Hello again!
	Gomen, gomen, I know I said that this section would be out much
sooner.  Regrettably school, namely the Incomprehensibility 335 (aka
Organic Chemistry), is requiring a significant portion of my time.  Not to
mention Ethics and Logic.  (Sigh).
	But enough excuses!  Here is part 5b of my fanfic, Night Sabers.
Last episode, on a seemingly typical outing, Nene is badly wounded.  This
is where we pick up.
	This part doesn't seem _quite_ right or good enough, but to Hell
with it! I'm sending it anyway (it is a very rough draft).
	Also, I have included a number of attachments as well.  Please
read the comments at the end of part 5b before reading them.
	Enjoy:)


	Everything was set;  Mackie had nothing more to do, and it wasn't
even late in the afternoon yet.  Ignoring the tremor that shook his body,
his natural instincts demanding slumber in the day while the magic of one
of the formulae counter-acted the effect.  The sensation, he mused, was
not unlike a person taking extreme amounts of caffiene for the first time;
the body drifting in and out of stable awareness, unable to sleep, even as
the body cried out for the peace of slumber.  The call was even more
primal for a vampire; to sleep in the day meant a restoration of health
and self in the span of the daylight hours.  Holding his hand admist the
sunlight that shined in the kichen area, Mackie marvelled at the light as
he turned his hand this way and that;  technically, the damaging
aspects of the sunlight was somehow suspended from affecting his undead
flesh.  Even as his Beast called to him, snarling at the presence of the
baleful illumination, he enjoyed the sunlight, one of the simple things
denied him.  It felt good.  Being home felt good.  For the first time
since his Embrace, he felt a cause and a familiarity beyond the murder and
evil that had become his quest and his life.  He liked this innocence of
sunlight, even tainted by the smog.  He liked-
	BZZZ! BZZZ!
	Mackie's head jerked up;  he knew what that alarm meant, even as a
sinking sensation began in the pit of his stomach, the seat of his vitae.
Mackie darted up, hurrying to the elevator that connected the basement to
the Knight Saber's facilities in the Silky Doll building.  The alarm meant
something was wrong.  Very wrong.
	Even as the elevator doors opened, before he saw the blue and the
white hardsuit supporting the red, before he heard the whimpers, he
_smelled_ it.  Blood.  The sweetest nectar.  He could smell the fear on
Nene, the panic rising.  Oh GOD! What had happened!?!
	He darted forward, urgently whispering her name "Nene?"
	Priss and Sylia sought to impose themselves between him and Nene;
they had to get her to the medical facilities.  Mackie had other ideas.
Animalistic panic and fury began to seep into his being.
	His hand darted out as he keyed a sequence into the surface of an
ordinary looking armor plate, activating the suit's unlocking procedure.
Unfortunately, one of the upper shoulder plates had been badly dented by
some intense kinetic force, preventing a clean opening of the suit.
Reaching to that spot with his hands, Mackie began to pull it apart with
his hands, blood in his body surging with strength.
	"Mackie", said Sylia softly, her hand reaching for his shoulder to
push him away.  They had already tried that; they would need specialized
equipment to remove the suit from Nene.
	Priss was more direct as she grabbed Mackie by the shoulder,
shaking him the suit's iron grip, saying, "Stop this you fool! We have
gotta ge-"
	Sensing two other beings approaching his chosen, lost in that
bizarre combination of shock, anger, fear, and sorrow that all those who
have had a loved one in an accident feel, the line between Mackie and the
Beast rapidly diminishing, Mackie growled and glared at the two moving to
intercept him.  With a surge of strength, the armor broke, allowing the
suit to open fully.  To the woman on his right, his shoulder shook her
hand off forcefully, while his left arm backhanded the blue suit to his
left, Priss falling on her butt, stomach and chest tingling from the
strength of the blow, the wind knocked out of her.
	Carefully sliding Nene out of the hardsuit, he disposed of the
suit to the side, carefully craddling Nene in his arms, whispering her
name softly, thoughts of vengenance on the interlopers who dared approach
his future mate disappearing.
	Nene felt a voice calling to her; she was so weak,  What had
happened?  Ah yes, the boomer; had it been an accident? Itte! No, there
was the pain in her cheek;  she felt weak and drowsy, already light-headed
from the loss of blood.  She realized she could smell Mackie and hear
Mackie's voice in her ear.  She snuggled closer in the comfortable embrace
of Mackie's arms, murmurring little nonsense things as she drifted to
sleep.  But Mackie's voice was insistent.  What was it?
	"...listen Nene, listen to my voice; You have to stay awake OK?",
said Mackie.  Nene felt the muted and faint sensation of movement as
Mackie carried her to the infirmary,  "Nene, listen, I need you to stay
awake."  The smell of sweet Nene's blood nearly drove him to distraction.
It was an effort just to speak rationally, instead of tearing about and
howling his rage.
	Sylia ejected from her suit, shocked less from the blow, and more
from the casual way her brother had ignored her;  he seemed only to care
about Nene at the moment, like an animal obsessed.  She hurried after
Mackie, who headed to the infirmary.
	Priss picked herself off of the ground, still gasping for breath
from the blow of that little shit, the wind knocked out of her.  Little
punk was strong as a boomer-
	Wait.  Boomer, Mackie.  Boomer, Mackie?
	Mackie, Boomer?
	There was a connection there... it was so vague, in the back of
her head, pounding to get free.  What as it?  Why couldn't she remember?
It was-
	(Nene! How could she forget Nene!) Banishing the disturbing
thoughts for now, Priss headed to the infirmary.



*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*



	Mackie carefully laided down Nene on the examination table, as he
didn't know what else to do.  The room was clean as always, sterile white.
His addled mind, burning with blood as he nearly exploded into fury. Nene
had been hurt, HIS NENE!  Lacking a channel, Mackie raged impotently. He
could feel his canines begin to emerge, the anger and blood driving his
most basic desires. (Calm Mackie).  He knew not who said that, himself or
one of his family, but he acknowledged the wisdom of the statement.
Controlling his frenzy, Mackie looked for a way to help Nene.  He looked
over at the autodoc, but he had little skill in using the machine.  What
they needed was a real doctor.
	"Macckkie?", whispered Nene.
	Mackie was immediately by her side, his hand reaching out to
grab her hesitantly raised hand.  Clasping it with both hands,
Mackie kissed her hand, "I'm here."
	That seemed to comfort her, before she realized something and 
looked away, "Don't look at me", she said huskily, trying to hide her
face.
	Doing so gave him a good look at her damaged face, and he once
more had to check a frenzy.  There were gashes across the right side of
her face, the flesh parted like furrows in the ground, blood matting and
covering her face, already beginning to dry and harden.  "Don't be
stupid", he said huskily, sorrow and rage blending in a thick mixture
within his mind, his hand reaching out to carress her hair.
	She turned back to him, tears in her one good eye, as he tried to
give her a reassuring look.  She struggled about a little, before sighing,
her eye starting to close.
	Mackie could feel her pulse, no longer strong, now more weak, a
lethargic beat, not a steady one, and he could feel tears beginning to
well up in his eyes.
	Nene knew she might be dying.  She felt so cold;  shock probably.
She had lost too much blood, and the ringing in her ears called attention
to the fact she may have a concussion.  (Mackie), she thought.  (I can't
die now, I have to know what he really feels!)  She thought about it with
her addled intellect, before casting her mind back to that night nearly a
year ago.  "Mackie, I'm cold", complained Nene drowsily, as a devilish
little smile played across her lips.
	Mackie recognized that little phrase for all of what it meant.  He
remembered that night, that night that had haunted the dreams of his life
and unlife ever since.  Looking down at her body, clad in her tight 
softsuit, despite the blood, he could still remember what it had felt
like, and the old desires returned stronger than ever.
	His hand reached out, cupping the good side of her face, kissing
her on the lips, as the tears flowed despite his efforts, as he whispered,
their lips pressed together like the two of them had once been, finishing
the rememberance, "I love you Nene, now and forever."
	Nene smiled as she recognized his declaration of love, made even
now as she lay wounded and perhaps dying, not after that heated night.
She felt and tasted something warm and sticky begin to fall on her face;
Mackie was crying for her.
	"Ah-humpph!", Sylia cleared her throat loudly.
	Mackie turned, his hand rubbing his eyes of tears, mixing his and
Nene's blood across his face, before turning to see Priss and Sylia
standing there, Priss just having abandoned her hardsuit, a serious
expression on both their faces.
	It didn't take a genius to figure out what Mackie was feeling, the
pain and anger on his face as evident as the blood that smeared it.  Sylia
motioned for both Priss and Mackie to leave, as she went over to the
autodoctor and began to scrub down for the operation.
	Mackie continued to watch as the autodoctor went to work, before
the door closed.



*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*



	Priss leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths, one after
another, stopping the trembling that seemed to have infected her limbs.
Why Nene?  She was actually starting to get good at fighting; now this
happened.  Why had it happened?  That had been a construction boomer, not
a combat boomer; they were designed for endurance and strength, not speed
and skill.  So why had it moved so swiftly?  Why Nene?
	SLAM!  Mackie stormed out of the room, fury and rage etched across
his face as he marched downstair, stalking past Priss.  His rage at Nene's
wounding caused his anger to have no bounds.  Even now, he could feel the
Beast coming through, eroding his sanity, leaving nothing more than the
all consuming Frenzy that threatened to engulf his conscious mind.  He
could not control or fight it;  the best he could do is allow it to occur
someplace safe.  He headed to the storage room on the lower floor, his
shadows flaring about him, agitated by his strong emotions, singing their
queries to him, to which he had no answer, rage denying even that.
	Priss watched Mackie stomp right by her, the snarl on his face,
the expression of pure murder and vengenance explaining how Mackie
intended to deal with the situation.  Once, she might have joined him.
Now she found her outlet in song, in the motivation and communication with
other people.  Mackie was a bitter and angry young man, unable to see
beyond the pain over what had happened to Nene.  She felt anger herself,
to be sure, but removed from the direct contact with the situation, her
natural defensiveness lowered and her intellect allowed her to recognize
what she felt.  (Sigh).  And what Mackie felt.  He would need someone to
talk to after he had let out his rage.
	Mackie walked down the stairs, resisting the urge to run, to
scream, to howl.  Already, his fangs were fully extended, his head
pounding from the rage and desires his Beast summoned.  It tempted him
with repulsive things, things he would never consider, like bleed Priss
and Linna dry, naked, with blood, blood, blood, blood everywhere.  Oh
blood, the Hunger calling.  How he longed for that sanguine nectar, the
ambrosia of the childer of Caine.
	His rational mind recognized these things as wrong, even as he
continued to remember the sight of Nene's ravaged face, the blood, oh the
blood, the wounds, the tears in her eyes.  Oh God, he could not take this.
*He* *had* *to* *get* *AWAY!*
	With the last of his self will, Mackie darted into the storage
room, locking the door with fingers that trembled with inhuman desires.
Throwing back his head, Mackie let his concious Self vanish beneath the
onrushing tsunami of passions, and he howled his emotions to the air as he
rent and destroyed all within the room.
	In his fury, he never noticed the neon green glow that emitted
from his body.


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*



	Linna rushed into the Silky Doll, worry driving her on.  She left
her car unlocked, hurrying to the upper levels, cursing the slowness of
the elevators, she took of her heels and began to sprint up stairs, her
body still toned near perfectly, easily taking several steps at once.
	THUD!  Linna stopped involuntarily as she heard the sound of an
impact.  Thinking it nothing, she continued on her way.
	"ROOWWARRRYYYYEEEAHHHHHH!"
	Linna stopped and flattened herself against the stairwell wall,
falling into the Ready Form, preparing for combat, heart pumping from the
inhuman shriek of rage that rumbled out.  She heard the thumps of
something repeatedly striking the wall, the shatter of glass and plastic,
the shrieks of rage from something.  She calmed down as she realized the
only solution that could come to her mind;  Priss was throwing a temper
tantrum.  But that was puzzling in and of itself; the worse she had seen
Priss recently was when Leon had mentioned her as his girlfriend on
national television.  But she had been cursing and swearing; fear touched
her with his chill touch again.  Maybe Nene had been hurt worse than she
thought!
	Dismissing the sounds in the room, she hurried up the stairs to
the infirmary.  Outside of which, she found Priss, listening to a vidcom
message where a carrot haired man spoke.
	"O-haiyo mina.  Leon-chan and I were a little worried about what
happened.  Leon is a little too much in the public eye right now, so he
asked me to help out.  Here are a list of doctors who you may wish to
enlist the services of, if you need one.  I can guarantee their 
discreetness.  I hope Nene-chan gets well.  Ciao."  With a wink, Daley
signed off.
	Priss sighed, accepting the information, though she knew Sylia
would never go for it.  It was about then she noticed Linna approaching.
"Hey, Linna", she said as way of introduction.
	Linna looked at Priss funny, the way she stood so calm, despite
the fear in her eyes, for Nene.  She looked resigned.  But then who-
	"What's wrong Linna?",  Priss asked.
	Linna looked a little puzzled, "But if it's not you tearing up the
room downstairs, then who?"
	Priss sighed;  she feared it might be like this.  Mackie had
returned a little too uptight, his emotions kept too close in, like his
sister.  A blow-up like this was inevitable.  "Tell you what;  I'll go
check on Mackie and calm him down if you keep watch on Nene, OK?"
	Linna nodded, as Priss uncrossed her arms, heading downstairs.
Linna's hand snaked out, grabbing Priss as she asked quietly, "How bad is
it?"
	"Shouldn't be too bad", replied Priss.  She went down the
stairwell.
	Rather than feel comforted, Linna felt worse.  Priss had refused
to look at her when she answered.  Nene was seriously injured.



*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*



	Sylia looked down at the slumbering girl.  No, not girl.  Young
woman.  Nene would have to grow up quick after what had happened to her.
Despite her best efforts, there was only so much she could do.  Her best
efforts had not been good enough and, not for the first time, she
questioned her decision not to take a doctor into confidentiality of the
Knight Sabers.  One could be invaluable, but she had always taken into
consideration the security risks.  Now, looking at Nene, she wished she
had taken a chance, and kept a doctor on retainer.  The bandages covering
her face hid the damage.  She was out of danger, of that there was no
doubt.  Her eye should be fine as there had only been some minor tissue
damage and blood flooding the socket.  But that was not what worried her.
	She had tried all the quick-heal she could find, tissue
regeneration, the works.  And nothing seemed to work.  The simple fact was
that Nene would most likely have the right side of her face scarred for
life.  The wounds had simply been too deep, the nerve damage and severance
too severe.  Though she had managed to draw out the metal and ceramic
fragments, there was the even greater question of how the damage would
affect Nene mentally.  Like many pretty girls, Nene took a great deal of
pride in her appearance, and combined with her determination to capture
her brother's heart (though she knew it was a chase already finished), 
would be a devastating blow to her mental health.
	Her mental health.  That was the real problem.  Sylia had to
maintain her cold facade with all her willpower, and the tears still
started to flow.  She had simply lost too much blood.  The lack of blood,
the prime carrier of oxygen, had simply started to asphixiate her.  The
lack of oxygen would be most acutely felt by the organ which needed a
constant bloodflow - the brain.
	A few tears trickled down her perfectly smooth cheek.  There would
be brain damage.  There was no doubt.  The principle affect was the damage
done.  Too many blood vessels had swollen in the brain tissue.  She had
averted death, but there was little more she could do.  There was simply
nothing to be done.  The cheerful, innocent girl she had brought into her
crusade would be at least mentally retarded, possibly a vegetable,
brain-damaged for life.
	"There *is* something you could do, you know."
	Sylia walked over to the autodoctor readout, desperately searching
for something in it's data banks that could help her.  But there was
nothing to be done.  Even the marvels of cyberntechnology required basic
neuron structures to function properly.  The cells in the brain would die
shortly, were probably already dying.  Not enough to kill her, but enough
to leave her retarded or in a vegetive state.  She-
	"AHEM.  I said, there is something *you* could do about this, you
know!"
	Sylia ignored the voice she had heard like she always had, ever 
since she was a child.  Now about Nene-
	"Will you listen to me!  I am not a delusion, as I have been
trying to tell you all these years.  You, yes *you* can save Nene's life!"
	Sylia turned to regard the miniature figurette of her father, who
sat on the bandaged head of Nene.  Not for the first time, she cursed the
being who had made her life Hell, the mental delusion created as a side
effect by the memory download of her father's data cartridge.  All her
life, since that moment, it had poked and prodded her, driving her on to
greater and greater achievements in science, fueling her quest for
vengeance and justice against Genom, while at the same time it took
romance, emotion, and a normal life away from her.  How many times had she
vanished into her own delusional world while taking it's advice when she
worked on the hardsuits?  How long had it been since she felt emotions
truly openly, hiding them to hide IT?  When had she last had even a
budding romance, the damnable IT always informing her with uncanny 
paranoia her potential romance's true intentions?
	Her eyes narrowed as she glared at the tiny figure.  It looked
like an evil version of her father, his mustache that she loved to pull as
a child grown out long, a light goatee covering his face, and his eyes
were cold and alien as he looked out at her from the red lense glasses he
wore.
	"Glaring at me will do nothing to save her.  As always, you turn
out to be a failure.  Again.  I should have nothing to do with you."
	Sylia's nostrils flared as she remembered this old tactic,
remembered all the abuse her father had thrown at her; no IT had thrown at
her, always so cold and imperious, demanding more and more, offering no
congratulations or thanks even when she succeeded.  She would throw
herself into her work, and come back hoping for a compliment, which he
would never give, instead demanding more.
	"Reality will bend to your will.  You must understand this more
fully-"
	Sylia ignored IT, throwing her hands up in disgust as IT once more
began it's spiel about Reality, and Paradox, and the Will, and Arete- che!
She had had enough of it long ago.  She had more important concerns- Nene.
	"You must focus yourself if you wish to help thi-"
	"WHAT THE HELL!", Sylia exclaimed aloud in amazement as she looked
at the diagnostic monitor in disbelief.  IT came over, staring at what had
shocked her so badly.
	"This, this, this... CAN'T BE!", proclaimed Sylia.
	But it was, and the monitor displayed the same thing even after
the two diagnostic checks she ran.  The backup system reported the same
anomaly.
	It was impossible, improbable, inconceivable, yet it was the
truth.  Cellular degradation in Nene's brain had stopped completely! Sylia
felt joy and confusion as she continued to scan the readings.  The
Alpha-Sigma neurons were in complete stasis, and some of the damaged
neurons actually seemed to be regenerating!  (How is this possible !?!),
thought Sylia.  Then the beeping of a monitor caught her attention.
	Sylia felt her jaw drop as the system completed it's full body
scan.  Not just the brain; all of Nene's body was in a form of stasis!
The cells did not decay, though they did regenerate and repair at an
alarming rate.  Her organs showed the unmistakable signs of subtle
alterations and the bones and blood were registering a very minor, unknown
energy.  The body was simply not, not _aging_ for lack of a better word,
yet it was continuing to grow and heal.
	"Something strange is going on here".
	(No shit), thought Sylia to IT.
	"I heard that", IT replied.
	(Well, you do exist within a delusion of my mind), answered Sylia,
(but how can this be?).  She punched up some more tests.  As a matter of
fact, Nene's EKG was beginning to return to normal.  Hmmm, her hormone
levels are flucuating in bizarre ways though.  As a matter of fact, the
drugs were beginning to wear off somewhat.  It was the endocrine system.  
Producing too much-
	"I do not doubt Mackie is involved in this some way".
	"How can you say that about your own son?", Sylia asked the
sinister image of her father.
	The image nodded slightly, pushing the glasses to the bridge of
IT's nose, the lenses glaring and hiding what dwelled beyond them as it
folded IT's hands in front of its mouth. "The fact this is my son is
irrelevant.  All must be used."
	Sylia bit back a curse, realizing how foolish it would be to talk
to a delusion within her own mind.
	"He has changed.  He is most definitely supernatural."
	Hah!  Sylia knew better than to believe IT's insanity about the
supernatural;  Mackie *had* most likely gotten a conversion of some kind,
given how inhuman he seemed, and how strong he had been it tearing apart
the armor and knocking Priss back.
	"He could be a threat.  You may have to kill him, like the
others."
	No, she would not do that!  Her baby brother was back home, and he
obviously needed some to give him love and understanding so he could
recover.  She and Nene, and even the others, would give him that love and
understanding.
	"You are deluding yourself.  Then, onto another topic.  That
boomer was strange".
	Sylia had to agree, remembering the shiver that she had felt when
confronted with the construction boomer.  It had felt odd, both dead and
alive.
	Nene moaned a little, and Sylia turned her attention to the young
woman, as her endocrine system ran out of whack.  Giving her a shot of a
powerful drug she had created in one of her fevered nights of brilliance,
one that would give an entire day's sleep in the matter of a few hours,
Sylia watched the young woman slip into a deep sleep.  She hoped that
would help.
	"Sylia?", asked a hesitant Linna as she entered the room,
expectant fear in her eyes, looking around, eyes settling on the bandaged
figure on the examination table.
	"We will talk later", said IT, dissappearing.
	"Sylia?", Linna asked again.
	Sylia shook herself very slightly, bringing a bloody latex glove
up to rub her face, tired to the core.  Linna gasped a little as she saw
the blood on the glove.
	Linna felt sick as she saw the blood on the gloves, her eyes
moving to the trays full of bloody rags, bowls containing bloody shards of
ceramic armor and blood, along with red locks of hair.  It was then she
realized that the bandage wrapped object was not an appendage in a secure
web-vambrance;  it was Nene's head.  With a soft cry, she dropped beside
her friend's bedside.
	"Oh Nene, I am so sorry I wasn't there", said Linna, regretting,
not for the first time, the greed that kept her at the stock market while
her friends went out to fight.  If she had been there, she could have
helped.  If she had made more time, she could have trained Nene more.  If-
	"Enough", said Sylia, as her hands without the gloves came to rest
on Linna's shoulders, once again the calm leader of the Knight Sabers, "It
wasn't your fault and there was nothing you could do about it even if you
were there.  Besides, Nene will survive with no major damage."
	Linna looked up at the calm visage of Sylia, only vaguely hearing
her words, hope stirring within.  "Really?"
	Sylia nodded.  "Yes. There will be some scarring, but Nene should
be fine."  (Not that I know _how_), she thought to herself mentally.
	Linna brightened, before she saw the bloody fragments of armor,
the tiny pieces of white and pink matter floating in the pool of blood
along with the fragments of bone.  "But..."
	Sylia gave a small smile she did not truly feel, "Trust me."
	Linna gave a small smile full of fragile hope in return.
	"Where is Priss?", wondered Sylia.
	"Oh, she went to calm Mackie down", explained Linna, looking at
Nene, "He was a little mad."


*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	Mackie was mad.  Temporarily insane with grief and anger at Nene
being hurt. Priss could tell that as she descended the stairs, the thuds
and screams muffled by the walls, but within easy hearing range.  There
seemed to be nothing left to break, all she could hear was the sound of
blows and Mackie throwing himself at the walls.  Even for someone
grief-stricken, Priss now realized that Mackie was worse than she had
thought.  A vague apprehensiveness filled her as she walked down to the
door the room.
	The metal door had been warped outward from some blow on the
inside, one upper hinge loose from it's moorings at the wall.  The inside
locking mechanism had broken off, apparantly from the force of the blows.
It looked more like the work of a boomer-
	-Boomer.  Mackie.  A connection?-
	Carefully, she opened the door, allowing the light to fall in the
darkened room, the lights already shattered.  The room was in complete
dissarray.  Blood splattered some of the walls, cuts and stains marring
the paint in other places.  There were numerous holes in the plaster,
fragments of glass imbedded in the plaster, wreckage strewn about the
floor.  And something on the floor moved.  Priss gaze an audible gasp.
	Mackie seemed to unwind from the floor as he stood to his full
height, blood smearing his wounded hands, dried blood caking his face.  It
was an odd combination in truth, his face appearing to be wearing a
cracking mask, his fists wet with inky liquid.  His eyes turned to stare
at her, eyes and face burning with a hunger and rage-
	-Mackie looked at the punks, his expression pure anger and rage-
	She caught herself as the powerful memory assailed her from
nowhere.  Mackie seemed content to stare at her, his body trembling.
	"It's OK Mackie",  Priss called to him within the depths of the
room.  She had no real idea why she was doing this, other than the fact
that Mackie seemed so innocent and vulnerable, yet sexy and hand- NO! She
was doing this for Nene.  Yes, that was why.
	Mackie continued to stare at her, only a vague understanding in
those animalistic eyes, watching her like a wolf might watch a curious
rabbit in front of him.
	She took a step forward, arms open at her side, her voice as
soothing as she could make it, her skill in singing coming in her favor.
"Mackie, calm down. It's OK;  Nene will be fine.  You trust me, don't
you?"
	Mackie scuttled back a few shuffling steps, his rational mind
struggling to regain control from the Beast ruling him.  He recognized
Priss dimly, and his addled brain tried to get as far from her as
possible.  The Hunger was burning strong within him, driving him to take
the nubile woman in front of him, her blood as warm as her scent.
	(Mackie must care for Nene deeply), Priss thought, very moved.  It
was rare you found a guy like Mackie.  She had to help him.  "Come here
Mackie, it's alright", she said, like one might to a reluctant dog.
	Priss was startled at the speed at which Mackie darted forward to
embrace her.  His arms were strong, tight around her arms as he buried his
face in her neck.
	Mackie felt his actions decided as he lunged forward, arms pinning
her arms at her sides, face and teeth going for the throat.  With a flash
of realization, he managed to control his instincts, ignoring the arterie
that pulsed tantilizingly close, within centimeters of his mouth.
	Priss was startled, but soon recovered, her arms going up to give
Mackie a crude hug.  She patted his back, realizing he was probably going
to cry, saying, "There, there.  It's alright, go ahead."
	At that misconstrued encouragement, what little control Mackie had
vanished as his nose brushed back her long hair, his fangs extended fully,
plunging into the artery, and he drank deeply at the fountain of crimson
life that gushed forth.
	Priss felt a sharp and cold pain as the fangs entered her (the
little prick had bitten her!), but this disappeared as one of the most
intense pleasures she had ever felt crashed through her body, leaving her
speechless and gasping.  Had she not known any better, she would have
thought she was experiencing one the longest and most mind-blowing orgasms
she had ever known.  Her entire body ached from the delicious passion, her
right leg rising over his left leg, her arms grabbing his well muscled 
back as she clutched him and ground her sensitive body against him.
	Given the warm and vibrant woman pressed against him, moaning in
him ear as the blood gushed into his throat, Mackie managed to get enough
self control through an incedible act of will to act sensibly.  (Always
remain in control, always!), his mentor shouted in the sudden silence of
his mind.  Realizing what he was doing to one of his friends, someone he
thought of as a sister to a certain extent, Mackie felt self-loathing
along with the silky taste and pleasure of her blood.  His tongue
carressed the puncture wound in her neck, sealing it, and he drew back
enough to allow Priss to regain control.
	Priss took a number of deep breaths as the intense pleasure she
felt seemed to vanish suddenly, leaving her empty.  She fought against the
urge to throw herself at Mackie again, to feel the pleasure once.  It was
like an addict coming off of a high, or like sex; you found youself
wanting more and a more intense sensation next time.  She looked at Mackie
with new eyes, taking into scope his attractive appearance that she had
never noticed.  He made her feel unusual, like with Sylvie-
	-a 33S boomer, right?-
	She shook her head at another intense memory flashback.  Mackie 
was looking at her hungrily, panting, and that made her feel very good and
a little wicked for some reason. She struggled to get a hold of herself, a
grip on what was going on.
	Mackie also struggled for control, castigating his Beast into
submission, chaining it down with his self control.  With only a slight
effort, he restrained the urge to feed and dropped the Presence he had
instinctively brought up around himself.
	Priss was still in a fair amount of shock after what had happened.
To be sure, she was an emotional person, but never had she experienced
such incredible feelings from a simple kiss, albeit a rough one.  It made
her wonder what it would be like-.  No.  Mackie needed help, and Nene too.
They needed each other.  "Mackie, are you alright now?  Relax, don't
worry; Nene should be fine."
	Mackie had started to calm under Priss's soothing voice, the Beast
rumbling into silence, before she mentioned Nene, and called back the
images.  Scenes of Nene, covered in blood, hurt, calling to him, him not
being there.  With a savage roar the Beast broke free.
	Priss saw that at first her words were having an effect, until she
mentioned Nene (BAKA!) and that feral look returned to his eyes.  He
stared at her with hunger and malice for a brief second, before he gained
control and turned to the wall.  With a howl of rage, he plunged his fist
into the wall, through the plaster, into the innards of the wall, blood
staining the wall from where he had struck, leaking down the pristine
whiteness.
	Mackie felt the explosive pain in his hand as bones broke and his
flesh lacerated.  But it was worth it, as the pain allowed him to ignore
the urge to jump Priss, and the Beast from jumping him.  Carelessly, he 
removed his hand, ignoring the further blood the action drew, using his
vitae to heal the damage.
	"Here", said Priss, as she craddled his wounded hand in her two
calloused ones.  Mackie looked down at her as she withdrew a large
handkerchief from somewhere, and began to wipe the blood from his hand,
soaking the cloth crimson quickly.
	"Damn", she said and, using her teeth and hand, began to tear the
bloody rag into thin strips, which she used to bandage his injured hand as
best as possible.  Quickly, Mackie had a bandaged hand.
	Mackie thought it best to say nothing as she continued her work,
watching silently.  His blood had already sealed the wounds and healed the
fractured metacarpals.
	Priss felt proud as she viewed her handiwork.  To be sure, it had
only been a simple task.  But she felt alive, better than OK, some kind of
maternal instinct long suppresed rising up.  She smiled widely at Mackie,
a sort of warm rush filling her, different from the pleasure experienced
earlier.  She had helped someone, and she felt great about it.  More than
great, terrific in fact.  She felt like she immortal, possessed of
superhuman power.  With a playful note in her voice, she asked, "You OK
now, Mackie?"  She felt _alive_!
	Mackie chuckled slightly, feeling aweful, guility exhausted
at the same time.  "Yeah, I'm OK", he replied.  Looking about ruefully at
the demolished room, he realized it would be a total write-off.  After
rummaging about, looking for some way to clean it up, he gave up, and
sighed, loosely holding a table leg in one hand and a piece of a chair in
the other.  With one hand, he scratched his cheek and chin, feeling the
dried blood flake off.  "Geez, what a mess."
	For Priss, the world seemed to stop as she saw the hand holding
the table leg reach up to scratch his head.  Held by his face.  Something
about that.  Yes, something.
	Somewhere within Priss's mind, something snapped in silence. She
remembered _something_.
	-Two young punks, harrassing her, one carrying a bat-
	No, that was it, not quite, and she felt something fighting her as
she tried to remember.
	-Mackie, his eyes lit with anger and animal fury as he raised the
captured bat up beside his face-
	That was it!  Priss threw her mental reserves into remembering-
	-The bat exploded into splinters as Mackie's fist clenched-
	Then she remembered.
	Everything.
	She stood dumbly as she remembered that Mackie was a 33-S
boomeroid.  That would explain it though.  Why the kiss was so good, why
she found herself wanting Mackie so badly.  Still, these thoughts were
like cotton in her head as she gloried in the power she felt.  There would
be time for this later.  The truth would come out.
	With a goofy smile on her face as she felt happy and powerful
beyond belief, she said, "Let the _other_ boomers clean it up.  Let's go
check on Nene, OK?"
	With a nod, Mackie dropped what he was holding, and they both
stopped to clean themselves up before heading upstairs.



*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*



	It was several hours later, and Nene was finally rousing from her
drug induced slumber.  She hesitantly opened her eyes, finding the vision
in her right eye obscured, unable to see.  She blinked at the lights
around, they seemed so bright.  She seemed to be laying on a bed of some
sort, her back slightly raised.  She was in some kind of light gown, the
covers very soft and warm.  She felt great!
	"Nene, can you hear me fine?", asked the crystal clear voice of
Sylia.
	Nene thought about that for a moment, before answering "Yes."  She
seemed to have her head wrapped in bandages, as well as her arm.  At her
answer, she heard several sounds of happiness.  She felt happy too.  She
felt wonderful.
	Nene sat up in the bed, clad only in a simple blue two piece
medical gown, her head and part of her arm wrapped in light blue sterile
bandages.  Reaching up with a hesitant hand, she rubbed the bandages,
noting with some shock that part of her hair had been shaved off.
	A pair of hands captured Nene's hands and moved them to her lap.
She looked over, squinting at Sylia's vague face.  Of course, the boomer!
She had been hurt, hurt badly.  How bad?
	"Its alright Nene, the damage was minor.  There may be a headache
and some difficulty thinking clearly for a while.  As you can see, your
eye is covered;  it should make a full recovery in no time.  You are going
to be OK", said Sylia with a smile.
	Nene smiled back hesitantly, taking a second to stretch briefly,
the joints cracking briefly before she saw her vision dim as she faded
out, starting to fall back.
	"Easy Nene, easy!',  admonished Sylia, "you've lost quite a bit of
blood; take it slow and easy."
	Nene carefully sat up, gratefully taking the cookies and juice
Sylia offered.  Despite the dizziness, she felt fine.  Better than fine.
Remembering back to what had happened, the pain and faintness, she smiled
as she remembered what Mackie had said.  He could still be hers.  Like she
had told Priss, she had her amazing brain and good look-
	She dropped the pouch of juice, reaching up to touch the bandages,
before turning to Sylia, looking up at her with watering eyes.
	Sylia sighed.  "There will be scarring Nene;  I'm sorry.  The
damage is actually rather minor, you can barely tell." (Not that I know
how), she thought to herself sourly.
	Nene thought about her face slashed and scarred and she almost
broke down.  (A girls face is her most important treasure), she remembered
Naoko saying.  She felt so good, why did this have happen?
	The doors opened to the room that was adjecent to the infirmary,
and Mackie and the rest of Knight Sabers came in.  Priss and Linna
immediately began to apologize and try to cheer her up.  Nene tried to
answer as best she could their questions, still feeling aweful, when she
felt a man's hand grasp her own and give a squeeze.
	Looking up, she saw love in Mackie's eyes, along with the pain he
felt at her being injured.  The others seemed to fade away as she looked
at him.  She felt good, all thoughts of sorrow vanishing.  She was sure
Mackie would love her no matter what she looked like.  With a smile in
return, she turned to what the others were saying.
	Mackie looked up at his sister, still holding Nene's hand, a
questioning look apon his face.
	Sylia smiled minutely, nodded, and mouthed "She should be just
fine."
	Priss, Linna, and Nene continued to chat, while Mackie gave what
moral support he could, and Sylia continued to check up on Nene.  This
entire process took nearly a half an hour, and Mackie was already feeling
a little tired at being on his feet for so long.
	"No", said Nene firmly, "we'll have dinner tonight."
	Noting the stern note in her voice, Mackie turned his attention to
what Nene and the others were saying.
	"Nene, come on, you're in no shape for this",  argued Linna.
	"Yeah, you need your rest and all that",  said Priss, "take it
from a pro;  when you get hurt, you should take it easy and rest."
	Nene shook her head from side to side, her pert nose and mouth in
a way that Mackie thought was exceedingly cute.  Well then, he thought all
of Nene was cute.  "I wanna have the dinner."  Joining actions with words,
she took a hesitant step forward, off the bed.
	Priss and Linna immediately tried to get her on the bed again,
acquising swiftly to Nene's demands.
	"What?", wondered Mackie outloud.
	Priss, Linna, and Sylia looked at each other and sighed, while
Nene refused to look at him at all, blushing faintly.  Linna spoke up in a
serious voice, "It is my honor to inform you, Mackie Stingray, that you
are cordially invited to dine with the Knight Sabers Organization this
evening."  She finished with a wink.
	Mackie bowed back with a courtly flourish.  "I would be honored."
	Nene flushed a little more.



*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*



	It was thus that Mackie found himself sitting in a formal suit,
with a pile of presents beside him, an elaborate feast spread out before
him.  Impressive and delicious looking, all probably intended to show him
the lengths and efforts they had gone to.  Unfortuntely, it also was an
effort wasted, as he could no longer eat.
	None-the-less, he drew upon his mentor's knowledge of how to fake
eating, the subtle tricks of disposing of food, storing food in the mouth
to spit out later, dissecting a meal so that it looked at least a little
eaten.  He remembered all the little tricks, like when he dined at the
court of Ferdinand and Isabella, when he ate amongst the best the citizens
of Italy could provide for the Medici and their guest;  all this and more,
he remembered.
	It was an odd dichotomy; in one sense he was sitting at this table
eating with his friends, while in another sense, he kept seeing overlays
across his sense, his eyes viewing places long dust, his ears hearing
sounds now silent forever, tastes never experienced calling to him as
those linked to him aided him, filling his mind with their memories, their
thoughts, which he drew upon to succeed in his task.  At least, he hoped
he was succeeding.
	They made some small talk at the dinner, keeping away from
delicate topics such as Nene's wounding and his 'accident'.  All of the
women seated around him were dressed very well;  Pris dressed somewhat
formally in a nice bouse, overcoat and slacks, Linna dressed in her
business suit, while Sylia dressed in that black skirt, pearl necklace,
overcoat, and purple top that left her midrift bare, the same one she had
worn during the Largo affair.  But Nene outdid them in splendor, at least
in his eyes, the white dress she wore gave her an appearance of innocence
marred only by the bandage that still covered part of her face and her
right eye.  She would occasionaly look up and smile at them as they would
eat.  Mackie smiled back every time, as it was obvious Nene had put a lot
of effort into making this a special occasion.
	(Humph), thought one of his clan, (cloying, simple, and nauceous.
Why are you wasting our time here?)
	Mackie resisted the urge to close his eyes, instead let the anger
spread and diffuse within himself before answering, (That is my affair,
Rosa.  I agreed to do your dirty work and help you; now you help me).
	He felt a sense of argument as they confered, at least the two
others who were actively in the link at the time.  The argument ended
after a short time, the knowledge flowing into him, as he felt the
invasive presences withdraw.  Mackie smiled slightly; he did not need to
look to know the arcane runes on his body no longer glowed.  Tonight, he
did not want his clan there.  This was a special night, one where he could
be human, could enjoy the company of his friends.  As they said in the
Sabbat: 'Enjoy this night, lest you not wake for the next'.  Some wisdom
came from those animals.
	Taking that advice, Mackie got up from the dinner table, set with
the fine linen table cloth, and before the curious looks of the Knight
Sabers, withdrew the presents that he had hidden for this moment.
Silently, ignoring their questions and polite refusals of the gifts, he
handed them out, enjoying the rapt looks as they tore into the wrapping
paper. There was a slight shiver of fear that they would not like their
presents, but it was overwhelmed by the knowledge that they were his
friends, and would appreciate whatever he had given them.
	It was something mortals never really understood about vampires,
about the strange symbiosis that existed between the two races.  It was
rather simple, actually.  Humans walked about, ignorant in the gift they
had, and that made vampires jealous.  That little, simple, miraculous
gift.
	Life.
	It showed in everything, even their most despicable acts.  The
life, the harmonious energy that flowed between the byplay of mortals, the
give and take that gave their lives meaning.
	But vampires could only take, never give.  Cut off from that loop,
it made them bitter creatures indeed.  And thus Prestation arose, and the
sick Jyhad that held all undead in it's clutches.
	Yet here among friends, Mackie felt he was giving, not taking, and
that gave him a satisfaction nearly as pleasurable as the consumption of
blood.  It made him feel alive.
	Priss was the first to open her present, and the guitar case made
the contents of the present rather obvious.  Opening the battered black
leather guitar case, she reverantly removed the hand polished wooden
instrument, still in near perfect shape despite the years it had
weathered.  Priss examined it carefully before strumming it lightly,
wincing at the poor tuning, her attention completely on the instrument in
her hands.
	Linna and Sylia opened their presents next, simultaneously as it
were.  Linna gasped as the extravagent clothes, made by some of the finest
stylist in Europe, were drawn from the collection of boxes he had given
her.  He only hoped she didn't ask how he had gotten her au naturalle
measurements; those tapes had come in handy for things other than lonely
nights.
	Sylia's gift was one only the siblings could probably understand.
The paintings were marked contrasts, the post-Renaissance Flemish and
Danish Realist paintings were beautiful in their attention to detail, like
his sister herself, while the pastels of Monet in their attention to
nature matched the inner soul of his sister.  The others finished
examining their gifts, looked towards Mackie, noticed his intent stare,
and then turned toward the object.
	Nene sat crying, staring at the object nestled in the fine silk
before her, reading over and over again the card she held limply in her
left hand.
	"Nene", the others all asked, Sylia shooting a glance towards her
brother, sharply questioning.
	Mackie ignored her, staring intently at Nene, wondering if he had
overplayed his affections.  It had worried him greatly.  Of course, that 
was a question any man asked; and there was the answer that any woman
liked to feel appreciated.
	Priss and Linna were starting to get up from their seats.  Would
Nene like the gift?  It was a trifle extravagant, to be sure, something
not even he, with all his contacts, could have ever acquired.  It had been
a gift from his mysterious 'grand-sire', who had given it with a smile and
suggestion.  Mackie did not understand why or how he had known of his
feelings for Nene, but he had long ago stopped trying to understand why he
received so much affection and patronage from the ancient Lasombra.
	"Nene, whats wrong?" asked a concerned Linna, reaching out a hand
to Nene.
	Nene shook her head, and smiled, brilliantly like the sun as she
held up her gift from Mackie.
	Loud gasp sprang from around the room, even Sylia was shocked, as
the light refracted from the necklace, the myriad colors of the rubies,
emeralds, and diamonds that studded the necklace shedding opulent light
around the room.  It was truly a work of art, commishinned by and for
Tzarina Catherine, lost long to mortal eyes.  Though only his sister
probably recognized it, she undoubtably thought it a copy, though Mackie
knew it to be genuine.  The gasp faded to a long sigh as the women gazed
at the necklace Nene placed swiftly around her neck, the jeweled piece
laying heavily against her chest.
	Mackie didn't give a shit about the priceless artifact;  a more
valuable object sat across the room, a more precious glitter than
gemstones shined in her teary eyes as she looked straight into his soul
and those lips uttered soundlessly and slightly the words, "I love you",
as she clutched the card tightly in her hand, bringing it up to her cheek,
letting it caress it like he wanted so badly to do with his hands.
	He knew what was on the card; he had written it, after all.  He
had dreamed Nene would take those words to heart, words spoken from his
soul.  He lost himself in her emerald eyes as she gazed into his own, the
card falling from her fingers.  Mackie felt on top of the world, even as
he felt the urge to cry tears of joy.
	Linna grasped the fallen card, picking it up to read it before
passing it to Sylia.  Linna couldn't help it; it was one of the most
romantic gestures she had seen.  The card read:  "To Nene, my heart, I
give this triffle to shine paltry beside the beauty that you are, my love.
-Forever yours, Mackie".
	It was perhaps convinient that at that moment a 'ding' sounded
from the kitchen.
	"Ah, the dinner pastries, I forgot all about them!" exclaimed
Sylia, "the wine as well."
	Linna and Priss immediately leaped to their feet, but were beaten
by an even faster Mackie as he raced toward the kitchen, blushing
furiously.  The other KS turned their attention and smiles to Nene, who
watched the fleeing Mackie with a small, content smile on her lips.



*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*



	Mackie wanted to flee, wanted to dance, wanted to leap, wanted to
cry!  This day and night were wonderful, perfect beyond his dreams!  Nene
love him, loved his gift.  Nene loved him!  He had to stop the shiver that
shook his frame as he went into the kitchen, as much to regain his
composure as to retrieve the food.  Everything was perfect, the gifts went
great, none of them realized he was a vampire, Nene was healing fine, not
even seriously hurt-
	(That is because she a ghoul), a voice stated clearly and
distinctly in his mind.
	Mackie stopped stock still, an icy hand grabbing his guts as once
more he felt the magical bond chill his body, like a careful blowing of
icy chilled air moving slowly down his spine while the feeling of an
intense head cold grabbed him.
	"What?", he said, shakily.  Never, never had the bond felt like 
this.  The voice had sounded so clear, right in his ear, the sensations of
the magic near crippling in their intensity.  With a shudder, he held up
his arms, neon green eldritch fire carving runes on his body, the glow 
showing clear through the shirt he wore.  His earlier eubuliance vanished
like the sun on a cloudy day.
	(I said, your love Nene is a ghoul, that is why she still lives),
the voice spoke again, clear and feminine.
	At first the meaning of the words did not penetrate the shock he
felt at the intrusion into his self.  When they did, he nearly screamed in
rage at the presumption of the being. (LIAR!  I would have sensed she was
a ghoul, I would-)
	The voice calmly cut him off.  (I am not lying Mackie Stingray,
and I do not intend to harm you with this knowledge, merely make you
aware), said Green.
	Mackie snorted mentally, (Yeah right.  And how did she become a
ghoul, hmmm?)
	The voice of Green was silent for a time, and Mackie felt
confident in his logic when the voice spoke again.  (Like this.)
	Mackie felt a pressure at the temples of his head as he clutched
it, remembering-
	-she was hurt, yet still so beautiful to him.  It was without
hesitation that he uttered the words, "I love you Nene, now and forever".
He could not stop the tears as he saw his love dying before him.  He saw
those eyes that could not see well flinch as the blood tears fell, running
down her cheeks, her nose, her lips which raggedly opened to breathe-
	Mackie slammed back against the refridgirator as he clutched his
head.  (No, it's a LIE, it has to be a LIE!!)  He could never do that to
Nene, turn her into a ghoul, Blood Bond her into a slave-
	(But then at least she would be yours forever), whispered a little
voice that he recognized as his own.
	(Shut UP!), he told it, even as the thought flashed through his
mind briefly, before he crushed it ruthlessly.
	Green still waited patiently, and he asked tiredly, (What do you
want?)
	The answer surprised him, (Nothing you do not want.)
	His head jerked up, (What?)  No Lasombra would ever say that.
	(That is because I am not Lasombra.  I am one of the two who are
not of your clan, who share the link.  My purpose is my own, I admit
freely, and I do have my own agendas, BUT), there was a pause, (I will
not force you to do anything you do not want.  I desire friendship with
you, Mackie Stingray.  I offer my advice and support in the trying times
ahead).
	Mackie snorted, (What's the catch?)
	(No catch, except you keep an open mind to any proposals I might
have.  Here, I offer another piece of knowledge, of a deed you were 
unwittingly tricked by your clan into commiting.  *Remember*)
	Mackie felt the pounding at his skull again as he was cast back to
when-
	-he felt her smooth and warm hands take his, warm from the blood,
oh the sweet blood, the sweetest blood.  The rage still swirled heavily,
permeating his thoughts, as she used the handkerchief to staunch the flow
of blood, before grabbing with one hand, and with teeth- the blood on the
handkerchief! -and her hand, started to tear the cloth into strips-
	Oh, God.  No, he couldn't have.  Not Priss too.  Killing others
was one thing, manipulating others for Sabbat or Black Hand was fine but
not his unnofficial family. Not them.
	(Though it did help), nagged the small voice again, (making them
stronger than any human, with enhanced endurance and strength.  Plus, they
would be far better off under his control with the Blood Bond, as he knew
far more about the true nature of the world-)
	Mackie squashed that thought, before turning his attention to
Green.  (What do you want?)
	An audible sigh could be heard, (You do not seem to understand.
We will speak later, when you are more aware of events around you.  Though
you do not realize it, have not been *realized* yet, you are one whom fate
has chosen.  Your star has not yet blossomed into it's full fire.  True,
there are dozens more like you, but you are special, your fire unique.
There are others who would seek to stop it or burn it out.  I offer this
knowledge freely, along with my own admittance that I would like you to
join my faction).
	(Faction?),  Mackie asked, not believing any of this, (Faction for
what?)
	(Why, the fate of the world, of course.  We will speak later.
Prepare yourself for what is to come.)  With that, the voice and coldness
faded from mind, along with the green illumination of his body.
	Fate, eh? Hah! Mackie knew better than believe such nonsense.
Forced to make them ghouls?  An accident, that was all, though very
conventient and benign.  In a month, a lunar cycle, they would be fine.
The idea that he could be manipulated like that was preposterous; it
wasn't how the link worked.  His kin could only suggest and give, never
force.
	He would get back in there and enjoy the party.  Worry about it
later.  Though it may be the others he would be worrying about.  Though
less about Priss and Nene, now that they were ghouls.  There were
advantages to ghouldom.
	With a hesitant glance, he looked at the fine red wine.  Wine was
an ideal vehicle for the transference of vitae, as it was rather difficult
for a mortal to note the difference of the potency of vitae in the potent
beverage.  He remembered having done it a thousand times, and mortals
never seemed the wiser.
	Yes, the wine would be the best medium.  It would only take a few
drops-
	(What am I thinking!), thought Mackie, (I could never do that to
Priss or Nene.)
	(But you already have), whispered the tiny voice, growing
stronger, (and look at the results!  Nene is alive because of you; she
should have been a vegetable!  A Priss, she will be better because of
this.)
	(NO, I simply CAN NO-)
	(No, you can not not do this!  Think of them;  they could die
without this.)
	His head felt odd, like it was stuffed with cotton, (but the
Bond-)
	(-Takes three drinks.  All you need is one to keep them for a
month.)
	Damn, he felt- *weird*.  He wiped a glowing hand across the
non-existent sweat on his forehead.  It made sense.  Hell, it made more
than good sense; it was perfect!
	(And besides), whispered the near silent voice, (the Bond is
always an option, should they prove intractable.)
	Mackie raised a trembling hand to the wine bottle.  There was no
fear of a bond; it took an entire days rest for before the next step could
occur, and thus they could all use some vitae.  Why was that little voice
screaming in the back of his head?
	His fangs pierced his flesh, where purple, red, yellow, and blue
sigils and patterns traced themselves out beneath the dermal layer.
Several drops of his vitae fell into the opened bottle; that would be more
than enough.  He was of the seventh Generation, after all.
	Grabbing the bread and wine, he walked into the dining room, never
noticing his shadows, dim to unnoticeability as they frantically tried to
smash the glowing signs that held their Shadowfriend captive from their
own warnings.



*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*



	Mackie walked in with the wine and bread, wearing an odd smile on
his face as the others looked at him, murmurring thanks for the gifts he
had brought for them.  They did not know the even greater gift he was
about to give them.  He smiled at them all, careful not to look as they
sipped the wine, toying with the food before him.  It was easy to tell
when the ghouling occur.
	Each woman seemed to shiver slightly as the blood of Caine flowed
through their mortal frames, giving dark power and unholy strength to
them.  Almost immediately, they began to speak, much more animated.
	"Shit, this wine is fine!" exclaimed Priss, revelling in the
sensations she was feeling again.  'Course, she knew the hangover from the
wine would be a bitch, but hey, she felt great right now, so who cared.
She leaned back, grinning, shooting a glance at Mackie, who was smiling in
return as he lowered a glass from his lips.  Damn he looked good, even if
it was only because he was a 33-S boomeroid.  Her eyes narrowed as she
wondered how far the modifications had gone.
	Nene and Linna giggled as they nodded, sipping some more of the
potent beverage.  Nene carressed her necklace as she said, "Yeah! Where
did you get this Sylia?"
	Sylia grinned back, an unfamiliar feeling at best, yet she could
not seem to stop as she answered Nene's question, ignoring IT's comments
as she took another sip of the wine.  "Only Genom's best microbrewed,
genetically tailored yeast vector-5C, with breathing organic crystal
bottle and synthcork!", she finished with a grin.
	Priss laughed, saying, "Genom, eh?  Let's hope we all don't get
poisoned by this then, OK?"
	It wasn't the best of jokes, but they all found it funny, even
Mackie, though his head seemed to be made of wool.
	Nene giggled a little, "Yeah, you heard about the new boomer
GS-403 space labor boomer?  The one that keeps miscalculating simple
equations?  The one that has the AI developed by the Entil Corporation.
You know why they have the Genom logo on them?  A warning label for the
lack of Entil-igence inside!", and Nene nearly fell over, laughing at the
pseudo-hacker humor.
	They all laughed, as Priss cut in, "Yeah, I'm sure *Mackie* can
tell us all about boomers.  After, being a 33-S is the best of both
worlds, eh Mackie?"  She continued laughing a little, more than slightly
drunk before she realized the silence in the room, and what she had said.
	The glass in Mackie's hand broke as he stared at the Knight
Sabers, seeing the hesitation and fear in their eyes.  His gaze fell on
Nene, and even she flinched slightly when he looked in her eyes.  Mackie
felt like crying;  if she felt revulsion thinking he was a machine, how
could she ever love him as a vampire.  The tears were forming.  Why Priss;
why so cruel?
	Another voice spoke from deep within him.  Stupid fucking bitch,
she should keep her mouth shut like a good dog.  Satan take that damn
human weakling blood bag, interfering in his affairs.  He should drain her
dry, wrack every bone in her body until she begged-
	Mackie controlled the frenzy that threatened, his body moving
without consultation as he stood up, fury and hurt marring his face, and
he stormed off, careless of the shadows that appeared, trying to counsol
him in his grief.
	Somewhere in the back of his mind, the tiny voices spoke and
confered.
	(Perhaps a Blood Bond will be necessary, after all.)



*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*



	Linna rounded on Priss, furious, "Priss, what the hell were you
thinking?  Are you trying to be stupid, or what?"  She stood, hands on
hip, glaring down at the brown-haired singer.
	Priss stared speechless her own hands, as shocked as the others.
She had no idea why she had said that.  She hadn't wanted to.  Rather, she
had wanted to get somewhere private and ask Mackie about it.  Why had she
said that?  She hadn't even realized what she had said, it had seemed like
someone else speaking with her voice.  She hadn't wanted to ruin
everything.
	Linna grabbed Priss and hoisted her up with surprising strength.
"Dammit Priss, say something", she growled out.  Anger burned in her
beyond control.
	Priss felt like shaking, a side effect from her brush with
disaster when she had confronted Mackie as he raged about.  But her inborn
stubborness showed itself, as she backhanded Linna's arm away from her
shirt, which the blue-eyed former dancer craddled, apparantly in pain.
"Say something, huh?  How about you say something about what he's been
doin' for nearly a year.  Disappearen' and all that.  Explain that!"
	Though her words were a brave front, spoken with anger, deep
inside, all Priss really wanted to do was crawl up into a ball in some
deep, dark corner and hide.  She hurt so much.  She didn't want to harm
anyone.
	Linna, her face flushed with fury and sweat to the point were vein
stood out, idly crushed one of forks in her other hand into a twisted
mass.  "Listen you, you..."  Rage choked any further words.
	Nene sat crying, looking down at her plate.  It was just so sad.
She didn't know why; it was just so sad.  And so she cried.
	"*Enough*!", spoke a voice so cold as to make liquid helium solid
ice.  Sylia drew herself impressive frame tall, every centimeter radiating
the arctic frigidness of her ice queen persona.  She looked them all
carefully in the eye, before continuing, "No matter what the case
may be, Mackie is my _brother_. I will not have him treated like this.
You are all free to stay or go, only leave my family alone for a time."
	And with that, she strode imperiously out of the room, leaving the
other three guiltily sober, wondering what was really going on.



*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*



	She found him where she thought she might, at the top "patio" of
the building, looking out at the midnight sky.  The windows's were open,
and at this height, the neon lights on the streets below provided a gentle
nimbus that seemed to eminate from the base of the windows.  He stood
looking out at the sky, at the star that were veil from sight by the smog.
For no particular reason, she remembered how he used to comment on how
small humans were,  small and insignificant besides the vastness of the
universe.  She spoke.
	"Something is wrong."
	No, everything is wrong, thought Mackie.  He had been aware of her
entrance from the first.  He could hear the sound of the soles of her
shoes whisking against the carpet, smell the faint fragrance of her that
he knew so well.  Yes, something was wrong.  But were had it all gone
wrong?  He knew not.  Everything had started so perfect, so well.  Now he
found them ghouls, no doubt straining their emotional control as his
inhuman vitae took them on an emotional roller-coaster, the unholy power
twisting them.  Light, why had it gone wrong?
	"We swore never to keep secrets from one another, Mackie",  she
said, "don't you remember?"
	Yes he remembered, remembered that promise like so many others,
like his promise not to steal, not to hurt, not kill... so many promises,
so much he had lost.
	"I need you to trust in me.  I trust you.  What happen in Sweden
that night, Mackie?"
	What happened that night?  That night of pain, of feeling the life
slowly drain away from the body in agony, seeing the light at the end of
the tunnel before being snatched back to this cursed world.  Having to
undergo all that pain?  "You don't want to know Sis."
	"I do Mackie, I do.  You're my only remaining family, and I love
you very much.  If there is anything I can do, I want to help."
	The simple, emotionally true plea tugged at his heart, yet he kept
his back to her, comfortable in the embrace of the shadows.  He sighed, "I
don't want to involve any of you; it just turned out that way.  I don't
want any of you hurt."  There, he had said it.
	She was right behind now, so close he could feel the warm air of
her alcohol-scented breath on his neck.  "We are a family Mackie, we trust
and help one another."  Taking a deep breath, she said, "I know you had
something to do with why Nene lives and no longer ages, why that incident
happened at the table, why even now I feel an uncertainty and my emotions
rage to of control.  I know it is because of you, or something you have
done.  But I do not mind; I want to help you.  Tell me what happened."
	He tried to stop her words, but it was useless.  "I d-didn't mean
to.  It j-just happ-pened that waay."  Damn he was shivering.  Why?
	"I know Mackie-chan, you always tried your best, in everything",
Sylia said, as she placed a hand on his shoulder.
	That simple touch brought back a host of memories.  Him, as a
child, crying over their father, when his sister reached out a comforting
hand. Him, frustrated with his lack of success playing the piano,
his sister reaching out to calm his anger.  Him, supporting his sister
with a silent physical gesture that spoke beyond mere words.
	He felt his throat go tight with emotion, even as the formula
faded, the magic dissappearing as quickly as the warmth it had created in
his body, dying like the false pulse that had moved his sluggish blood.
	His skin felt cold to her, though she could feel him trembling him
emotion.  Just a little more, and she would know, then she could help him,
"Mackie, I need some sign you trust me as much as I trust you.  Please?"
She pleaded with him as she gently turned him around to face her.
	He looked into his sister's eyes, ignoring the small voice that
warned that the potion had worn off, that he was now revealed as his true
self.  She wanted a sign, one of his secrets.  He could not tell her, not
the Truth, as even a little would cause too many problems.  Not even his
greatest secret, that he was-
	Mackie felt colder than ever, a glacier of ice as he felt the
intrusions again, this time commanding.  No, this couldn'be, he could not
remember *that*;  that which he had asked his memory be erased from, so he
could not tell anyone, not even *think* it.  Not his greatest secret,
hidden in the shadows of his innermost self!
	Mackie's shivering became a violent shaking as he lurched forward,
his arms wrapping around her in a tight embrace.  No, he could not tell
her that.  Not that.  Not that secret which could get her and him and all
who knew killed.  He could NOT TELL HER THAT!
	Sylia felt his arms around her, shivering in the chilly air of the
room, so cold it had even made her brother's skin cold as ice.  She heard
a faint sob as he croaked out in a whisper, "I am-"
	NO! He could not tell her this!  She would be curious, try to find
out, she would die they would all die! (PLEASE!), he begged those who
manipulated him through the link, (DON'T DO THIS!  I BEG YOU, PLEASE!!!)
	There seemed to be a purple and green glow in the room, noted
Sylia absently, as she listened intently for what Mackie was about to say.
A passing ad blimp most likely, showing it's garish neon message.
	Mackie could feel the magic, more like slave-chains, calling to
him.  These were not his clan; these forces were too strong, forcing him
to do this horrible thing.  His chance at even fleeting happiness would be
ruined.  (PLEASE, I BEG YOU, STOP IT!).  The magic flared strongly, as did
his Shadowfriends who came to futilly attempt to protect him. "I am...",
he repeated.
	Sylia realized she must be having one of her delusions, as the
room now glowed a bright purple and green, and her brother seemed as cold
as a corpse.  She was used to this; she merely tried to wait it out,
paying attention to what Mackie was trying to say.
	(STOP IT!!!!),  shrieked Mackie,  (ENOUGH! DON'T DO THIS TO MEEE!!
STOP ITTTTT!!! PLEASE!!!! STOP I-) and with that, Mackie's mind and will
cracked and shattered before the attack.  Some small ember of defiance
called out (i can't tell her this, it will mean death for them and a fate
even worse than death for me.  please, stop ittt). "I'm..."
	Finally succumbing, Mackie whispered his most precious, one-word  
secret into the ear of his sister, before fleeing the room.
	Sylia turned to look after him, a schocked and puzzled look on her
face.  She knew he no doubt considered it important, for she had felt the
emotion and struggle to reveal it to her, understood even in her 
hallucination.  She knew it to be important, dreadfully so.  But the only
problem was-
	(But the only problem), Sylia thought mentally to herself, (is 
the question of what the word "antitribu" means?!?)



*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*




	At the Junction Airport of MegaTokyo, another plane landed, once
again carrying an undead cargo.
	Kurenai Tusuba sighed as he watched the thinner, but still busy
midnight crowds move about, repressing the urge to yawn.  It was still
early in his shift but damn was it boring.  (Nothing every happens now),
he thought, (unlike when I was a youth).  He was still good-looking, and
no one-
	Then he saw Beauty.
	A being akin to the divine stepped down the corridor, and everyone
stopped in shock to watch, not that Tusuba noticed.  His eyes were drawn
only to the being that stepped forward.  She had to be royalty, that
perfect poise.  Had to be a she, for no man could ever be that beautiful,
not even.
	One poor young flight attendant had the misfortune of being in the
path of the stranger.  She stood rooted to the spot, staring with eyes
that seemed to grow larger as the stranger approached.
	The stranger was Caucasian, with skin that was the purest
alabaster, hair the color of spun honey and gold like the earrings that
hung in both earlobes.  The eyes were large, one blue, the other green,
and they twinkled with a graticious merriment as those sensuous lips
pulled back from perfect teeth, in the slightest hint of a smile.
	The girl felt awe beyond awe as she stared at that mortal
perfection clad in blue jeans, loose white T-shirt, and black leather
jacket.  She almost nose-bleeded when she saw the smile; then the voice
that was so enchanting it sent shivers down the backs of all who hear,
"Excuse me."
	The girl became like a top, bowing repeated as she backed away
from the stranger.
	A horde of the usual media personnel who hung out at airports came
forward, cameras clicking and flashing, some inborn instinct recognizing
the grace inherint in this person.
	The stranger seemed to sigh as one arm was raised, pointing, and
all of those observing turned to see what the stranger pointed at.
	In this time, Tusuba gathered his courage to the point where he
approached the stranger, tongue-tied, yet respectful, "You might want to
get out of here before the paparratzi swarm you, ma'am."
	The stranger smiled at him, a slight smile that made the entire
day seem better to Tusuba, before inclining his head.  As Tusuba turned
his head to look, he heard that delicious voice whisper in his ear, "I'm a
man."
	When he turned back, to look, like the others, he found the
stranger gone.




*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*



	Just outside the airport, in the dim shadows of a side entrance
for workers, the stranger stepped forth, shaking his head.  Taking a few
experimental breaths of the air, keeping his senses aware.  He *had* to
keep aware; he was in enemy territory now.  Like everywhere he went.
Especially where the Sabbat was.  The Sabbat and Black Hand did not care
much for traitors, should they learn he still lived.
	But an even greater worry drove him on, fear.  He had to make him
understand, the youngest of his children, why he had done what he had to
him.
	Thus Erik Svenson, Lasombra antitribu, 6th generation, cast his
thoughts to the MegaTokyo night,
	(Mackie, my childe, where are you?)



End, Part 5



	Well, what did you think?  Hopefully, you enjoyed it.  Like
everything I write, this didn't seem to come together.  Ah, well.
	This is a little different than the original draft.  Some people,
when I showed them the original draft, did not like Nene as a disfigured,
catatonic vegetable.  So I changed that, as I did not wanted the hordes of
Nene fans sending my E-mail account into the Infernal Realms.
	That said, I also changed a few other things.  Thanks to those who  
pre-read earlier drafts and those who helped with comments and ideas.
They are always appreciated!
	Part 6 will be out much later; I have a lot of stuff to do,
unfortunately.  But fear not (or be afraid, whichever you prefer), I will
finish part 6.... uh, sometime.  Yeah, thats the ticket.



About the attachments:


	The attachments on this file (I hope I did it right!) are not
really a part of the story, just some humorous spam.  They are intended
for WoD and VTM fans, though anybody may get a kick out of them.  

*Ahem*

And now, for your reading pleasure, garnished from the Web and such other 
notable sourcebooks as Clanbook: Goth, Tribebook: Yelk, The Paradox Spirit
Traditionbook, the ever popular Kithbook: Munchkin, and the ever helpful
autobiography of Samuel Haight: My Life as an Ashtray, come these helpful
tools and information:


*vhanted.txt*:  Ever wanted to know the _true_ origin of vampires, the
Antediluvians, and Caine?  Now you can!


*vhelder.txt*:  Want to know the secrets of the Malkavians?  Want to know
how to avoid embarassing Prestation?  Then take a look at the Malkavian
Elder Avoidance Form (TM)!  Guaranteed to work.


*vhgehena.txt*:  The truth of Gehena.  Honest. (snicker).


*vhkindgt.txt*:  Like muppet babies.  The Antediluvians as children, being
graded by their teacher.


*vhquiz.txt*:  What's wrong little Lick?  Confused?  Don't be.  This
personality quiz will determine what kind of a vampire you really are.



***Note:  These were acquired from various websites.  No infringement is 
intended.  I did not write these.***


And since several people requested character stats, here are the stats for
Erik Svenson, Mackie's sire:



Name:  		Erik Svenson
Nature:		Architect
Demeanor:  	Varies
Sire: 		Unknown 7th generation
Generation:  	6th (raised from 8th through five diableries)
Clan:  		Lasombra antitribu
Born:		Just before 1800?
RIP:  		Just after 1800?
Appearance:  	Inhumanly beautiful; blond hair, white skin, one blue eye,
		one green.


Physical		Social			Mental

Strength:  ****		Charisma:     ****	Perception:   *****
Dexterity: ***		Manipulation: *****	Intelligence: ***
Stamina:   ***** *	Appearance:   ***** *	Wits:	      ***** *


Talents			Skills			Knowledge

Acting 	   ***** *	Drive      *		Bureaucracy   *
Alertness  *****	Etiquette  *****	Computers     *
Athletics  **		Firearms   ***		Investigation ****
Brawl 	   ***		Melee 	   ***		Linguistics   ***** *
Dodge 	   ***		Music      **		Occult 	      ***
Empathy    **		Security   **		Politics      **
Intimidate ***		Stealth    ***		Science       *
Leadership ***	 	Survival   *		Black Hand Knowledge ***
Streetwise **		Blind Fight***		Camarilla Lore***
Subterfuge ****		Torture    **		Lasombra Lore ****
			Crafts (Silversmith)	Sabbat Lore   ****
				   ***


Backgrounds

Generation 		*****
Allies			**
Alternate Identity	***
Black Hand Membership	(defunct- formerly **)
Contacts		****
Influence		**
Resources		****
Sabbat Status		(defunct- formerly ****- Sabbat hero)


Disciplines

Dominate	***
Obtenebration	***** *
Potence 	****
Auspex		**
Celerity	***
Dementation	***
Fortitude	****
Presence 	*****
Quietus 	**


*Note:  Erik's Level Six Obtenebration has been taken twice, granting him
two powers.  First is Shadow Eyes, enabling him to see in any darkness
clearly, no matter what the origin.  The other is Shadow Step, which
enables him to step into a shadow and exit another some distance away.


Multi-discipline Powers

Dark Steel
Armor of Darkness
Shadow Lance


Merits and Flaws

Unbondable
Calm Heart
Enchanting Voice
Acute Sense of Smell and Hearing
Natural Leader
Dark Secret (Lasombra ant.)
Dark Secret (Diabolist)
Dark Secret (Diablerized Inconnu member)
Vulnerable to Silver
Enemy (Lasombra Archbishop)
Driving Goal (Reestablish the Lasombra antitribu as the true Lasombra)
Compulsion (Hypochondriac)


Derangements

Obsession: Shadows


Virtues


Callousness 	***
Self-Control	*****
Courage		*****


Path of Harmony ***** ***


Willpower	***** *****


Blood Pool	30/6




Background:	Erik Svenson, like many people put through the Creation
Rites, lost significant portions of his memories as a mortal.
	Erik Svenson's first, indistinct, memories were the boat that took
him from his old home in Europe to his new home in America.  Though only a
child, he remembered the trip was dangerous and the new home was something
of a powder keg, the newly formed Republic of the United States just
having been created.  He remembered the strange fear in why his family
left.  That is all.
	The next memories came as a young man, working as a silversmith's
apprentice.  Even then, admist the turmoil of the new country, he was
happy.  He spent his off hours in a local theater troupe.  His parents,
hardworking, had a farm and house of their own, the family wealth brought
over from Europe making them important members of the community.  He even
received an elementary college education.  All that changed though.
	The Sabbat had begun the first stage of their Great Exodus into
the Americas, and a local pack felt the need to expand and decided to
embrace some locals.  Unlucky Erik found himself knocked unconcious and
dragged him away.
	He awoke to find his captors arguing in a room adjecent to his.
Apparantly, a frenzied "Gangrel" had torn apart the other "applicants".
Confused, uncomprehending, he was about to shout, when a figure appeared
before him.
	The man, a Spaniard, wove a fantastic tale of vampires, Sabbat,
and a "Camarilla".  He explained his proposition; he would Embrace the
youth, if he would in turn act as a spy for his kind.  Then, just as
suddenly, he dissappeared.
	Thoroughly confused and frightened, Eric found himself taken to a
graveyard, were two other confused mortals stood.  As he saw the fresh
graves, he consigned himself to death.  But it was more than death, as he
saw the strangers grow fangs and begin to drain the others.  Remembering
what the stranger had said, he realized the truth.
	As he was being drained, he saw the Spaniard appear again,
unnoticed by the others.  As the darkness took him, he looked the Spaniard
in the eye, and with the last of his strength leaving him, nodded.  As he
lay dying, he felt a warm liquid in his throat call him back, as a whisper
in his ear said, "You are the true Lasombra, now called the antitribu.
Never forget who you are, always remember you are one of the elite, the
true masters of all!"
	Then the chalice of blood the Sabbat had all contributed was
passed about, and Erik felt the blood invigorate him, before a shovel
knocked him unconcious again.
	Full of blood, he did not panic, even six feet under.  He
carefully and calmly tore himself free.  The other Sabbat, who watched in
awe as a completely rational Erik tore free of the Earth, calmly asked
what was going on, before killing the Brujah who tried to club him with a
shovel.  This was seen as a sign of greatness by the Sabbat, and Erik
quickly became a True Sabbat.
	But his heart was filled with rage against the Sabbat, as he
learned his parents had conveniantly died, giving him access to his
inheritance.  He would have conspired against the Sabbat, even if he had
not been asked.
	Erik never heard from his mysterious sire again.  He discovered he
was immune to Blood Bonds and the Viniculum, and his skillful acting,
quick wits, and silver tongue kept that secret.  His calm heart and
self-control enabled him to hide the disgust he felt for the Sabbat, and
retain a small part of his humanity.  Deep inside, he plotted his 
vengenance.
	His star rose in the Sabbat over the years.  He joined the Black
Hand, becoming a prestigious and famous.  He was the subject of the famous
Sabbat ballad "The War of Two Shadows", when he single-handedly fought a
Shadow Lord Ahroun (though Erik is quick to wryly point out that if swung
his fists that many times, his arms would have fallen off, and if they
both bled that much, they would have been fighting in a lake).
None-the-less, he found himself being pushed towards becoming a bishop by
his "clan".  He accepted, and for a brief time, he tried to make a
difference, joining with the moderates who sought to introduce
responsibility into the freedom of the Sabbat.  Realizing it hopeless, he
decided to leave.
	Erik was a True Sabbat, a hero, and a diabolist, so he knew that
dissappearing would simply not work.  So he had a rival fleshcrafted to
his appearance, killed the fleshcrafter, and faked his death using his
rival.  Many Sabbat mourned the loss of their great hero.  Erik mourned
only that he would be leaving his only two friends admist the Black Hand,
a female Assamite antitribu lover and a Tremere antitribu buddy.  Even
today, he suspects they knew him to sill be undead, and is silently
grateful for their love and friendship.
	His war against the Sabbat started slowly and quietly.  He
diablerized a priscus, fed information to the Camarilla, and even embraced
a childer.  But the Camarilla only disgusted him.  He turned to the
Lasombra antitribu, his near-forgotten heritage.  And there he found his
true calling.
	Admist the scattered antitribu of the Lasombra, he found a new
calling.  He would organize them, make them into a power strong enough
that they no longer needed to hide.  He learned ancient Lasombra lore,
forgotten powers, and grew great in power.
	During this time though, he always felt like he was being watched.
He sired a number of childer, and continued to learn.
	Then the dark times of the turn of the millenia came, the rise of
the Conclave, the fragmenting of the Sabbat.  He had to watch as his
beloved childer died, ripped to shreds by the Conclave vampires and their
Garou allies.  And within himself, he felt his blood changing, the madness
of the Malkavians and of the others he had diablerized coming to infect
him.
	Erik Svenson, hero of the Sabbat, envoy of the Lasombra antitribu,
had become a shadow of his former glory.  He thought of creating progeny,
but the old pain was too great.  He thought of the Lasombra antitribu
proposal of joining the Conclave, but he could not stomach allying with
the murders of his children.  It was a cold evening in Stockholm as he
walked down the street, when he heard the thud and scream, and smelled
blood.
	As he rushed forward, curious, he saw a truck speed away, and a
mortal laying dying upon the ground, in the early snow.  He felt to see if
the mortal lived, or if he would have a late night snack, when he saw the
face of Mackie Stingray, one of those whom he had considered for the
Embrace.  An idea germinating in his mind, he Embraced the young man,
bringing him to his associate, a Caitiff thaumaturgist.  There, they
conceived a plan.
	They would recreate what they had happened to him, make Mackie an
infiltrater into the Sabbat, like he himself had been, using a ritual the
Caitiff woman had designed to feed power into a subject.  He approached
his kin, and after much discussion, agreed to this new idea.
	They set up everything perfect, Erik using old favors called in to
make it work.  But he still worried about his young childe, unwilling to
let the fledgling go, burning with shame at the secret wrong he had done
to the boy, and thus decided to go MegaTokyo to look after the boy.


Roleplaying hints:  You were once great and it still shows.  You have
power, presence, and all should recognize this.  But it is the shadows
that call to you.  Sometimes you even imagine they talk to you.  You are
going mad, you know this.  But you still want to leave something behind.
Thus, you worry for your clan, worry for your youngest childer.  You feel
far older than your 200+ years.  Look everyone directly in the eyes.  Stay
near the shadows.  Unlife is a great stage of shadows, one you dance very
well apon.



***Note:  This character sheet is not complete (will be in the revised
edition- I don't have the books on hand).  Multi-discipline powers are
found in Vampire: The Dark Ages.***

Date: Tue, 2 Nov 93 23:32:12 -0800

From: Colin Smith <csmith@gucis.cit.gu.edu.au>

To: Multiple recipients of list <vampire-l@wizards.com>

Subject: The Caine-d files 





	I was very inspired my TToner's work on the Caine files; so much so

that I'm actually putting them into my chronicle as clues to the identity of

"The Progenitor."  Caine file #5 especially peaked my interest, since (sorry

if I'm spoiling this for anyone) the author consults Nietzsche on human

views on the need for a legend such as Caine.  Neitzsche theorizes that the

members of the alleged 3rd Generation completely fabricated the Caine legend.

On this premise, I proudly present something that my group and I concocted

late last night at the local Subway.



	Amazing how things like this only come out at night ...



-----------



<shuffling and muttering sounds>



VENTRUE:	Okay, guys, sit down.  I suppose you're wondering why I've

		called you all here.



TOREADOR:	I should think so.  I have an engagement in two hours that I

		simply MUST attend, and I don't want to be late.



VENTRUE:	Yeah, yeah.  Order.  <banging noise>  Well, I don't know about

		you guys, but my Progeny have been asking some rather ...

		embarassing questions, and I--



MALKAV:		Just tell them that when a Mummy and a Daddy love each other

		very much--



VENTRUE:	Shut up, Malkav.  Anyway, they want to know where we come from,

		why, how, the whole bit.  I think it's time we had an answer

		for them.



<silence>



BRUJAH:		Well, what are you asking us for?  WE don't fucking know.



SAULOT:		LANGUAGE!



BRUJAH:		Sorry.



VENTRUE:	What about you, Ralph?  You seem to have your nose in every-

		thing.



NOSFERATU:	No, I am ... no longer called "Ralph."  From this day forward,

		you shall call me: "Nosferatu."



<silence>



RAVNOS:		I dunno, man.  Ralph suits you.



NOSFERATU:	No!  I REFUSE to be stuck with that name.



VENTRUE:	Leave him alone Ravnos.



TOREADOR:	Actually, while we're on the subject ...



VENTRUE:	What is it now?



TOREADOR:	I have taken the pseudonym "Toreador."



<more silence>



HASSAM:		You've never even SEEN a bull, let alone fight one, Norman.



TOREADOR:	LEAVE ME ALONE !!!



RAVNOS:		I was gonna say something about "full of ..."  Oh, never mind.



VENTRUE:	SHALL we get back to business?



LASOMBRA:	I think "Nosferatu" sounds cool actually, Ralph.



NOSFERATU:	And it's a lot easier to say when you can't retract your fangs.



VENTRUE:	GENTLEMEN!



<silence>



VENTRUE:	Okay, any ideas?



TZIMISCE:	Uh ...



VENTRUE:	Yes, Tzimisce?



TZIMISCE:	Yas.  Do you think it vaz a disease, perrrhaps?



SAULOT:		Nnnnnnno ... I don't think so.  I'd know about it by now if it

		was.



MALKAV:		Ooo!  Ooo!  I've got an idea!



VENTRUE:	<groan>  What?



MALKAV:		Ooo!  Ooo!  We're ALL ... aliens!  Yeah!  From the planet ...

		Yuggoth!



BRUJAH:		Malkav?



MALKAV:		Yeah?



BRUJAH:		Drop dead.



<silence>



MALKAV:		Ain't it just TOO BAD you don't have Dominate?



BRUJAH:		REAL men don't NEED Dominate!



<thud>



MALKAV:		Owww!



RAVNOS:		Okay, I've got it.



VENTRUE:	Yes?



RAVNOS:		They're not REALLY vampires, they just THINK they are.



VENTRUE:	Hmmm ... not bad ... but then the dumb ones will try to prove

		you wrong by taking a sunbake.



LASOMBRA:	SO?  Weeds out the stupid ones, less of a population problem,

		less nosey Progeny asking silly questions.



TOREADOR:	Lasombra, you are perverted.



LASOMBRA:	Hey, am I my brother's keeper?



TZIMISCE:	He has a valid point, frrriend.



TOREADOR:	Sickening creatures.



<sniggering>



SAULOT:		Brother's keeper ... hey!  That reminds me!  You know those

		guys who wear the funny tea towels on their heads--



HASSAM:		WATCH it, three-eyes.



SAULOT:		Sorry.  Anyway, they have this old story about this one guy who

		kills his brother and gets cursed, see ...



SUTEKH:		Cursssed, you sssay?  Hmmm ... I like it!



NOSFERATU:	Yeah, but if YOU say it, no-one will believe it.



TREMERE:	I know!  We did it by magick!



<silence>



BRUJAH:		Who the hell are you?



TREMERE:	Oh.  Tremere, Arrogant Scheming Mage at your service!



SAULOT:		Hang on, you're not supposed to be here until A.D. 1314!



TREMERE:	So?  I'm an Oracle of Time.  I'll be when I want.



VENTRUE:	A mortal, eh?  Hey, Tremere!



TREMERE:	Yeah?



VENTRUE:	GET OUT.



TREMERE:	Sure.  <slam>  <muffled>  Damn.  Must learn how to do that.



VENTRUE:	Now, we might be onto something with this "curse" business.  We

		haven't heard from Gangrel yet, and we need a female opinion

		at this juncture.  What do you think, Gangrel?



<silence>



VENTRUE:	Gangrel?



<more silence>



VENTRUE:	Anybody seen Gangrel?



RAVNOS:		Errr, actually, we've had a bit of a disagreement ...



MALKAV:		Awww, doesn't Mummy wuv you any more?



RAVNOS:		Suck off.



MALKAV:		DOES she do it doggy-style?



<biff>



RAVNOS:		Thank you, Brujah.



BRUJAH:		No prob, bro.



VENTRUE:	Okay, so what gives with this curse thing?



SAULOT:		Well, they say that the first two sons of the first man had to

		give offerings to God.  The first brother gave plants and

		stuff, and the second brother gave animal blood.



ALL:		Yeah!  Alright!  Sounds great!  Cool!



SAULOT:		So the older one -- Cain, I think -- killed Abel, the younger

		one, and was cursed by God for the very first murder.



HASSAM:		Innovative man, this Cain.



SUTEKH:		Ssso, we're dessscended from a psssychopathic greengrocccer.

		How about we're dessscended from the MURDERED one, ssso that

		we are the CHOSSSEN of God, the INHERITORSSS of DIVINE POWER,

		the--



MALKAV:		You REALLY have a God complex, don't you Sutekh?  Tell me

		about your mother.  Did she lock you in a cupboard?  Or--



<biff>



BRUJAH:		Final warning, kook.



VENTRUE:	Sutekh, please, stop standing on your chair.



TREMERE:	I like the "cursed by God" thing, actually.



VENTRUE:	How did YOU get in here?



TREMERE:	Correspondence.  Don't you know ANYTHING?  Hey, Saulot!



SAULOT:		Yeah?



TREMERE:	I JUST worked out where I've seen you before.  Could I have a

		word with you outside?  It won't take more than five minutes.

		Promise.



SAULOT:		Sure.  You seem like a decent enough fellow.



<slam>



LASOMBRA:	Wonder what he wants ... anyway ...



TOREADOR:	I think I prefer the older brother.  He's a charming, regal

		figure who diligently sacrifices for his Lord, but is consumed

		by jealousy into a desperate act -- which he regrets later, of

		course -- but TOO LATE to avoid the harsh judgment of an

		UNCARING God, and is DOOMED to wander the earth, OUTCAST from

		his fellow man!  Oh, the horror!  Oh, the HUMANITY!  Oh, the

		ANGST!



BRUJAH:		What's an "angst"?



SUTEKH:		Oh, it'sss a kind of a crossss, but with a loopy bit on top.

		My guysss love 'em.



BRUJAH:		Oh.  <pause>  I don't get it ...



TOREADOR:	Philistines.



<scream from outside>



TZIMISCE:	Vat the hell vas that?



NOSFERATU:	Sounded like Saulot.  HEY!  YOU GUYS SHUT UP OUT THERE!



<door opens>



TREMERE:	Oh, sorry, uhhh ... Saulot says to say that, uhhh, he ... had

		to leave -- real quick, like ... uhhh, but he was REAL happy

		about it, and, uhhh, he was glad he caught up with you guys

		again.



NOSFERATU:	Is it me, or does he look kinda pale?



VENTRUE:	Who cares?  Getting back to this curse thing ...



LASOMBRA:	So, are we his direct Progeny, then?  'Cos if so, how come we

		don't know where he is now?



MALKAV:		Errr, he made us, then ran away.  Really fast.



RAVNOS:		No, no, no, he made some OTHER guys first, and then THEY made

		US ...



TOREADOR:	And he repented of The Horror He Had Unleashed Upon The Earth!

		And banished himself from the sight of ALL!



MALKAV:		AND ran away really fast.



TOREADOR:	If you must.



VENTRUE:	But how come we're all so different?



TOREADOR:	The Curse works in Mysterious Ways ...



NOSFERATU:	Yeah!  I used to be the most handsome man in the world ...



RAVNOS:		Yeah, right.



LASOMBRA:	And I had a reflection!



BRUJAH:		Can I have been a philosopher?



RAVNOS:		And Toreador used to have taste ...



MALKAV:		And I used to be insane!



<silence>



VENTRUE:	I think we might be pushing our luck here.



SUTEKH:		Any BETTER ideasss?



VENTRUE:	Well, let's put it to a vote, then.  Magick?



TREMERE:	Aye.



VENTRUE:	That's one.



<silence>



VENTRUE:	Okay, aliens from the planet Yuggoth?



MALKAV:		Twenty-three.



VENTRUE:	Your multiple personalities don't count, Malkav.



MALKAV:		Awww ...



VENTRUE:	The chosen son of God?  ... Sutekh, Lasombra, Tzimisce.  Any

		others?



HASSAM:		Aye.



VENTRUE:	Okay, that's four.  Cursed children of a psychopathic green-

		grocer?  ... That's four, plus myself, five.



<groans>



LASOMBRA:	Swinging the vote, you black-balling bureaucrat!



VENTRUE:	If you don't like it, go and form your OWN group.



LASOMBRA:	Maybe I will.



VENTRUE:	Okay, then, I charge all of you to disperse this data to your

		Progeny, and I'll have MY people send out memos in triplicate

		to YOUR people before the start of the next fiscal year.

		Meeting adjourned!  <banging noise, general muttering and

		shuffling>  Drinks anyone?



MALKAV:		I think Tremere just ate.  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaahhhh ...



TZIMISCE:	Vy did you throw him out ze window, Bruhah?



BRUJAH:		I dunno, man, just something I had to do ... <sulking> none of

		you understand me, anyway ...



HASSAM:		<whispered>  Hey, Tremere!



TREMERE:	What?



HASSAM:		Saulot -- you did him in, didn't you?  You snuffed him.  Sucked

		him dry.



TREMERE:	Uhhh ... yeah, I did.



<silence>



HASSAM:		What's it like?



			--- FIN ---



-------------------



Copyright (c) Colin Smith, Sean Halligan, Wayne Jennings, Leonard King

11/1993

<html><head><title>Clan Malkavian - Elder Avoidance Form</title></head>
<body>
<center><img src="../../../art/grytexbr.gif">
<h1>UNIVERSAL ELDER AVOIDANCE FORM</h1>
<strong>(The next best thing to going Anarch!)<br>
        by Fredrickson Barlowe</strong>
<img src="../../../art/grytexbr.gif"></center><p>
        Dear: [] Prince  [] Elder  []Ancillae  [] Keeper of Elysium<br>
              [] Justicar  [] Knight Templar  [] Harpy  [] Whip
<p>
<b>I am avoiding you because you are:<br></b>
        []Brujah and very angry<br>
        []Gangrel and very barbaric<br>
        []Nosferatu and very ugly<br>
        []Malkavian and very crazy<br>
        []Toreador and very spacey<br>
        []Tremere and very creepy<br>
        []Ventrue and very picky<br>
        []Caitiff and a BASTARD!<br>
        []A Sabbat spy<br>
        []A 00 series spy<br>
        []Creepy<br>
        []Scary<br>
        []Dressed in a Barney suit<br>
        []A Mime<br>
        []Overbearing<br>
        []Overarmed<br>
        []Nosy<br>
        []Looking under my Aura<br>
        []500 years smarter<br>
        []500 years dumber<br>
        []500 years of Halitosis<br>
        []Ugly<br>
        []Hideous<br>
        []Monstrous<br>
        []Tammy Faye Baker<br>
        []Little, yellow, different<br>
        []Ignoring the Traditions<br>
        []Ignoring the (Prince's) Traditions<br>
        []Ignoring your Traditions<br>
        []Jyhaddish<br>
        []Using Conditioning<br>
        []Using Majesty<br>
        []Hitting me<br>
        []Trying to Blood Bond me<br>
        []Trying to Dilaberize me<br>
        []Trying to Cross-Dress me<br>
        []Evil<br>
        []Very Evil<br>
        []Nothing BUT Evil!<br>
        []Stupid<br>
        []Full of Shit<br>
        []FUCKING NUTS!!!
<p>
<b>Thus, I would appreciate it if you would:<br></b>
        []Let me be<br>
        []Leave me alone<br>
        []Mind your own business<br>
        []Drink a cup of sulfuric acid<br>
        []Treat me with respect<br>
        []Not kill me<br>
        []Stop inviting me for a drink<br>
        []Demanding "Prestation or your life"<br>
        []Let me lick your boots<br>
        []Let me slurp your vitae<br>
        []Sic your Clan on someone else<br>
        []Lay off the Disciplines<br>
        []Get off my Ghoul<br>
        []Go after the Anarchs<br>
        []Leave your Ego at home<br>
        []Lego my Ego<br>
        []Bite me<br>
        []Love me<br>
        []Love your brother<br>
        []Love your sister<br>
        []Tolerate your lesser<br>
        []Stop telling me about the "good old days"<br>
        []Stop Dominating me<br>
        []Stop proving how superior you are<br>
        []"Eating my leftovers"<br>
        []Stand still while I hit you<br>
        []Stop dogging me<br>
        []Stop watching me<br>
        []Stop telling me "How peckish" you are<br>
        []Ignore the Tradition<br>
        []Ignore the Prince<br>
        []Ignore this form
<p>
        <b>YOU MAY NOW EAT THIS FORM.</b>
<p><center><img src="../../../art/grytexbr.gif"></center>
</body></html>

                                  'Twas the Eve of Gehenna



                                    



     'Twas the eve of Gehenna, and all through the Sabbat,



Not a creature was stirring, not even a rabbit.



     Our right to bear arms was not to deprive



For fear that Antedeluvians might soon arrive.



     Jalan with his sword and me with my gun



Had really no idea the war had already begun.



     When suddenly outside there came such a noise



That everyone got in a battle-ready-like poise.



     Then what, of all things, came before us should arise,



But a lady, darn cute, but she had but three eyes.



     The lady, Salubri, warned of impending fate,



But as we tried listening it was already too late.



     We looked to the sky as Salubri aren't liers



And lo! What we found were thirteen vampires!



     The first, Nosferatu, had sent Baba Yaga



To advance him and reduce our numbers down to nada.



     The vampire himself did raise such a stink



That it made it impossible for any of us to think.



     The second, from Brujah, we could not mistake,



For a trail of fallen cities had lied in his wake.



     As for his intentions he left many hints;



Like when he successfully swallowed whole our good Prince!



     The next one came Ventrue, we'd hoped he'd realize



The dangerous threat the other posed to our lives.



     But alas, he could not deny the beast of his nature,



And commanded as though this was all his legislature!



     A wolf we then heard, just ahead, in those trees!



Jalan-Aajav looked, but soon fell to his knees.



     Confused, we shouted: "What is it? Do tell!"



"Not a wolf," he said bleeding, "just the Lord of Gangrel."



     Recoiling in terror we fled for our lives



Hoping to avoid those primordial drives.



     We hid in the Museum of Vampires, but Jake



said: "Lo! Toreador stands in the place of his fake!"



     So on with our running, no safe haven did we have.



When who should show up? That's right! Malkav!



     "Gehenna's not real", he said, "it's true!



"It's a prank I thought up; the joke is on you!"



     Believe him we didn't, so we fled to a place



Where ne're we'd be found; gone without a trace.



     It was then that the strangest encounter occurred,



Jalan-Aajav's voice! It was that that we'd heard!



     "Jalan!" I said, "We heard you! You're dead!"



"T'was only a Lupine, I cut off it's head."



     Elated we were, but we weren't to rejoice,



For we were then discovered, and believe me, not by choice!







     Surrounded we were by the Third Generation



Confronted again with our own expiration.



     "We're actors, you see?", Malkav's words rang true,



For as each doffed their masks, the disciplines dropped too.



     Relieved, they invited us to a party that night.



We invited our friends and told stories of our fright.



     And then in the middle of making some toasts



We found ourselves dead at the fangs of our hosts.



     And Malkav's last toast before he went for a bite:



"Good Gehenna to all, and to all a good night!"







		Murdok I. Addams



		Primogen



		Clan Malkavian



		Edmonton, ab.ca

report card time

assamite - does not play well with others.

baali - rarely seen, but has a bad attitude towards teachers and students 
alike.

brujah - plays very well with others... others toys, others money, others 
friends, others..... still have to figure out how he got that gun.

caitiff - recently added to the class. the others have not yet gotten a 
chance to know him. (and they act like they don't want to)

daughter of cacophany - song time a+ excemplary student. prone to wild 
screaming tantrums. 

gangrel - always playing outdoors. in fact, it's darn hard to get him back 
inside after playtime.

giovanni - keeps asking "when do we get to dissect frogs?". i've tried to
explain that she has to finish 8 more years before that and she just
sulked.

lasombra - strangest kid i've ever seen.... he's already got a five 
o'clock shadow.....was not here on school photo day despite protestations 
otherwise.
 
malkav - nice quiet child and yet all the other children don't seem to 
like him. they think he's plotting against them all. i'd be prone not to 
believe it but i've seen some of the notes he's been passing... in sumerian.

nosferatu - strange child that has unfortunate disability, yet always 
ready to help the teacher with information on who's been doing what.

ravnos - i'm not sure of this one..... keeps being in two places at once 
and never seems to run out of lunch money, especially when the others 
have had theirs go missing.

toreador - top of the class in finger painting.(best you can say about 
him really)

tzim-tzire - has since developed an attitude problem and started picking on 
the others and hanging out with young lasombra.

tremere - caring thoughtful child... always the first one there to help 
when one of the others is injured in any way.

salubri - one of the first children tremere helped.... actually, i haven't 
seen her lately.

setite - the lisp is a bit disconcerting, as well as the eyes, and seems 
more interested in distracting the others with his "goodiesssssss" then 
doing any actual work. 

samedi -  truly revolting child. if he doesn't stop blowing milk bubbles 
out of his nose.....

ventrue - model student. always a pleasure to have in the class room and 
well spoken and then forget you were told to write this.


the fiend
when will nap time end?

=============================================== 

                 Vampire: The Masquerade
                         Character Quiz
              by Shaun Greenwald (a.k.a. DwightFrye)
 
 
 1. You come to a city for the first time and you:
   a. present yourself to the Prince.
   b. present yourself to your clan elders.
   c. present yourself to the nearest attractive person.
   d. present yourself to the sheep.
   e. present a stake to the heart of an important elder.
 
 2. A hunter corners you in an alley-way, so you:
   a. fight for your life.
   b. make effective use of disciplines to avoid confrontation.
   c. attempt to seduce them if the gender is correct for you.
   d. Introduce the hunter to the business end of your 
      cheese-grater.
   e. frenzy and kinda get renaissance on the hunter's ass.
 
 3. Lupines are out to kill you, specifically you. You resolve 
    this by:
   a. getting assistance from your fellow Camarilla members to
      eliminate them.
   b. getting your fellow Camarilla members to eliminate them.
   c. catching them with their pants down and taking it from there.
   d. threatening them with Naire.
   e. getting your pals/pack together and declaring all-out war on 
      the lupines.
 
 4. A bloodhunt is called on you and you decide to:
   a. run.
   b. mysteriously disappear until they call it off.
   c. seduce Camarilla leaders to call it off.
   d. siege the Prince's house...with catapults.
   e. say "Big fucking deal" and throw a party with alot of fights 
      in celebration.
 
 5. "Are you the Prince?"
   a. No.
   b. Not yet.
   c. Hmmm...(demon-lover smile) that all depends...
   d. That geek? No. But I kinda know him. He's a bit angry with me 
      right now because I force-fed his ghouls starch and released 
      a bengal tiger in his favorite theatre box a few months ago.
   e. I'm gonna kill him.
 
 6. Your preferred blood-type is:
   a. human, of course.
   b. ANYTHING will do...
   c. a lover's.
   d. (in overexaggeratedly snobbish voice) blood...make it 
      something from my "personal" stock. Teehee.
   e. that of an elder...sometimes lupine blood serves a purpose.
 
 7. The Sabbat trie to take over the city you're in and you:
   a. fight them.
   b. fall back just in case they win and retake the city as its 
      hero if they do.
   c. hide sextoys and lovers.
   d. pick up your mallet, yo-yo, dynamite, and a manhole cover. 
      Defend your city.
   e. help them.
 
 8. Lupines are good for:
   a. not much. While they make nice allies, they try to kill us. 
      But the Gangrel seem to like them.
   b. being manipulated into...disposal of unwanted members of 
      Kindred society.
   c. I hear they're great in the sack.
   d. their Ragabash. Some are cool enough that they decide to 
      hang out with us. They just hate it when we show up at 
      their moots. Kinda tried to kill me last time...
   e. rugs.
 
 9. During the last Tremere mind-meld, I:
   a. didn't give a shit.
   b. watched...or maybe even got involved.
   c. got laid.
   d. ran through the ceremony...screaming and naked.
   e. joined the Tzimisce war-party and commenced assault.
 
 10. My sire:
   a. sometimes helps me out.
   b. involves me in his plots, but still gets tangled in mine.
   c. was a great lover.
   d. has this really cool trick. Wanna see? (holds up small box of
      ashes)
   e. killed me, buried me, made me dig my way out of the grave, 
      and clubbed me with a shovel right when I finally got out.
 
 11. Do you carry weapons?
   a. We all need protection, right?
   b. Not usually...I tend to get others to do my dirty-work.
   c. Hehe...wanna see? (wink)
   d. Weapons? WeaPoNS?!? (puts a shotgun to asker's nose) I don't 
      need no steenking weapons!!!
   e. Of course! What are you? An idiot?
 
 12. "I pull down my pants and you ask me 'Can I blow this?'"
   a. What the..? That's sick!
   b. Filthy ingrate...I have no time for your stupid game.
   c. Hmmmmm...hehe...sounds interesting.
   d. "I say 'Yes if you want halitosis!'"
   e. Shutup.
 
 13. You're trapped in a room with a Malkavian. You would:
   a. ignore them.
   b. pretend to ignore them and listen carefully to what they say.
   c. if the gender's right...(CENSORED)
   d. talk. Have fun. Goof off. Invite more Malkavians over for a 
      party.
   e. rend them limb from limb if they annoying.
 
 14. Your philosophy on being a vampire is:
   a. we are beasts struggling to retain humanity...may the beast 
      never succeed.
   b. our new form has many advantages and disadvantages. Use them 
      both.
   c. many people have sexual fantasies about vampires...go with 
      it!
   d. This is COOL! So many people walking the thin line of sanity
      ...I'm ready to shove them off! WOOHOO! And I can even know 
      what's really going on! Thankyou, ThighMaster!
   e. we have become monsters. Why fight it?
 
 15. "When in doubt..."
   a. go with what you know.
   b. manipulate others to confirm the rightness of your decisions.
   c. discuss it with somebody in bed.
   d. SCREAM AND SHOUT! No...wait...listen to No Doubt? AAAARRRRGH!
   e. kill somebody.
 
 16. You find a potion that will temporarily restore mortality, 
     so you:
   a. keep it around...might come in handy sometime.
   b. sell it to the highest bidder.
   c. use it to enhance the sexual experience.
   d. try to trade it for a whoopie cushion, bloody soap, and some 
      fireworks.
   e. force the Prince to take it and kill him while he's weakened.
 
 17. Your most used phrase is something like:
   a. "I see."
   b. "Do not mettle in the affairs of others. You know not what 
      you are doing."
   c. "Heya baby."
   d. "NIKTOBAKADAKAYOMBIYO!"
   e. "Die!"
 
 18. Do you know GWAR?
   a. No. I've been to a concert of theirs once, though.
   b. Certainly not!
   c. I can proudly say I've uhhh...been backstage a few times...
      hehehehe...
   d. "I'm their fukkin' manager!"
   e. I've been to enough of their concerts that I might as well.
 
 19. Midgets
   a. Short people.
   b. People with underactive thyroid glands.
   c. Hmmmmm...hehehehe...(NASTY thoughts! Bad vampire! Bad, bad 
      vampire!)
   d. The next step for the human race! Yes, they lie in wait for 
      us, plottingthe eventual destruction of the planet! They 
      serve the evil barbers! 
   e. Shutup, freak.
 
 20. Do you fear final death?
   a. We all do.
   b. Of course! I will survive at all costs.
   c. You bet! I love my life! I love my love life...
   d. We die?
   e. No.
 
 21. The Justicar accuses you of breaking the Masquerade and you 
     say:
   a. "I'm sorry, but it must be a case of mistaken identity."
   b. "Are you certain? Can you prove it beyond the shadow of a 
      doubt?"
   c. "Well...you don't HAVE to kill me. I can...serve you in 
      certain...ways."
   d. "HEY! The penguin was asking for it! Look at the way it was 
      dressed!"
   e. "Fuck you!"
 
 22. The "authorites" (Police, FBI, etc...)) suspect you're a 
     vampire and you:
   a. isolate the individual reponsible for your discovery and 
      "convince" them they were wrong.
   b. ghoul the leader of the authoritative group.
   c. sleep with the leader of the authoritative group and/or their
      spouse.
   d. lead them on a wild goose-chase and have them end up in the 
      Prince's house...
   e. KILL'EM ALL!!!!
 
 23. You find somebody who you would like to make into a vampire, 
     so you:
   a. ask the Prince for permission first.
   b. embrace them, hide them, and ask the Prince a "hypothetical" 
      question.
   c. embrace them in more ways than one.
   d. club them, drag them off to your cave, drive them insane, 
      THEN embrace them.
   e. embrace a large group of people just to spite the traditions.
 
 24. Your haven is:
   a. a nice apartment or something like that.
   b. expansive yet well-hidden.
   c. equipped with some of the strangest things for sexual 
      purposes.
   d. in your shorts, under your kilt...
   e. a communal one.
  
 25. Gehenna: 
   a. might happen.
   b. is a mindless ploy by our elders to attempt to scare us.
   c. is coming fast, so why not enjoy the last hours?
   d. is Malkav's greatest prannk yet! BRAVO!
   e. must be stopped. Destroy the elders, for they are tools of 
      the antideluvians.
 
 26. Mages are:
   a. scary people.
   b. Useful...too bad we cannot usemuch of the knowledge they give
      us.
   c. interesting...I like the Cult of Ecstasy...they have the 
      right idea.
   d. are chasing their own tails. Denying insanity while defying 
      reality? Unheard of! And they wonder why they're not going 
      anywhere...
   e. not worth bothering with unless they get in my way.
 
 27. My hobbies are:
   a. something to do.
   b. plotting and scheming to gain prestige.
   c. Kind of personal...closed doors kind of stuff(wink).. get it?
   d. None of your damn business! What I do in my spare time with a
      3-man slingshot, a window near the Prince's house, and a 
      porcupine is not your concern!
   e. Killing, destroying...being a vampire is a full time job.
 
 28. The changeling kith you'd probably hang out with would be:
   a. Probably any of them. Nosferatu might like the Sluagh.
   b. The Sidhe know of power...they are worthy.
   c. Satyrs.
   d. Pooka.
   e. Redcaps.
 
 29. You find Caine and you say:
   a. "Caine, great sire of all! How may I assist you?"
   b. "Prove it."
   c. (Male)"You know any really good chicks?"...
      (Female)"Heya Baby."
   d. "Here, hold this," hand Caine a watermelon, "I just KNEW you 
      were running a service station in Hermitage, Missouri!"
   e. "You are Caine? Perhaps you should have a discussion with 
      your grandchilder... they seem to be intent on killing us...
      or I could just kill you."
 
 30. When faced with final death, you will:
   a. yell, scream, fight for your unlife if you can.
   b. beg, plead or weasel your way out if possible.
   c. try to get out or go out in as pleasurable a way as possible.
   d. make-believe it isn't happening...it might just work...
   e. not be afraid, but try to take as many down with you as 
      possible.
 
 
 RESULTS:
      Count up how many of each letter you chose and the one that 
 you chose the most will bear your primary results. Ties mean you
 are split between results and near ties mean that you have 
 leanings to the other results.
 
 a. Your run-of-the-mill Camarilla vampire.
 b. Sneaky, plotting, or even business-like kindred. Probably 
    Ventrue, Tremere, or Giovanni.
 c. You libido is in control. A trait that is displayed by a number
    of Toreador.
 d. Nutcase! You're either a Malkavian or otherwise just plain 
    fucked up!
 e. Either a REALLY violent and rebellious Brujah, or a member of 
    the Sabbat.