  At the moment, he was
half-master, half-puppet in his own body.  He had only felt this once
before, back then, when his skin and veins glowed with power not entirely
his, back when learned....


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	He was a pawn.
	He was damn puppet.
	Mackie cursed mentally as he moved down the wall, falling silently
as his power in Quietus silenced his collision with the earth, the leather
jacket and black jeans soundless.  He dashed forward keeping the
shrubberies between him and the house, the darkness embracing him.  The
manor was too quiet.
	Real estate was very expensive in Europe and Sweden, and the
acreage of the manor Mackie was skulking across was a sign of how wealthy
the elderly patriarch actually was.  The shrubs were carefully trimmed and
the grass mowed in beautiful patterns that would fascinate a Malkavian for
hours.  The stately manor house was a beautiful recreation and blending of
several styles, made from real wood and hand crafted mortar and brick.
Even in the darkness, it was beautiful.
	Of course, Mackie was more concerned for the sentries, of which he
had seen none, and the lights, which were few.  He ignored the cameras, as
they could do nothing to him, his Lasombra weakness becoming an advantage.
And to be honest, he was more concerned about what he was here for.
	He was here to kill two people.  One, an old man, a pillar of the
community whom the Sabbat disliked.  The other, his young granddaughter,
barely eight years old, whose only crime was that the Sabbat wanted the
old man to see his pride and joy tortured to death before his eyes.
	And Mackie was here to carry out those orders.
	Still, something was wrong, beyond his orders.  The grounds were
too quiet.  Mackie had reached the manor without seeing a single guard.
The house was dark, no activity.  Reaching the garage, atop of which was a
small deck, Mackie vaulted up to the second story in eerie silence.
Landing clumsily as he tried to catch the heavy pistol tucked under his
jacket before it fell out.  (Some assassin), thought Mackie, incredibly
nervous.  The room beyond the sliding glass window was empty.
	Kneeling down, he scanned quickly for security measures, finding
none, which was expected, as he had little experience in this line of
work.  Shrugging, he took out the diffusion laser from his jacket pocket,
put on leather gloves, and began to work on the glass.  It melted, a
brilliant point of light forming where the laser touched the glass, which
he desperately tried to cover with one hand, only partially succeeding.
Dammit, he had no fucking experience doing this type of shit.  Prove your
a True Sabbat. ( Yeah, sure), Mackie thought, bitterly.
	The pen finished scribing the rectangle in the glass door, and too
late, Mackie reached out to stop the glass from falling.  It struck the
floor and shattered into a thousand pieces.  Mackie straightened from his
cringe when he realized the glass had not made a sound.  He entered
through the hole, into the building.  The hallway went left and right,
left to a stairway and some sounds vague even to his heightened senses.
To his right were what looked like the bedrooms.  He headed that way.
	He came across the girl, her eyes wide and staring at him in
shock, already glazed in death.  Her throat lay bare, head nearly severed
by the rounds that had passed through.  The blood stained her dainty bed,
splattering the teddy bear she still clutched for protection even in
death.  He was too nervous to even feel hunger.  He felt cold, so cold, as
the shadows seemed to swirl around and in him. What now?
	(Fulfill his mission), a thought echoed in his head.  As if in a
dream, he saw his arm raise as he fired two shots into the girl's eyes,
her brains splattering everywhere across the room, not even bothering to
look as he turned and walked to the stairs.
	En route, Mackie was in shock as he moved with a sure gait he did
not feel.  Why had done that!?!  (To fulfill his mission), he thought
back.  Or did he?  (What was going on?), he cried out to himself.
	His shadow self ignored him as he looked down into the
entranceway of the manor.  There was his target, tied to a chair, near
death from the five men that were beating him.  Six total, light to
moderate armaments.  Target first.
	(What the fuck?), thought Mackie, as he raised his gun and fired
into the back of the neck of the old man the second one of the thugs
brought his fist down.  They did not notice the fresh blood that splurted
forth was the bright red of arterial blood.  But they soon would.  Time to
act.
	(What the hell?), thought Mackie, as he jumped, silent and cloaked
in shadows, dropping right behind the man below the balconey he stood
apon.  His gun angled up the chin of the man, and Mackie pulled the
trigger.
	The bullet went through the tissue and bone as blood fountained
with bits of organic matter, spraying the others.  Mackie dropped as they
turned, SMGs and pistols swinging toward their comrade, tongues of flame
already appearing at the barrels of their firearms.
	Time slowed for Mackie like a movie in slow motion, as he moved
with a speed he never possessed.  He felt cold as the coldness tightened
around and within him.  He had already ducked behind the dead man as a
shield, and grabbed his Uzi V.
	The bullets flew at him, one grazing his side, whistling by his
ear, and a few even hit his shield, though most destroyed the house.
Realizing his shield was just about hamburger, Mackie dropped the body,
his hands bringing up the Uzi V, while cocking it with a familiar motion
as he braced his feet apart for recoil.
	The four remaining thugs opened fire at the same time he did.
Mackie opened up in carefully controlled three round bursts, putting three
in both the head and heart of one who dropped like a stone.
	This did not go unpunished, and Mackie felt several slugs slam
into his stomach, one chewing into his right cheek, the last disabling his
left hand.  Thinking this enough to stop him, one was reloading.  Ignoring
those rounds he had shrugged off, he could not take much more of this.
	(This called for a new plan of action), thought the
Mackie-that-was-not-Mackie.  Mackie was a passenger in his own body as his
precious vitae burned, some healing his wounds, most going to strength his
body, but some burned a strange way.  The air felt thick as Mackie pushed
against it, darting forward in a blur, gun already spraying one gunman as
he darted between two other gunmen.  They tried to track him, one already
opening fire, the other still fumbling to reload.
	Before the two bodies even hit the ground, one killed by Mackie's
gunfire, the other by his own comrade, Mackie was spinning on one heel,
his gun flying to one of the two remaining gunmen, fist cocked back, then
flying forward with such speed the very air seemed to tear as his mighty
fist tore forward toward the gunmen reloading. Even the round that struck
his shoulder would not deter him.
	His fist struck through the man with almost contempuous ease, the
ribs and spine blowing out his back with the organ in a puree of bone
fragments and viscera, like a dragon vomiting to regurgitate it's meal.
The Mackie-not-Mackie, a new one, exulted, ('Tis like in the valley,
before Agincourt, a slaughter most fine!)  Mackie, felt a little sick,
though most detatched as he performed acts not entirely his own, but also
his _own_.  It was strange.
	The other gunmen was raising to fire, and Mackie knew that they
were in bad shape.  The coldness filled him as he called upon more power,
and suddenly Mackie was no longer there.
	He floated admist a shadowy plane, his body a shadow, as he looked
out at the horizon, seeing other vague shadows.  Liquid glowing with many
hues of colors flowed toward him, tribunaries to the river that was
himself, the power filling him.  He realized now where his new found power
came from, his new memories.  And he remembered everything.  And
understood, as they said to him, (You are our last hope).
	When he found himself physical once again, covered in blood, the
last gunman lying in pieces on the ground, of which Mackie just gorged
himself.  Coughing roughly for a few seconds, he spat out the bullet that
had found its way to his lung.  He laughed softly for a few seconds, the
sound incredibly sharp now that his silence was gone.  After a time, he
rolled up his sleeve and looked at his arm.
	Beneath his skin, veins and streams of red, green, violet, and
blue light pulsated beneath his skin, sometimes merging to form eldritch
symbols that appeared only vaguely.  The glow, after he had called on the
knowledge and power of those who he was tied to, shined brightly enough to
read by.  The shadows he commanded, his friends, swirled about him as they
tried to attack the light within his flesh.
	Noise, outside.  Mackie knew enough Swedish to recognize the
police.  Not caring, Mackie shrugged off the tattered remains of his
jacket, and looked around him.  Him-not-him suggested something, and
Mackie agreed.  Holding out his hands, Mackie once again drew upon the
bond, magical fire appearing in each hand, swiftly growing in size to an
orb around each hand.  With a wild laugh, as he ran to the back door, he
released each sphere.
	Both sailed either way, exploding with a soft "whoof" as the house
began to burn.  He was out the door in record time, already dashing across
the grass to the wall as the police cried "Halt!" and began to open fire
upon him.
	Laughing wildly, glowing like a fireflie, clad only in his jeans
and a T-shirt, Mackie leaped 6 meters across the wall, over 4 meters
straight up.  Still laughing, Mackie fled into the night.
	He was a pawn, he knew, but he also knew that, unlike everyone
else in world, who were all pawns, he got power in the deal.  And that is
why he laughed and ran amongst the shadows of the night.  It was so damn
ironic.


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	(It was so damn ironic), thought Mackie, (how things turn out).
	Priss was smiling at him as they returned to the car.  He had
known his sire and clan was good, but this... Mackie could not help but
admire the beauty with which Priss had been molded to better serve him,
all without realizing it, even though his conscience screamed how wrong it
was.  He again got into the car, as conversation bloomed yet
again.
	Mackie answered the expected questions with only half of his
attention, the other half being careful to make sure that the glow beneath
his skin was concealed.  It wouldn't do for any compromising questions to
be asked.
	Yes, Mackie acknowledged, he was a pawn.  But he was a pawn with
power and a purpose.  (First Genom, then the Sabbat, and then anybody who
dares fuck with me or my own), grinned Mackie.  (Just you wait.  One day I
will advance to the end of the damn board in this game and take my place
there.)
	"What are you smiling about", asked Nene.
	Grinning even wider, Mackie answered, "A game".
	"What game?", inquired Nene.
	"Chess", lied Mackie, though he answered truthfully in his head.
	(Life)
	He and the shadows laughed.
	He looked at Nene, beautiful Nene, his Big Sister, and fiery
Priss.  Yes,  he played the only game worth playing.
	(Yes), he smiled, (for my family and this world, I would do
anything).
	His smile turned to a pensive frown as a whisper spoke in the back
of his head, "And so you shall."
	Suddenly, the world seemed a little colder.



This last portion is why this last part took so long.  It just doesn't
seem to come together.  Oh, well.  That is what later revisions are for.

I see there is another WoD fanfic.  Good!  The more the merrier.

I hope this one turns out OK.


Next Part: Part 5: "Fateful Decisions and the Darkness Descent"


Notes:

So now we know why Mackie seems so powerful.  Actually, Mackie has been
affected by a variant of a powerful magical ritual called Drawing Upon the
Bond.  When in danger, or when he panics, Mackie can call upon the power 
and memory of those who feed him such power.  Unfortunately for Mackie,
doing so also allows himself to be controlled and affected by those whose
power he calls upon.

We also know why Mackie has become so cruel and manipulative.  You swim
with the sharks, you better have teeth as sharp as they do.

Confusing?  Bad news ahead, it gets worse.

Next chapter, I will explain all major clans and bloodlines and
disciplines in the Lexicon.

C+C is always appreciated.

Hope to see you there!