***Okay, here we go again!***
Rough Draft 1.5
Phew! Finals were done at last, and thus I returned to the task of
writing fanfiction.
And kept writing.
And the beast you see before you is the result, originally intended to be
100K.
(Sigh).
Sorry this is so late!
First, one big correction for part 6a; it was Able that Caine killed to
become the first murderer, not Seth! (Author smacks forehead; thanks for
pointing that out JD!)
Second, I would like to thank my pre-readers, whose valuable assistence
made this 'fic possible:
The Apprentice
Elsa Bibat
and everyone else who responded and gave encouragement, even if only to
request earlier parts (it shows you had some interest!)
Next, I have decided to point out the cameo references in the last
_posting_ rather than the last _part_. Here they were, in Part 6a:
The two lunatics with swords in Paris that Mackie makes reference to is,
of course, a reference to Highlander, specifically the TV series
(Easy/Med).
Akemi, the red-head who shows Erik Svenson (aka John Smith) the apartment
is from Maison Ikkoku (Easy).
Goro Daimon, the ID that Sylia jacks for net searching, is from King of
Fighters, the video game (Medium-Hard to those not video gamers).
The programming languages and the operating systems are all references to
popular soft drinks; i.e. SVEN-UPP (Seven-Up) and MNT-NDU (Mountain Dew).
(Easy/Medium).
In Mackie's ennumeration of the MegaTokyo Black Hand members, a number of
cameos appeared; they were:
-Freddy, the Nosferatu antitribu, was a reference to Freddy Kruger from
Nightmare on Elm Street; vague and thus (Hard).
-Sawaguchi Kome, the Brujah antitribu, is from Blue Seed (Easy/Med).
-Pirotess is from Record of the Lodoss Wars (Easy).
-The annoying Toreador antitribu was Chibi-Usa from Sailor Moon; dead and
good riddance, BWUHAHAHAHAHA..., um, sorry. Dreams interfering with
reality again (Easy).
-Anavelle Gato, the vampire supremicist who was killed by gangers, is
from Mobile Suit Gundam 0083: Stardust Memory (Med).
And lastly, in case you didn't know, Rene's personality of Cornholio is
from that venue of the inteligensia of America's youth, Beavis and
Butthead (Easy).
That's all for now, though I do have a serious question for the readers;
do you feel the cameo appearances are detracting from the overall feel and
flow of this fanfiction? Any input is appreciated!
For those who have missed the earlier parts of Night Sabers, you can
either E-mail me at curtiss@seattleu.edu or stop by Jusenkyo Guide's
Fanfic page, which has been gracious enough to post the earlier parts.
Stop by; the address is www.geocities.com/Tokyo/6549 and Night Sabers is
in the BGC section, along with a multitude of other excellent 'fics!
The obligatory cautionary notification of miminal age requirement into
this purview of creative expression called fiction: The material found
herein is of a more mature and serious nature, thus is not suitable for
those most blessed by the innocence and exhuberance of more tender years.
The discourse and open allusions may be inappropriate for people meeting
any of the above criteria. In more simple speech, those under 18 years of
age, or those who could not find at least two grammatical errors in the
above text, should READ NO FURTHER! Thank you for your time.
Hey, I'm not kidding here! It is DARK!
And [Lime] means adult themes! You have been warned!
Here for your reading enjoyment (hopefully) is Part 6B of Night Sabers:
The water slushed by in a thick, turgid wave of putrecence,
weaving like some primordial monster, its destination the grime covered
plasteel grate that served as a portal to the dim, recessed realm of
MegaTokyo's world famous sewer system, efluviam drifting up from that
Abyss.
Unconcerned, Mackie Stingray and his two companions stepped over
the tiny stream of flowing water, dispelling yet one more peasant myth and
legend of antiquity, unnoticed among the thousands of similar beliefs
destroyed in the harsh reality of city life.
None of the three vampire walking along in a standard forward V
pattern realized the irony of their action as they crossed the running
water, their minds all too preoccupied with their own petty problems and
infantile thoughts.
Thomas Jefferson Washington stood about a meter from Mackie, as
their companion, Rene Descartes, continued his mind-numbing chuckling and
half-murmurred cries of "javahhhh" and "nachos". Thomas' hand was
clenched around a phantom pistol, finger reflexively jerking around an
imaginary trigger everytime one of Rene's outbursts was a little too loud.
Despite this, he kept aware, his flexing hand kept limber and ready to
dart into his jacket for his mini-submachine gun. Mackie was a little
envious about how easily the older vampire handled moving with a concealed
weapon, the way his elbow moved to intercept any obvious movement from the
weapon, and how he swayed his hips ever so slightly to counteract the
weight of the gun, without the stiffness in the shoulders that often gave
away someone who was packing. Mackie's attention to Thomas' style also
made him aware of how annoyed the vampire was.
An annoyance that was a mirror to his own emotions, even as his
mind repeatedly reviewed the details of his plans. The Malkavian had
_claimed_ to know _exactly_ where his car was parked, yet this was the
_third_ time that they had passed by the _same_ neighborhood, and still no
car. Mackie was beginning to get fairly angry.
"Maybe we should just steal a car", muttered Thomas very softly,
knowing full well that Mackie's heightened senses would easily pick up his
words.
If Mackie were a little more annoyed, he might have taken the
Assamite antitribu up on his suggestion, but as it was, Mackie was more
suspicious that the practice of the activity his partner had suggested
precisely was what had happened to Rene's vehicle. They weren't in the
most civic minded of areas within the city and the dim lighting made the
shadows ideal places to liberate vehicles. Mackie could sense the people
around him, people who thought themselves concealed. But he did not call
off the search, despite the fact that this delay would cost them
considerable time, as one of his first lessons in leadership was never to
interfere with a subordinates activities once ordered, except to offer
advice.
"FOUND IT!" Cried Rene triumphantly, as he rushed over to where
his car was parked, obviously some sort of antique.
The.... vehicle, for lack of a better word, was obviously hand
decorated by the Malkavian antitribu himself, painted in conflicting and
garish shades of green and pink, with multicolored flowers painted across
the exterior. It seemed to Mackie to be vaguely imitive of that historic
movement in the United States of America, that anti-war movement, the
"yuppies" if he remembered correctly, back when Kennedy was president.
How they all managed to miss the car three times in a row was beyond him.
The colors were so vivid that they were hurting his sensitive eyes, so he
forced his senses to return to their usual levels of acuity.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" Exclaimed Thomas, clearly angered about
something.
(My thoughts exactly), thought Mackie. Somehow the new commander
of the MegaTokyo Black Hand had not imagined his new command beginning
with him showing up at the Sabbat meeting in this technicolor
monstrousity.
Rene merely turned to Thomas and gave a wide grin, shrugging.
"You know damn what I am talking about! You said you had a car;
this isn't a car, this is a Pinto!" Fumed Thomas.
Mackie realized what the deathtrap was now; he knew the depths of
his compatraiot's insanity.
"Isn't it GREAT!" Said Rene energetically, "Come on, hop in!"
It also explained why nobody had robbed the car. Even gutter scum
had at least a little common sense.
Rene looked up expectantly at the other two.
Thomas looked over at Mackie. Great. It was his call.
Steeling himself, Mackie cracked a grimace he hoped that Rene
would mistake for a smile, "Sure, lets get going."
"Great! Then hop on in; I modified it myself!" And with that,
Rene slipped into the drivers seat.
Mackie slipped into the rear seat, which seemed to be covered with
some sort of synthetic green carpet, the carpet crawling up the sides of
the interior and coating the roof.
With a sigh of resignation, Thomas slipped into the passenger
seat, trying to get comfortable when his leg bumped something. Reaching
down he pulled up the firearm under that had been concealed under the
seat.
Rene winked at Thomas, saying, "Hey, you've got shotgun."
Mackie ignored the joke and ordered, "Lets go."
"Sure thing", answered Rene, and he turned the key, the engine
biting at the choke like a rabid pitbull, before coughing up the hairball
lodged in it's metaphorical throat, settling into a purr. Rene moved the
fuzzy dice out of view of the rear view mirror, before pulling out and
driving on.
The Malkavian popped a MCD into the stereo system, and an
incredibly annoying melody began to play, Rene bouncing up and down
enthusiastically in time with the music.
"Happy-happy, joy-joy, HAPPY-HAPPY, JOY-JO-", went the song.
Thomas ejected the MCD, shattered it in one hand, before tossing
the remains out the window.
Rene shrugged, pulled and held up another MCD, asking Thomas, "How
about some Boehemian Rhapsody?"
Thomas glared at Rene and Rene shrugged again, putting away the
MCD. Looking into the rear view mirror before realizing there was nothing
there, Rene looked over his shoulder at Mackie, giving him a questioning
look.
"So, where to Boss?" Inquired the Malkavian.
Thomas just tried to be comfortable in the seats.
Mackie answered, "I'm sorry Rene, but we are going to have to
leave this Pinto somewhere else and take some transportation less
conspicuous."
"Why?" Asked the Malkavian over his shoulder, hurt in his eyes.
"Let's be honest Rene; it would take a miracle worker to make this
thing unnoticeable. We'll switch over to another car and pick up some
things I have waiting for us... Rene?"
Rene seemed to be undergoing another convulsion, the car starting
to swerve before Thomas' arm steadied the steering wheel until Rene
recovered.
"Rene?" Asked Mackie, questioning.
Rene didn't even look at Mackie as he said with a thick accent,
"Dinnae worry Cap'n; there'll nae be anybody noticin' this here baby."
Mackie sensed the use of power from the Malkavian, an area affect
of Obfuscate surrounding them and the entire car.
"Cloak activated Cap'n", said Rene in his Scottish burr, "We'll be
there in no time at all. Nae body will be noticin' us."
"OK, Rene", started Mackie.
"Call me Scotty Cap'n", said Rene, "I'll get the Enterprise to
the Federation outpost in no time at all, and without the Klingons seeing
us."
(Scotty, Enterprise?) wondered Mackie, (forget it; I don't have
time to make a trek into the celestial realms of the Malkavian mind).
"Right; carry on", Mackie said.
"Aye-aye, Cap'n", said Rene.
Thomas just wished he could still take aspirin.
The Pinto spead off to the shipping docks and storage units of the
waterside.
* * * * * * * * * *
It was quiet in the garden, only the soft whisper of wind chimes
singing as the wind shook, ever so slightly, the traditional paper walls
of the large mansion. Everything was peaceful in the valley, the soft
rustle of breezes carrying only a hint of the modern city that dwelt
farther down the mountainside in this valley of Kyoto. It was as though
it were a step through time, the mansion but one part of the feudal castle
that had been meticulously cared for. As well it should be, for the
Kuei-jin that lived there saw this is as being nothing more than as it
should be.
Takahashi Giro bowed deeply from the waist to the advisor of the
local daimyo, holding it until the other, Hirokashi Konatsu, returned the
bow, albeit much slighter. Raising his head, Takahashi waited for
Hirokashi to speak.
Hirokashi sighed and spoke openly to his old friend, "This is a
most unusual request old friend, one I hope to persuade you of asking a
third time." For the third time, by the way of sincerity, he could not
refuse.
Takahashi chose his words carefully before answering; his friend
was trying to use their bond to make him more at ease, more loose of
tongue; it would not work.
"I must change, for this butterfly has reached its peak; now I, a
follow of the Centipede must grow a new pair of legs and start the process
yet again."
Hirokashi narrowed his eyes before giving a chuckle, "I understand
the ways of those on your path, old friend, though I should say many of
those in the court shall miss one of the better poets to grace Kyoto. You
have truly reached the height of this life. I understand the need to shed
this skin. But do you chose your course for the right reasons?"
Takahashi felt anger flow through him briefly, like a Yang
imbalance of Chi, before he brought it under control.
A sigh from Hirokashi and a delicate finger tapping the large
third eye now opened on his forehead showed Takahashi that his emotion had
been noted.
"Do you truly know yourself, old friend? I see what lies beyond;
your P'o has always been stronger than a Devil-Tiger's. Are you sure it
is not that which whispers to you now?"
Irration flicker through his mind, even as his own doubts surfaced
about his course of action. The concern in his friend's voice touched
him sincerely; and he was shocked to learn how attached he had become to
his friend; it was time to sever that tie.
"Old fool, you know nothing! I do this act because I seek
Enlightenment, to know beyond your foolish Dharma. I go to the new
capital, now called MegaTokyo, to find my future in blood and vengenance!"
Angrily he stood, even as he felt pain. (It is necessary), he reminded
himself.
"So ka", replied the unphased follower of the Path of the
Resplendent Crane. Hirokashi took a scroll from the chest beside his
tatami, handing it to the insolent Takahashi, "Here is the formal papers,
already signed, releasing you from the court service. It also grants you
voluntary exile from our Wu."
Takahashi was momentarily speechless, surprised at how
predicatable he had become. (All the more reason to destroy this life and
friendship now.) With an uncultured and swift motion, he tore the paper
from his former friend's hand and turned to go, violating protocol most
severly. A clean break was always best.
"Before you go, you may also wish to know there is a Dai'Shar in
MegaTokyo", said Hirokashi.
Takahashi whirled, "Impossible! How can they, the landless,
soulless Orphans survive where we can not?"
"I know not", replied Hirokashi. "But in the scroll you carry is
another with instructions on how to contact that one. Those who stand
between the heimin and the hinin have been allies of convenience before.
A last gift to you, one who was once my friend."
Takahashi nodded curtly before leaving, going to make the
necessary preparations for his excursion into the accursed land.
Alone in the room, Hirokashi clapped his hands together, offering
one last prayer for his friend. Though he did not truly understand the
ways of the Whispers, the followers of the Centipede, he knew Takahashi
no longer would be his friend. Takahashi's life was about to die, and a
new one reborn. Still, he was a friend to Takahashi. So he said a prayer
as he swallowed his anger at the impertanence his friend had shown. Giro
was one tainted with a heavy burden. His P'o was so strong, too strong.
And too smart.
Hirokashi Konatsu thought once more about that gaijin word, one so
simple and yet elegant in communicating the concept of all that his
friend's P'o was. It was a good word, he decided.
Tempter.
For Takahashi Giro bore the P'o of a Meikai Akuma.
* * * * * * * * * *
Priss tossed her bag over one shoulder as she guided her bike into
the trailer that served as her home. One swipe of her security card
opened the lock to the garage, and she wheeled her bike into the garage.
She must be drunker than she thought, because the usual strain she felt
from hefting her bike in was absent. After securing the bike, she locked
the side garage, and headed into the bedroom/family room.
Damn was she tired, even though her body felt like she could run a
marathon. And she was suffering from the worst case of PMS she had felt
in a long time. Shit it never ends, she thought, as she took the bottle
of that damn fine wine of Sylia's from her bag. Taking a swing from the
bottle, she let the potent liquor burn down her throat before regretfully
stowing the bottle in one of her cubbards.
Stripping down to a grey halter top and panties, Priss stretched
out all her stiff muscle before crawling on the bed, kicking aside the
covers. She didn't know the scientific explanation, having forgotten what
one of her friends had told her, but it seemed the crevass created by the
Great Kanto Earthquake trapped heat remarkably well. Added to the fact
only occasional breezes from the ocean or mountains regulated the
temperature, it was always either too hot or too cold. The machine
factories ran hot, especially during the summer, and the primary heat
exchangers ran through the rock, relying on the fact the natural aspect of
stone could absorb massive amounts of heat, especially since the deeper
rock exposed by the earthquake was partially volcanic in nature.
None of this was a comfort to Priss, as she tossed and turned on
the soft bedding, trying to get comfortable. Her little airconditioning
unit was doing it's best, but it was never enough. Not for the first
time, Priss found herself regretting that she had declined an opportunity
to stay over at Sylia's. Already, the beads of sweat were soaking her
nightwear, making it cling in uncomfortable ways. Giving up, Priss went
over to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water and downed in one long rush.
The fridge was barely colder than the air coming from the vent. Opening
the windows for a breeze would be tantamount to stupidity. It was far
hotter outside than inside.
She had heard stories of people dying from heat exhaustion; it was
all over the news. It was that damn global warming. Temperatures had
skyrocketted up an entire 1.3 degrees Celsius, and the reprecussions had
been staggering. Even now, entire platoons of scientists had been
dispatched to find out the extent of the damage, and they tended to be
running around like a bunch of headless chickens from one crisis to
another.
Priss tried to lay back down, to move as little as possible. As
usual, when she had so little to do, her thoughts turned pensive and
reflected. All too often she found inspiration for song during these
times. But now was not the time for song, and her guitar stood on the
couch where she had left it. Instead her mind turned to the events of
this afternoon.
Alone, she permitted herself a few brief tears of regret at her
actions at the dinner, where no one could see. Letting emotions go had a
purifying effect. Lying on her back, she thought long and hard.
Why had she acted so irresponsibly? It was not the wine, despite
its kick. (Speaking of that, she wouldn't mind a little more wine).
Squelching that urge, she thought more about what had happened. It had
happened as soon as she saw Mackie. It was like standing in line when
someone pushes you forward, and you find yourself involuntarily
volunteering. Yes, just when Mackie and Nene had been getting together,
she had ruined everything.
Yet try as she might, it felt wrong to say that she had done it.
It was almost as if someone had used, her making her say those things.
(Yeah, sure Asagiri), Priss thought to herself.
Getting up and still sweating in the musky heat, Priss went to the
bathroom, flushing out her system, though she was losing more fluids from
sweating in the heat. That done, she tried to get to sleep once more.
Still the thoughts came, about Mackie and what to do, even as
sleep claimed her.
- - - - - - - - - -
Priss sat bolt upright, gulping air like a fish out of water.
Bringing up both hands to rub her eyes, Priss slowed the fevered panting,
until she was just breathing deeply. The heat had become stifling, and
each breath brought warm air into her. Moving aside strands of hair that
stuck to her face, Priss lay back down, her body wet with sweat and more.
(A dream), she thought to herself, (just a dream). After a moment
of thought, she added aloud "Perhaps a nightmare."
Deep breaths brought her more calm, even as she coughed heavily on
the thick, humid air. A nightmare, yes a nightmare. Even though she knew
it was a dream, her hands reached up to her neck and found nothing. There
was no collar around her throat. She was in her trailer. Mackie wasn't
there. It was just all a nightmare or a dream.
Looking over at the clock, she discovered she had been asleep for
nearly two hours. Getting up, she went to the refridgerator for another
bottle of water, gulping it down, enjoying the cool feeling of the chilled
liquid as it splashed across her body. Just a dream.
Tossing the bottle into the garbage, Priss stopped for a second.
There was an undeniable tension in her, a conflict and a dissatisfaction.
Thinking about it for a second, she could find no real reason why.
Just then, Priss felt something pull at her neck and she felt something
heavy at her throat as she turned around to look in the mirror.
- - - - - - - - - -
Starting, Priss looked around, wondering how long she had stood
in front of the mirror. Reaching a hand up to her throat, she traced with
well calloused fingers the circumference. Nothing there. It was just a
nightmare.
She was tense, too tense! Flinging off her clothes in a hurry,
Priss darted into her wardrobe to find an outfit for the only activity
that could settle her when such a mood struck: a party!
Ten minutes and several outfits later, Priss piroutted about
before the mirror. She was bursting with energy! Grabbing some things,
she turned to go.
And stopped to look back at the mirror. Just for a second,
she thought she had seen something. An image, of a collar the color of
crimson chained about her neck, with a leash leading to a shadowy figure
whom she had looked up at with adoration. For the briefest instant, she
thought she had seen it, like she thought she had heard her Mother weeping
for her.
But more startling than those split-second images, Priss could
have sworn for several seconds she had not actually been in the mirror,
the reflection void of her appearance. (But that was nonsense!) It
wasn't like she was a vampire.
Like smoke in a strong wind, that thought vanished in the cyclone
of more pressing matters, and Priss left the trailer, locking up before
darting out into the streets, hailing a cab. She knew exactly where she
was supposed to go.
For the briefest second, within her trailer, the surface of her
mirror shimmered like a drop of water striking a placid lake, revealing
for an instant an image of Priss, her fist pounding futilely on the glass
of the mirror which was her prison, before the image was gone.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Kamazake Imports?' querried Thomas, looking up at the sign,
written in Japanese, English, and Russian. "What are we doing here?"
"Picking up some items of interest. MegaTokyo seemed like a
dangerous place for the Black Hand, so I picked up some equalizers for
us", answered Mackie.
"Tranquilizers? I used to love those! But I dinnae see Bones-",
broke in Rene.
"He means weapons you fool", said Thomas.
"Oh."
"For a city rife with violence, MegaTokyo seems to lack good,
dependable weapons. So I had some shipped here, discreetly", Mackie
explained.
Mackie walked up the side door, nodded to both of his compatriots,
who took up discreet positions to either side of the building, arms
crossed and hands in jackets on their weapons. After receiving nods of
confirmation from both, he knocked.
Nothing.
He repeated the knock, training his senses to every available
possible clue, thus he listened, smelt, and felt the door. There was
still the linger of sweat and smoke in the air, the soft sound of a fan in
the background; there were thin vibrations transmitted through the
doorframe, indicating that someone was there and approaching.
Mackie raised a clenched first, indicating to the others to be
ready.
Thomas noted the old Army signal from his days in Vietnam and
wondered about it. It was surprising that Mackie would use that signal,
as the Black Hand used different signals, yet Mackie had used that signal
like it was second nature. Interesting, given how SWAT teams or
paramilitary organizations were the only civie groups that used or knew
about such communication techniques. Which brought him back his original
assumption.
Mackie knocked again, stepping to the side of the door, out of the
doorway as a voice could be heard gradually becoming audible. No sense in
getting shot through the door if this contact turned out to be less than
friendly. He knocked again.
"Yeah, yeah, will you knock off the fucking knocking you bastard!
I'm coming you...." the voice trailed off as it came closer. Mackie
recognized the voice as belonging to the man he had spoken on the phone
with earlier.
A little slit in the door slid sideways to open, then a voice
wafted out, asking, "Yeah, what the fuck do you want?"
Mackie stepped straight into eye level view of the man, looking
right at his eyes. "My name is Mr. S. I spoke with you earlier. I
believe you have a package for me?" said Mackie in a level yet firm voice.
Ikari Gendou leapt back at those eyes, the eyes were fucking
weird! He dropped the gun he had been holding, before once more picking it
up and listening for the first time, "What?"
Mackie narrowed his eyes (Gendou noticed: the motherfucker had
_grey_ tinted eyes! Nah, must be contacts or some other weird shit) at the
man on the ground and repeated his earlier statement, adding, "Now, before
my patience dries up like the gratuity you so desire."
It took Ikari a few moments before he realized who he was talking
to (SHIT! It was that goddamn Sabbat!), and quickly got to his feet and
unlocked the door before he realized his error.
Mackie's contempt for the mortal only grew greater, and he could
feel similar emotions from those in the Link who were observing. The
spineless bastard was so stupid that he even forgot to use the code words.
Gendou stood up, starting to mumble, "Nice weat.."
Mackie looked at him like one would look at primordial ooze before
saying, "The time for that is passed."
"Is this our contact?" said a voice laced with contempt.
Gendou looked up as two other men walked in, one black, the other
Caucasian. Both wore black leather jackets like Mr. S, and the black
one gave him a similar look like Mr. S was giving him. The other, a
blond with a glint of madness in the eye, just smiled, showing pearly
white fangs in his grin. (Shit! Both of them were vampires too.) This
thought did an about face as it spiralled into a chain of thought. (But
that also meant more potential for vit!) And he needed some vitae bad.
All of a sudden he was as servile as he could be, "Right this ways
sirs, sorry about the introduction; I apologize." They stared at him with
flat gazes, even the one who was obviously Malkavian. (Shit, these guys
were cold as ice).
"My packages, Mr..?" Asked the younger one, who was apparantly the
leader. (Shit he had weird fucking eyes!)
"Gendou; Ikari Gendou, at you service. Your packages are right
this way" and he bowed, sweeping his arm towards a hall.
They walked by him, aloof. (Shit, these are cold Sabbat, if they
really are Sabbat. Don't act like most Sabbat. Most of 'um Sabbat act
like hyperactive brats. They sure ain't Cammies or Cathayans, so what are
they?)
As if in answer to his question, the blond vampire winked, smiled,
and showed him the palm of his right hand and the brand burned into it
there, of a black cresent moon.
(Shit, oh shit, oh shit, mother fuck me, oh shit!), panicked the
ghoul. These weren't just any damn Licks, they were the fucking BLACK
HAND!
Suddenly, Gendou's syncophanty became much more sincere, even as
he filed away that information for later.
- - - - - - - - - -
Mackie slid his hands over the shipping massive shipping
containers located in the payload section of the trailer truck parked in
the large and mostly empty storage facility. Using his Thaumaturgy to
check for the sigils he had placed earlier on the crates, Mackie
discovered everything was in order and that there had been no tampering.
"So what is all this stuff?" asked Thomas.
"Aye Capt'n, what be all this? Photon torpedos?" guessed Rene.
Mackie allowed himself a small smile. "Go ahead, open them."
Mackie mentally flipped all of the internal switches with a brief exercise
of his Thaumaturgy. "The key code is 666."
Thomas keyed open one of the shipping containers and gasped in
amazement as he reverantly hoisted out the nineteen kilo ferro-ceramic
frame of the latest in classified death-dealing weaponry.
"Is this what I think it is?" asked Thomas breathlessly.
Rene craned his head to get a better look, "Ne, ne, let me see!"
Mackie nodded, "Yes, you are holding a compact, model 4-G Smith
and Wesson Stinger hyper-velocity magnetic acceleration weapon, with three
hundred and twenty round capacity, sustained fire option, independent
sensor array and targeting systems and," Mackie reached over to the rifle
Thomas hald and flipped a switch on the bulky rifle, which began to hum
and thrum in Thomas' hands, "an internal generator coil good for over a
thousand firings, the weapon itself firing slit-grooved artificially
densed fletchettes."
"What?" commented Rene, genuinely puzzled.
"You mean", began Thomas, shocked to the core, "that I am holding
in my very hands, A GOD DAMN PERSONAL MODEL ANTI-TANK RIFLE _RAIL GUN_!?!"
Gendou stilled a gasp as he realized what the Black Hand vampires
had had him smuggle in for them.
Mackie nodded, "Essentially, yes. I, uh, 'acquired' them from a
friend."
Thomas stood staring at the state-of-the-art ass-kicker, when Rene
started tossing what looking like a very large grenade around from hand to
hand that he had removed from another shipping container.
"Be careful with that!" Mackie barked.
"Why, what's this one do?", asked the unconcerned Malkavian.
"You are holding in your hand a micro expulsion, syncho-timed FAE
incinedary device that, when it detonates, creates a short term shock wave
more intense than a fission blast."
Thomas received yet another blow to his view of a nice, safe
reality inhabited by werewolfs and vampires, "You mean that is a
HAND-HELD, PERSONAL FUEL-AIR-EXPLOSIVE!?!"
Mackie nodded again, "Yes, a little toy I picked up from the US
military, one they don't want you to know about."
"A hand thrown FAE?" gasped Thomas, "But that's insane!"
Eyeing the device, Rene commented, "I like like it!" Grinning
madly, he started to pump his arms, "ohhh yeahhh; fire, FIRE! Hehehehe!"
Thomas began to feel the icy tendrils of true terror clutch his
unfeeling, undead heart.
Mackie ignored their banter, trusting the Malkavian had at least
enough wisdom to be careful and that Washington had enough control to keep
his temper. Mackie went about checking everything in the containers while
the other two Black Hand checked out the weaponry. Only peripherally did
Mackie notice Thomas ordering Rene out to stand guard, or the Malkavian
antitribu sulking.
"Why do I have to guard the trailer?" whined Rene.
Container 3 had the pneumatic sniper rifle and the chemical
propellant rifle, along with the various attachments.
"..." Thomas ignored the Malkavian.
Containers 6 and 8 had cylinder after cylinder of cyrogenically
frozen blood. It would be usefully in case they were ever sieged.
"Capt'n, I cannae hold the-" Rene cut off what he was saying and
went into another series of brief convulsions.
Container 4 had a number of instruments used for such various
tasks as mechanical repair, gunsmithing, and torture.
"WOW! That was cool", said Rene, happily.
Container 2 and 1 had already been opened, the contents seemed to
be in order.
"Hey Boss, we done?" asked Rene, apparantly Rene once more.
Mackie waved him away.
Containers 7 and 11 had exactly what he had stored in them, hidden
admist the stockpile of cheap automatic Uzi III weapons he had used as a
cover.
Container 5 had what he was looking for; the Assamite antitribu
that had helped him had written a letter placed atop a manila folder.
Retreating to the back of the trailer, he opened the letter, and he could
feel the Thaumaturgy woven into the letter as it recognized his touch.
The vampire child's flowing writing glinted gold as it began to appear on
the white parchment.
"To my dear friend Mackie Stingray,
It seems like I have known you for a long time, perhaps in another
life. This is my last letter, for after I write this I will drink the
magickal draught that will either grant me mortality or kill me. In
either case, you will not hear from me again. I wish you the best in your
damnation. Contained within the folder is information and access cards to
everything I have or have learned as a member of the Black Hand. I wish
you the best.
PS: You might want to work on your acting; I figured out your heritage
with ease. Others might as well.
PS2: Do not trust Ikari Gendou. The man is a self-serving bastard; I
would tread carefully about him.
PS3: I have also included the formula I intend to use. Maybe you might
want to use it.
Your friend forever,
Shion
(aka Koyabashi Rin)"
Mackie lowered the letter, even as crimson tears began to flow
from his eyes at the letter his... friend, yes he must call him a friend,
had written him. He had always known Rin was lonely, but never that Rin
had thought so much of him. The tears struck the paper, activating the
magic within it, burning up the paper in a fire that produced no heat.
"Sir?" Thomas came in, 'accidently' bumping into a crate and
pretending to stub his toe. He could see his CO was crying and
deliberately made enough of a ruckus to allow him to clean himself up.
Mackie hurriedly wiped the tears from his eyes, even though his
sorrow was a lead stone in his chest. "What is it Mr. Washington?" he
asked as calmly as he could.
Thomas jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "We're ready to go."
Mackie nodded, "Let's go then."
The two exited the trailer truck to see the ghoul wringing his
hands while Rene leaned against the side of the truck, waiting.
"So", said Gendou, "everything in order Mr. S?"
Mackie nodded, "Yes" (Always remember to reward you subordinates
and award praise where due) reminded one of Mackie's shadowy masters.
Mackie nodded more emphatically, saying "Well done indeed. You will be
amply rewarded."
Mackie turned to Thomas and said, "Would you be so kind as to give
Mr. Ikari some of your vitae, Mr. Washington?"
Thomas stiffened at the impertinance of the young Lasombra. (Just
when he was starting to like the kid, he goes and insults me.) He just
stared right back at Mackie.
Meanwhile, Mackie had remembered what Rin's letter had said, and
had used the conversation to distract the ghoul. Drawing upon the Link,
he used the superior Auspex granted to read the ghoul's mind.
A collection of images and thoughts assailed Mackie, as he tried
to filter out the surface thoughts. Fortunately the greed and desire for
vitae were lowering his mental defenses.
(A lot of money.... little girls... blood...nudity...sex...
vitae), Mackie focussed harder, letting one of his mentors direct his
voice while he concentrated on the more pressing issues. He heard his own
voice say, "Mr. Washington, I believe we can both agree Mr. Ikari has been
of service to us. I am requesting you offer him a little blood in return
because I lack much vitae."
(More... screaming children... torture... more... there), thought
Mackie, as he suddenly penetrated the mind of the ghoul fully and saw what
he had planned. And after what he saw, this man deserved to be executed.
Thomas couldn't believe it, but with the reluctance of a career
soldier, he followed orders, providing a sip of his vitae, ignoring the
sucking of the greedy lips at his wrist, as well as providing a small
amount of vitae in a bag the man presented.
"Mr. Washington, could I see you for a second?" asked Mackie, as
he moved out of ear shot of the ghoul.
Glowering at Mackie, Thomas obeyed, starting to speak, when Mackie
cut him off.
"I apologize for using you like that; I needed to distract him
while I probed his mind. I have discovered he intends to betray us to the
highest bidder. We will have to dispose of him", Mackie speaking quietly
enough that only one with vampiric heightened sense would be able to hear
him.
Thomas' anger ebbed as he heard his commanders explanation,
surprised, if it were true, at the power his CO claimed to have. Telepathy
was a fairly powerful technique of Auspex; for his commander to have it
was almost impossible for one so young. Unless the rumors he had heard
about Mackie being a vampire prodigy, a rarity among the rare, were
actually true.
"Should I rub him out now?" asked Thomas, glancing over at the
oblivious and blissfully grinning ghoul sipping at the bag of vitae.
Mackie started to shake his head when Rene walked up, asking
quietly, "So how and when are we going to kill the ghoul?"
Both of the other two vampires shot surprised glances at the
Malkavian. "How do you know we were going to kill him?" asked Mackie.
Thomas nodded his agreement with the question.
"His soul is stained with greed and treachery", shrugged Rene, "it
would be better if we killed him."
"How do you know that? Can you read minds too?" asked Thomas.
Rene's eyes seemed to burn with knowledge as he answered simply,
"No. I just simple _know_."
Mackie and Thomas digested this new information, before a seed of
inspiration germinated in Mackie's mind. "I'll deal with this", he
announced. It would be best if the first kill of his command was by his
own hand.
Mackie walked up to Ikari, who looked up at Mackie. Mackie
smiled, not a pleasant thing, before he brutally Dominated and savaged the
ghoul's mind, "You will give us the keys to the truck and remain in your
office until we come to get you. Understood?"
Nodding numbly, his mind afire with the commands that rang through
his conscious, Gendou turned and went to his office, shutting the door
behind him.
The other Black Hand members got everything in order, stacking the
containers on top of each other, providing enough room so that Rene's
"car" could be driven into the spacious trailer.
Meanwhile, Mackie grabbed a basketball sized sphere from one of
the shipping crates atop a pile of boxes, before getting in the cab with
Rene and Thomas. With a rumble, the truck's engine grumbled to life, and
the truck pulled out of the wharehouse.
- - - - - - - - - -
Ikari Gendou waited in his office as he had been told. He had
to wait until they came to get him. Even after he heard the truck leave,
he knew he had to wait until they came to get him. With a fevered
intensity, that mantra repeated itself in his head.
(I've gotta get out of here!) No, he had to wait in the office
until they came to get him. (They're gonna kill me!) No, wait in the
office. Wait. (If they aren't going to kill me, then they are gonna
leave me here!) No, no, no, he had to wait here. (They're gonna kill
me!!!)
"D-ddaddy?", said a soft, hesitant voice to his right, from under
his desk, as a tiny hand crept up to touch his leg.
Gendou looked down at the girl who looked up at him. He smiled
even as inside he was panicking. Petting her nude back, he said, "It's OK
Rei."
Nodding, she lowered her head, "yes-s sirr-r."
To his left, he felt his other little girl, lay her head on his
thigh, lips suckling, trying to finish the task they had started before
being interupted. He patted her head, "Everything's fine Ritsu-chan."
Even as he said it, tears were beginning to run down his cheeks.
The two girls saw this and shuddered, bracing themselves for the blows,
knowing something bad was going to happen to them again, that they would
be punished.
- - - - - - - - - -
Atop a pile of storage containers in the center of wharehouse, a
small timer finished it's circuit. A tiny CPU, simple-minded in the
execution of the entirety of it simple task, executed a short-lived radar
pulse which scanned the entire area, before the radar echo bounced back to
the device. The CPU compiled this information into a new program in
accordance to its operating directives. That decided, the CPU gave it's
orders. All this in less than .2 seconds.
The CPU immediately ordered a series of thin and small auxillary
harpoons to fire outwards from the central sphere. They traveled outward
in a roughly equidistant manner. The projectiles spun in the air,
releasing a fine magnessium alloy powder along with a thin mist of
volatile chemicals. The mixture filled the room. This had taken another
.18 seconds.
The United States of America Armed Forces, working with the USSD,
had come up with an innovative solution to the problem that had always
plagued incenidary weapons and fuel air explosives. The problem was
oxygen; in order for an incenidary to work at it's greatest efficiency, a
prodigious sum of oxygen was necessary to complete the explosive reaction.
Indeed, most air-dropped incenidary weapons had suffered that problem, as
bombs arriving after their brothers quickly found the oxygen supplies they
needed to explode at greatest effect had been depleted by the fires that
had broken out.
The US researchers had discovered a clever way to get around this.
It was too impractical to carry around the necessary oxygen in the bomb
casing. And nor could the weapon depend on an adequate supply of oxygen in
the air. So the engineers had taken an old proposal, added new advances
in technology, and created a revolution in explosives. Fuel Air
Explosives (FAE) relied on the kinetic impact of the blast and the
shockwave from the explosion to do damage, not fire damage. So the
engineers had come up with a way to make the oxygen come to them in a
perfect fuel/air mixture.
The thin mixture ignited as the various thin harpoons the bomb had
shot out earlier released a catalyst on the orders of the CPU, which had
used the earlier radar signal to detect the necessary volume and time for
dispersal. The actual resulting explosion was actually very minor. But
then again, that was the point of the explosion, as all the oxygen in the
air near the device had been converted to carbon dioxide, useless in
fires, more dense, and thus falling as gravity and density demanded. This
created a vacuum. And as a law, nature abhors a vacuum. Thus, even as the
device began to emit its true payload of fuel for the explosion it would
be generating, air from outside the sphere of the explosion rushed in
towards the device at terrible speeds, howling. The device fired the
primary control harpoons as the incoming air mixed with the spewing fuel
in such a manner that even the greatest blender could not compare. And
when the CPU determined the ideal mixture, it ordered the control harpoons
the to release the catalyst and ignite the mixture.
But the scientists, fiendish in their insane genius, had come up
with one last accomplishment. For even as the fuel and air mixture
ignited, the air rushing towards the device to fill the air that had been
used in the second stage pushed the new born explosion tighter into
itself. And the smaller the volume of a gas, the more activity. On it's
rebound back out, encountering more air to feed it, the weapon truly
showed it's glory. About .84 seconds had elasped.
The force the new FAE projected in this impromtu field test
actually was a little less than it's designers had intended, but the
completely conventional explosive detonated with a force comparable to a
minor nuclear device, measured in megatons.
The shockwave struck the walls and the inhabitants of the
wharehouse with enough force to turn human bone to powder and diamonds to
dust. What survived the explosion found itself flung as far out as a 120
meter radius. But most of the shockwave that had been generated found
itself channeled up through the roof as an equal yet opposite reaction
found itself directed toward the ground shattering the concrete floor
and the sewers below it, before dispersing after having ravaged nearly 10
meters of underground construction and solid rock.
The roof blew away like balsa wood in the hurricane of the
explosive firestorm, and from it fire clawed at the sky as the rest of the
building disintegrated from the force, giving violent birth to a golden
star of light for the briefest of seconds, before maturing into a glowing
orb of white light, growing to encompass a 30 meter radius. And finally,
from the dying of the light, raged and rose a ominus black mushroom cloud
hundreds of meters in the sky.
- - - - - - - - - -
Rene was the first to notice, as he was driving the truck, when a
slight flash of light erupted behind them. Both vampires looked at Mackie
who merely smiled slightly, and motioned for Rene to continue to drive.
They all looked in one of side mirrors or out a window to look behind
them, to stare at the explosion. Out of the original flash came a
brilliant flare of light as a large mushroom cloud arose from where they
had been, the thick smoke illuminated from within by a glowing yellow
light painful to look at. After the light faded, the cloud continued to
rise.
Rene started to pound the wheel of the truck. "OHHH YEAHHH!!!!
FIRE! FIRE! FFFIIIIIRRRRREEEE! YESSSS! MORE _FIRE_!!!!"
"My God!", was Thomas' only response as he looked over his right
shoulder, finding it difficult that he had been part of that, and that his
green CO could plan something like this. They definitely needed to have a
talk!
Seated between them, Mackie only smiled slightly to himself. It
seemed the prototypes had worked better than he had expected.
A long few seconds after the explosion, Mackie closed his eyes,
having mentally estimated the time it would take, whispered in almost
epiphany, "Oh yeah." Both the other two vampires looked at him.
The residual shockwave hit with slight force, barely jarring the
truck, and Mackie grinned widely as he whispered, "What a rush!"
It was Rene who started it, a giggle at first, before it became a
chuckle and then a full blown laugh. In spite of themselves, both Thomas
and Mackie soon found themselves laugh along with Rene, their black,
malicious and heartfelt humor expressed in loud laughter. Grinning at
each other, as they drove on to their new haven, they all felt a sense of
belonging, of purpose.
"Watch out MegaTokyo!" said Thomas wryly.
"The Black Hand is back!" added Rene gleefully.
"And it's here to kick ass" said Mackie with a sure finality.
The truck drove on into the night.
* * * * * * * * * *
Ayukawa Clark entered the Genom board room, or has he liked to
call it, the Shark Pit, with much apprehension. At his side, his
assistant, Musashi Ryuji, seemed much taller despite Ayukawa Clark's
own considerable height. Apprehensively, and more than a little nervous,
the Indian man hid behind his sempai, something that Clark could
sympathize with.
Around an oval table were the _real_ movers and shakers of Genom,
not the puppets presented to the public. Here was where the real deals
were made, where the true power was. And Ayukawa Clark would rather be
anywhere other than here.
This wasn't a full board meething; Clark wouldn't even venture
that more than two thirds of the Board were present. But the top people
were there, with their own assistants.
As he fully stepped into the conservative and near featureless
room with Ryuji trailing behind him, conversation stopped and all eyes
turned towards him. He stopped still, like a deer caught in the
headlights of an oncoming car, as those gazes dissected him like he had
dissected dozens of creatures. Their task complete, the CEO of Genom, the
mighty Quincy, waved Ryuji and Clark forward to a seat in his low voice,
saying, "You are late. Please take a seat Dr. Ayukawa, and you as well
Dr. Musashi."
Self-conciously, both he and Ryuji took the seats dedicated to the
Bio-Engineering Division. They both most desperately did _not_ want to
be here, but someone had to get the honor of taking this assignment, just
as someone had to get the shortest stick in the hand, and thus they were
here. He wished he were somewhere else as he directed Ryuji to take notes
when Chairman Quincy began to speak up once more. Ryuji was more than
glad to keep his head buried in the computer, away from the eyes of
others. They were on the lowest rungs of this heirarchy, and they both
knew it.
Quincy cleared his throat, "We were discussing the current actions
of our competitors. If you will continue?" Responding to Quincy's
gesture, another stood and began to speak.
Clark looked at Quincy carefully. Despite every attempt, every
inquiry, the everything done by hundreds of Genom employees, almost
_nothing_ was known about the elusive and mysterious head of the most
powerful corporation on the face of the planet, after the destruction of
the corporation known as the "Evil Empire" by the United States of
America, one of the last open actions of a nation against a
megacorporation. What was known was that he was a man of unknown ethnic
origin, though he was assumed to be European, of realitively advanced age
in appearance, and with a known tendency to use boomer doubles. But all
the tests, rotes, disciplines, gifts, and probes had only revealed that
Quincy was a mortal.
A completely normal, unAwakened mortal, with no supernatural
connections.
Which was, of course, pure nonsense. No non-supernatural could
ever hope to be head of Genom. Unless Quincy was, as many had suggested,
a figurehead for another supernatural being. But looking at the cunning
and intellect of Quincy, that seemed unlikely. Rather than waste his time
on an unanswerable question, Clark shifted his attention.
"-current cost projections indicate that we will sustain an
acceptable loss in the sale of video sets, when the process our
Uzbekistanian competitor Schrek Incorporated is utilized in their newly
automated factory. We have already made plans to secure a decided
advantage in that market in the next fiscal year-"
Directly across from his assistant, Clark examined next the
scarred face of Adrian "Longfang" Jamison, the head of the External
Security. Look into that somewhat handsome face, it was hard to imagine
the psychotic and vicious werewolf that lurked behind it. The alpha male
of his extended pack, one of the last surviving packs of the Black Spiral
Dancers plaguing the planet. Clark hated those psychos, especially after
what they had done to the scientists in lab section 51. They had only
been doing some tests when a group of the Black Spiral Dancers had
murdered the scientists engaging in the benign studies on their packmate.
The man seated across from him was an animal. But he was a very dangerous
and cunning animal.
"-after all. But substansial problems have arisen, coming to a
head as we attempt to secure nodes and pure tass for use in our
enterprises.
"The primary culprit seems to be the splinter group of our own
Genom, Chronos. Their hideous experiments in the creation of fomori seem
to require large amounts of crystallized tass, which is found in the
plentiful dragon lines of Japan. We have stepped up our strike teams
under Director Jamison as well as specially equipped boomers provided by
Dr. Zurich. On a related note, one of our agents reported a startling
insight, claiming Chronos is in a furvor over something called the Unit G.
I am disseminating information to you; please keep on the look out for
these two young men, last names Fukamachi and Makashima-"
Near that bastard Jamison sat a pale flower of beauty, Kate
Madigan. From her designer cloths and makeup, she was a woman who
screamed 'vamp'. An apt analogy, as she was a Tremere, and the
ball-busting head of the brutally efficient gestapo of Genom, the Internal
Security Division. She was like a razor, all hard and dangerous, and
animal aura about her was a turn-on to many. But there was ice and steel
beneath the velvet and lace. She was a real vampire, sucking dry
everything and anyone who got in her way. Dangerous fanatic in the
extreme, loyal 100% to her clan and Genom. Or so it was said.
"We are facing a minor threat from two Chinese corporations,
though in very different ways. One, the Tyrell Corporation, has
proclaimed an alternative to our Boomers, but they are already bogged down
in the United Nations ethics community. The next meeting will have a more
detailed report on this subject.
"The other is most puzzling. International Electronic Brains, the
largest producer of computers outside Genom, had their main office in
Beijing mysteriously explode when struck by lightning of unusual potency.
We are already-"
To his left side was the brilliant, if erratic, Dr. Ivan Zurich.
The Ukrainian scientist, though virtually unheard buy the public of the
world, was one of the greatest Technomancers in existence, one of the true
geniuses of Matter and Forces. Though a Life Engineer by trade, Clark
could not help but to admire the brilliance of the man. Dedicated totally
to his work, a true credit to Genom. It was no surprise he was the head
of Research and Development in Cybernetics/Cyberdroids.
"Another problem has arisen, specifically a threat to our
domination in the world military industry. We have learned this much from
agents and moles:
"Annahiem Electronics has just finished production of a new
military weapon that is very promising, called the General Usage New
Dimension ArMor. The technical advances incorporated into the weapon are
staggering. The weapon mimics the human body, operated like a mobile suit
around the pilot. We have already dispatched a number of agents to deal
with the problem. But there should not be too much to worry about. Even
if they _can_ make the units simple enough that even a child can pilot
them, as they claim, there is no one willing to pay the exhorbiant cost.
After all" the man laughed "it's not as though a single unit can win the
entire war!
"We have already made arrangements to deal with the engineer most
directly responsible, a Dr. Minovski-"
Tuning out again, Clark paid close attention to two very
different, yet similar people. To his right, down the table, were two of
the most important beings in Genom.
The beancounters. And a more contrasting comparison would be hard
to think of.
Joseph Giovanni, of the vampire clan Giovanni, was a typical
member of that degenerate, racist, xenophobic, incestuous bloodline.
Italian in feature and dress, right down to the striped powersuit,
Joseph's tastes definitely ran towards the Punic. He lacked the
deformity, either mental or physical, that his living relations suffered
because of their consanguinious relationships. But his mind was both
methodical and precise. Money was his game for almost five centuries, or
so it had been said. A vicious and closeminded vampire. Fitting for the
head of the Internal Finances department. More than once, Clark had been
forced to beg money from the man and his agents. It was a process he did
not enjoy very much.
His counterpart, Andre Fernandez, a short Latino man with grey at
his temples, was a very different sort. Originally from the former
Technocracy branch of the Syndicate, he was a mage coming from an
extremely cosmopolitan and innovative group. His every smile seemed
sincere, and his Correspondence was supposed to be so good that he could
carry on with over a hundred conversations at once. Perhaps not true, but
none-the-less, a popular rumor. Anyway, he was one of Clark's own, a
mage, not like his undead fuck for a counterpart. And thus he was the
head of External Finances.
"That is all we have at this time, though more information will be
provided as soon as possible. We are taking every precaution and
exploring all options-"
But Clark found his eyes inevitably drawn to the only person in
the room who was not seated. Standing up, feet slightly spread apart,
with hands clenched behind the small of the back, the mysterious head of
Media Affairs was gazing outside the window massive window in the room.
And mysterious he was.
Frederick Gustovich von Ruthaven of Clan Tremere was the other big
unsurity in the room, like Quincy. Yet unlike Quincy, where there was at
least a definite person with a number of rumors, Frederick was a person
who was not definite, though there were a number of facts about him. And
to this Clark turned his mind.
(He certainly lives up to his nickname), thought Clark, (the
'Dark' Prince of the Tremere). Standing there like a statue, trenchcoat
over his fine suit, Clark could imagine the Transylvanian Tremere in his
earlier life. A life of service to the Tremere, fighting and eventually
winning the Tremere-Tzimisce war. A life of living through, and having no
small part in, the creation of the Camarilla and the Sabbat. A life of
wielding incredible magical powers that even other Tremere spoke in awe
of. A life of being one big question mark.
Information could be found about, but it was often very sketchy
and erroneous. No one really seemed to know much except the highest of
the Tremere, and they were not very friendly to Genom. But if even half
of the rumors about him were true, he was probably the most dangerous
person present in the room. He was a Methusalah vampire, someone that
others spoke of in hushed tones. And though his Media Affairs division
was one of the smallest in Genom, it was consistently the most efficient
and effective. It was rumored that Quincy allowed the vampire almost free
reign. It was also said that von Ruthaven could even read minds.
(What was that!?!) thought Clark, staring furiously, racing
through his memory. For the briefest of seconds, Clark could have sworn
he saw a slight smile flicker across the stony and melancholy face of the
Methusalah. (Shit, is he reading my fucking mind?), Clark thought
furiously. But there were no more forthcoming smirks from Frederick.
"-and that concludes my report." finished the young suit, with the
mechanical precision of the overly ambitious.
"Now, on to other matters. We now know what else is going on in
the world. Can our Department of Media Affairs enlighten us on what we
are going to do in light of this new information?" asked Quincy.
All eyes turned to the standing Head of that Department, but he
merely raised a single figure imperiously, and the Vice Director
immediately took to his feet, beaming his polished white smile at
everyone. Clark heard Madigan's hiss of annoyance at the affrontry of her
fellow Tremere, noted the soft chuckle from Jamison, while the rest of the
members of the Board looked on, Quincy and himself included.
The man, formerly of the Syndicate, broke into an easy going
voice, introducing himself, "Hi! I'm Troy McLure. You may remember me
from my project, Radiation: A Little Bit Won't Hurt, and how our
department dealt with the Canadian response to Genom's Brand New Toxic
Waste Development Center in Ontario. Today I'm going to be talking
about-"
Once more, Clark tuned out the peppy yet droning voice. His
assistant would record everything. Besides, if they needed anything, they
would come to his department as always. This Board meeting was more like
getting a shopping list for the Bio-Engineers, not an informative session.
Again, Clark examined the standing Methusalah, who gazed out over
the glittering expanse of MegaTokyo through the vast windows. Like some
feudal lord he stood, gazing out over his desmense. He was supposed to be
Transylvanian, like Dracula was. But von Ruthaven's political aspirations
were supposed to have been crushed when his pet Ducheksi revenant servant
Brian J. Mason, whom he had been giving extensive tutelage, had died in
that idiotic fight with the Knight Sabers. And the elder vampire
certainly had enemies. According to rumor, von Ruthaven had been the
leader of the assault on the Cathayans, and one of the heads of a project
Ayukawa Clark was not supposed to know about, one with the initials OMS-
A beeping of a priority call started to sound, and Clark
immediately focussed his attention towards the center of the table, to the
holo-projector, as anything that would interrupt a Board meeting had to be
important. But just for a minute, Clark was sure he saw another of those
small smiles on the face of the Germanic man.
The image of one of the undersecretaries to Chairman Quincy
appeared. "Sorry to bother you, sir, but we thought you might wish to
know. At 0156 hours this night, an explosion occurred in MegaTokyo with
the estimated potency of a Billial nuclear charge."
Almost immediately, everyone shot to their feet or straighted up,
all except Quincy, who merely narrowed his eyes, Jamison, who leaned back
in his chair and regarded the hologram with amusement, and von Ruthaven,
who gave another tiny smile.
Quincy held up a hand, stilling any questions, asking the
undersecretary, "Where, who, how, and why?"
"The location of the blast was estimated to be 3 kilometers
North-West of Timex City. Tenative reports suggest the center of the
blast which destroyed everything in a two block radius was Kamazake
Imports. We currently lack any definite suspects, however there are
numerous possibilities. Evidence and sattelite reconaissance indicates
the blast was not nuclear in origin, despite the potency. Device unknown.
Delivery, unknown. Reason, unknown."
They all digested this for a brief moment, before Quincy said,
"Good. Send me an update in twenty minutes."
And Frederick Gustovich von Ruthaven smiled.
- - - - - - - - - -
The city looked like a discolored sky, alive with the twinkling of
jewels before his heightened senses, as Frederick Gustovich von Rathaven
gazed down on the city he had helped create. (Ah, my friend, if only you
could see what our action have brought about), he directed his whimsy to
his best friend, now resting in torpor. He knew Alexander heard, if only
in the dark dreams. Dark dreams...
Behind him, direction and distance lacking relavence for one such
as himself, the thoughts and feelings of the members of Genom's Board of
Directors rose in a confusing babble of noise. His mind, well trained,
picked out those which he could trust, avoiding the false thoughts sent
out by the others in an attempt to confuse such probings as he was
directing. They were about what he expected; Jamison wanted to kill
something horribly, Madeline wanted to either diablerize him or become his
partner, and the...
Frederick gave a small smile at the thoughts of the Bio-Engineer.
(How unusually perceptive, for a mortal), he thought. He _knew_ as the
mortal's thoughts weaved into-
(Mason), he thought with a sigh. (Yes, one of my greatest
failures as well as my triumph. A pity). The revenant had become too
involved with his affairs, too arrogant, too scheming when he had refused
Mason the Embrace. He probably should never have mentioned the-
Ah, there it was- he heard the beep that preceded the
undersecretary's report; the information had finally come in. With a small
smile, he could already imagine the reactions, even as everyone gasped at
the information. So easy. And at the cost of only a few dozen lives.
Turning his attention upward with his sight beyond sight,
Frederick looked atop one of the observation towers of Genom, much like
the one he currently was in. There, atop the roof, a figure crouched, not
moving, as it had for nearly two hours.
With a single mental command, he sent his plan and his minion into
motion, even as he heard Quincy asking if anyone knew about the "new"
development.
(Go), Frederick commanded his minion and his plan into motion.
- - - - - - - - - -
The wind whistled and cracked across Genom tower, but the hard
skin of the creature that waited atop a small tower encrusted with weather
apparatus made it immune to the chill, the heat, and the toxins that blew
through the air. Like a statue, like the stone it was in part made of,
the monster waited patiently, ever so patiently. It occasionally opened
it's eyes to gaze at the city below, but would inevitably close them and
wait some more.
(Go) came the command of it's master, smooth and soft. Without
any hesitation, the creature unfurled to it's full height, stretching for
the briefest of seconds, before walking off the edge before it, stepping
into the oblivion below.
It well swiftly, like the rock it was in part, falling a hundred
meters. Two hundred. Three hundred meters. Four hundred.
At five hundred meters, just before the slope of Genom Tower would
strike him, Ubz-Talk extended his leathery wings with a snap, as he caught
the thermal and danced up into the tunnel of warm air. Giving himself a
second to get his bearings, the Gargoyle prepared himself.
Wielding Thaumaturgy taught to him by his master, forbidden to his
kind, he empowered the three amulets he wore. With the first, he became
undetectable to cameras, radar, and mirrors. With the second, he was
armored against the force of the speeds he would be travelling. And with
the last, he would travel far faster than he ever could normally fly.
Obfuscated and stealthed, the Gargoyle angeled towards the
North-West of Timex City. Ubz-Talk already knew what he would find there;
his master had briefed him well. This was just a formality. All he had
to do was carry out his orders.
One push of his wings and he rocketed forward, below the speed of
sound, invisible to both organic and inorganic sensors, the only thing to
mark his passage being the roar of the air as he left it behind him.
- - - - - - - - - -
The questions were stilled by the stern gaze of Quincy. Ever
since that maniac boomer Largo, whoever he was or wherever he came from,
had used the USSD's orbital particle beam sattelites to utterly vaporize
two of the Genom Towers, Genom (and USSD) had been incredibly paranoid
about weapons of mass destruction seeping into MegaTokyo, or any other
major city. The USSD, formerly the Void Engineers, had been taking a
number of losses in the world power politics game. Thus everyone in the
room could intuit that this was not USSD. And megacorporations, as a
rule, including Genom, never ever used weapons of mass destruction in
populated areas. So that left other organizations as a possibility.
"Director von Ruthaven, do you have anything to add to this
matter?" asked Chairman Quincy, a note of slight anger in his voice.
Turning from the window for the first time this evening, the elder
Tremere asked, "I am but the Director of Media Affairs; what would
terrorists and explosions have to do with my department? We shall, of
course, clean up the mistakes of others, never fear." His eyes darted to
the Security Division.
The reaction was immediate. Jamison merely smiled, but the smile
was vicious, and his eyes burned with hatred. Kate Madigan was rising
from her seat, fangs extending as she hissed in anger, violet eyes
flashing. Von Ruthaven merely smiled.
"Enough!" Quincy said in anger, and everyone immediately turned to
look at him. "Once more Frederick, do you know anything about this?"
Frederick seemed to examine Quincy's face for a moment, before
bowing at the waist. "Nothing definite, sir, no. It came to my attention
that the USA Armed Forces were working on an advanced Fuel Air Explosive
with the USSD in Germany. I noticed it particularly when several
prototypes were stolen and the company under contract attempted to hide
their mistake. From my casual interest and the diligent and thorough
nature of the work my people engage in, I remembered the description of
the effect of these weapons, and they happen to match the description of
this weapons." He answered, respectfully.
Quincy steepled his fingers. "Fuel Air Explosives, eh? How many
of these were weapons were stolen?"
Frederick looked at Quincy, saying, "We honestly don't know, sir.
The final prototypes were supposed to be a limited model, however we
believe that Krauftwerks was also attempting to make a profit on the side
by selling them illegally. The best guess is" and Frederick looked
embarassed, "thirty three devices, each with an equivalent damage
potential."
There was the hiss of indrawn breath at that number, and Jamison
gave a low whistle of appreciation.
Quincy's eyes were ice shards as he asked, "And how large are
these weapons? Standard, drop bomb size? Vehicle size?"
Frederick motioned to Troy, who was already pulling up schematics
of the weapon, projecting them on the holo-display. The crude schematics
floated above the center of the table. "About the size of a medium sized
ball, sir."
The silence in the room spoke more loudly than any shouting.
Everyone sat among their own thoughts, as Quincy turned his head to look
reproachfully at the two heads of Genom Security. Jamison had the grace
to look abashed, while Madigan had her flaming red face bowed low.
"So... what shall we do about this... situation?" the Chairman
asked with deliberate emphasis.
Kate Madigan and Adrian Jamison looked at each other before they
began to speak, only to be cut off by Frederick.
"My group has already dispatched an advance scout and a boomer
team to investigate the site of the explosion. But I do not think we will
find much. I believe this was a test, a warning of sorts."
"But who?" broke in Dr. Zurich for the first time in the
conversation.
Frederick swung his gaze over to the window, looking out at the
city, "Why, the only group ruthless and stupid enough to engage in such a
useless action."
"The Sabbat" said Madigan and Jamison at the same time, both
smiling. It was not a pretty sight.
Frederick smiled as well.
Quincy laughed slightly, "Well then, it is fortuitous that our own
preparations come to full affect at such a time. Dr. Zurich, how soon
until the boomers in Operation: Housecleaning #7 are finished?"
Dr. Zurich pushed his glasses, an affection as he had perfect
cybereyes, up on the bridge of his nose, "Vell, the primary systems are
nearly complete. Vey shall vee done vy tomorrow at 1700."
"And your preparations, Dr. Ayukawa?"
Clark startled, realizing the Chairman was addressing HIM. "Uh..
well sir, we are officially already done. But our department is finishing
a new bio-chemical which will mimic the effects of the Delerium induced by
Garou, rather than the simple memory 'fogging' serum 6485-3 used in
earlier operations. It's all in our report." Ryuji hesitantly placed a
simple black folder on the table, crammed full of reports and notes.
"Well done", Quincy said, "And you Director Jamison? Director
Madigan?"
Jamison gave a sharp nod, "My teams are assembled, both strike
teams and guides for the boomers. We just need the go ahead." He grinned,
showing his canines.
"We are ready as well, Chairman", said Kate Madigan.
"Excellent", Quincy closed his eyes, smiling, "I believe we have
this situation well in hand then." His gaze shifted to Frederick, "I
sense you wish to join in the activity, Director von Ruthaven?"
Frederick grinned, his fangs extending, "I'd like that very much,
Mr. Chairman."
"Director Jamison?" inquired Quincy.
Clark saw Jamison and von Ruthaven look at each other with feral
hunger in both their eyes. Though they may be naturally enemies, may hate
each other with a passion, the hunger on their faces for blood once again
reminded Clark that no matter how civil these things might pretend to be,
they were predators to the most extreme degree, killers who fed off of
human beings. A shiver ran through him. And they enjoyed it.
"No problem", said Jamison, as his eyes conveyed that he was not
at all put off by the offer, would welcome him to the Hunt, though he was
not excited to any length by the fact, and would cheerfully try to kill
the vampire should he get careless.
"Thanks", said Frederick, smiling as he said, unspoken, that he
would welcome the challenge.
"Very good. Why don't we all take a brief recess for, say, thirty
minutes? Good, then it is settled." stated Quincy.
Frederick kept the smile on his face as he looked over the city,
his thoughts flying backwards in time.
For like his counterpart, Vlad Tepes, the 'Dragon' Prince of the
Tzimisce, Frederick had a black reputation.
Before he had joined Genom, before he became the Hand of Tremere,
Methusalahs and elders had whispered another name for him.
Carnifex.
For just as Tepes had become atrocious in mortal circles for his
massacre of mortals, so too had Frederick, the 'Dark' Prince of the
Tremere, gained a reputation as a murderer in immortal circles.
For Frederick was the butcherer of vampires.
His smile growing even wider, an almost inaudible chuckle began
deep in his throat, until his entire body shook with his dark humor.
* * * * * * * * * *
Sylia knocked before entering Mackie's room, the door swinging in
in Western style, on hinges. There lay her brother's room, unchanged but
for the addition of a couple bags from his flight in. The posters were
still the pictures of various technical schematics and vehicle diagrams,
interspersed with some swimsuit pictures. She knew several of the
mechanic posters hid racier subject matter, but ignored it.
She walked by his desk, where beside the computer monitor was a
picture of him, herself, and Father. They looked so happy, even though
Mackie appeared so innocent. She smiled briefly at the memory, crystal
clear in her genetically enhanced intellect. A sudden wave of nostalgia
hit her, almost crippling her with the intensity, before just as suddenly
vanishing, leaving her grasping the table for support. After a moment to
collect herself, she turned to what else was in the room, looking for
clues about Mackie's strange behavior.
There were a number of bags and suitcases, several empty. (That's
odd), thought Sylia, puzzled, (the bags were full when they were brought
here.) Looking through them as best she could, she saw what appeared to
be packing material. (Probably for the presents), she thought, before she
made some quick calculations, and realized that the total volume of the
packages in no way justified the amount of remaining volume, including the
packaging material. The only viable conclusion, after a quick search
through his drawers, was that he had a number of items brought with him
that he either now had on his person, or had hidden. Her search complete,
she turned to the blinking LED she had noticed on entering the room.
Mackie's stereo system was one of his pride and joys, a collossal
construct birthed from the remnants of several other stereos. Mackie had
carefully rebuilt the device to such an extent that even Priss shot
envious eyes toward the machine. (Come to think of it, Mackie and Priss
share a lot of similar tastes, in music, bikes; hmph), Sylia filed that
thought away for later.
The LED was for the old Pioneer CD player, one that played the
clunky old-style discs, located right below the 8-track and the record
player. Apparantly, a CD was loaded, the display showing and blinking at
track 04, 00:50 seconds into the track. She pushed the pause button,
releasing the spinning silver disc to it's task.
At her touch, the soft strains of Metallica's "Until it Sleeps"
began to fill the room.
"Just like the curse, just like a stray"
Sylia listened intently to the words, and as she spoke nearly
twenty languages, had no trouble diciphering the English. Mackie had left
this for a reason. The first words had no apparantly meaning, except; a
stray?
"You feed it once, and now it's dead!"
"*Now it's dead!*" The tone changed to rock.
Sylia felt sorrow; perhaps Mackie felt his old life was over, and
he had died? Still she listened.
"So tear me open, but beware!"
Ah, here was the crux of message!
"There's things inside without a care!"
Her eyes narrowed; what did that mean?"
"And the dirt still stains me,"
Did Mackie see himself as dirty because of the accident, because
of his cybernetics? Or did he see himself like some eta, a being below
notice?
"So wash me, until I'm clean!"
"It grips you, so hold me"
"It stains you, so hold me"
"It _hates_ you, so hold me"
"It holds you, so hold me"
"...until it sleeps."
Sylia walked over and pushed the stop button, listened to the
whirl of the CD running down, before turning off the power and exiting the
room.
She didn't understand all of the message, but she knew enough that
Mackie was trying to tell her to back off, not to pry, to give him time.
She only wished that she could.
* * * * * * * * * *
Leaving Rene's "car" parked several blocks away from the bar and
club that would serve as the temporary meeting place of the Sabbat,
Mackie, Rene, and Thomas headed on foot towards the building. They had
all changed clothes a little, and both Thomas and Rene now sported new
firearms under their armpits. Rene had chosen a Fichetti Merci slug
thrower, while Thomas had selected an Ares Pocket Cannon 3, a weapon
intended for enhanced individuals. Rene also carried a slim business
man's briefcase with him. Other than some minor changes in clothes, and
the fact Mackie kept his sword available in a wrapped bundle of black
cloth slung over one shoulder, they were dressed in clothes similar in
style, but very different in actuality from when they had picked up the
truck.
Thomas was concerned; they were late for the Sabbat meeting.
Thomas even halfway suspected that Mackie had deliberately arranged for it
to be so. Given the way their young commander was acting, he seemed to
have an attitude against the Sabbat. While Thomas doubted he was a
traitor to the Sabbat, there was noticeable reluctance to trust others
outside the Black Hand. In fact, Mackie seemed almost totally relaxed
around himself and Rene. So much that he had even told the two his plans
for the evening. And those plans could be construed by many Sabbat as
treason.
Mackie was currently speaking with Rene, trying to keep him on his
best behavior during and before the meeting. Thomas could hear Mackie
giving Rene orders not to tell anyone about what had happened.
"Now, no mention of what happened, got it Rene?" Mackie said in a
firm voice.
"I got it boss, no need to worry about me", replied Rene.
(That'll be the day), thought Thomas.
(That'll be the day), thought Mackie.
"I know what you're thinking; relax, will ya. I got covered.
We're the best. The best of the best of the best. We'll murder the
competition-"
Mackie gave the Malkavian a stern glare.
"Oops, sorry; forgot, no talking about that. But don't worry.
Trust me; I know what I'm doing." Grinning, the Malkavian spun around,
"We're the Black Hand, the elite of the Sabbat, who give freedom to all
vampires. We'll crush the Camarilla, the Conclave, the Cathayans, for in
the end, there can be only one."
Mackie stopped as the last statement of the Malkavian caused a
tugging at his memory. For some reason, the words brought back memories
of... Paris? After a few moments of struggling to remember, Mackie began
to get angry. Realizing what he was doing, Mackie let it go. Snorting
mentally, Mackie thought (It's nothing to lose my head over. It's not as
though, if I remember, there will be any great prize awaiting should I get
it.) Quickening his pace, Mackie hurried after the others, continuing on
their way to the gathering.
A crowd was just starting to gather outside of the meeting place,
a combination bar and dance club that had been actually rented by the
Sabbat for the night. Guards, either ghoul or otherwise, were posted
outside for blocks, discreetly and not so discreetly. Some hired mortals
engaged in hassling anyone passing by, directing them away from the
particular block where the meeting was taking place. Mackie and Thomas
both reached for their guns when someone darted from the shadows, stepping
nervously.
"Psstt.. hey, Cornholio!" whispered the voice of the male
teenager, hooded in a sweatshirt. Mackie and Thomas both drew their
firearms as Rene seemed to shiver slightly.
"I AM CORN- oh, it's you. I am Cornholio! You will bow down
and WORSHIP me! Have you come to pay tribute to my Bungholio?" as the
annoying personality once again became dominate. Mackie saw Thomas'
finger start to squeeze the trigger of the large handgun before relaxing.
"Hey man, good to speak to you- hey, will you guys put those
things away!" the hooded man shot at both Thomas and Mackie.
Rene turned to both of his companions and scowled, asking, "Are
you threatening me? I AM CORNHOLIO! You will bow down and worship the
bunghole. The ambassador from Titicocka will... uh... huhuhhuhuh; I said
cocka."
"Heheheh", laughed the hooded male.
Rene gave a subtle gesture, and glared imperiously, so both Mackie
and Thomas holstered their weapons again, though Mackie had a little
trouble getting the weapon back in the concealed holster.
"Hello, I'm..." started the hooded man, turning towards Rene and
Thomas.
"This is the ambassador of Titicocka. He is from the Skeleton
Chewers and," Cornholio broke off, starting to laugh that horrible laugh,
"uhuhuhuh, uhuhuhuh; Skeleton Chewers, I bet you have big... you bone,
hehheheheheh, boners! Boners. Hehehehehheheheheheheheh!"
Much to the horror of Mackie and Thomas, the agony started to come
in stereo as the from beneath the hood of the sweatshirt, the hooded male
began to emitted a horrific sound,
"Yeah, huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh"
"heheheheheheheheheheheh"
"huhuhuhuhhuhuhuhuhhuhuhuh"
"hehehehehheheheheheheheh"
"huhuhuhuhuhuh"
"That was pretty cool", said the hooded one with a laugh, "Huhuh,
huhuhuhuh; boners... Boing-oing-oing!"
Continuing the crass dialogue, Cornholio started to join in,
"Yeahhhh, boners, yeah, boing-oing-oing!"
"Huhuhuhuhuhuhhuhuhuh"
"Heheheheheheh"
"Huhuhuh"
Hearing that mindless laugh times two, knowing two such unnatural
things existed on Earth, shook Thomas to the core. In that moment, Thomas
knew there was no God, though he was really starting to believe or at
least suspect a Lucifer.
Mackie's considerable intelligence finally managed to decipher the
words of the Malkavian. (So), he thought, (a Skeleton Chewer- this man is
a Bone Gnawer). Mackie filed the information away, even as he followed
Rene and the Garou towards the meeting place, giving them a wide berth.
(This answers one of my questions; Rene must have a wide range of such
contacts; he is, after all, the longest surviving member of the Black Hand
to in MegaTokyo.)
"Huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh"
"Hehehehehehheh"
"Listen to the words of the bunghole, for it has spoken. Soon,
boomers will go crazy and kill all things!"
"Cool" responded the Bone Gnawer werewolf. Give and take, the
name of the game in the intelligence community.
Thomas started to protest this revealing of secrets to outsiders,
but was stopped by Mackie's slight hand movement.
(Hmmm...), thought Mackie, (this could be used to my advantage).
They were almost at the building, a site that was completely
deserted except for the occasional guard.
"Hey, like, thanks or something", said the Bone Gnawer.
They were at the entrence, and the doorman, obviously a Sabbat
ghoul, despite the more normal appearance, looked meaningfully at the Bone
Gnawer.
Thomas knew they should kill the Garou lest it report to it's
friends and they come and attack the Sabbat.
Mackie could give a shit less. It was showtime.
Rene and his associate were finishing their conversation a ways
away, apparantly exchanging information. Mackies heightened senses could
not pick up the details of their conversation.
"Hey Assface!" called a voice from one of the side streets.
"Gotta go", said the Garou very softly to the Malkavian.
"Go to the crapper, huhuhuhuhuhuh, Hershey squirts!" answered
Cornholio.
"Yo, Assface, you metis fuck, where the fuck are you!?" said the
voice again, closer.
"For the last time, my name isn't Assface, my name is But-", and
the rest of the Garou's words were cut off as Mackie and the Black Hand
entered the Sabbat meeting, brushing aside the guardian ghoul with one
flash of the magical brands on their hands. Reverantly, the ghoul bowed
deeply and stepped to the side.
- - - - - - - - - -
Ishikawa's Jack Off was an exlusive club that typically catered to
the more extreme and perverse clientelle. It was infamous for the S&M,
the torture, the rape, the freaks, the child pornography, the bestiality,
and the even more unpleasant subject matter. The ADPolice had tried
repeatedly to shut the place down. But Ishikawa's Jack Off was a place
that followed the Golden Rule: He who was the gold, makes the rules.
Pressure from politicians and corporate officers who frequented the den of
depravity made closing the place difficult, if not impossible. Thus it
remained open, and doing booming business, and people tried to ignore the
place, a feat especially difficult when they thought about where their
loved ones, their children, and their favorite pets might be when they
went "missing". The local Yakuza used Jack Off as a threat against the
families of those who stood against them, often inviting the victim to see
their family after the family had been "trained" by the professionals.
Those example of those poor unfortunates, who almost universally killed
themselves or went insane, allowed the Yakuza to operate without fear of
repercussion in their neighborhoods.
The Sabbat had chosen the location for the discreteness and the
fact it was left alone by everyone. They had paid in cash, up front, for
the use of the facilities. When they had listed their requirements for
their "celebration", some of the Sabbat leaders had actually been shocked
at the vile suggestions made by the management of Ishikawa's Jack Off.
After seeing what lay in the back rooms of "entertainment" palace, more
than one member of the vampire sect universally renowned for evil and
cruelty wondered just how evil they actually were.
Archbishop Demandos looked over the congregation that had
assembled before him as he stood on the pulpit. The post and the chain
indicated what this auctioning block was used for in the normal operating
hours of the business. Not that Demandos minded. He had seen much worse.
(Worse; like the Sabbat milling about in the bar area.)
(How pitiful), thought the leader of the Sabbat in MegaTokyo. (To
think the mighty Sabbat reduced to a handful of qualified members; how
dissappointing.) And even the word "qualified" was a stretch of the
truth. Half of the gathered Sabbat were new packs and new members from
their last meeting only three months earlier.
(Have truly so many been lost?) wondered the old Tzimisce. The
Sabbat had never been strong, but they had taken advantage of the turmoil
Genom produced to move in. Now the greatest problem was generation; the
older Sabbat had been killed off, and now the average generation of a
vampire was 12th, 13th, or even weaker! Soon there would be no more
Sabbat, Genom having won through sheer attrition. (Attrition. Such an
odd thing for the Sabbat to lose to, as it is most often _our_ weapon).
A few more vampires kept trickling in, but not too many. Most of
those below were little better than cannon fodder, pushing each other
around, inept in the use of the powers Caine had granted them, little more
than animals without the proper upbringing and training of their Paths of
the Enlightenment.
The traditional Blood Feast hung above them, by the bar where one
of the Sabbat ghouls held a spear he used to puncture the flesh of the
twitching mortals, their mouths Fleshcrafted into tiny pores, and a soft
fluting piped from their altered oral orifices as they attempted to
scream. The resulting melody was actually rather relaxing.
His only remaining Bishop, Christanius Lionel, was the most
experienced, but the Nosferatu antitribu was no fool and recognized that
the majority of the Sabbat here were useless except as point and shoot
weapons. Still, they were the Sabbat, the only true salvation for the
vampire race, the only ones to fight off the evil of the Antediluvians.
As he took the podium, the surviving members of the packs turned
to him. The Gaijin Gangsters remained, as did the Hari-Kiri. But the
Veritas were gone, and only Jimmy remained, the blank and haunted look on
his face telling Demandos all he needed to know. The Rippers were gone,
and so were Shin Samurai. But at least the Akai Ryu remained, and in good
number. The remains of other broken packs milled about.
Clearing his throat loudly, Demandos extended his Presence, the
Majesty of his vampiric mantle captivating his fellows as they all looked
up at him. His Obtenebration called shadows to highlight and darken his
features, making him seemed more imposing in the dim light, as his crimson
robes pooled about him.
"Hear me, Children of Our Lord Caine! We stand at a crux! It has
been three months since we last met, and our losses have been grievious.
Many of our dear brothers and sisters of the Sabbat have gone to the
Final Death, while Genom and all those within who serve the Antediluvians
yet remain! Their deaths shall not be unavenged!"
There was angry muttering among the Sabbat, as they remembered
those fallen comrades they had once held in common Viniculum.
"The task ahead of us is long and hard. The spirits and
sacrifices of our shall help pave the way to our eventual victory! Let us
now remember our comrades and the sacrifices they have made."
All the gathered Sabbat bowed their heads. Archbishop Demandos
suspected some were not genuine, but more than a few shed crimson tears
over their loss. In the back, a Malkavian began to cackle wildly, until
shoved a sock deep down their throat.
"My Children, my Brothers and Sisters of Lord Caine, I call you to
remember Our Lord Caine and his Wisdom. I call your attention to the Book
of Nod. From it, we know Caine wandered for years, alone, battered and
bruised by all the world. He was little more than a beggar, an Outcast!
But did our Lord remain so forever? NO! I tell you no! For Caine, in
his Infinite Wisdom, knew that his travels would make him tough, make him
strong. But we are not Caine; but neither are we forced to walk alone.
Look to your left; now look to your right! There, there are your
Brothers and your Sisters!" About this time, Christanius began to pass
around the large cup for the Viniculum. Each Sabbat member began to fill
the cup with their own blood. "Behold! For We draw strength from our
Brother and Sisters! Think about this, for your Brother and your Sister
are your Strength and your Shield. Remember that. Remember this."
There was silence as the cup was filled with blood, swelling to
the brim, before it was brought before him. Crystal gobblets were dipped
in the blood and each member grabbed a cup. Already, the Beast, always
close to the surface in any Sabbat, was making its presence known in
extended fangs and animal hunger as all present smelled the blood.
Demandos held his goblet to the sky, "Dread Lord Caine, by this we
are all your Children." He turned to the gathered Sabbat, "Brothers and
Sisters, grant me your Power!" With that he gulped down the potent vitae.
"BROTHERS AND SISTERS, GRANT ME YOUR _POWER_!" responded the
throng, as they swallowed the blood, before throwing back their heads and
howling.
Demandos raised his arms as his children howled their hunger.
"Know that Caine is with Us. His Strength guides Us, His Courage gives Us
Heart. Know that We are Sabbat, that We Alone are True." Demandos threw
his arms wide as he cried out, "Behold, for the Hand of Caine's Vengenance
is here-"
Whatever he intended to say was cut off as the double doors to the
back bar burst open, showing shadowy light as three vampires strode in
with matched strides. Even as they did, Demandos panicked briedly, as he
felt his Obtenebration slip from his control, the shadows twisting to pool
about the leader of the trio entering. Within the gathering, the Lasombra
hissed as they too felt the unmistakable presence of one of their lost
nobility dominating their control of their own Obtenebration.
For Mackie Stingray, 7th Generation from Caine, Power of the Black
Hand, and Lord of the Shadows, the true nobility of Clan Lasombra, stood
before the Sabbat with a serious and set look on his face as living
darkness pooled about him in undulating waves and as Mackie wore his
Presence like a king wore an ermine trimmed robe, his very being thrumming
with power, the Black Hand of MegaTokyo flanking him.
- - - - - - - - - -
Mackie had entered Jack Off with his two associates close by,
passing under the sign that said simply "Ishikawa's". Ignoring the fine
red carpets and passing by the woman dressed up in a traditional formal
kimono who bowed to them, the Black Hand headed towards one of the myriad
rooms adjoining the main room where the meeting was taking place. Rene
Dominated the ghoul who tried to take their weapons, telling him to go
"get lost." At Mackie's questioning look, Rene shrugged and said, "Worked
with the Hibiki kid."
Despite the cool exterior he was projecting, inside Mackie was
sweating more blood than a mortal wound. This entire action had to be
perfect. Everyone had to do everything right. The big question was
whether or not the rest of the Black Hand would follow him. Rene seemed
like the sort that he would support Mackie, but with Malkavians, you could
never know.
Thomas, on the other hand, was a traditionalist in almost
everyway. He was loyal to the Black Hand more than the Sabbat, but still
very loyal to the latter. That would cause problems for Mackie. Not that
he had much choice. What would happen, would happen.
Mackie tried to minimize the damage before it happened, so he
adjusted the strap to the bundle over his shoulder, and walked up to Rene,
who was apparantly himself once more. Mackie repressed a shudder when he
thought of how they had been driving along innocently when the Malkavian
had decided he was a world famous race car driver and this was the Indy
500. It was a miracle they avoided getting a ticket. Or catching Final
Death. Thus Mackie tried to talk to Rene.
"Hey, Rene", Mackie began.
"Hmmm?" asked the Malkavian with his energetic and guiltless blue
eyes.
Great. The man seemed totally clueless. "Listen, Rene, this
meeting has to go _exactly_ according to plan. I need you to stay cool,
OK? You know, be suave and sophisticated? And.. hey, Rene?"
Much to his horror, Mackie saw the Malkavian undergo a series of
brief shudders that signalled another personality metamorph. With a
feeling of dread and the thought (What have I done now?) ringing, he
awaited with a careful ambivilence at what Rene now was.
"Rene?", Mackie said, hesitantly.
"Rene old chap? I'm not...; oh, I see. Secret identity and all
that. Yes, I am Rene." said Rene in a slight British accent.
"You do remeber who I am, right?" asked Mackie.
Rene gave him a strange look. "Of course M. Are you feeling
alright?"
Thomas entered the conversation, "What are you now?"
Before he could act, Rene darted forward and planted a kiss on the
cheek of the Assamite antitrbu. "Don't worry Moneypenny, I could never
forget you." he said with a charming smile.
Mackie stepped between them before the situation erupted in
violence. "Listen, the important thing is, do you remember the plan?"
Rene nodded solemnly, "Of course M. I have it all up here." He
tapped his head.
Mackie nodded, "Good."
They continued onward while Thomas fumed, more angry at the
Malkavian being able to touch him unawares than at the actual event of the
kiss itself. Before long, in the elegant hallway, they all smelled fresh
blood and as they rounded the corner, they were confronted by three Sabbat
carrying two mortals for the bloodfeast, one still struggling. The two
mortals were dirty, evidently having fallen in a mud puddle, and the
laughing Sabbat were preparing them for the Blood Feast. One held the
teenage boy still with the Kiss, the female Tzimisce fleshcrafting and
bonecrafting the mouth and jaw into a tiny hole that made a piping sound
as the mortal moaned in the twin ecstacy of pain and pleasure.
"YOU!" cried the young girl as the two Sabbat held her hands,
struggling impotently against the vampires strength and Potence.
The boy moaned again in the grip of the Tzimisce dressed in
fishnet stockings and black leather. She withdrew her lips from the
wound, sealing it, as boy the fainted from the lack of blood.
"YOUUU!!!!" cried the girl, apparantly a "Miki" if the name on her
nametag was to be believed.
One of Sabbat holding her casually slapped her into silence before
reaching down and shattering her radius and ulna. The cry seemed to peak
and then fade as she screamed, falling into unconciousness. But the other
Sabbat, with dog ears and fur, clearly Gangrel, raised one hand tipped
with claws and brought them slashing down her torso, awakening her with an
agonized scream, "AHHHHHHHHHH!!!" as blood splurted out.
Hearing this, the boy desperately tried to reach the girl,
apparently some relation or girlfriend. However the Sabbat wouldn't let
him go. "Hey, Kaji, you should taste this kid! It's like nothing I've
ever had; both sweet and bitter at the same time. Reminds me of a food I
used to eat", called out the woman to her two companions.
"You mean like sweet and sour pork?" asked the Japanese Sabbat,
who held the whimpering and sobbing girl, thin lines of blood soaking her
ruined shirt.
The female shook her head, "No, more like a jam I used to have;
what was it? Oh yeah, it was marm-" She broke off as the Black Hand
loomed forward.
Mackie could feel the bile rising like eight million cockroaches
from the ruins of New York City. He had watched how the Sabbat played
with their prey, saw the mortals, and every doubt vanished in a fiery haze
of hatred and rage. He stomped forward angrily, eyes flaring at the
Tzimisce.
Thomas was disgusted at the incompitance of the Sabbat. Letting
someone approach that close without noticing? And wasting the blood that
flowed in wasteful trickles from the girl's body and the boy's neck?
Disgraceful.
Rene kept an open eye out as he walked about, looking for the
secret message, using his X-ray radar watch to scan the walls for traps.
A vampire whom Himeko had never seen abruptly strode towards her,
down the hall. Cursing herself mentally for dropping her guard, she and
her fellows moved to intercept the new vampire and his companions.
"What the hell do you think you are doing here?", she stated
belligerently. And got a shock when she saw the vampire's eyes were
_grey_. She had heard of some weird shit with Fleshcrafting, but this was
a new one. Grey-eyes raised his hand, and said in a tight voice, "Get out
of my way." To which she only laughed, looking back at her friends, who
were laughing to.
Mackie narrowed his eyes at this response, as behind him both of
the Black Hand winced, suspecting what was coming next. (Time to teach
these idiots respect, the only way they know how).
Himeko was laughing as she turned her head back when Mackie's
swift backhand caught her and spun her, teeth and bits of her jaw spraying
as the kinetic force behind his fist mauled her face.
Crying out, she clutched her wounded mouth, already trying heal it
with Blood, and she turned to leap at that bastard when her friends
stopped her in her frenzy.
Calming herself from her fury, through the haziness of the pain,
she saw what lay on the open palm of the vampire's hand. And what her
friends had seen when they paid attention.
A black cresent moon.
The Black Hand.
She had just insulted the Black Hand.
Before they could do anything, the Black Hand member, apparantly
the leader, caught all of their eyes, his gaze burning with hot fury, as
he ground out with fangs extended, "Now, you incompetant, idiotic,
half-fucked pukes GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT!"
The mental command ringing in their minds, they all turned and
rushed away from that terrible and dread gaze.
Enraged beyond what mortal eyes would recognize, Mackie stomped
forward, ignoring Thomas call of "Hey Mackie, wait". There, that was the
right door, the big double door made of wood. He could hear the voices
behind it, even as his Beast spoke to him.
A hand fell on his shoulder as Thomas urged, "Mackie, calm down,
we have to talk. You can't just-"
Shrugging off the hand with one jerk of his shoulder, Mackie found
all the impurities of doubt and fear had been burnt away in the white-hot
forge of his hate. He was the sword, ready to do his job, ready to kill.
Mackie slammed his boot into the double doors, flinging them open,
as he stormed into the room as dozens of surprised Sabbat looked on.
- - - - - - - - - -
Standing in front of so many gazes, Mackie felt momentarily taken
aback, before his rage returned and he announced in a silky voice, "Sorry
we're late, and I apologize for the interuption." With a curt nod to the
Archbishop, he and the rest of the Black Hand moved to the back, nearby
the bar, ignoring everyone else amidst murmurs of 'Black Hand' and 'Magnus
Nigrum'. Rene cheerfully greeted everyone and Thomas made a number of
nods to his pack, or what remained of it, none-the-less both vampires
stuck close to Mackie.
Demandos couldn't help it he gasped at the sheer affrontry of the
young vampire. This must be the new leader of the Black Hand, flown in
undetected somehow. He seemed competent, moved well, and had the loyalty
of the other Black Hand, given how they cloistered about him.
And he didn't need the warning he had been given by Dominion
Santiago to realize what a fireball this young Lick was. The kid
practically screamed attitude. (Though all the reports I have heard say
he is as razor-sharp as his attitude and damn good at his job), thought
Demandos. (Interesting). But the Sabbat assembled before him were
starting to get impatient.
His thunder and momentum stolen by the dramatic entrance of the
Black Hand, Demandos recovered as best he could, starting with a low and
serious voice,
"My Brothers and Sisters; it is time. We are of one mind, to stop
the Antediluvians, and of one body" his voice began to pick up volume,
"for we are the SABBAT! We share our Blood and Will, and We are One!"
At the brief applause that arose, Demandos once more tried to call
his Obtenebration to bring forth shadows to shroud him. Much to his
dismay, he found the shadows hard to 'grasp' and his invisible eye could
see how they fled to pool about the Black Hand leader seated at the bar.
Though he could call them, they had a resistance to his commands, and he
could have sworn he could 'feel' that the shadows wanted to stay near
Mackie Stingray.
Putting that from his mind, the Archibishop and Shepard of Caine
began to speak out to his flock, inciting them against Genom and rallying
them to persevere and give it their all.
"We of the Sabbat stand at a crossroads! For too long has a foul
construct stood against Us, one populated by the rightful Lord of Mankind
who accept mortals, Lupines, and other creatures as the equal of Cainites!
This depraved enemy, this one who betrays their own for power is that
scourge upon MegaTokyo, Genom. Too long have We been under the threat of
Genom! It is time for Us-"
- - - - - - - - - -
Mackie approached the bar with Rene and Thomas in tow. Above him
twitched the still living 'participants' of the BloodFeast. Mackie tried
to ignore the odd piping sound of the demented music their altered lips
made and instead concentrated on his fellows.
Thomas was keeping in line, but from the way his gaze drifted over
to the speaker and to his pack, it was pretty obvious where much of his
loyalty lay.
Rene, on the other hand, was quite different. Affecting an air of
charm and wearing a three piece suit courtesy of his Obfuscate, Rene slid
up to the bar very swiftly. With a debunair air, Rene turned to the
bartender who held the long spear used to puncture the mortals drooping
above.
"Yes, what can I do for you?" asked the beefy man in a
surprisingly effeminate voice.
"I'd like a glass", announced Rene from the corner of his eye,
"*shaken*, not stirred."
The bartender moved to obey and with the spear yabbed upward,
puncturing the side of a young teenage boy. The hooting from his puckered
lips became louder as the red gushed forth, the man adroitly catching the
resulting flood. A push of a button and the tip of the spear sprayed a
skin sealant on the wound of the boy.
Rene took the profered crystal glass of thick liquid and downed
half of it gentlemanly. "Ah, just the way I like it."
Mackie ignored the antics of his subordinate. He was carefully
scanning the Sabbat present, flatly meeting any gaze sent his way,
trusting that his superior generation would protect him from these
lowlifes.
(Hmm...), he thought, (I would say only five of equal generation
to my own. The rest are probably of weaker blood or generation, no better
than Caitiff.) The situation of the Sabbat was just as desperate as he
had been told by his superiors. (No wonder they were desperate for help.)
Mackie wouldn't wager half of these Licks were even trained. Looked like
mostly cannon fodder. (Useless.)
"Hey, M old chap", said Rene, coming to slap Mackie on the
shoulder, "I have a question for you."
Mackie turned to look over at the Malkavian, trying to ignore the
cup of blood in his hand or the twitching body over his shoulder. With a
expressionless look, Mackie asked, "What?"
"Your eyes", the Malkavian stated, "what is the situation with
those chromatic orbs of yours. Of course, not as pretty as your's
Moneypenny." Rene shot a flirtacious smile at Thomas.
Thomas scowled.
"Whatever", Mackie answered, not caring about what Rene was
talking about.
"Seriously M, why the grey eyes? Birth defect? Though I must
admit, I have never heard of the _whites_ of an eye being grey. So, what
is the story."
Mackie had had enough of the nonsense, "What are you talking
about? Stay focussed on the mission; my eyes are completely normal."
Looking genuinely puzzled, Rene said, "But M, your eyes _are_
grey."
Mackie had had enough of the stupid jokes. "Listen, this is not
the time for jokes. My eyes are not grey, they are brown, and complet-"
Thomas broke in, "But your eyes _are_ grey, sir. I was kind of
curious about that myself."
Mackie looked from Thomas and Rene and back. Both seemed sincere,
and this did not seem like some stupid 'hazing' joke. His eyes didn't
feel any different. Could they be?
"Here", said Thomas, holding up one hand. Within the center of
his hand, floating above the brand, suddenly shimmered and appeared a
perfect image of Mackie's new face.
"Good show Moneypenny", cheered Rene.
With a sort of deafening anticipation, Mackie leaned forward to
look at the image of his face, lost to him over a year. His nose and
cheeks were different; hell, almost all of him was different. He was
fairly handsome, like a model, but the startling thing _was_ his eyes.
They were grey, as though some tint had been placed over his eyes. He
looked up at Thomas.
Thomas surpressed a smile at the look of open gratitude that shone
in Mackie's grey eyes. From the expression on his face, it was rather
obvious this was the first time Mackie had seen his face since his
Embrace. It was hard to remember, given how tough the kid acted and
talked, that he was only a year or two old.
"Just a trick", explained Thomas, his feelings turning a little
melancholy, "one that Helena taught me before she met Caine."
Mackie felt emotions well up before he ruthlessly slammed his
self-control down. They were subordinates; people he looked after, true,
but never people to show weakness to. He must be the best of the best at
all times. No hesitation, no fear.
Thomas saw the look in his commander as his expression changed to
one of professional detachment. He proceed to emulate Mackie. Now was
the time for professionalism.
With a loud huzzah, the Archbishop finished his speech to clapping
and wild cries. The meeting hall disintigrated as Sabbat began to mill
and mingle about. The Archbishop and his assistant retired to a table
where the heads of the various packs were gravitating towards. Mackie
nodded to his pack and plunged into the crowd, trying to get there.
Almost immediately, young or curious vampires began to pelt him
with questions.
"You are the new Black Hand commander, right?"
"How do you join the Black Hand?"
"Hey, what is your clan?"
Mackie ignored them all, continuing on his way and disdained the
disgruntled expressions on many young vampire hopefuls. He had no time
for useless cannon fodder. (If they are not yours, or anothers, then they
are nothing), his mentor reminded him.
After a while of pushing, he reached the table where Archbishop
Demandos and Bishop Christanius sat, discussing plans, away from the
majority of the group who were socializing and partying. Someone had
grabbed one of the hanging mortals, and was tossing it about in the mosh
pit atmosphere, body parts and blood flying as the Sabbat had their fun.
Two templars immediately stood forward to intercept Mackie.
One, a tall Japanese man with technocolor blue hair and closed
eyes, asked, "What is your business with Archbishop Demandos?"
Mackie, Rene, and Thomas simply raised there hands, showing the
brand of the Black Hand.
"Again, what is your business with-", asked the vampire.
"Enough Ukyo. Let them pass", annouced a blond haired woman.
"Very well Charlotte, but it is on your head", answered the
blue-haired man tightly.
They were waved forward.
The conversation was energetic, as the apparant discussion was
war, always a Sabbat pleaser. There was a series of maps printed out from
a computer, each map giving detailed plans on various areas of MegaTokyo.
Mackie stepped up with the rest of the Black Hand and merely looked at the
maps before him and listened to what was being discussed.
"-have to do it. The only way for the Sabbat to survive is to
have a communal haven that is fortified, a fortress from which to launch
attacks", insisted one male, all in black, clearly crafted by Vicissitude,
probably Tzimisce.
(Idiot) thought both Mackie and one of his mentors (Genom is full
of Garou and other creatures that can stroll through the Near Umbra.
Gonna stop them with *walls?*)
"Yeah right!" yelled one particularily heavily built blond haired
man, muscles rippling as he grew red in face, nearing Frenzy.
(Brujah), sang Mackie and his mentors, and they all laughed.
"What we need is a good offense. Even if half of us die, we have
to find out what is in that damn tower of theirs!"
(Hmm, perhaps not so stupid), murmurred Rosa.
Indeed. The suggestion this one gave was not without merit. But
was it from frustration or genuine intelligence?
"Do you remember what happened when the former _lords_ of this
land tried to do that? Genom utterly defeated them!", shouted the Lick
all in black.
"The one in black is Hazuro, leader of the Hari-Kiri. The blond
is Jimmy Delaz, leader of the Gaijin Gangers. The brown haired recluse is
Billy Navros, leader of the Akai Ryu. The other pack leaders must be
dead", whispered Rene quietly into Mackie's ear. He seemed to have lost
the accent.
Mackie nodded imperceptibly. The leader of Akai Ryu was at least
half-Japanese, judging from the eyes, and part-Westerner. He carried
himself well, and was silent and attentive as he examined Mackie in turn.
Mackie nodded to him, which the man with furred ears and red head band
returned.
Demandos looked over at Billy Navros and Mackie. Finally, he
raised a hand, silencing the two bickering Sabbat pack leaders, and turned
to the leader of the Akai Ryu.
"Billy, what is your opinion on the matter?" asked Demandos.
Billy thought about it for a moment, before turning an eye to
Mackie.
"I think the new leader of the Black Hand has something better
than opinion; information."
Demandos narrowed his eyes, "Yes, come forward young Lasombra, and
tell us what you know; and why only now you appear."
The Sabbat all turned to the Black Hand, who had, until then,
remained out of sight and unobtrusive. Now Mackie stepped forward,
motioning his fellows forward.
Obtenebration and swirling about him, Mackie made an impressive
figure as his Presence snapped up instinctively. Jimmy openly sneered at
Mackie's use of Presence.
"Indeed, I do have information, gathered through Black Hand
resources and my own efforts, the reason I was unable to make contact",
said Mackie as he motioned Rene forward, who opened the matte black
briefcase he held with the key and removed several manila folders, which
he passed around to everyone present.
While Mackie may not have had much experience in vampiric
discussions, he was accustomed to business meetings and science seminars.
Taking his cues from that experience, Mackie began to speak.
"The folders you hold contain detailed schematics of boomer Model
9 and 11 cyberbrains and a particular series of code program hardwired
into the core processor. I won't bore you with the technical details, or
the specifics even, but the end result is clear: every boomer has a
specific encoding ordering it to kill all vampires or other supernaturals
not aligned with Genom."
The silence that greeting him was swiftly shattered by the
laughter of several of the members of the group. Everyone except for
Billy and Demandos and Christanius, who stayed silent, thinking on this
new information.
"Right; Boomer assassins! So my little old laundery boomer is in
actuality a time bomb! HAHAHAHA!" laughed Jimmy.
"Of course there are; and the Sabbat are really the puppets of
the Antediluvians, and secretly I am really a caring humanitarian",
chortled the Hazuro.
Mackie waited before announcing, "I see." Pointedly ignoring the
two laughing Sabbat, Mackie turned to the three other Sabbat.
"Genom will be iniating a city-wide hunt for all unauthorized
supernatural beings within the city, the source of many of the boomer
rampages. Their orders are simple, but they are carefully monitored. The
complex program in their brains iniates staggerinly fast co-efficiency
ratios, at an incredibly fast 'wear' or degeneration rate. In such a
state, two boomers can easily overpower even a Garou. All evidence is
destroyed when the brain shuts down."
"I see" said Demandos. And he did. This new information
explained much.
"You don't seriously believe this, do you Demandos?" asked Jimmy.
Mackie continued, "The attack will commence in a time frame of
three to twelve days hence and will strike like a tsunami. This is not a
war; it is extermination by attrition."
"I believe him; my own spies in Genom reported similar
preparations that would coincide with what the Power claims", added Billy,
quietly.
"Listen you, we don't have to stand hear and listen to this,
punk-", started Jimmy.
"NOR DO I!" growled out Mackie in a low voice.
He looked over the gathered Sabbat, and all his anger and courage
focussed into one pinpoint.
"I only came here to deliver this information. My orders when I
arrived in MegaTokyo were to execute the assasination orders presented to
the Black Hand. After that, my responsibility to this group ends. I am
withdrawing all Black Hand members from their respective packs. The Black
Hand is hereby operating independently of the Sabbat in MegaTokyo."
Everyone, including Archbishop Demandos, was on their feet at
Mackie's declaration.
But from the babel of voices that arose, one rose higher than all
other, as Archbishop Demandos thunderous voice bellowed,
"*YOU* _SAY_ _WHAT_!!!!!!!!!!"
Suddenly, the silence that prevailed was almost deafening.
- - - - - - - - - -
Mackie would have licked his lips had he still saliva, but even
that would not cure his nervousness. This was the critical part of his
plan. He hoped everything would turn out alright. He could not turn his
head to see if Rene and Thomas would support him. What if they did not
side with their Black Hand loyalties? What if they panicked? What if he
panicked? (No choice; keep going). Conscious of all eyes upon him, he
began to speak,
"I am the commander of the Black Hand of MegaTokyo. As I have
stated, Genom will be attacking us and we of the Sabbat will be outgunned,
outnumbered, and-" he looked around "-outclassed. I am placing the Black
Hand under my direct control, independent of their native Sabbat packs."
"Why?", asked Demandos, the word hanging in the air.
"Because I don't not believe half of the vampires here will
survive the upcoming attack." Mackie said softly, "And I don't want good
members of the Sabbat to die for no reason."
"Many would consider this treason, you know", said Demandos.
Mackie answered, "Archbishop, I am loyal to the Black Hand and the
Sabbat. My Black Hand command is the sole reason for my existence in
MegaTokyo. All of my inteligence indicates that the course of action I am
taking will provide the best chance of success and survival. That is
all."
Demandos thought about it for a second. After a few moments of
deliberation, he put aside his personal feelings,
"Very well. I accept your rationale, Power Mackie Stingray of the
Black Hand. Welcome to MegaTokyo."
Mackie bowed deeply as he had been trained from childhood, "Thank
you Archbishop."
The party once more started up, when suddenly a voice cried out,
"WAIT!"
- - - - - - - - - -
Mackie sighed softly; he knew what this was, what whoever this
was, was thinking. It happened in every new Sabbat location he went to.
He had warned both Rene and Thomas of his intentions on this matter. This
vampire was of inferior generation, and desired to diablerize him.
Turning about, Mackie saw the blond vampire in a red suit push
through the crowd that was now forming a ring about him. He was tall,
with excellent muscle tone and a sure walk. Another vampire, a Japanese
man with brown hair and in a white suit with red headband, pushed
forward while apparantly trying to talk to the blond vampire.
With a inward groan, Mackie knew it was going to be bad. The two
vampires, from what a quick peak at their auras, were confidant, though
there was a hint of worry in the Japanese vampire. The other vampire,
though, had a large streak of greed in him. (Yup, he's going challenge me
to Monomacy), thought Mackie glumly. To the Sabbat he simply asked,
"What?" He already knew the answer.
"You're running away, is that it? Even if your story is true,
you're still chickening out!", stated the blond vampire.
"Hardly. I am merely conserving resources."
"Sounds like your running away and betraying the Sabbat!"
announced the vampire.
The silence was sudden and then a babble of conversation sprung
up. Even the youngest Sabbat, unfamiliar with the intracicies that were
occurring, realized something was happening, something important.
Mackie's eyes narrowed as he began to mentally and magically
prepare himself, very quietly muttering the incantation for several
rituals.
Thomas was very worried. Before they had entered, Mackie had told
both him and Rene about his tendency to attract would-be Diabolists
thirsting for his blood. He had warned them, with a serious look, that
anyone who challenged him, friend or foe, he would provoke into conflict.
And now here was Ken, a younger Brujah antitribu from his own;
no, _former_ pack, the Akai Ryu. The young vampire had always wanted to
rise in generation. Hearing about Mackie, given excuse with the
commotion, he was finally making his move.
Thomas didn't know who to worry more about. His new CO was smart
and skilled, but he was young. Ken had had years of experience and in
Disciplines, and was eighth generation. The odd were leaned heavily
towards Ken.
Archbishop Demandos looked at his subordinate Christanius hideous
face, and they both sighed and nodded, before moving towards where the two
vampires argued. Christanius went to get the items for the Monomacy, just
in case.
As he stepped forward, Demandos didn't know who to root for. His
personal feelings and traditional upbringing supported Ken's obvious
intent to diablerize the Black Hand leader. Yet if Mackie fell, it was
pretty obvious the Black Hand, a potent tool, would be rendered less
effective. On the other hand, losing Ken meant losing a valued soldier
and threatened the harmony of the Akai Ryu, the best pack in MegaTokyo.
Best to stop the entire incident.
Rene used the commotion to sneak over to the bar and order some
more blood, which he sipped, mixing it with a little mix of vodka and
grain alcohol he had had the bartender give him. Drinks in hand, he
watched the spectacle.
"Yeah, that's right, I say you, Mackie Stingray, are a traitor to
the Sabbat and all vampires!", announced Ken.
Ryu, his friend, rushed forward, whispering, "Ken, are you insane?
Attacking the Black Hand? Look how Thomas is signalling us not to fight?"
Ken ignored the shaking of Thomas' head, turning to his lover and
friend saying, "Don't worry Ryu, it'll be fine. Aren't you the one that
always says 'the fight is all'?"
Ryu said, "Ken..."
Demandos had reached the two and was angrily proclaiming, "Enough
of this Mr. Masters, Mr. Stingray! Our enemy is Genom; We cannot afford
to have dissension in our own ranks-"
A voice broke in.
"I won't be called a traitor!", announced Mackie, his spells
complete, requiring but one last syllable.
Demandos sighed, for the resolution of this was a forgone
conclusion. He didn't need Auspex to tell him they both wanted this
Monomacy. He nodded to Christanius, who began to seperate the Sabbat and
set up the Circle.
Christanius began to draw in powdered human bone the circle of
Monomacy. The other Sabbat stood away, giving room to the inhabitants of
the inner circle. Several of those most experienced began to tell the
younger vampires about Monomacy.
Ken began to insult Mackie, who waited with a calm face. By this
time, both Mackie and Ken knew they were just engaging in a formality.
"You act like you're so tough, but you are a coward, a traitor,
and a threat to the Sabbat. I challenge you to Monomacy, Mackie
Stingray!"
Mackie stood upright, almost at attention, "I accept."
With that, the entire Sabbat crowd stood back from the Circle as
Mackie and Ken were forced to wait as Demandos stood between them. An
expectant hush fell over the crowd.
Mackie looked deep into his opponents eyes, seeing no fear, only a
healthy caution for his opponent. This one was not going to be like the
others. Mackie searched the expression and body language. Again,
nothing. This one had the build and attitude of a martial artist. Mackie
knew he was in trouble. Hurriedly, he began to mentally run through his
options as the Archibishop and Bishop began to mark off and demarkate an
entire half of the meeting hall. Mackie flicked his eyes left and right,
looking for options and availability, storing away everything into memory.
Ken looked at the young Black Hand commander with a appraising
eye. He seemed to be well built, but Ken could already notice the
unsurity of the young vampire's movements. He knew this wouldn't be any
easy kill, but the lure of so much generation in such a neonate package
was just too tempting. He would sink his fangs in the vampire.
At last, all was ready, the other vampires standing in a rough
circle about the contestants, all realizing the significance of the act
now. They waited with anticipation in their faces, some tinged with
worry, while others with sadistic glee at the deathmatch contest about
to occur. Demandos solemnly stepped forward and made his benediction.
"May Caine bless the victor", Demandos announced solemnly,
stepping back out of the Circle.
"Ready", cried Rene and one of his Malkavian buddies, just before
Demandos announced,
"Fight!"
Both vampires began to circle one another as the crowd began to
scream and offer encouragements or insults. Mackie felt like a gladiator
in some ancient Roman colloseum. No matter how many times he had done
this, he could never really get used to it.
Mackie knew there was going to be trouble right from the start.
The vampire was more experienced then he was. Ken was already settling
into some martial artist stance, eyeing him, gauging his moves as they
circled. He reviewed his options once more.
He couldn't call upon the full power of the Blood-Shadow Link, not
with so many people watching. If even one of them knew the ritual, this
entire charade would be up. And suffusing his body with blood and
strength would just use up his precious vitae, as he was only at about
three fourths his capacity. Judging from the flushed face of Ken, he was
fully filled. (Shit!) thought Mackie, ignoring the clamouring voices of
his mentors in the Link, offering advice and comments that were only
distracting him.
(SHIT!), he thought, (only one option left).
Ken almost smiled as he circled the young Black Hand commander.
The boy had no hope against him in unarmed combat. Maybe he had a pistol
under the jacket or a sword in that bundle, but from the way he reacted to
the motions Ken was making, overreacting to nervous movement, while
underreacting to the serious threats, Ken could see his skill was far
inferior to the Shokodan school Ken and Ryu had been trained in. Deciding,
he made his move and charged, his left fist swinging forward with Celerity
induced speed.
(Too fast) thought Mackie as he saw the move and iniated his own
desperate move and only hope. Calling only briefly on the Link, his frame
suffused with Celerity in a brief rainbow glow beneath the skin. Time
seemed to slow as his hand darted in and drew his pistol. He fumbled
twice on the safety before he managed to aim and fire one round at the
vampire before Ken's fist connected.
(Shit, he was FAST!) thought Ken, as he felt his fist strike
Mackie's left shoulder with the CRUNCH of bone, while shrugging off the
single bullet the Hand commander had been able to deliver to his left hip,
turning to face him, when something peculiar happened.
Mackie felt the freight train slam into his shoulder as the entire
limb when dead to his commands, even as his Beast screamed at the pain and
Mackie frenzied, burying himself in the wave of animal fury, riding it.
He barely noticed himself fire two more rounds into the blond vampire who
was staggering, before he ran forward to give him a shoulder barge,
ramming him against the wooden bar behind him, even as his vitae began to
knit his own broken bones.
Ken felt panic and a frenzy erupt within him as a sudden wave of
weariness and lethargy struck him, radiating out from the bullet in his
left shoulder. The left half of his body weakened and staggering, he
tried to stand up as Mackie dashed towards him, two more rounds punching
into his flesh, one into his right shoulder, the other his right thigh.
"KEN!!!"
Mackie hit the vampire with enough momentum to push him back until
Ken could feel the vertabrae in his back creak as they struck the bar.
Mackie dropped the pistol, hooked his leg around a bar stool, and moved it
over Ken's legs, which he pressed his weight down upon through the knees,
pinning the half-paralyzed vampire..
Mackie reached into his bundle and drew out the vampire forged
blade, beaten into shape through raw strength and Potence. He inverted it
in his grip and stabbed it down into the thigh of Ken's still function
leg. It entered with a hiss as the blade burned the vampiric flesh. Ken
threw back his head and screamed as bloody tears ran down his eyes.
"KENNNN!!!!!" Several vampires held back the raging Ryu at the
sight of his friend's distress.
Mackie stepped away from the crippled vampire, inverting the blade
into a traditional grip once more, before cutting down into the vampire's
head, even as he thrashed in desperate effort to save his life.
And the blade stopped, halfway.
"KKKEEENNNN!!!!!!"
Mackie leaned back against the bar, sword still in hand and
sizzling in the vampire's neck. He casually reholstered his handgun in
his jacket, grabbed a glass, and then grinned and threw back his head and
laughed.
Ken looked up at him and saw his reflection in those bizarre grey
eyes, the pupils barely noticable, pitiless. He watched as they got
close, as Mackie bent down and whispered in Ken's ear,
"It *hurts*"
With a final motion, Mackie pushed down hard on the blade,
severing the head as Ryu screamed "NNNNOOOOOOO!!!!!" in the background.
Before the fascinated and horrified eyes of many of the younger Sabbat,
Mackie caught the dripping blood before the body began to rapidly revert
to it's true age, that of an old man. With a contemptuous kick, Mackie
preformed the ultimate degradation, throwing the corpse to the floor.
"FATALITY!!!" Laughed Rene and the Malkavians uproarisly.
Some people were not laughing, and the members of the Akai Ryu,
who had held Viniculum with Ken, approached Mackie.
Mackie pretended to ignore them, tried to control the shaking in
his body from fear and released tension, even as he drank the blood in his
cup, smacking his lips as he said in a loud voice, "Excellent vintage;
fermenting since the 1990's I'd say." He chuckled at his own joke, while
paying careful attention to the approaching pack out of the corner of one
eye.
"Fucking Black Hand bastards!"
"Elitist FUCKERS!"
"KKKKEEENNN!!!"
"Want some?'
"THEY KILLED KENNY, THOSE BASTARDS!!!!!"
"Think it's funny, that you are so tough?"
Mackie turned to the approaching crowd. Now was the second moment
of truth. Would the Black Hand rally behind him? Help him from being
challenged so many times in Monomacy until he was dead?
"Come on you BASTARD, I CHALLENGE YOU!", said one.
"Fuck that, let's just take him."
Looking at them, Mackie decided it was time.
With a arcane word, Mackie finished the spell he had begun
casting, and an eldritch green aura burst from his body, crawling all over
him like a flood of water, an outline around him. Mystic fire gathered in
both hands, forming brilliant green balls of ephermeral flame. At the
same time, shadows snaked around him gleefully, until Mackie was covered
in a swirling play of green fire and moving darkness. Both would hide the
Link, if he needed to call upon it.
"Ah hell", muttered Thomas with a sigh, as he unlimbered his
Ares Pocket Cannon. Those who recognized the weapon hissed and backed
away.
The Akai Ryu stopped their advance and Mackie glared right back as
Thomas came to stand beside him. After a few moments though, something
drew the everyone's eyes away, and Mackie and Thomas turned to look.
Rene sat alone at the bar, his Malkavian kin having fled,
chuckling in his Cornholio personality while staring at the bar and his
hands,
"Ohhh... YEAAHHHH! Fire, fire, FIREEE!! OH, YEAH; FFIRRREE!!!"
Before him, the bar was engulfed in flames, alcohol burning as it
ran down the wood. The Malkavian stared with an unholy obsession at the
licking flames, his hands cupping orbs of fire summoned by his own
Thaumaturgy.
But that is not what horrified and shocked many unlookers. For
Rene actually had one of his hands _*IN*_ the fire, smoke rising from the
blackened hand, pieces of charred flesh falling off.
"Ohh, FIRE, FIRE!!! Yeahhhh, oh; Huh?" For the first time Rene
noticed the the vampires looking at him. He turned, got off his stool and
turned with arms akimbo, one hand still burning and smoking slightly as he
announced angrily at the Akai Ryu, "I AM CORNHOLIO!!! You HAVE MADE MY
BUNGHOLE VERY ANGRY!!!" Rene turned to look at Mackie, "Shall I show them
BUNGHOLIO?"
Mackie smiled, even as inside he was shocked, before turning to
the speechless Akai Ryu pack members, tilting his head as if to ask
"Well?"
"ENOUGH OF THIS!!!!" Thundered Archbishop Demandos, his Presence
reaching out and silencing everyone while grabbing their attention.
"WHOA!! That was pretty cool!"
Well, almost everyone.
Demandos stormed forward with Christanius at his side, "Enough!
We are the Sabbat, not animals!" Turning to the Akai Ryu he said, "Your
comrade challenged and was fairly defeated. There is nothing more of
this!"
Mackie let the power die down as Thomas lowered his weapon and
someone put out the fires Rene had started.
"And you-!"
"Are leaving", broke in Mackie.
Before the stunned members of the Sabbat, Mackie and the Black
Hand walked forward, the crowd parting before him like the ocean before
Moses.
"Wait, we still have to discuss plans about our war. About which
of your assasination assignments you are going to take, and how much-"
Mackie stopped and Demandos trailed off as the Black Hand stopped
their egress. With a look over their shoulders, Mackie announced, "All."
"What?" asked Demandos.
"All of them", Rene cheerfully informed Demandos.
"All twelve hits?" Demandos exclaimed incrediously.
"All of them" intoned Thomas, before the Black Hand continued to
leave from the room holding the awestruck Sabbat.
One young Sabbat turned to another and said, "Fuck the Sabbat."
"Eh?" the other asked.
Motioning to the closed double doors, he answered, "I wanna be in
the Black Hand."
- - - - - - - - - -
Mackie, Rene, and Thomas shut the doors behind them as they left
the Sabbat meeting behind them. Then they turned to look at each other,
and as one, smiles broke out, becoming peals of laughter as they headed
out of Jack Off, into the night.
* * * * * * * * * *
At roughly the same time, another meeting was taking place deep
within Genom tower, in the unused lower areas where the recycling systems
were nestled. Here was where much of the real politics of Genom were
discussed, where the dirty deals went down, and people disappeared.
Within one shadowed room, one such meeting was occurring, small to the
extreme, but such was fate that this small meeting would one day have
great significance.
One figure, female, spoke, "It worked but ultimately failed."
"Are you certain?", replied the other, male.
"Of course. I felt the connection severed."
"Damn." A pause. "What else remains?"
"How should I know? If the others find out what we have been
doing..."
"They will discover nothing! It will merely be seen as another
premature incident. They will never notice when their little
demonstration goes off."
The male starts to shudder, his tone losing strength.
The female shakes as well, confiding in her fellow conspirator as
tears began to fall, "I can't stand it! The perverse, disgusting,
_things_ they do! I am going to go insane if I don't-"
The male lunges forward a grasp the other in a tight embrace
"Don't be stupid! It will be over soon and we will be free. We will
Inherit our founders wisdom and power and shatter these ties that keep us
apart." He too, started to weep.
After a few minutes, they parted, the female whispering "They will
never know what happened, or what is shared between us."
Equally fierce in conviction, the male whispered back, "Yes. I
shall wield my arts to create a diversion for us. Fear not. There is one
among the Sabbat's Black Hand that I control and shall use as my tool.
With that one, there shall be nothing to incriminate us. Until the
meeting the night after next, my love."
They both said their goodbyes, and the two departed, not looking
back.
* * * * * * * * * *
Linna Yamazaki tossed her keys onto the dresser beside the full
size mirror in her modest apartment. The room was quite for the soft
TWACK sound of the plastic keycard on the keychain mixing with the
TWINCKLE of the keys on the top of the brown pseudo-wood. Linna placed
her purse next to the keys before turning to make sure the door to the
apartment was locked. Making sure the locks were secure, she headed to
the kitchenette, shedding her outer layer of clothes as she went.
It was so hot outside, and work had been a chore, especially when
she had been forced to that damn interview outside at the restaurant.
While she understood that the Kuno family was wealthy, the strange and
archaic prose the man spoke in made understanding him a headache. Coupled
with the heat and her own impatient, it hadn't been fun.
And then the call had come in on her pager, just as she was about
to sign the deal with the old man. That had annoyed her even more! But
when she had learned that it was an emergency page, she had immediately
suspected the worse. A quick rush to the Silky Doll had proven her fears.
Linna carefully placed her jacket over the back of one of the
chairs. The apartment was a far cry from the traditional Japanese home
and dojo she had been raised in. She unhooked her skirt and folded that
aside. Linna began to raid her fridge for a snack before bed, even as she
stretched and took off the remaining clothes. The cooling system in the
apartment was a sankoku to the encouraging foreign heat. Yet the garments
still smelled of sweat. She stripped off the pantyhose as she turned to
grab a robe she had left by the chair this morning.
Sighing as she put on the silken and airy garment, Linna began to
snack on the lettuce, her thoughts turning blacker as the unusual anger
began to build in her once more. She sat on the couch.
Everything had turned out relatively OK with Nene, until that damn
dinner, and Priss and her big mouth, thought Linna as she bit savagely
into a piece of lettuce. She was unused to the anger she now felt towards
her teammate, but she now felt it most acutely.
Anger motivating her to distraction, Linna sat up suddenly and
moved over to the family shrine, finishing the last of the lettuce. She
knelt before the cherry wood shrine. She opened the door, and clapped her
hands, head bowed in a prayer to her mother and father and ancestors.
Linna carefully lit a piece of incense as she engaged in brief
meditation. The pictures of her father and mother were two of the rare
few she had managed to remove from the wreckage of the dojo, along with
the shrine itself. In one corner were her mother's parents, a older man
with his hair braided down his back, and his wife with a short hair-cut,
but a loving look in her eyes. To the left corner were some old pictures
of her father's mother, who she never remembered much. Apparantly, her
grandmother's family was very long-lived, though her father had refused to
comment on it. Her father had been a brilliant martial artist, faster and
stronger than any normal human, his skill the only thing that allowed him
to marry her mother, the heir to her school. Just thinking about her
parents, knowing they were watching over her, made her feels so much
better.
She looked once more at the tiny ebony wood box that held part of
her inheritence from her father. He had alwasy warned her never to show
it to anyone. It wasn't much, just a scroll in a language that she had
never recognized, and a simple metal amulet. She looked at them, opening
the box, before putting them back. Yes, her ancestors would watch out for
her.
Her prayer done, Linna set aside her computer to recharge as she
prepared for sleep. She felt remarkably light on her feet, something a
trained martial artist like herself could notice. Too tired to care, and
with too much to think about, she stored everything before heading to the
bedroom.
Her apartment was much better than she could have afforded when
working as an aerobics instructor, but still not up to the standards she
dreamed and strived to achieve. Her original goal of being a dancer, some
way of carrying on her family martial art, was long destroyed. Now only
money and the independence that came with it to make a life for herself
existed, her only real goal. With dreams of yen signs dancing in her
mind, Linna prepared for slumber in the plush Western style bed.
And stopped, unconciously tensing. Some long forgotten martial
arts sixth sense sang to her and she sat upright suddenly glaring over at
the shadows in the corner. Even in the dim light, she could see nothing
was there. But she thought she had senn? No, nothing there.
Linna drifted off to sleep, as tomorrow would be a fresh, clean
day to start anew.
- - - - - - - - - -
Erik Svenson breathed a sigh of relief as the young woman finally
drifted off to sleep. He could have sworn she had seen him among the
shadows, even though he knew it to be impossible.
He observed her from the shadows, the rise and fall of her chest,
before deciding she was truly asleep. It had been an odd sequence of good
fortune to discover this woman, one of Mackie's sister's friends, lived in
the same building as the one where he had set up his haven. He still had
trouble feeling Mackie through the Link though. At least he knew where
this one was, so he could look after and guard her for his childe.
This one had a grace, he decided, as he stretched out a hand to
carress Linna's cheek. What interesting companions my childe grew up
near. Probably explain his overactive hormones. Though how she had
gotten that necklace bothered him. And the scroll in the box in the
shrine! He thought he recognized the language on the scrool, but he
wasn't sure. Ah well, he had other affairs to deal with, not pointless
speculation.
With a slight shudder of darkness, Erik Svenson Shadow Stepped
into the ground floor of the apartment complex. It was several hours
until sunrise, and he still had much to do.
* * * * * * * * * *
On stepping into the "Wild Party" dance club, the first thing one
noticed was the red light that bathed all it touched in a baleful crimson
glow. Spinning and shimmering crystals struck by white light cast rainbow
shimmerings that crawled everywhere. The music thundered, the bass
palpable enough to cause deafness. Women and men gyrated wildly on the
primary dance floor of Wild Party. The entire place was alive with sound,
motion, and moving people. Rene had said it was a good place for a snack,
and Thomas had concurred.
(Perfect hunting grounds) thought Mackie as he walked every where,
scoping out the layout of the Wild Party, noting the location of all the
major exits, examining the out of the way places he could hide or feed,
and finally starting to examine the people there. He wasn't halfway done
with his search when a woman came up to him and with a suggestive smirk
and lick of her upper lip asked, "Care to dance?"
Mackie stood there in shock. Despite his forced rapid maturation,
he was still distinctly uncomfortable around the fairer sex. And some of
his adolescent urges remained as he watched the rise and fall of her
chest, the sway of her hips...
(Smile, be charming; she's a dance slut), spoke one of his mentors
in the Link, and like a drowning man grabbing a life perserver, Mackie
clutched at the advice.
"With you, how could I refuse?", Mackie laughed as he smiled as
winningly as he could. Much to his surprise, she seemed to melt before
it, and grabbing his hand, she plunged into the crowd of dancers, taking
him with her. She started to dance, not too complex, but clearly she was
showing off what she could do.
Inwardly, Mackie groaned. (Great; I can't dance! What now,
Stingray?) he thought as swiftly as he could. She was starting to look a
little puzzled and dissappointed.
Doing the best he could, Mackie started to dance, even though he
knew it wasn't good enough. Dancing about as the intoxicating scent of
the woman's sweat drifted to his nose and the sound of her thudding heart
reached his ears, he felt new passion flow through his undead veins. He
felt his Celerity kick in as his movements became swifter.
Even his untrained and minor Celerity provided an immeasureable
advantage. Moving twice as fast as she could, he could anticipate her
moves and move himself. Soon, they found themselves dancing closer and
closer, their moves complimenting each other more and more. Her face kept
getting more and more flushed as her blue eyes danced and her short blond
hair became more and more damp.
Inevitably, their bodies slammed together in one particularly
athletic gyration and they both looked at each other. Her eyes seemed to
have a peculiar pleading note in them, her skin-tight red tanktop seemed
to mold around the mammaries Mackie had just bumped into. Her blue jeans
were shaking, probably from exhaustion.
At the feel of that soft flesh touching his own chest, every
surpressed and forgotten teenage urge returned. He saw every dark fantasy
involving his sister, Priss, Nene, Linna, Michi, and countless others
flared through his mind. His body, still empowered to be mortal,
responded as any normal male's would.
Mackie's focus seemed to tighten to the act of seduction as power
and an assurance unknown to him coursed through his body. Unnoticed to
him, a faint glow began to emminate throughout his body.
One hand reached to slip around her hip as the other grabbed her
hand. (Careful now, don't scare her off). He smiled down at her
cornflower blue eyes. Once again, he started to dance.
After a few moments of stillness (ah, poor doe, you can not escape
me!), she started to dance, falling back into the rhythm, as Mackie's
hands stayed were they were. (Now, slowly, ever so slowly), Mackie began
to drift closer, so their bodies began to strike with greater frequency.
At first he enjoyed the feeling, but soon he noticed two hard buttons
pushing against his own chest as they drifted closer.
(Already?) a part of him wondered, even as he slid his hand from
hers to join his other hand around her waist. The two buttons dug into
his chest as they danced closer and her arms slung around his neck. His
Presence reached out as he played her. With infinite slowness, so that
she would not jerk away, and having moved her into a corner so that they
would not be seen, Mackie let his fangs prick her lightly before softly
sucking the blood that came forth.
The woman started to pant and gasp in his ear, and the sound was
pure music to Mackie. With a smile, he sucked a little more and she
gasped louder. As her body started to sag, he lifted her up by her well
toned rear until she straddle his knee, the best support they could have
in such cramped quarters, and he drained more, not too much, but enough to
heighten the pleasure of the Kiss. Even as the warm blood trickled down
his throat, even as his magic kept his body warm and pulse moving, Mackie
felt very, very cold. The woman started to shudder, her gasps became more
and more frantic until at last her body went tense and her blunt teeth bit
into his neck as she gasped loudly. Mackie's knee suddenly became rather
wet.
Shaking and dazed, the blond woman seemed to collapse against
Mackie. He held her as she struggled to her feet. He licked the wound
close as he moved his caressing lips up to her ear, whispering, "Did you
like that?" She nodded slowly. (Perfect), he thought, (one member of his
new Herd, ready to go.) Placing a finger under her chin, he brought her
eyes up to meet his own, and he kissed her gently, even as she clutched at
him. His Presence and Dominate flared to power as he called on the Link,
and he began to mentally and emotionally reprogram her.
After five minutes, the woman, named Blue Mary, left to go find
her friends and bring them to him, one at a time. He should have a fair
sized Herd by the end of the evening.
Mackie shivered as he rubbed his arms; damn was it cold. Even
with his jacket it was cold.
A giggle to his left and a smile from the first cattle of his
Herd nodded to her side, indicating the woman she had with her, a woman
very full in figure and bouncy in personality as she was physically.
"Mai, this is the man I was telling you about", said Mary.
Mackie smiled, as wicked and hentai thoughts began to dance in his
mind.
- - - - - - - - - -
Priss enjoyed the dance as her partner, far more skilled than she,
began to engage in a new series of complex steps. Priss swung her arms in
time to the music, sliding and thrusting her hips with twists as she
danced the best she could. Already, a half hour of this had coated her
with a fine layer of perspiration in the humid temperature of the dance
floor. And she was thoroughly enjoying the dance. Already, like the
runner's high, the endorphins, were sending her a rush, even though she
barely felt tired at all.
The music switched, and she fell into the Tsunami as the bass
pulsed in time with her beating heart. She smiled as she just luxurated
in the music, in the relaxation the physical sport provided. Her partner
had been keeping this up for almost two hours, his stamina incredible, as
Priss continued to slide side to side.
(Wait a minute!) thought Priss as her pace faltered, (It can't
be!) Moving however she could, standing on her toes to rise above her
natural 168 cm height, Priss tried to see over and around the crowd.
(Nothing, wait, there!) she thought, disbelieving. There, seated
at the bar was a familiar person with an unfamiliar face and body.
(Mackie!), she thought, (But what was he doing here? Didn't he
know Nene was waiting for him?)
Intruiged, she nodded to her partner who just smiled and mouthed
"Have fun" as no words could be heard above the roar of the crowd and the
blasting of the music.
Priss began to weave her way through the swaying and moving
crowds, knowing it would take some time, making as close a bee line as
possible to the bar.
Unfortunately, she wandered too close to the mosh pit and was
pulled in. While she often enjoyed the antics, tonight it was not on her
agenda, so she tried to push her way back out. The young men and women
leaping and shoving had other ideas in mind, so she found herself
sandwiched and buried.
With a hiss of anger, Priss straightened herself as she actually
started to lift the three bodies atop her. Grabbing one by the shirt with
a snarl, she threw the young man over a meter away from her, where the
teenager stumbled into another dancing couple. Two dirty streetfighting
moves got rid of the other two. A swift kick in the crotch of one
salariman left him clutching the family jewels, sinking to his knees. To
the woman, Priss reached out and twisted her breast, and as her face
screwed up in pain, she pushed her back while extending a leg, tripping
her. She fell heavily on her butt.
Priss felt something snarl in her, more than the usual irritation
or anger of PMS. It was more primal, more feral than that. Hissing in
annoyance, she executed a sharp spin on her heel, and she continued on her
way towards the bar.
- - - - - - - - - -
Mackie collapsed against the bar, freezing in the cold air. It
had taken awhile, but eventually he had indocrinated the women into his
Herd. Funny how he had never remembered he could do that. Or how he
could wield his disciplines so.
Catching the bartenders attention, Mackie ordered, "One vodka,
straight up."
The bartender, dressed in lined dress shirt and short leather
vest, eyed Mackie carefully. "Listen buddy, you look like you have
already had too much; why don't you take it easy, OK?"
Mackie had had enough of the mortal's lip. His head hurt, he was
freezing, and the contacts he was wearing were really starting to bother
his eyes. Even though he knew he couldn't drink, he wanted a vodka.
Dominating the man, Mackie said, "Give me a vodka and then leave me
alone."
The man turned to obey as he should, returning with the drink that
Mackie left untouched beside him. His head hurt like construction boomers
had gone to work on the brain his father had enhanced. His stomach
twisted and flip-flopped every which way. If he had been mortal, he would
have suspected he was coming down with the flu. As he was immortal, he
merely wondered what was wrong with him.
(Not that there weren't enough surprises already), Mackie thought
tiredly. Since when were his damn eyes *grey*? This was the first time
anyone had told him, and as he could no longer see his reflection, he had
no idea when they had changed so. Shit, he could have been walking around
in front of his sister and the others with his new eyes. (Probably why
they thought he was a boomer).
"Hi, you want to dance?" interupted a girl with the high toned and
cute voice Japanese males found irresistably sexy.
For Mackie, the voice was just one more annoyance in a long list
of annoyances. He had already slacked his thirst and needed no more
sustanance. Despite the irritation he felt, despite the contempt he knew
for mortals, he plastered a smile on his face as he charmingly smiled,
saying with a hint of Dominate, "I would love to, but not right now. Just
leave me alone for this night, OK?"
Her enthusiasm dampened but not destroyed, she bobbed her head and
went off to find another potential partner.
(Dammit), he thought, (why are all these women coming on to me!?!)
Not that he would mind have minded; indeed, one of his teenage fantasies
had always been to have such an ability. But now that it was actually
happening, he felt annoyance at the ability he had mysteriously gained and
that he should have to actually _tell_ these bugs what to do.
At first he thought it was some quirk of chance, or perhaps his
Fleshcrafted good looks, but the last twenty women who had hit on him had
seemed entranced by him, beyond his looks. It couldn't be his Presence,
as that affected both men and women, and thus far only women had shown a
pronounced interest in himself. There were plenty of homosexual guys in
the dance floor, but only one had hit on him. So it couldn't be his
Presence. And when had he become so skilled in seduction and manipulation
through sex?
His ears were full of sand, his head stuffed with cotton as a
sudden wave of lasissitude struck him. The weariness seemed to permeate
his every fiber, as he leaned back, closing his eyes which felt like
sandpaper. He was tired, so tired, like when daylight approached, though
it would not do so for another four hours.
He yawned as the Thaumaturgy he had woven into his body responded
to his cues. He was so tired, and as he seemed to collapse, everything
seemed to go softly into silence.
- - - - - - - - - -
"mackie"
Someone was calling to him from the darkness of sleep.
"Mackie"
It seemed quite insistent.
"MACKIE!"
Mackie opened his eyes.
- - - - - - - - - -
"Mackie"
Mackie opened his eyes and found the world had changed.
The bar was still there, but empty, and silent. The light was a
constant red haze, the dance lights stilled, no mortals present, and no
motion to be seen. Mackie slowly stood up from the bar stool, his entire
body tingling with a certain numbness that engulfed him in a carress like
the feeling of the countless tentacles of a Portuguese Man-o-War drapped
across him. The usual hunger for blood, the feeling of his
Thaumaturgically falsified mortal vital signs, his sense of motion, and
countless other little things were gone from his sensory experience. It
was like a dream, the formerly loud and rambuncious dance hall now eerily
silent, dead as a morgue, motes of air seeming to float in the cloying
air. Despite the warmth that should be there, Mackie felt like his body
was made of ice.
"Mackie"
The breathless word seemed to hang in the air, echoing with
infinite softness before dissappearing to ring quietly in his mind. His
mind made of silk whisps, Mackie took a step forward, his body hovering,
the heavy air seeming to move like molasses before his movement.
(Mackie, Mackie, mackie, mackie, mackie) the voice sang ever so
softly.
Mackie tried to speak, to ask what was going on, but the words
seemed to be frozen, caught in his mouth, despite however he tried to
force them out.
"Mackie" said the voice again, to his left, past the bar. Mackie
turned to look.
Before his astonished eyes Nene walked out, seeming to flow like
water more than move, the summer frock she wore clinging to her in every
delicious way, even as her head remained demurely downcast. In spite of
his chilled state, he felt his loins heat up at the sight of her, his
goddess.
"Nene", he tried to croak out, the words not issuing forth, but it
seemed she heard, as she raised her head to smile at him with a blinding
white smile and sparkling emerald eyes.
"Mackie", she said, her smile going larger, warm with happiness
and passion.
"Nene", he tried to say as he moved with infinite slowness toward
her arms, the distance seeming too far. No one was here, and here he
could tell her how much he loved her.
Contact. Her arms swept about him and clutched him tight about
the waist. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, forgetting how small
and petite she actually was. His face buried in her luxurious red hair,
he let himself weep as he held onto the one thing he loved most of all.
Something told him that was somehow wrong, but he ignored it, as he had
Nene, and that was all that mattered. His shoulders shook as he held as
gently and firmly as he could.
"Nene", he tried to say, but once more no words journeyed from his
larnyx. It seemed alright, for he saw her look up, smile, and hug him
even more tighter, pressing herself against him.
The pleasant feeling was a short eternity of pure bliss for
Mackie until he truly became that Nene was doing something, looking up at
him.
Looking into those luminous green eyes, Mackie said in words that
did not sound, everything he had wanted to, but had been afraid of saying
before "Nene I love you. I have always loved you, you and you alone.
I... I....." He floundered as he held her again.
Nene seemed to understand.
"Mackie", she said softly, passionately, as she held him tighter,
her very breath on his neck, by his ear being pure bliss.
After what seemed to be too short a time, Mackie noticed Nene was
getting a little agressive in her embrace. She tightened the embrace, and
Mackie noticed how her chest pressed against him at the same time she
pulled his head down to nibble on one ear lobe. "Mackie", she purred.
(Something is not quite... right), thought Mackie in the fog of
his mental process. Meanwhile, the full figured Nene slid her arms up his
shirt and he could already feel her naked in his arms.
(No) It felt wrong. Last time he had held Nene thus, she was not
so tall, not so full in breast. She had never been so assured; they had
both been so clumsy that time. Her hair....
(The tears!) The tears he had shed were clear, crystal wetness,
not the red of blood. This wasn't real!
This... whatever it was, had tricked him! Playing with his
affections, daring to pretend..!!! Anger motivated him, as he could not
feel his Beast, and with a savage shove pushed her away from him. She
landed heavily on her butt with a yelp.
"WHO ARE YOU!?!" he tried to shout. And Mackie found he could not
move.
Rubbing her bruised posterior, the Nene giggled softly and stood,
stretching, flaunting her nudeness. She presented a side profile, one leg
slightly swept up and arms akimbo with a wicked little smile on her face.
"Why I'm Nene of course. At least, right now I am."
Mackie struggled to move. What was this, a dream? "What's going
on?"
Giggling a little, Nene advanced towards him, running soft hands
over his naked torso. Leaning her head on his chest, she murmurred, "I'm
everything you could want. I am Nene and more."
"What?" Mackie tried to say.
"Watch", said the false Nene, as she stood back. Her body altered
slightly, shifting and growing until she was taller, more fuller, more...
ripe. As Nene was a flowerbud, this woman was a rose in full bloom.
Mackie couldn't help but gasp as his all too mortal body
responded. "Ahh.."
"Like what you see?" she questioned as she adopted several poses.
"And this is only the beginning."
In spite of himself, Mackie wondered if she could change into
other people... women.
She laughed, "Of course I can. Hmmm... let see."
Before Mackie astonished eyes, Nene blurred and became Priss in
all her nude glory. Better than when he had taken those pictures and
movies!
Priss threw back her chessnut color hair, playing with one of her
long bangs as she looked at him with her green eyes. "You like, Mackie?"
Mackie could only stand speechless. This had to be a dream,
another one of his hentai dreams. A very weird, but very _pleasant_
hentai dream. Mackie found himself breathing a little shallowly.
The false Priss walked towards him with a swagger in her step that
made him breath roughly, the blood starting to flow faster. Her stance
hid nothing.
"I think you *do* like", she smiled wickedly, before moving
forward with the grace of a cat to stretch her height beside his own, her
nipples crawling up his chest and her pubic hair tickling his knee as she
straddled his thigh, giving him a lingering kiss. She whispered to him,
"I know you've always wanted to fuck me. Everytime I insulted
you, every I teased you; isn't that right Mackie?" For emphasis, she
ground her hips against his thigh.
"No", Mackie tried to deny. It was wrong for him to think or have
thought such things.
"Wrong?" she turned away from him. Mackie's eyes could not help
but follow her as she walked away, her form shifting into the body of
Linna.
She perched an eyebrow up. "Moral claims from you? It's all
about real business anyway: power", she coyly asked, "Really, a murderer
and pervert like you, sending judgement?"
Linna started to laugh in peals of smoky laughter, her green eyes
laughing with her voice.
Mackie felt the old hatred swell up within himself. (How dare she
talk to him like that!) Damn, being such a bitch! He ought to... ought
to...
"Do what?" questioned the voice of his sister, "fuck me?" Sylia
bent over, showing her backside to him, and more. Her hooded green eyes
looked back at him while she wiggled her butt, "You want to, don't you?"
Mackie closed his eyes. This couldn't be happening. It was like
some bizarre psycho-sexual wet dream. It wasn't real, it was a
quasi-Freundian vampiric melancholy-induced nightmare of the past.
It was...
"Call it what you will", whispered a stranger's voice in his ear,
and Mackie clenched his eyes shut and clasped down on his desire tightly.
No, that was her hand!
"But this is not what you truly want, is it.. Mackie?" a soft
chuckle. "You want what is your birthright. Power. You want it beyond
any other desire. It is what you were created for. To rule. To
conquer. To be one of the elite, the true masters of all!"
"mackie"
A hiss of irritation. "Bardeleus, do you really think you can
escape what you _are_? What you _really_ are?" The arms were around him
now, clenched tight, her nails finding purchase in his flesh.
"mackie?"
Was that a voice he heard, other than this crazy woman who called
him 'Bardeleus', though the name seemed familiar. Yes, he thought he
heard something.
"You were a fool Bardeleus. We can never go back, never ascend
again! Bardeleus!"
"Mackie!"
The two voices sang counterpart. The softer voice sounded
familiar.
The hiss in his ear was defeaning, and he opened his eyes to two
blazing orbs in an impossibly beautiful face. The mouth hissed as it
jerked up and back, looking behind her, before turning to him,
"Is it her, or the flame haired tart? The first is callous and
the other more like me than you can posssibly imagine. They are nothing!
You are mine Bardeleus! Do you hear me? *YOU* ARE _MINE_!!!!
BARDELEUS!!!!!!"
"MACKIE!?!"
A purple haze floated across his vision for an instant before he
truly opened his eyes...
- - - - - - - - - -
... to look straight into the concerned red eyes of Priss.
"Priss?" he croaked out, feeling terrible.
"Damn Mackie, are you alright? You nearly gave me a heart
attack!", said Priss as she sat down on a bar stool next to him.
Mackie tried to focus his attention, remember why he had blacked
out. The last thing he remembered was leaning against the bar; (Must have
fed on one too many drunks). Trying to move his shaking limbs, feeling
like he should be sweating an ocean, Mackie tried to orient himself.
"Here", said Priss, as she hooked his arm over her shoulder, and
stiffling a gasp as she saw the glowing circuitry under Mackie's skin.
Steeling herself, she slowly began to help Mackie up and began to move him
over to a couch in an unoccupied section of the lounge.
With a grateful sigh, Priss let Mackie fall onto the cushions of
the couch, before taking a seat next to him. It looked like he had had
too much to drink. Had he become a drinker, or was this his first time?
Or maybe it was because of some problem? Perhaps Nene? Or maybe...
because of her ill-timed remarks? Priss felt a tinge of sorrow, and thus
resolved to help Mackie sober up. "Mackie?'
Mackie opened his bleery eyes to look at Priss, then blinked and
opened them once more to look again. Priss sat next to him, about a half
meter away, wearing something that looked like nothing he had ever seen
Priss wear before.
The "Wild Party" was a premerie dance club, with one of the
largest square meters in all of MegaTokyo. A certain dress code was
expected, and Priss had gotten into appropriate attire. Though Mackie did
not know it, his attire fit that description.
Priss wore what almost looked a one-piece blue swimming suit with
a plunging neckline under a red dress with slits up the sides to make it
easier to move in and cut in such a way as to make it easier to dance.
She was wearing a pair of gold earrings that tingled when she moved her
head, unnoticeable to anyone but those like Mackie who had heightened
senses. He stared at the earrings, they seemed to fade in and out of his
vision, like a mirage or an image or a phantom-
Priss chuckled lightly, noting his gaze. "You like them? Leon
gave them to me. Said they belonged to a woman that was very special
to him."
Shaking his head, Mackie tried to sit up and clear his woozy head.
After a minute, with a groan, he tried to get back on his feet before
sinking back down.
Priss stood up partially, extending a hand to help him back down,
"Take it easy. Are you all right?"
Mackie gave a soft and bitter chuckle at that. When was he ever
'all right'? Never. Still, he answered her, "I'm fine Priss, thank you.
Guess I had a little too much to drink, eh?"
"Umm", said Priss.
Mackie and Priss sat in relative silence admist the pounding of
the bass from the dance floor for a few minutes. Mackie sat, slowing
regaining his bearings. (What happened?) he wondered.
Priss shot Mackie occasionally, fidgetting restlessly as she sat
on the synth-leather couch. Her fingers played intricate patterns with
each other, and- why was she acting like some schoolgirl? It was just an
apology. She would say her piece and that would be that!
"Listen, Mackie..", started Priss unsurely.
"What?" asked Mackie, a little unsure as well, his head still
throbbing.
Priss stopped, before gathering gathering her courage. There was
something about Mackie, something that she just couldn't put her finger
on. Something... undeniably unsettling, yet attractive. Still, she
blurted out, "I'm sorry!"
"What? What are you apologizing for?" asked Mackie, puzzled.
After the initial apology, it became easier, "I'm sorry about what
I said at dinner. I didn't mean to ruin the evening." She bowed slightly.
"Oh. That", said Mackie, realizing, before brushing it off, "It's
alright; it would have come out eventually."
Priss accepted the pseudo-acknowledgement of her apology,
squelching her momentary anger at the casual treatment of her apology.
She thought about getting up; then, looking back at Mackie, decided to
stay. He was a friend, she told herself, nothing more. Reminded herself.
"So, do you want to talk about it; being a boomer I mean?" Priss
tenatively offered, even as she felt some disgust at her timidness. She
was also a little curious.
Mackie laughed a little, "I'm not a boomer, Priss."
(What?), Priss thought, (but I saw that violet glow..) Verbally
she repeated her thoughts, "What? You're not a boomer? Come on Mackie, I
saw, I know you are a boomer."
"I wish I was a boomer", Mackie smiled sardonically, "I'm
something much worse."
"What?" Priss was getting a little tired of saying that word.
Mackie closed his eyes and in a musical and lyric voice barely
resembling his own, he began to speak, "Devils are real Priss, and shadows
speak. Winds are whispers and mirrors meek. Stepping beyond simple sight
into insanity is the only sane to be."
"What does that mean?" Priss asked.
Mackie looked surprised that he had spoken, then said, "Nothing.
Forget I said anything."
They sat for a few moments, before Mackie stretched and said,
"Well, nice talking to you, but I should probably be going. I don't want
to keep you."
Priss could not help but stare at Mackie for a few seconds before
she tried to answer. He was very good looking.
Mackie noticed that Priss had an open look in her eyes as she sat
primly with her hands in her lap.
Priss decided to dare it. "How 'bout a dance Mackie?"
Mackie scratched his hair and looked a little embarassed as he
said, "I would love to, but I don't really no how to dance..."
Priss smiled as she looked up at Mackie, once again the boy she
knew despite his new face and clothes, an unsure and weak smile on his
face. Once more in charge, she stood up and took his hand.
"Come on then, I'll teach you how", said Priss. This would pay
him back for the hurt she had caused.
Mackie agreed, "Sure", with a smile that made Priss feel good.
Priss started to head towards dance floor when she saw something
that stopped her. She noticed someone in the crowd she was familiar with.
"Ne, Mackie, I just saw someone I know. Can we hold off for a few
minutes? I'll introduce you, OK?" she sought Mackie's approval.
Mackie smiled easily, "Sure, go ahead. I'll be waiting right
here." So saying, Mackie sank back down to the cushions, and demonstrated
his contentment by sighing in exaggerated contentment.
Priss laughed as she commented, "How typical of a man."
Mackie just grinned and winked, relaxing as Priss took off.
- - - - - - - - - -
Gloria van Miehgan looked over the various dancers about her, the
music in her mind merging with bass around her as she searched for the
perfect prey. She wanted someone young to feed upon. She was nowhere
near starving, but wouldn't mind a quick feeding, with some young blood to
warm her old frame.
"Gloria!", her prenatural keen ears caught someone call out.
Turning her head, her face split into an honest smile as she saw
who was addressing her. Thoughts of feeding left her as she smiled at her
mortal friend, "Why hello Priss!"
Priss moved over to the hefty woman who had recently been coaching
her with voice lessons. Even now, Priss marvelled at how the older
woman's voice seemed to speak right in her ear, perfectly modulated.
Gloria had one day promised to bring her into more serious tutelage, but
even now helped her out. On the off nights that Priss was not performing
or busy, Priss would try to arrange voice lessons from Gloria. She had a
stage presence that Priss admired, even if her formal training was in
opera, not exactly Priss' field.
"Hi Gloria!"
"Why, you are looking lovely tonight Priss", said Gloria, smiling
at the clothes Priss wore. Though a far cry from the more conservative
dress she approved of, it was still better than those ratty leathers Priss
seemed to prefer.
Priss smiled and laughed off the praise, "Whatever. What are you
doing here tonight? This doesn't seem much like your sort of place."
Gloria laughed in kind, her laugh twinkling like a thousand
fairies tittering, "No my dear, you are entirely correct. I was merely
stopping by for a little while."
"Do you have any time? I'd like you to meet a friend of mine",
said Priss.
"Ah, the young man you were telling me about, the younger brother
of your friend, I gather?", she deduced.
"Yeah, he's an OK guy, though he is having some trouble
readjusting after the accident", warned Priss.
"Yes, it must have been terrible, from what you tell me. Is your
other friend, the one so enamoured of this young man, here tonight as
well?"
Priss' cheery disposition faded a little. "No, I'm afraid not."
"I see", said Gloria.
"But do you have the time?"
Gloria smiled at her young protege, and future childe, "Of course
Priscillia. Lead the way."
- - - - - - - - - -
Gloria looked at the young man slouched in the couch with a keen
eye. Given the way he was dressed, in black leather jacket over nice
clothes, she wouldn't have been surprised if this was Priscillia's
boyfriend. He looked like he was recovering from a hangover, or a massive
headache. Though something was not quite right here... she could smell no
alcohol on his breath, nor any perspiration on his skin in the hot dance
hall.
Trying to discern more about what ailed the young man, she
focussed her attention to the aura surrounding the young man, his animus
and its fluctuations. Much to her surprise, she did not find the dullness
associated with cybernetic enhancements. Instead, she saw a myriad and
shifty aura, swirling with glowing sparkles that seemed to flow into a
series of tiny lines that criss-crossed the aura like a spiderweb or
fractures in a glass window. The aura was beautiful. Except for one
thing.
The aura was pale.
This young man, Mackie Stingray, was a vampire.
Mackie looked up as Priss and an unfamiliar woman approached. She
looked like she had just walked off a movie poster for a Wagnerian
production. Her body was fat and very full, a sort of stereotypical,
hefty German woman. She was staring at him with a peculiar concentration,
which changed into a look of dawning realization and then one of wariness
and horror.
(What?), thought Mackie, a little more alert. (She suddenly is
wary of me? In what way? Is she terrified and her heart beating faster,
or her breath....) Mackie's thoughts trailed off as he realized that
neither of those traits could be detected by his heightened senses. This
woman was dead, probably a vampire.
(Fool!) Mackie berated himself, mimicking one of his mentor's
sayings (always keep aware of your surroundings, always!) He sharpened
his concentration to look at her aura, which was in retrospective what the
woman had done to him. Pale aura. She was a Cainite like himself. Mackie
stood up to meet her.
Both vampires eyed each other without speaking, as they were
currently involved in a duel of appraising one another.
Priss looked back and forth at her two friends staring at each
other like they knew each other. "Do you two know each other from
somewhere?" asked Priss.
Mackie was the first to break the reverie. "Not at all Priss",
said Mackie, extending his hand in a handshake for the other vampire, "I
would certainly remember someone as beautiful as your friend had I ever
met her before."
"No Priscillia, we have never formally met", concurred Gloria as
she shook Mackie's hand.
"Say Priss, why don't you _go get some drinks_?" said Mackie,
subtly Dominating her.
"Sure, no problem", answered Priss as she moved towards the bar,
outside of earshot.
Once Priss was out of earshot, Gloria turned to Mackie, hissing,
"OK, who are you?" She was furious at how casually Mackie had ordered her
child around.
Mackie merely grinned, "You seem to already know me; I wish to
know more about you. And what your intentions regarding Priss?"
"My name is Gloria van Mieghan. And I am curious myself what your
intentions are regarding Priscillia", answered Gloria levelly.
Mackie nodded his head to were Priss had gone, "She is rather
charming, for a mortal. She has talent, fire, and... passion" Mackie
smiled.
Gloria glared; she could already sense where this conversation was
going. "She is not food! She is a brilliant young singer, with incredible
potential, who I am training." The music in her head began to become more
martial.
"Ah, but she can be so much more", smiled Mackie, as inside he
thought (Definitely Cainite. Probably Toreador.)
Gloria hissed at this. Priss was HER future childe!
The insolent boy warned in a serious tone, "Don't interfere with
me, or you _will_ regret it."
Even in her anger, Gloria gave a soft laugh as tiny bells rang
out. "Big words from a little vampire." Priss had told her about his
days as a mortal. He couldn't be more than a year or so old!
Mackie just shrugged.
That made her even more angry, "Tell me, what are your
intentions!"
Mackie turned away slightly, before offering, "Stay away from
Priss; she _belongs_ to ME."
She confronted Mackie, "Priss is under MY protection!"
Mackie regarded her coldly, "She is mine. She belongs to me."
"What did you say?" asked Gloria. Even for a neonate, this one
was cold. (To do that to your friends?) Maybe he wasn't Cammy..
"Her body. Her blood. Her mind." Mackie stated them slowly,
taking grim pleasure in the pain he was causing her. "All are mine."
"Listen you, she's-"
Mackie cut her off. "My blood flows in her veins. Her heart will
certainly be mine." A smile, "And I am her old friend. _All_ of her, will
be mine." And Mackie smiled wider.
Gloria was engraged by that devil's smile and advanced on him,
taking a large step, "You'll stay away from her, you neonate!"
Mackie's voice became harsh and cold as he hissed back, "Oh shut
up you stupid bitch. She is mine" he showed her the magical brand on his
hand, "she is _ours_."
Gloria recoiled back, looking at the brand in horror. This boy
was a member of the Black Hand? He was Sabbat? He-
"You'll stay out my affairs, or you'll find yourself wishing you
were dead. We know things." That smile again "I'll leave you bleeding
and screaming, hot bars through your fat ass until you burn into a
blackened piece of beef jerky, and then I will begin to enjoy myself, if
you don't stay away from MY property. Is that _clear_?" The menace in
the voice was undeniable.
Gloria was horrified, as she felt the tears start to form. She
couldn't go up against the Sabbat and the Black Hand. But neither could
she leave Priss in the hands of those monsters. But her own life!
"Listen to me", Mackie said and when she made eye contact with
him, he Dominated her, "You _will_ stay away from Priss and not interfere
with me or her. Understood?'
The mental command burrowing into her mind, Gloria could only nod
as she sought to obey the command, tears flowing down her cheeks as she
turned to obey.
Mackie felt the sadistic urge rumble once more.
"Don't worry about Priss", Gloria heard as she moved away, "I'll
take _good_ care of her." And then that laugh.
Gloria only cried harder, trying to fight the mental order, but
failing.
- - - - - - - - - -
Priss filled the two orders as quickly as she could, trying to get
back to say high to Gloria and join the conversation, wondering why it was
so important to get drinks right now? Unfortunately, the bar had been
packed as a group of college students had been slamming back the drinks in
a large mass of bodies. She had just managed to get in with a few shoves
the inebriated students never even noticed, and even then she had to wait
awhile for the drinks to be ordered up.
All the while, she would shoot looks back at Gloria and Mackie as
they talked to each other, frequently obscured by party-goers. They
seemed to be getting quite animated in the discussion. Priss hoped her
friend and Mackie were hitting it off fine.
"Here you are ma'am, two screwdrivers", said the bartender.
Priss threw a bill at the bartender, who deftly snagged it, before
turning to see where Mackie and Gloria were.
Gloria was gone! Only Mackie stood there. Hurrying over to see
what was going on, Priss barely noticed the person's leg until she tripped
over it, her drinks flying as she caught herself from falling flat on her
face.
"What the hell!" screamed a short, oily faced man who was
shrugging off the alcohol and orange juice that splatterd his clothes. He
spotted Priss, "You!"
"I'm sorry-" Priss started to say before the man cut her off.
"You fucking bitch!" he swore, his face turning red.
Priss bit off her apology as the familiar rage returned stronger
than usual. "Yeah, well fuck you! It was an accident."
"Bitch!", he yelled again, more than a little drunk, as he pushed
her.
Priss felt a massive force hit her, staggering her, before she
snarling caught his other fist.
The other man's eyes widened at this display of strength. "So,
who do you belong to?" he asked as his hand started to clench.
Priss felt the bones in her hand beginning to crunch as her hand
was crushed by the man. This guy couldn't be human! This was like with
Mason, and his damn boomber women! "Bastard!" she swore.
"What are you doing?" said Mackie, as he roughly removed the man's
hand and pushed him back, appearing from the crowd like a bird out of the
mist.
"Who do you think you are-" said the man as he spun towards
Mackie, before Priss' startled eyes, all the blood seemed to drain out of
his face. His jaw flapped aimlessly for a few seconds before, to Priss'
utter amazment, the man immediately prostrated himself before Mackie.
"Forgive me, Lord Stingray. I did not know the woman was yours",
the man groveled at Mackie's feet.
Priss stared open-mouthed at the man who had only moments before
been challenging her. Then what he had said penetrated as she indignantly
stammered, "Hey, I-I'm nobody's 'woman'." She was then shocked by what
Mackie said next.
"Yes, she is mine", answered Mackie, as he looked down at the bug
grovelling at his feet. He recognized one of the Sabbat ghouls from the
Sabbat meeting.
"I would never deliberately offend the leader of the Manus Nigrum,
my lord or harm your property", the man pleaded.
Both Mackie and Priss grew furious at the man's words.
(Mackie's *property*? That insolent man!), thought Priss.
(Revealing so much? You incompetent fuck!), thought Mackie.
Before Priss could say anything, Mackie ordered "Get up!" which
the man did.
Glaring into the flinching eyes of the hapless ghoul, Mackie
ground out "Both myself and _you are going forget this entire incident.
Now get out of this place!"
The ghoul, long familiar to commands, immediately obeyed, rushing
out of the building, pushing aside the crowd. Mackie looked after him for
a few brief seconds, before turning to help up the half-crouched Priss.
Priss looked at Mackie's proferred hand, before righting herself
while staring steadily into his eyes. (She was no ones property!) And if
Mackie thought-
"Sorry about that. It was the fastest way I knew how to get rid
of him" apologized Mackie, who was genuinely sorry. (It's just when I get
too much into my vampire act), thought Mackie.
Priss just glared at Mackie for a few seconds, arms crossed over
her chest. If he thought she was going to forgive him right away, he had
another thing coming.
"Priss", he pleaded and was once more the teenage boy she used to
tease at Raven's garage.
Priss glared once more, to let him know his punishment was nowhere
near done, before she realized, "Hey, what happened to Gloria?"
"Oh, she had to leave", Mackie answered as glibly as he could.
"Really?" Priss looked about for her none-the-less, before
sighing, "and I really wanted to talk to her about some things."
Mackie was staring at Priss, how cute and undeniably womanly she
looked in that dress when it hit him. Like an icicle spearing him from
the ceiling, the chill travelled down from his head to his toes. He
gasped as his perceptions changed in a fundamental way, and a coldly
fiery power seemed to flow throughout his body. Even as he was cold as
ice, he felt power thrum within him.
"Forget her", Mackie said in a smokily husky voice, the very sound
of it drawing dozens of female eyes to his face. But there was only one
he wanted, and they turned as well.
"What do you mean-" Priss cut off as she stared at Mackie and
couldn't quit staring at that face. Those eyes. They seemed to draw her
in like twin dark whirpools. They had a hint of fire and charming
coldness, while at the same time, something wicked gleamed. Like his
perfect, white teeth. Staring at Mackie, she suddenly realized how
important he was to her.
"You owe me a dance", Mackie said in that voice again. His hand
reached out, grasping hers, and the play of his fingertips across the palm
of her hand, touching and carressing, sent an involuntary shiver down her
spine.
"Let's dance", Mackie suggested, or ordered? Whatever the case,
Priss felt herself floating as Mackie's iron grip on her hand drew her
through the sea of people, until they reached one of the corner dance
floors. Slow beat romantic music played, and Priss felt her face flush as
she realized the significance of the place. She looked up at Mackie with
suddenly vulnerable eyes.
Mackie smiled reassuringly, even as his hand reached out to
carress down her neck, across the well toned muscles of her back, to rest
on her bottom. His other hand did the opposite, starting from her waist
up to the back of her neck. He slowly pulled her into a close embrace.
Priss felt herself responding as she was pulled into the embrace,
her arms automatically slipping around his waist and up, so her palms
rested on his shoulder blades. It felt... wrong. But as she looked up
into the smiling face of Mackie, she knew that she loved Mackie.
Mackie's thoughts were hardly on love, as he possessively held his
prize, his little songbird tight. She was responding just right to his
moves, every cue predicted. Her face came to lay on his chest, feel his
artificial heartbeat. He could hear her breathing become shallower as
emotion began to flood her body. He slowly danced with her, drawing the
dance away from the main group.
Priss felt herself in a warm pair of arms, and allowed herself to
relax, even as a small part of her seemed to be screaming for attention.
She ignored that part, when she felt Mackie slip his hand between her top
and her skin, fingers splayed across her back. After the initial
surprise, it even felt good, and Priss began to get aroused. They dance
some more like that, when she felt his other hand slide down.
Mackie smiled as he saw Priss look up, startled, as he slowly
moved his hand into her underbodysuit, slipping down to the edge of the
elastic of her panties. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, and after
a moment, she lowered her eyes, then her head unto his right shoulder.
Mackie's grin became even wider as his hand continued it's path
past the clinging panties, down farther, until he cupped her butt, his
hand already wet with sweat and another bodily fluid. He could feel her
rising passion, knew how he was playing her, and it was good. This was
power, this was his birthright. He moved in for the finale.
Priss felt Mackie's chin push aside her head, moving to her neck,
and the memory of what had happened the last time made her tremble with
anticipation and moan, sweating and wet.
There was the light prick, bringing pain, like the first love of a
virgin, then the inevitable pleasure came as Mackie softly and very slowly
as he began to feed on Priss. Her arms tightened around as she gasped,
and Mackie held up the sagging woman with his right hand, fingers pressing
into the soft flesh of her rear.
Mackie sensed a presence and looked up from his feeding, to see
Gloria looking at them with an expression of utmost horror and pain in her
face. That brought Mackie more pleasure than the blood he was drinking.
With blood glinting off his fangs in his smile, like a child with a new
toy, Mackie showed off his ownership as tears began to flow anew from the
vampiress. With a chuckle counterpoint to Priss' gasps pleading for more,
he once more began to suckle on the wound, keeping his eyes on Gloria's
face. She averted her eyes and covered her face at the sight of his
feeding, before turning and fleeing, sobbing. Mackie laughed with
sadistic glee.
Priss felt the pleasure return, as a familiar tension returned,
slowly winding up inside her. She started to move, trying to find
release, when she felt Mackie lift her by her rear and deposit her,
strattled over his upraised knee, as they danced closer. Her head lay on
his shoulder as he swung her about, moans uttered as the pleasure built.
Here, in the shadows, away from the light, she could see the glowing
circuitry under Mackie's skin for it's true color. It wasn't purple at
all, rather- a particularly sharp wave of animal enjoyment started to lock
out her higher cognitive functions. Her entire world became the pleasure
she was feeling, rising higher as they continued to dance. The night was
pleasure.
Mackie enjoyed the night as well. He danced on, ignoring the
scandalized whispers and pointing as people noticed their activity.
Nothing could be more importantly than the docile and controlled woman
gasping in his ear. Nothing. Power was all.
Even as a small part of Mackie screamed and fought desperately,
his Shadowfriends futilely fighting the verdant sigils that imprisoned
their friend in his desires.
* * * * * * * * * *
Within the guest room of the Stingray domicile, one person did not
enjoy the night. She lay in bed, still trying to remain awake even as her
body cried out for rest, cried out for a special someone who was absent
from her presence. She curled up fetally even as she desperately hoped
that he would show, even as her eyes watered, realizing it would not
happen, face in pillow.
He probably thought she was ugly, with her bandaged face and
uneven hair. She was fat and ugly, and he didn't love which is why he
wasn't here, he didn't care, she had rejected him, it was her fault, no it
was HIS fault, why wasn't Mackie here?
Nene never noticed Sylia quietly entered the room, her 'tsk' at
Nene's wearing her new fall line, before pulling the covers gently over
her, tucking her in, as what she was wearing would provide little warmth.
Sylia felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes as she saw Nene's
slight frame shudder and shake in grief. As silently as she had entered,
Sylia left, leaving the young woman alone in her misery.
Alone in the dark, abandoned and forgotten, Nene turned her pillow
wet as her hot tears flowing from the wellspring of her pain and sorrow,
before the arms of slumber called her into restless dreams, where she was
all alone.
^_-
End part 6b, to be continued in part 6c.
Next, in Part 6c of Night Sabers: Leon and Daley get a new case, while
Sylia continues her research and plans. The Knight Sabers deal with
sudden and subtle changes as shadowy powerbrokers across the world begin
to set plans into motion.
General comments to the reader:
-This is very rough. I am not completely satisfied with the Sabbat fight
scene, so any advice would be appreciated for future reference. Did you
find it alright?
-A question about the KS and other MegaTokyo residents: What do you
thinks their Natures (what they truly feel) are and what their Demeanors
(what they believe and act like to the world) are? I am unsure, and until
I have a fair understanding of the KS's personal feelings, I feel
distinctly uncomfortable in dealing with the such subject matter, given my
semi-ignorance.
-This story definitely deserves the [Dark] tag, as it will become much
darker than this. But is the [Lime] tag correct? Too strong? Not strong
enough (i.e. should it be [Lemon])?
-An apology to JD; Sorry, I just couldn't resist the MB scene. And hey,
you never see them actually die, neh?
Any and all C+C is appreciated! This is still a rough draft; feedback
only makes it better!
Thanks for reading!
Please send all comments to Curtiss Nelson at curtiss@seattleu.edu