(Still) Rough draft 1.4
Bwuhahahah! Thought you were rid of me? Not even close!
Hello again! Here is part 6a of Night Sabers, the first section of
(hopefully) the three sections of part 6 of my fanfic, Night Sabers. For
those who missed earlier parts, feel free to E-mail me for previous parts.
First off, I would like to express how sorry I am about how late this next
part is in being posted, three months or so late, but hey, who's counting?
(How about the people who were waiting for it, you twit!). That darn real
life thing caught up with me again. The bad news is, given that the
series is turning out to be quite long, these sections will be produced
rather slowly. The good news is I will actual be sending to the FFML
other fics I have written, having finally grasped enough courage to do so!
(This is good news?)
I would like to give some long overdue thanks and credit to those who
have aided me in my efforts at fanfiction.
I would like to thank:
The Apprentice
for prereading and commenting.
I would also like to thank Elsa Bibat, skywise-skychan?, JD Farber, Jeanne
Hedge, and everyone else who has sent me feedback. All of your feedback
was very much appreciated and helps!
As a little treat, I put a number of cameos and references for the
dedicated Otakuing in part 5 of Night Sabers. Did you find them all? Here
they are, to test how UberOtaku you are:
The panty boomer was, of course, Happosai from Ranma 1/2 (Easy).
The new employee at Silky Doll was Kintaro Oe from Golden Boy (Med).
The show "Captain ADP and the Police Rangers" was a parody of the bad
sentai/anime series that plague us ^_- (Easy).
The 'S' dialogue between the Mackie and the importer on the phone was a
play on 'S' and 'M' of Please Save My Earth (Med).
The S-H-I-O-N referred to after that dialogue is the name of the alien who
is reincarnated as a mortal boy, Koyabashi Rin, in the anime Please Save
My Earth (Med).
The reference to Rin as an Assamite with Thaumaturgy is a reference to
Rin's powerful psychic abilities. Thus, his lover in the Celestial
Chorus, would be Alice/Morkulen of Please Save My Earth (Med/Hard).
The wraith Ayanami Genma is actually a fusion of two characters- Ayanami
Rei from Evangelion and Saotome Genma from Ranma 1/2 (Easy).
The Critical System Failure: Code 911 in the boomer possessed by Ayanami
Genma; yes, our own emergency number makes a guest appearance! (Med/Hard).
Miss Vilheim, Mackie's banker, was from a book I completely forgot the
title and author of (Very, very hard ;).
The delusion that talks to Sylia is her avatar; the avatar is based off of
Ikari Gendou of Neon Genesis Evangelion who looks a little like Dr.
Stingray (Med/Hard).
The necklace Mackie gives Nene I think was real (I saw a picture once);
there is a play on Nene's last name and Russian heritage (Easy/Med).
Kurenai Tusubasa is the crossdresser in love with Ukyou from Ranma 1/2;
very hard to get because of bad spelling and editing made this one harder
(Med).
A brief recap of Part 5:
When last we left the scene of Night Sabers, Nene had been seriously
injured, and Mackie had accidently ghouled both Nene and Priss, later
ghouling all of the KS. In the course of dinner, Mackie is contacted by
another presence outside of those who share his link, giving him an offer
and free information. Compiled on this new concern, Priss manages to
blurt out an accusation of Mackie being a boomer, for reasons she herself
does not understand. Hurt and angry, Mackie flees and Sylia follows to
talk with him and get answers. There we learn Sylia is a mage, Mackie is
being manipulated and openly controlled by two mysterious forces known
only by the colors Green and Purple, and Mackie has told Sylia his
greatest secret, that he is a Lasombra antitribu, which, if discovered,
means his companion's lives are forfeit and anyone who can has the
authority and duty to diablerize him, a process that will destroy his very
soul...
Now, onto Part 6:
***Warning! The following 'fic contains adult themes and language! So
any one under, well, 18 I guess, or those who are immature (Jeez, I'm
talking to a bunch of Otaku and I just described half them:) Actually,
this part of Night Sabers is pretty harmless, but I felt I should put this
warning in, as there is always _someone_ who just doesn't get it.... Okay,
okay, I'll shut up now.***
"But that is my point exactly! Can't you see, what we are? We are
Lasombra, the true Lasombra, masters of darkness. And does it not say in
the Bible that before all there was the formless darkness, the Void from
which all sprang forth by the Creator's hand? We are the ultimate
expression of that, creators ourselves by shaping all that comes from the
Abyss. We can create shadows, use them to help people, see into the true
darkness of the world, or we can use them to kill and destroy. We are
like the creator by our control of the darkness. And as vampires, we are
consigned to the dark, forced to dwell in it, but it is only the Lasombra
who truly _are_ it. Darkness existed before the Light came, and will
exist after it is gone. We are the Darkness, the true nature of the
Universe, the true masters of all!"
-Erik Svenson, Lasombra antitribu, 6th generation to Mackie
Stingray
"Pardon me for my ignorance and youth, my sire, but you sound crazier then
a fucking Malkavian!"
-Mackie Stingray, Lasombra antitribu, 7th generation to Erik
Svenson
"I have travelled nearly every dram of this world, known countless natural
and supernatural creatures, stepped beyond our world, conversed with
others in a multitude of languages, and I still know very little before
the awesome mystery that is all existence. Reality? I have seen that
mutable before my very eyes and other senses. Creators? I must disagree,
though you are correct, our Obtenebration gives us greater insight than
any other clan. For in every religion, be it that in the Israelite Torah,
the Christian Bible, the Muslim Koran, the Buddhists, the Taoists, the
Japanese Shinto, the Aztec Muzzlah, the Assyrian Way of the World, or any
other, there was always darkness in the beginning. But you are blind in
your darkness Erik Svenson, for it was the Light, higher and greater than
the banal darkness of simple reality that divided the darkness and set
Creation in motion. And we children of Caine are forever denied the
Light, trapped in this banal darkness, but for a few souls that find their
way back to the Light. We must watch as the humans, which we once were,
still hold that spark of Light within themselves until they Ascend, while
we are forever locked in this Darkness of Reality, howling our rage and
inability to understand at the uncaring Night, no longer a part of the
cycle. And _that_ is why we are truly and forever Damned."
-"Darius", ancient Lasombra of unknown generation or true name,
"grandsire" to Mackie Stingray, commenting to self on the
dialogue between Erik Svenson and Mackie Stingray.
"The sad part is, people just don't _understand_ Genom. Only in Genom is
there truly equality in all the world, where your own personal merit and
talent take you as far as you can go, no matter who or _what_ you may be.
In all the world, equality and real opportunity is found only in Genom.
And it is all because Genom has only one simple unifying theme, a united
worship of the only true God in this cruel world: *POWER*!"
-Ronald Hagesawa, Genom Life Engineer, formerly of the Celestial
Chorus, on Genom
"Jesus Christ! Five of my best agents have been sent in there, to
infiltrate that damn tower of theirs. How many are still alive? Zero,
nanda, none. None, dammit! And what did I get out of it, what did my
people suffer fates worse than death for? For my best man to draw a bunch
of lines on the concrete, the symbol of the Eastern vampires, and three
stupid damn letters before he dies.
"What letters? Whatever they were, they didn't make any sense. What?
Fine, fine, he wrote out three letters in English.
"What were they? Oh, yeah.
"They were simple:
"O-M-S."
-Nicholas, Nosferatu Camarilla Prince of Gary, 7th
generation on the subject of Genom
Night Sabers
A BGC/WoD:VTM Crossover/Fusion
Written by Me
Part 6: "And the Night Comes Alive"
The tension in the living room of Sylia's refurbished penthouse
suite was palpable enough that one could cut it with a knife. The three
junior members of the Knight Sabers were attempting to relax, Linna pacing
while unconciously clenching and unclenching her fists, Priss leaning back
in the enveloping expanse of a plush leather chair with her clothes lose
to enjoy the air conditioning while looking at a spot somewhere on the
floor, and Nene sitting on the coach with a pensive look on her face,
occasionally glancing at her reflection in the glass table before her or
stopping to examine the elaborate necklace she wore, as if to convince
herself it was real. No sound other than the thinnest whisper of the air
conditioning, the soft patter of Linna's feet on the carpet, and the
rustle of leather as Priss shifted uncomfortable. Linna would
occasionally stop in her pacing to shoot a look of pure anger at Priss,
which was unusual for her, and it waseven more unusual how Priss meekly
avoided her eyes.
CRASH! There was the reverberations of a door being slammed
throughout the penthouse and the shock of the sound galvinized the three
young women to look at each other questioningly. They waited a few
moments as they heard the door open again, their ears straining to catch
even the smallest of sounds. Without concious thought, they leaned
forward, only to lean back and stand as Sylia entered the room with a
distracted look on her face.
Priss and Nene looked hesitantly at each other, than looked over
as Linna strode over to Sylia, each fiber of her being vibrating with
barely repressed energy as she demanded of Sylia,
"Well, what happened?"
Sylia banished the thoughtful look from her face, replacing it
with one of irritation and a slight frown as she examined Linna, noting
her tightly balled fists, raising one delicate eyebrow to say, "Oh?"
"Yes dammit, what happened? With Mackie! Especially after
that stupid bitch managed to insult him", she said, waving one arm in
Priss' general direction, "So what's up? It's bad enough our little Ms.
Cyberpunk spends all night either nearly dying or getting fabulous gifts.
And where did Mackie get that kind of money? I know he doesn't have that
kind of money-"
Sylia's slap caught Linna on the cheekbone, turning her head.
"Get a hold of yourself! What are you doing, insulting your friends, and
making such wild accusations?"
Linna's face flushed bright red as she stuck her face right up to
Sylia's, one arm already cocked back, martial arts training lost in her
anger. Priss, already standing after Linna's last remark, moved to
position herself, as Nene began to stand as well.
Linna trembled with rage for a second or two, before truly
realizing what she was doing. Shaking herself, taking two deep breaths to
calm herself, she looked at the others standing around her, bringing her
hands to her mouth.
"I'm do sorry! I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry Sylia,
Priss", she said, bowing slightly two the two.
Priss just shrugged and gave her a little, comforting smile; what
Linna had said was nothing she hadn't thought of herself. Sylia just
stared at Linna for a few seconds.
What really surprised her was the calculating look in Nene's eyes
as well. (What's happening to us), thought Priss, (Sylia acting so
emotional, Nene acting like Sylia, me being so... so.. so MEEK, and Linna
acting like... me?)
Linna herself didn't understand what had happened. Just a few
moments ago, she had been so full of rage and energy. Now? Now she felt
exhausted, like having run a marathon. But the rage still burned as a
small ember in the back of her mind.
Sylia just nodded as though confirming something she was thinking
about. "Forget it; it has been a rough night for all of us. I suggest
we all get some rest, you especially Nene. Thinking about it, I think
it's a convenient time for us all to get our medical review, especially in
view of what has occurred."
Linna and Priss frowned slightly; why make such a request, right
now? Neither would put it past Sylia to make such a request out of the
proverbial blue. Nene just looked on with placid expression and intent
gaze.
"Umm, sure Sylia", Priss said, thinking (Damn, I'm being meek
again! Why?) as Linna chimed in, "OK". Nene just nodded slowly.
They all turned to leave for the lab when Nene asked, "About
Linna's original question, Sylia? About Mackie?"
Sylia didn't break her pace, saying, "He just needs some time to
himself. Don't worry, I talked to him." (And received more questions
than answers), she added to herself.
Together, the Knight Sabers walked into the infirmary.
* * * * * * * * *
Mackie listened as his sister spoke to Linna, Priss, and Nene (oh,
Nene!), relieved that his sister had managed to deflect their questions
with vague answers. He was still apprehensive, but at least there was
a chance to clear things up. Perhaps some lies and semi-true explanations
(and a careful application of vampiric Disciplines should discipline
them into being more servile and accepting-)
(STOP THAT!) he screamed mentally at Rosa, whose thoughts had
slipped into his own. Sometimes he felt and imagined the others in the
Link were like parasitic worms, feasting on the innards of his brain and
memories. (I will not do that!).
He didn't need to guess that he had been baited when he heard the
throaty chuckle in his head, (Merely offering suggestions, my little
fledgling. It would certainly make things more easy, no?)
(First, they are my family and friends-), he began
(We are your family now Mackie. Now and forever), she interupted,
half teasing, half dead serious.
He started again, continuing along his original point. (-my
family and friends are just that, family and friends. Jesus Christ, you
think that everything is solved by disciplines? Besides, using Discipines
attracts more attention, unless done perfectly. I can do with this myself
on what I know!) (Besides), he added to himself, (I need more practice
without the ShadowLink.) If he was ever to succeed as a Lasombra, he
would need to learn to handle himself and others with skill.
(Indeed, you must.. We among the true Lasombra do not tolerate
syncophants.)
Mackie was silent at this double edged praise from Rosa.
(And do not worry so much as you are doing about your "friends".
Ghouldom is often disconcerting at first, but they shall soon come to
endure and even enjoy it. They will learn to master the mood swings;) her
mental tone became slyly jesting and laughing (we women have a certain
advantage over men in that department.) Her tone then became serious,
(Still, they all seem to be extraordinary individuals. You have chosen
very well for a neonate, and your willingness to accept our wisdom and
your resolve to our cause by ghouling your friends is admirable. Perhaps
there is hope for you yet... young "lord".) There was a feeling like he
was being patted on the head before he felt Rosa's presence withdraw.
Mackie stood there for a second before turning to his room. That
conversation had proven only moderately useful. Forget it, store it for
later examination. He still had a job to do. Mackie, though antitribu,
regarded himself as a loyal member of the Black Hand. The rest of the
Sabbat could rot for all he cared; he knew that the average non-Genom
unlifespan in MegaTokyo was extremely short. So short, being assigned to
MegaTokyo frequently corresponded with drastic punishment in many Sabbat
circles. Mackie knew that was not the case with him, though many of his
Lasombra 'kin' would love to see it as being so. After his work as a
Virtue in France, it appeared the Black Hand wanted him to pull off
another miracle and save the failing MegaTokyo operation. If he was
honest with himself, Mackie was skeptical that he could pull it off. In
France, Mackie had possessed access to his mentor's contacts, influence,
and knowledge. Here, he had only himself. But he couldn't fail in this.
The Black Hand was counting on him to save as many of his comrades as
possible. All of his research and inteligence analysis had pointed to
another massive purge by Genom of all "deviants" in MegaTokyo, i.e., all
supernaturals not allied with Genom itself. This purge would include the
Sabbat. Genom was too well structured and discriminating to ally with the
Sabbat, or even to tolerate their existence in MegaTokyo.
Mackie wandered into his room, stripped before slipping on a
skin-tight black jumpsuit, put on some loose StaySafe (TM) pants,
constructed his holster, holstered his custom firearm, and grabbed his
drab and rough leather jacket. (What is it with vampires and black
leather?), he wondered, not for the first time. Stashing his usual array
of weapons (garrote wire in the hair, knives in my; damn, need to get that
tear fixed, poisoned needles, and...). He slipped on his SWAT Trainer III
Coretex boots. Finishing his getting dressed, he turned to his most
precious treasure.
It had been really difficult to get the weapon through customs,
which was rather ironic, given the amount of boomer rampages and firepower
at the disposal of USSD, Genom, and even the ADPolice. Snapping the locks
open after focussing his will briefly to flip the latch _inside_ the slim
case, Mackie opened the top and withdrew the wrapped bundle.
Nestled within was the ancient sword. Barely a meter long, the
blade looked small even as Mackie withdrew in it from the high density,
impact resistant plastic sheath. While nowhere near the perfection of the
legendary Brujah forged blades of Carthage, the blade was still vampire
forged, with an edge that burned through undead flesh. Mackie tore his
eyes away from their contemplation of the cold perfection of his blade,
and placed it among a change of clothing in a short duffel bag, which he
shrugged over one shoulder. Hard to get at, inconventient, but the only
way to be truly discrete. (I just wish I knew how those two loonies in
Paris who kept trying to behead each other managed to hide their long
swords in such short jackets), wondered Mackie, not for the first time.
(First things first), he thought firmly, as he closed his eyes.
It wasn't really necessary to close the eyes, he just found it easier to
focus. Within his mind, symbols and memories of the verbal component and
the motions of the body became sharper and more defined. Like falling
backwards off of a high rise building roof, Mackie allowed himself to fall
into the magic, his every sense tuned to his undead body as he recited the
incantation, his words becoming more huried as he felt the pulsating of
power in his blood until with the last syllable and finger gesture, his
vitae flared into power, driving him briefly into ecstacy as the sensation
of power coursed through him, much like the consuming of rich blood.
Focussing inward, he could hear the rythmic thumping as his dead heart
began to beat once more. Again he repeated the ritual, and his veins
tingled as blood once more flowed through them in time with his false
heartbeat, then once more so that he could breath once more, even though
he no longer had a need to breathe; blood provided more than enough oxygen
for unlife. Mackie cast the spell Domino of Life for a fourth and final
time, and his skin and body became the temperature of a mortal. The
latter could be a liability in the field, but Mackie had learned a more
refined variant of the spell that allowed him to cancel its effects at
will. Everything was ready. Time to go.
Donning a simple cowboy-like hat, Mackie turned to depart, then
wondered what his sister and the others would do when they realized he was
gone. His sister still had questions that she would eventually demand be
answered. (What to do about that?), Mackie mused. Then his eyes spotted
his stereo. Selecting a CD from his collection of oldies music, he
slipped it into the machine, advanced it to the track he wanted, turned up
the volume, and hit pause, freezing it there.
Mackie turned off the lights to his room, glancing back at the
electric glow of the CD player. Yes, his sister would get the message.
Mackie left the room, exited via the backdoor of the Silky Doll,
and walked into the night.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Is everything alright, Mr. Smith?", asked the flame-haired young
woman who was currently showing the new tenant the room.
Erik Svenson, now John Smith, smiled slightly as he realized that
the manager of the apartment complex did not realize the pun of his using
that particular alias. (Ah well, probably before her time. Young mortals
these days), he humored himself. He had thought that one would still be
popular. Guess not. Probably for the better, that she not realize he was
using an alias.
He was standing in the living room/dining room of a rather
expensive apartment in this costly city. Erik had already decided that
this apartment would be his public haven, a place where he could meet with
other and discuss things. The manager had gone on to explain the virtues
of the Genom EconoSpace (TM) system within the apartment, which allowed so
much to fit in so small an area, perfect for the discretionary and
budgeting home owner. This was one of the few places he had found, after
three other stops, that took bank lines outside of corporate certified
credit. He had already established two other havens, one a shallow hollow
near the airport, near impossible to reach but for a tiny crack and, of
course, his skill in Obtenebration. The second had been a trailer he had
persuaded a certain group of bikers to allow him to use when he wished.
Still, this apartment was nice. Good placement in relation to the other
havens, the exits were easy to use and numerous, and lastly, it was in a
prime area for feeding. Still, though it was ideal for him, he had to make
a show of being a concerned buyer. The actor in him demanded no less.
"Yes, this seems to be more than suitable. There is still the
matter of price though", John Smith said.
Akemi started, having been caught staring at the man's face. She
had seen many handsome men in her life, but this was one was incredible.
Every golden hair seemed perfectly combed against a flawless white skin
that contrasted sharply with his deliciously mismatched eyes, one emerald
green, and the other sapphire blue. She could lose herself in those eyes
like she had many men. But this one held himself and seemed to her to
be like a prince of the highest order. So she acted as demure and
ladylike as she could, as she had seen Kyoko act, hoping to impress him.
It was only her good fortune that she had agreed to fill in for the
Karinin-san while she and Godai went on a date to try to patch up things.
Not even Mitaka was this good looking! She tried to find her voice, then
realized what the man had said.
"Eh, of course it's suitable! Umm, price is no object. There is
uh... special, yeah, a special, twenty percent off!", Akemi panicked,
suddenly worried about the handsome man leaving.
John Smith raised his eyebrows and acted suitably shocked, while
Erik Svenson calmly played the young woman. His presence and skill in
both seduction and acting did the work for him. Definitely woman, both
from her body cues and the way she was pretending act like someone else.
An actor like him could spot it a mile away. Hmm, she seemed like a
socialite. Good, she could lead him to others on whom he would feed. He
decided that she would be the first of his herd here in MegaTokyo.
He smiled, showing perfectly white teeth, and she melted before
the warmth in his eyes, "Coming from someone like you, there is no way I
could refuse such an... offer."
Akemi blushed at the innuendo in that simple comment, thoughts of
the extra twenty percent she would have to pay vanishing in the warm
feeling she felt. "Very well. I have the paperwork up in my room" (No,
office! Sound professional; oh! Too late!) "would like to come up and
fill it up?"
John Smith's smile widened if that was at all possible, becoming
more blinding until Erik Svenson felt the tingle that was a signal of the
oncoming transformation. (In God's Name, not now, not again!) He clutched
his head, maintaining a tight self control as pain engulfed his senses.
Akemi startled as her prince dropped to the floor, clutching his
head as muffled cries emitted from tightly clenched lips. She stared,
horrified, as she heard cracks and pops of joints and muscles stretching,
sounding like a contortionist taken to an extreme. He was obviously in
pain. She looked about desperately, before turning to go rush for the
phone to call an ambulence.
"Wait! Please, don't go and leave me!" She saw the man look up to
her with such pleading eyes that she immediately rushed over to kneel
beside him.
"Are you alright?", she asked as she helped lever him up to a
seating position on the extended bed. With one arm around his shoulders
for support, she helped move him over to the bed, then sat down beside him
on the bed. On the bed.
"Thank you", he said, looking at her with those eyes behind those
long eyelashes. Those eyes that looked so blue and green with grey-white
whites. What? Grey-white whites? She drew away.
"Your eyes..."
Though he could no longer look in a mirror, he knew his eyes had
developed the Grey. Excuse, excuse, "Probably just smoke in my contacts."
Distraction. His hand dropped "accidently" onto her thigh.
"I-", Akemi started, and whatever she was going to say fell aside
as the man's chilly hand fell on her thigh. She looked in those eyes as
she felt herself pulled forward, or was she leaning forward?
Still lost in those eyes, she felt herself lying on the bed as the
familiar fire awoke, the man's hands roaming her body. She threw her arms
around his neck, nibbling on one oddly shaped ear, before she felt his
chill lips at her throat and all vanished in pleasurable waves.
Even as he drew the needed vitae from the moaning and panting
woman beneath him who burned with passion, Erik Svenson did not feel the
usual pleasure of feeding, as he burned with shame. Unnoticed by Akemi in
her thrashing, a crimson tear slid down one perfect cheek.
Erik turned his thoughts to his youngest childe as his shame and
regret gave him voice, thinking in one sorrowful thought:
(Oh Mackie, I'm so sorry.)
* * * * * * * * * *
(Oh Mackie, I'm so sorry.)
Mackie jerked his head as he faintly heard the telepathic voice
of... his sire? What the? (Hmm.. must be hearing things), he thought as
he trailed the man walking in front of him. Mackie was hungry after
casting so many spells. Sure, being 7th generation meant more vitae in
his system, but he wasn't an Antediluvian. He needed to feed, and soon.
But not this one. He was still too close to the Silky Doll; if
he lost control and frenzied while feeding, there might be questions and
repurcussions. Deciding patience and caution were better for the moment,
he turned and began to walk towards a side street. That was when the
tingling began, then he dropped to his knees as a sledgehammer of shock
struck his chest.
There was a roaring in his ears as he sat there on his knees, the
tingling spreading all over, feeling like when he was mortal and would lay
on an arm or leg for too long. His artificial respiration from the spell
was simulating him gasping for breath, his lungs gulping at the air. The
roaring in his ears became understandable as a voice.
"Hey man, you OK?" A hand shook his shoulder, "Buddy you alright."
It was the man he had been following for a brief time.
Mackie knew with dreadful certainty what was about to happen next.
He hissed in pain and anger and fear before glaring at man and putting all
his efforts into Dominating.
"GO. LEAVE. RUN." And with that the man turned and ran as far as
he could.
Mackie managed to force himself to his feet and ran as fast as his
half-dead, tingling legs would carry him to a deserted alleyway.
Mackie staggered as he felt waves of vertigo wash through him in
a brutal tsunami of pain. Different, far different from the Link, this
pain was a burning fire. He could not help it; he crumbled to his knees
as the fire of agony began to touch him like the tongue of a serpent
gracefully twining about his body, bringing a liquid fire throughout his
frame. He held tight to his Beast as it screamed to be set free.
Overcome by pain, clutching his head and then shoulders in an attempt to
comfort himself, he fell to his knees once more.
It started with the bones, like it always did in the previous two
times this had happened. Mackie felt something ignite and twist them,
his flesh buckling as the pain continued, muscles and fleshy material
squirming to accomidate the newer form. After that, the flesh began to
tingle, as if some oppressive force like invisible microwave beams were
penetrating the skin. As his body changed ever so slightly, even though
it felt like an eternity of pain, it subtly added several more centimeters
to his height. It was not the pain, the slimy _wrongness_ of Vicissitude
wreaking such changes, but rather something from an entirely different
source, though of which source Mackie had no idea. His limited
experience, lack of familiarity with the vampiric body, and well earned
lack of trust made it impossible for the young vampire to understand the
inherent wrongness of the act. As the tremor, the flashes of pain seemed
to subside, Mackie reached out an arm to pull himself up.
Mackie's Beast shrieked as Mackie _leapt_ away from the iron
guard rail he had touched, clutching his hand as tears of blood began to
form at the corners of his eyes. There in his palm, where the brand of
the Black Hand lay, was a ragged scar of burnt flesh, the stench of which
still held to his heightened senses. The agony was unlike the broiling of
fire or the roasting of sun. It was as if something poisonous had seeped
into his palm, numbing all feeling. It was fading into a dull thrubbing
now, and his Beast subsided into angry muttering, as he rode the wave.
Uprighting himself, he moved to where the meeting was supposed to
take place. Keep moving, ignore it. That had been one of the matras of
Mackie's unlife. Slowly at first, then with greater speed, he staggered
then walked on to where he would meet his command, as gentle waves of tiny
pain traveled through and across his body.
And unnoticed to Mackie in the pain, two other small parts of his
body began to tingle, warping into the form his blood called to assume.
And so Mackies ears grew once more a little more pointed.
And his eyes, hidden by the darkness, began to gain more of the
greyish tint to them that he could never notice.
* * * * * * * * *
"That's the last of the tests", said Sylia, typing some commands
into the computer, as Priss easily swung off the examination table.
"What are these tests for anyway?", inquired Linna, as she
finished dressing herself.
"Just some general tests. Given what happened to Nene earlier
today, I thought it best if I get the results now, rather than later like
I had planned."
"So how did we do?", asked Priss, slipping into her familiar red
biking suit, having used the opportunity to change into something she was
more comfortable with. She hoped everything was alright. She felt a
little sad, which was understandable, given what had happened, but other
than that, she felt great. She was light on her feet, feeling in such
great shape she barely noted the weight of her bodysuit.
"Oh, fine", said Sylia, looking at a vidscreen before typing in a
few commands.
"Well at least be honest Sylia! Is there something wrong or
not?", Linna demanded, "We need to know!"
Sylia arched an eyebrow at Linna's attitude, while the other two
looked on, Nene gaping slightly at Linna's rudeness, Priss shaking her
head slightly.
Linna herself didn't understand why she was feeling the way she
was. She just was so angry dammit! Why in the hell wouldn't Sylia just
give her a straight answer. She felt like she was burning with power,
like she could feel every muscle on her delineated frame. And here Sylia
was, acting like her typical Ice Queen persona. How dare she when their
lives could be at risk! Parodying Sylia, she raised one trimmed eyebrow,
saying "Well?"
Sylia thought this was very funny; so funny she had trouble
keeping a straight face. She didn't know why it was funny, it just was.
Here was Linna- Something staggered her, causing her to shiver slightly,
as a peculiar sensation travel from her torso to the her outer
extremities. In fact, she felt-
"Hey, you going to give me an answer", Linna said, glaring.
Both Priss and Nene, moved to intercept a potential conflict, both
starting to speak.
"I'm sure it's nothing, right Sylia?", said Nene.
"Calm down Linna, its probably nothin'", Priss spoke, putting a
hand on Linna's shoulder.
Linna threw off Priss' hand with a jerk of her body, calming
somewhat before she noticed Sylia staring at her somewhat intently. "What
are you looking at?"
Sylia realized she was staring and focused on the problem at hand.
Ignoring the strange feelings, she tried to think of an appropriate
response as another shudder silently coursed through her, leaving her feel
like she had consumed a dozen pots of coffee, wired to the max.
"It is nothing to be concerned with, really, just some minor
examinations for the medical database. I need them for the auto-doctor to
function at full efficiency, and after what happened with Nene, I thought
that it may be a good idea", Sylia said, before shutting her mouth. (I
can't believe I just went continually speaking like that), she thought,
(though it is perfectly understandable, after all, I mean the problem is
so very fascinating-). Sylia grabbed and fiercely choked her wandering
thoughts into death.
None of the other KS seemed to have noticed her deviation in
normal behaviour, other than she had been unusually verbose in her
explanation. The others seeming to think of it as her subtly snubbing
Linna. They all seemed to be sastified with her response.
"Sounds like a good idea to me", piped up Nene, and all the others
nodded in agreement, especially given the evidence of her face that showed
the wisdom of Sylia's suggestion.
"Yeah, I don't mind either", confirmed Priss, who had already
decided this talk was over except for one small thing she still felt
guilty about.
After a few seconds, Linna smiled in a little and said, "Better
now then never, right?"
Sylia nodded, "These readings will go right into the computer and
be ready in less than a half of an hour."
"Think you can stay out of trouble until then, eh Priss?", grinned
Nene.
"Look who's talking", snorted Priss.
Linna said, "Alright then, I have some work to do before I turn
in. Today has been quite the day." And Linna left.
"I gotta get going to", said Priss then lowered her voice to say
softly, "Tell Mackie I'm sorry, OK?"
Sylia knew it would be better if Priss talked to him herself, but
she merely nodded. "Alright."
Priss turned to Nene. "Need a ride home?", she offered.
"With you? No thanks!", she smiled, taking the bite out of the
words. "Besides", she continued, "I might get sick or something, so I
better stay here in case Mack..." Nene started to blush.
Priss wondered where I girl who had lost some much blood could
concentrate so much in her cheeks. Priss chuckled, "Yeah, whatever",
before turning to go.
Sylia had a slight smile herself. She found Nene to be perfectly
acceptable for her brother; it was just the events of the day had left
her more than a little concerned that Nene might be hurt by the changes in
her brother. Another problem. "Nene, you can take the guest room."
"Thanks Sylia!", said Nene, still a little bubbly. It pained
Sylia to see the bandages on her face.
Sylia had a problem: What to do about her brother? And what had
happened to Nene, happened to her, happened to all of them? Why did their
cells no longer degrade? Why- Another shudder passed through her. Why
was she feeling like this? And what did Mackie mean when he said he was
'antitribu'?
Nene had a problem: What to do about Mackie? It was apparant that
he still had feelings for her, still loved her, and an incredible,
delicious warmth filled her at the thought. He had gotten so gorgeous
too! And if he looked as good underneath as well... But he was hurt and
had run away after Priss had made that comment. Damn her! She loved
Mackie even if he had become a Boomeroid. Didn't she? Still... this
could be used to her advantage. He would come home, distraught, and there
she would be, to comfort him, make him hers. Perfect! With that
particular thought process going on, she left the room to get ready.
Nene kept the smile on her face until she left the room, before
the muscles relaxed and her expression became placid and her eyes serious.
She had played them like puppets; Sylia might have been proud had she
known what Nene was doing. Ever since the dinner, a cold, calculating
mindset had descended on her conscious. While she still prepared her
original plan, Nene had another problem.
She needed to find out why she and the others were going into
"cellular anti-degredation status field projection" that she had seen on
the screen in the medlab, one Nene had sneaked a peak at while pretending
to pay attention to the byplay of Linna and Sylia. She needed to know why
Sylia was hiding this from them. And what did Mackie have to do with
this. With that in mind, Nene began to plan for the night.
* * * * * * * * * *
It was a dark and stormy night... that is if one acknowledged it
was because the smog obscured the brilliant highlights of the megascrapers
that towered above the mortals that scurried about at their feet and
that the massive venturas of their considerable bulk were what caused the
wind to move about in imitation of nature's ravaging fury of gale. Most
residents of MegaTokyo regarded this as an auspicious occasion, especially
since no rainfall meant no carrying back to Earth the toxic chemicals the
factories spewed to the heavens, investing the true cloud far above the
perpetual veil of smog that clung to the city. Still, there were some
occasional glimpses of the heavens above, the stars barely seen but for
the brightest, unknown but to scholars that these were space stations and
satellites, their artificial shells reflecting light much more brightly
than the pitiful radiance of celestial nightpearls twinkling.
Far from the industrial districts, lacking the heat the massive
heat sinks and exchangers provided, it was cold in the more primitive
jungle of MegaTokyo just before Timex City, where biker gangs roamed in
packs and the street people engaged in their professions, some actually
legal. The dark Downtown was a cacaphony of sound and sights, sometimes
beautiful, more often than not a harsh clash of incomprehensible babel.
Admidst the fauna of wild creatures called human, the brilliant
neon colors that served as flora, and the roar of cycle engines, another
sort of hunter walked amongst those who saw themselves as predators. They
did not know it, but Death had come to meet the other three horsemen.
Mackie walked down the street, jacket clutched tight around him to
avoid the chill, his senses fully open, attempting to keep completely
aware of his surroundings. It was damn cold, except when the stinking
clouds of warmth blew through the streets. He wasn't really worried about
the mortals around him; paying attention kept him from thinking about the
last twinges of pain that echoed in his body, the sound of the pain
vibrating within him. He always kept his right hand free, his jacket
zipped partially down despite the cold, trying to appear casual. He had
already snapped off the restraining strap on his pistol; all he had to do
was flip the safety and pull the trigger.
He was going to meet the other members of his Black Hand cell, who
he was going to take command of. Unfortunately, the Seraphim had no sure
idea how many survivors there were, or who they might be. He had read all
the dossiers of the Black Hand members, talked to Dominion Dominique, but
he still had no way of really knowing the truth. This could be a trap.
It was at that time he noticed another twisting in his body, an
oppressive presence that seemed to be grating on his every nerve, all of
which were screaming of danger. At first he thought, quite fearfully,
that another change was overcoming him, but then realized it was not that.
He slowed his pace, noting that the mortals around them were doing the
same, looking about, some moving to secure areas with clear lines of fire.
Much to his surprise, Mackie found himself doing the same.
It was like a primal force, challenging the animal in every
predator. Mackie could feel his Beast awaking and could see the mortals
predatory instincts awakening as well. The emotional bombardment felt
like a twisting, gut-wrenching collage of strong yet vague emotions.
Mackie focussed his will, calling upon the Link to grant him Auspex far
beyond his normal ken. He carefully scanned the area about him, looking
for an enemy, his skin glowing faintly, as the mortals did likewise.
Nothing. And as soon as it had come, it faded away. Mortals
looked about, holstered or reconcealed weapons, and hurried on their way.
Mackie scanned for a little while, thinking. Had it been real? Something
unexplainable? Maybe one of those Wraiths he had heard about? A vampire?
The latter was unlikely. He had heard that there was Presence
that powerful, but a Methusalah stalking MegaTokyo's gutters? (Righttt),
Mackie thought sarcasticly. What else coud it be? Wait, there was that
Tzimisce he had met who had that bizarre aura that made him seem so eerie
and alien. This had been like that, only stronger. He had heard there
was a clan of vampires that had such a weakness-
Mackie snorted to himself. (Yeah, right.) The clan that had that
particular inheritted weakness was the Dai'Shar, the warrior branch of the
Five of the Conclave. The Dai'Shar hated Genom and would probably attack
Genom Tower on their first night in MegaTokyo. And Genom had similar
feelings toward the Dai'Shar. (Impossible), thought Mackie, (there would
sooner be a Salubri in Genom Tower than a Dai'Shar in MegaTokyo.) Shaking
his head, Mackie turned into the old low income apartment area where the
apartments were mostly abandoned, calling his shadows to make him hard to
notice.
As Mackie turned around the corner into a side street, the air
behind a crappy old van solidified into a handsome man with Eurasian
features, wearing loose, casual clothing, staring right at where Mackie
had turned. He released the tight control he had forced over his aura,
letting it spread out once more. His target, Mackie Stingray of the Black
Hand, was heading to meet the others of the Black Hand. This would be
perfect. Hiding from view, he again became invisible as he obfuscated,
his eyes turning a glowing red as he crouched briefly, before he leapt
soundlessly up nearly six meters to a fire escape on an apartment, then
jumped again to the roof, beginning again his chase of his quarry, again
controlling his aura.
(Deer walks to the herd while earth becomes wind. Later shall
wind erupt to fire), thought the Eurasian, (Run, run, little Lasombra,
straight to your friends.)
The Dai'Shar bared his fangs in grim anticipation as he became the
Wind, and pursued the Hunt.
* * * * * * * * * *
Sylia knew Mackie had left the building and that Nene was in the
guestroom, so she turned to the problem that had her bothered. Her
brother. What to do about him? He acted so odd now, with bizarre
mannerism, returning home with considerable wealth, and the attitude of a
yakuza punk at times. And that word, "antitribu", that seemed so important
to him. What did it mean? Sylia was nothing if not methodical and
brilliant, and accordingly turned to the most effective way of acquiring
information, the internet. And she would run extensive programs to make
sure she actually received _useful_ information from the internet.
Thus Sylia found herself at the central computer of the Knight
Sabers, a rather sterile room, surrounded by the mainframe computer that
served as the heart of their entire operation. Technically, using the
computer for personal matters was a violation of her own rules, but
something about using a cloaked personal terminal to research the word
Mackie seemed so concerned about set off warning beeps in the back of her
head.
Sylia waited with the patience of one long used to the activity
that the computer engaged it to "warm-up", i.e. intiate start-up
protocols, conduct internal sweeps for viruses and other alterations
(detecting one minor alteration, which Sylia ignored), establish links,
etc. Sipping a some more of the wine she had left in her glass (having
given Priss what remained of the bottle), she suddenly was hit by a
feeling of utter bliss as the wine kicked in, and she laid sprawling in
the chair, revelling in the sensations until the bleeping of the computer
call her attention to the screen.
Fingers dancing, she iniated a word search for the word
"antitribu", running it through all known linguistic databases, and
included an upper eighty percent extrapolation for the library AI. She
avoided use of an interface so as to belay suspicion, running the program
through a series of phantom links and mirror programs, though another
station, an account in a local dojo of all places, with no direct link
accountability. It should do.
Several minutes later, the computer obediantly produced it's
findings. Level 3 search showed no matches. Interesting. Not a common
usage word then. Randomly picking one of the sites, she skipped level 4
and went straight to level 5, signing on the MegaTokyo University School
of Linguistics database as Goro Daimon, owner of the account she was
currently using.
The system was using an old SVEN-UPP system, useful for those who
disliked the delay and intensity of graphics intensive programs and
disdained the use of direct interfaces. In short, academics, who loved
the decrepit system and dislike the newer, more commercial and mainstream,
SPRIGHT system. And it was nothing like the cutting edge, elite MNT-NDU
that the hackers loved and Sylia herself favored. Logging on as her
assumed identity, she went to work.
(SYSOP-ADMIN) >Welcome to the MegaTokyo University Schoo
(GoroDaimon) >Skip
Sylia skipped through the usual junk, already familiar with the
system usage and went straight to the language database, entering again
her request and search, and waited once more.
(SYSOP-RSRCH) >Search results: 15 possible matches, no definite match
>to word search "antitribu". First match (Extrapolation
>89%) is anti-tribe, solution derived from a number of
>European language influences from 1370 BCE to 1710 BCE,
>including:
(GoroDaimon) >Skip
(No actual linguistic reference beyond an extrapolation), thought
Sylia, (perhaps slang?). But there were no actual slang databases, and
her contacts in the underworld could not possibly extend to every slang or
criminal langistic term. (Perhaps it is a combination of two different
words?) Unlikely-
(Bot31) >Can I help you with anything, sir?
(GoroDaimon) >No
(Bot31) >Bye
Sylia returned to her contemplation of the problem at hand.
(Wait, Mackie had been in Sweden! Run an intensive word search focussing
on Swedish-) Sylia translated thought to action as her slender fingers
once more began their dance on the keyboard. Then she waited for the
search results once more. Again, they were less than promising.
(SYSOP-RSRCH) >Intensive search results: No matches within speci
(GoroDaimon) >Skip
Nothing there either! If it was such an important word, perhaps
it is a formal name. Sylia swiftly ran a search in a historical context,
again coming up empty. Cycling mentally, she began to think about other
alternatives as to the meaning of the word "antitribu". Each she
discarded, yet still she thought-
(Bot26) >I'm afraid you shall not find much about the "antitribu"
>here, ma'am.
(Doesn't look like it), thought Sylia tiredly to herself, as it
had been a busy day, and was beginning to be a long night- (Wait), she
thought to herself, (That is _not_ a standard response for the SVEN-UPP
system!) Fatigue disappear as she felt a sudden chill of premonition.
Maybe this was an updated or modified version. Best to check.
(GoroDaimon) >Query: Did Bot26 run an independent, advance search?
She hoped it wasn't what she thought it was.
(Bot26) >No, ma'am.
Ma'am. The current ID Sylia was using was for one Goro Daimon, a
man. Her fingers immediately began a frantic typing as she sent Ferret
programs out near the dummy site she was using and BloodHound programs to
trace the origin of the signal.
(GoroDaimon) >What do you mean?
Not a standard request, but she was fairly certain this was no
automated bot in the system. Probably a hacker guessing at her true sex.
There was no response for several, long seconds.
(Bot26) >Why are you interested in the "antitribu"?
(GoroDaimon) >Merely curious. Why, do you know anything about them?
So, the antitribu were apparantly a group of people. Interesting.
Perhaps this was a fellow seeker for the meaning of the antitribu.
(Bot26) >Oh yes, of course I do. I am, however curious about your
>motivations. Concerned really. Harken to the tale of
>the cat and curiousity if you will. I advise you drop
>this matter entirely.
(GoroDaimon) >I will take that under advisement, but I must know more
>of the antitribu.
Hopefully the person would be honest with her or at least willing
to bargain. So far her programs had found nothing, and she was getting
ready to pull the plug. If her programs could not find the hacker, that
implied a high level of security and countermeasures.
(Bot26) >Alas, you seem persistent. For the record, I warned you
>against this coarse of action. Mayhap I can avert
>disaster; will you agree to cease thine searching if I
>answer your questions?
(GoroDaimon) >If your information is reliable.
(Bot26) >Very well. Be aware that it is for _your_ safety I
>invite this contract. Very well, the antitribu.
>Antitribu means, at its most base, anti-tribe. In our
>context, it means anti-clan, or one dedicated against the
>will of the majority of the clan.
(What?) Sylia thought puzzled. (Clans? Tribes?) Not sastisfied,
Sylia asked for more.
(GoroDaimon) >Clans? Anti-clan? I am afraid I don't understand. I
>need more information than that!
(Bot26) >You are like the petulant child, like Eve tasting the
>juice of the fruit in the garden, yet wanting more beyond
>the knowledge and wisdom already gained. Will you
>consume the apple?
(Bot26) >Yet like Eve, you yourself are tempting in your
>innocence. Very well, I shall gift you with more
>information, if you so desire. But be careful lest you
>become like Caine, spilling the blood of Seth in haste
>and impatient for recognition.
(GoroDaimon) >I'm afraid I don't understand.
What was with this guy and all the Biblical allusions? She didn't
think it was coicidence.
(Bot26) >That is becoming most apparant. But this place is far
>from secure. Perhaps we can meet somewhere, either in
>person or electronically?
Sylia though about it only briefly before agreeing.
(GoroDaimon) >Electronically. How about the Gestalt in one hour?
(Bot26) >Agreed, though not tonight. Tomorrow at noon, same
>location. I will sign on as Resu. You sign on as Manta.
>For your own safety, not attempt any more research on
>this subject. We will talk and I will have answers. Know
>that if you show, there is no turning back. Once your
>eyes have been opened, they can never be truly shut
>again. Think carefully on this. A good eve to you,
>m'lady.
That sounded like an order. If she agreed to the timetable, it
would mean this mystery person would have time to set a trap.
(GoroDaimon) >Wait. I propose something different. How about tomorrow
>I drop off a new location at this site at 1100?
No response.
(GoroDaimon) >Hello?
No response.
(GoroDaimon) >Query: Status-Bot26
(SYSOP-ADMIN) >Response: No such autobot exists.
Dammit, she had missed him, or her, or whoever it was.
(GoroDaimon) >Logoff
(SYSOP-ADMIN) >Execute 311. Goodbye.
Sylia leaned back as she let the computer run through it's
shutdown cycle. Glancing at the results, she discovered the signal had
originated from somewhere within Genom tower. More to worry about. She
knew that her lust for knowledge would guarantee she would be there, even
though she did not like the situation. It would just mean she would have
to make extensive preparations. Plus, if the person could be believed,
she had learned some valuable information. Mackie was apparantly a member
of the anti-clan of the clan. Or was it _his_ clan? Speaking of that,
what did the mystery hacker mean by 'clan'? More questions. Like why the
person talked so archaicly? Hacker geek peculiarity? Perhaps. And why
all the biblical references? And how had he divined she was female? It
seemed more than a lucky guess, and she was fairly certain he was male.
She loved a good mystery, only enjoying even more the conclusion. Which
she would get tomorrow, along with her answers. All she had to was meet
Resu tomorrow at Gestalt as Manta-
(Manta) A creature like the that glided across the floors of the
oceans.
A creature like her own last name, Stingray.
Suddenly Sylia had more questions and worries on her mind. She
had never been a large believer in coincidence.
* * * * * * * * * *
Thomas Jefferson Washington was angry. No, he was more than
angry, beyond angry, his Beast barely held in check as he paced the
abandoned apartment that he and his companion currently inhabitted. His
_only_ companion. Which made him even more annoyed than the mad muttering
of the Malkavian slouched against the grimy wall. Where the hell was
Hiroshi dammit! And where the hell was their new 'leader'? That was what
needled him the most.
(I can't believe it), raged Thomas, (that a barely blooded neonate
punk, a fucking Lasombra no less, who was half Jap, half Cracker-). That
stopped his mental ranting cold, and he exerted what self control he could
at the moment. Making racist comments about mortal distinctions, which
meant nothing to a Child of Caine, showed how far he had allowed his rage
to go. Still, he could no more help it than he could his undead hunger.
Why, he seethed, why? He was more qualified, he had over five decades of
experience, so why was he getting orders to instate some hotshot punk as
head of the MegaTokyo Black Hand? Didn't they realize the unlife
expectancy of a Sabbat in Genom's home turf was shorter than that of a
fruitfly in a nuclear reactor? If it wasn't rampaging boomers, pissed off
werecreatures, vengeful Cathayans, or orbital beam weapons frying you,
vampires still had to survive night to night. Shit, the tension and
paranoia drove most vampires insane. A giggle to his right made him
think, (case in point). And what did the Dominions and Seraphim do? Send
in someone new! And here they were, with no-nothing, green CO who was
late for their briefing! Didn't they understand? This was a war here!
(I should join the True Sabbat), Thomas thought sourly, (what we
need is intel!) Thinking on that, Thomas turned to their intelligence
officer, amended that after a second, their lack-of-intelligence officer.
"...Armor hot dogs, Armor hot dogs. The DOGS that _kids_ _love_ to
_MUNCH!!!", concluded the Malkavian antitribu, more than slightly off
tune. Concluded, as to call it singing would be to take vast liberties
with the truth. Gritting his teeth, Thomas interupted the insane, singing
vampire before he start to "sing" again.
"Hey Rene, do you know where's Hiroshi?" he inquired, wondering
where the third member of their little group was. Kusanagi Hiroshi had
been missing for the last several days and could be dead for all they
knew. Unless he was doing that damn Gangrel shit again.
Rene looked over at him with those bright, cornflower blue eyes
before grinning, "He's out there, out there, howling at moon, which ya
gotta if ya want to find out", he winked, "And knowing is half the battle:
G.I. JOE!!!!"
Thomas ignored the loud shout, knowing no one would hear the
Malkavian in the abandoned housing district, and those who did probably
wouldn't be the sort to talk to the police, shrugging in his familiar
matte black leather jacket. He looked over at his companion. Likewise,
Rene was dressed in a black leather jacket, a T-shirt and black slacks
beneath. The Malkavian was handsome, and more energetic than any vamp had
the right to be. Of course, like all his kin, he was mad. But he had his
uses.
"So, what do you think about our new CO?", said Thomas. He had a
tendency to speak like the veteran he was, first of the Vietnam War and
then the Jyhad.
"Mmmm...", quizickly pondered Rene, finger on lips, clearly
distracted by something.
Resisting the urge to sigh or smack the vampire, Thomas repeated
his original question.
"Ohh yeahh... the new boss! We're waiting for him. Which is
kinda strange, 'cause he is supposed to be really punctual. Hmmm..",
thought Rene aloud, "I know! What do you want to know about him?" He
smiled.
Thomas knew the Malkavian was baiting him and tried to ignore it
as best he could. "I don't know", shrugged Thomas, "what's his record?"
He continued to scan the dilipitated, smelly, slightly damp and trashed
concrete edifice they were using as their meeting place. Washington
already knew quite a bit about their young CO; he just wanted to see what
their 'intelligence' officer knew.
"What is there to say? Mackie Stingray, the only son of Dr.
Stingray, who was the principal creator of the artificial intelligence
androids more commonly called 'boomers'. Mackie, like his father, is
known to be a brilliant physicist and engineer, with a heavy emphasis on
nanoid and boomer technology. Remarkable skill in computers and
communication. No know public education exists on file. One living
family relation, an elder sister, one Sylia Stingray, sole owner and
propriator of Silky Doll Enterprises, which has recently become a leader
in the lingerie business. Mackie is heir to one half of the Stingray
fortune, which is based primarily on royalty rights on the boomer AI
design. The fortune is estimated to be in the billions, at the very
least several billion yen. Family is known as being extremely insular
and media shy. Mackie Stingray was attending the Deutschland Science
Academy, one of the top students in his class. No real criminal record,
one ticket for speeding, though there were several mentions of undisclosed
invasion of personal privacy." With that long recitaion, Rene gave a
wink.
Despite himself, Thomas felt a little surprised at this display of
memory (since the Malkavian repeatedly forgot his own name) and knowledge
(especially since the Malkavian's favorite source of information was
television), but more so at how Rene seemed to learn so much when he
apparantly did nothin to gain such information. And the fact he could
know and do things without apparant ability or resources. Or do things
that made no sense what so ever, yet Rene held more serious about than one
of their most deadly missions. Thomas had long ago given up on trying to
understand his Malkavian brethren, Rene in particular. Still, he hid his
surprise, playing the Malkavian's game, pretending to be baited, and
snapped irritably, "Not that! As a vampire!"
Grinning, Rene shrugged innocently, "Oh, _that_! Not much to say
really. Young, real young. Scandanavian Sabbat found him in a graveyard
with a five dead vampires around him, aura pulsating with black veins.
This they take as a sign of greatness, so they start to teach the young
lick. Apparantly he's got a real attitude problem; don't take shit except
from the people he really respects. And that doesn't include his own
clan. Doesn't help much that he is supposed to be a Lord of Shadows."
That was a new one to Thomas, so he cut Rene off to ask, "What is
a Lord of the Shadows?"
Rene paused to scratch his head, and Thomas could tell he was
trying hard to remember, typically a herculean effort for the Malkavian.
Suddenly, it seemed to come to him, "A Lord of the Shadows is something
special. I'm sure you know that Lasombra think they are better than other
clans, nobility, right?" Thomas nodded. "Well, all Lasombra are control
freaks, and the way they prove they're bad ass is by controlling darkness
through Obtenebration, which is for them the ultimate show of nobility.
Seems Lords of the Shadows are Lasombra who can actually take over other
vamp's Obtenebration, ruling over the shadows. So they are like royalty of
a clan of nobility. Which is really weird, because Lords of the Shadows
were really rare. The last couple were Montano and Lasombra himself;
seems after old Lasombra got the big bite, no more Lords were born to the
Embrace." He stopped his rambling at the look on Thomas' face,
then continued, "Anyway, our commander is apparantly one. Of course, the
Lasombra were ecstatic over this, when low and behold, Mackie spends one
night in in-depth discussion with his clan before turning to them and
calling them a pack of useless bastards, which did not make him very
popular among the Lasombra!" Rene started to laugh.
Thomas did as well as he pictured the look on the face of the
Lasombra elitist when a member of their royalty called them, the nobility,
"useless bastards".
Rene continued, "Needless to say, he quickly found himself being
challenged to Monomacy; he's 7th gen, you know, and more than a few have
hungry eyes. He kills them of course, killed a Garou to become True
Sabbat, then joined our illustrious order, the Black Hand."
Rene trailed off, while Thomas digested this new bit of
information. (A Lord of the Shadows, eh?) thought Thomas (more than one
Dominion is Lasombra; that might explain why he got sent here, as a
punishment.) Pondering that, he prompted Rene, saying "And?"
Rene was currently squatting, pumping his arms and legs up and
down while clenching his fists. He went faster and faster, squatting more
and more until he cried out, "Kibbles and Bits! Kibbles and Bits! I'm
gonna shit me some KIBBLES AND BITS!"
"Rene!" barked Thomas.
Rene looked at him, startled, like he was surprised to find Thomas
there, before relaxing and asking, "What do you want to know?"
"About Mackie Stingray of course!", Thomas growled, more than a
little annoyed at the Malkavian's antics.
Rene shrugged, "Ask him yourself, he just arrived."
Thomas looked around, seeing nothing, even with his heightened
senses and Auspex, then glared at Rene, "Tell me about his career in the
Black Hand."
Rene looked to the heavens and sighed, "Fine. He is one of the
youngest Black Hand members in history. He was transfered to the French
operation, serving as a Virtue under the Dominion Santiago, a Lasombra he
apparantly respected. In two months, the Sabbat had managed to take parts
of Paris, proved or incited enough suspicion in the Camarilla that
members of Prince Vilon's court were infernalists, and after the
Justicar's left, took much of the weakened city. Mackie was creditted
with a large part of the Sabbat victory, when, according to rumor, he
actually requested against Santiago's protests, to be transfered to
MegaTokyo. He was promoted to Power and sent here. There you go."
"That's all very good and well, but where the hell is he?",
groused Thomas.
Rene rolled his eyes, saying, "I already told you-"
"He just arrived", announced a voice tight with anger.
Thomas whirled to stare at- nothing. Nothing but a shadowy
corner. Suddenly, before his eyes, like water flowing off of plastic, the
shadows flowed backwards into pools, peeling off to reveal an angry Mackie
Stingray.
"About time you got here", said Thomas.
"Shut the hell up", said Mackie by way of introduction, brushing
past Thomas to look out the window, scanning the surrounding terrain. His
face tightened.
"Look you-", cut Thomas angrily.
"I said shut the hell up", ordered Mackie sternly, "we are being
watched".
"What the hell are you talking about!", demanded Thomas, even as
his eyes scanned for an enemy, drawing out his submachinegun. In front of
him, Rene nodded slightly and began to scan the area as well, the three
Black Hand instinctively moving back to back in a rough fashion.
Mackie sighed, "He's gone now, or whoever it was."
Only then did Thomas put away his weapon and turned to yell at
Mackie, "What the hell do you think you're doing going around giving
orders like that?"
Mackie stared him in the eyes, unflinchingly saying, "In answer to
your question, I am doing my _job_ as _your_ commander. I am a Power in
the Black Hand, and I must reluctantly conclude you are Thomas Jefferson
Washington, Assamite antitribu and most experienced member of the
MegaTokyo Black Hand. Your companion I deduce to be the Malkavian
antitribu Thaumaturgist Rene Descartes. Where is the Nosferatu antitribu
Freddy?"
"Dead", supplied Rene helpfully as Thomas started to splutter.
Ignoring Thomas, Mackie turned to Rene, asking,
"Genbu Takeshi, Tzimisce?"
"Dead." Rene laughed.
"Sawaguchi Koume, Brujah antitribu?"
"The psycho girl that wore pink and had the gun fetish?"
"That fits the description, yes."
Rene shrugged, "Disappeared, believed dead."
"Helena Tusinov, Ravnos antitribu?"
"Illusions didn't save her from advanced sensors. Boomer got her."
"Pirotess, Tzimisce?"
"Fell in love with a werewolf; dead."
Mackie was beginning to feel a little desperate, "Chibi Usagi,
Toreador antitribu?"
"That technocolor-haired, annoying, psycho, uber-kawaii brat?
Dead and good riddance!" Rene said with feeling.
"Kusanagi Hiroshi, Gangrel antitribu?"
"Missing, but believed alive", interupted Thomas, having got his
wits about him. He was nothing if not a good military man, and the
intelligence officer was giving the briefing he should be.
Mackie turned to face Thomas, "How about Anavelle Gato, Ventrue
antitribu?"
Thomas shrugged, "One of those who always claimed vampires are
the ultimate life form, and believed it a tad too much, a real fanatic.
Got too overconfidant in being a vampire, decided to jump a pair of
gangers in a bad part of town. Gangers here carry more weaponry than most
modern armies. Dead."
One name left on the list, "Gertrude, Lasombra?"
"She couldn't handle the strain and took a walk in sun. Dead."
(Damn), Mackie thought, (this is worse than I thought). He looked
over at his two companions. They seemed OK, had the black cresent moons
on the palms of their hands. And they knew too much to be plants. But so
few vampires left alive! This was worse than he had dreamed!
Sighing, Mackie calmed himself and looked Thomas right in the eye,
seeming more deflated, "What _do_ we have, Mr. Washington?"
Thomas was a little disconcerted to see the whites of the eyes of
his commander were actually a very light _grey_, but responded with
military precision, "Not much, sir. We have a small stash of stolen
weaponry, but only a few pieces heavy enough to take out a boomer. We
have some money-"
Mackie shook his head slightly, "That's not what I meant Mr.
Washington. How many havens do we have?"
Thomas looked at Rene before returning his attention to the
shorter man he looked down at, "Three, one with satisfactory security. I
usually stay at my pack haven and Rene wanders-"
Mackie shook his head empathatically "No. That stops now. From
now on, no Black Hand is staying with their pack."
"What?" exclaimed both Rene and Thomas.
Mackie explained, "I have recently come into information that
Genom is going to be conducting another one of their 'purges' again in
about five days, targetting the Sabbat specifically, as apparantly some of
our more 'enlightened' kin have been causing an incredible ruckuss and
have been acting like TOTAL FUCKING MORONS!"
Both vampires recoiled from the hatred in Mackie's voice,
though Thomas found himself almost nodding at Mackie's words, agreeing
wholeheartedly. Acting like a stereotypical vampire was like putting a
paper bag on your head and dancing in traffic; stupid, and ultimately
fatal. More than one packmate had died because of another's stupidity.
But what were these purges?
Mackie was pacing, angry, before leaning against the wall, trying
to think, knocking his the back of his head against the wall, thump,
thump. (Things are _far_ worse than I thought. This may be sheer
suicide.)
"What purges?" asked Thomas.
Mackie regarded the black vampire through heavy lidded eyes before
answering "Periodically, Genom deliberately 'allows' several boomers to
'go rogue'. Sometimes this is simply to cause confusion or because of
internal politics. But sometimes there are many boomers that 'go rogue',
and deliberately hunt down all supernaturals Genom does not approve of."
"How do you know for certain? I'm certain we would have heard
about it" Thomas asked.
"Simple: boomers are my birthright and I know them like a kid
knows videogames. Buried in their programming are sequences that make no
sense unless you know what to look for. More importantly, when these
sequences engage, the boomer also downloads advanced combat and stealth
programs. Though this burns out the boomer's brain in short order, in a
matter of days, it increases effeciency by several magnitudes and enables
them to function superbly. Boomers are specifically ordered _not_ to
attack humans, which keeps complaints down. Rather brilliant actually.
All evidence of tampering is lost when the boomer's AIs melt down", Mackie
explained.
For some time after that explanation, none quite comfortable with
each other, they all stood there thinking. Mackie wondered about what to
do now. Thomas wondered about this new information and their new CO.
Rene wondered about if the moon was made of green cheese, what would the
sun be made of?
Mackie then made his decision. He would take the
challenge. Grabbing a piece of relatively clean cement with an
indentation, he brought it before the others. Bringing his wrist to his
mouth, Mackie bit down, ignoring the pain, allowing some blood to pool in
the cement before licking the wound close. He silently passed the
makeshift bowl to the next lower one in rank, Thomas, who repeated the
ritual, and then Rene, until all their blood mixed in the hollow of the
old concrete. None insisted on ritual, as they all knew there was no time
for that.
"Very well, you are all now familiar with the situation. In less
than a week, we are going to be attacked by an overwhelming number of
foes. Our chances for survival are not good. The leaders of the Sabbat
refuse to believe that Sabbat traditional tactics will not work in
MegaTokyo. We of the Black Hand, on the other hand, have received other
orders. After one assassination tomorrow night to prove our loyalty, WE
are going to duck out of sight, disappear. I have done everything in my
power to prepare for every eventuality, yet not even I had realized how
bad things were here. I realize you don't even know me except by
reputation; I realize I am asking you to abandon your packs. That is why
I am calling this Viniculum to supercede all others. You will refuse any
other Viniculum except this communion of blood. Is that understood?"
Mackie met Thomas', then Rene's eyes. They both nodded gravely, realizing
that they were in fact betraying Sabbat orders and customs so that they
could survive.
Thomas spoke for both of established members, "We are the Black
Hand."
Mackie took the crude bowl and drank first. In truth, he was
worried, as he had not had time to work the spell that prevented a
Viniculum or Blood Bond from forming. Oh well, one sip couldn't hurt, as
the rich vampiric vitae flowed with powerful warmth down his throat.
Thomas, then Rene both drank, then looked at Mackie.
Mackie saw their glances, "Look, this won't be easy and there are
no guarantees in anything. But I swear, I will do my best to make sure we
all come out of this alive."
Rene nodded, Thomas more slowly, shocked at how swiftly and
ingratiatingly their commander had come into their little community.
Still, this was not the place for involved discussion, so he suggested,
"Lets go someplace else before we do anything."
Mackie nodded, "An excellent suggestion Mr. Washington. We need
to make some arrangements before the Sabbat meeting tonight."
Mackie placed the makeshift bowl on the ground, taking a lighter
out and _extremely carefully_ burnt away the remaining blood in the bowl.
With clockwork precision and teamwork, both Rene and Thomas cleared away
any evidence of their presence and they all turned to leave.
As they exited, Mackie stepped into something that crunched, and
they all turned to look at the sticky mess that covered his boot. Mackie
examined the substance, before concluding, "Just a hot dog, some nachos,
and an espresso." Thomas and Mackie both turned to learn that their
companion had not followed them.
Rene seemed to be undergoing convulsions, his entire body
trembling as words exited his mouth in a sketchy voice, "espresso.. oh,
more espresso... NOO!! Nachos! More nachos! Ohhh, yeahhhhh!" With a
final convulsion, Rene seemed to collapse on himself.
With an expression of alarm and concern, Mackie looked at Thomas,
who only slapped his hand down his face, shaking his head. Seeing no help
there, Mackie raised a hesitant hand towards Rene. "Rene.."
With Celerity induced speed, Rene shot right up into Mackie's
face, his shirt pulled up over his head, jacket hanging slack as he held
arms akimbo like a football goalpost, eyes wide and staring as he
proclaimed in a loud voice,
"I AM CORNHOLIO!!!!"
Mackie jumped back, startled, "What the hell!?!"
"I AM CORNHOLIO! You will bow down and worship my bunghole!
Ohhh... beware or my bunghole will become VERY ANGRY! Do you have Tee-Pee
for my bunghole?"
Uncertain as to how to respond, Mackie vacilated briefly, but Rene
was already pacing the room, mumbling to himself, "Yaoooeee, yayayaya;,
he, heheheheheheheh."
Looking at Thomas, who had a long suffering expression on his
face, Thomas answered his unvoiced question, "He was in a mental institute
and all he would do was watch old TV reruns. When he got Embraced, he
developed some serious Multiple Personality Disorders."
Mackie looked over at the mumbling, prancing Malkavian, "Is he
really in the Black Hand?"
"YES!" And suddenly he was there, in front of the them, "I AM OF
THE BLACK HAND!!!", he cried shrilly, stopping to comment, "Whoa, that was
pretty cool. Heheheh. Yes, I am of the BLACK HAND. The Black Hand. My
hand is VERY BLACK. Black from rubbing my 'BUNGHOLE'. Oh yeah... oh
yeah..."
Wondering what to do about the Malkavian, Mackie wondered if he
had stepped into an episode of that old TV show about the unreal. Thomas
seemed to be looking at him for guidance, testing him, so Mackie put as
much authority into his voice, saying, "All right, that's enough! Knock it
off!"
Rene, now Cornholio, stopped to look at Mackie, then said,
"Ummm... Okay! Heheheheheheheh, heheheheheheh", as he continued to
chuckle with that mindless laugh, though he pulled his shirt down.
Shaking his head, Mackie continued on his original course.
Together, they left the partially collapsed apartment complex,
Rene still laughing, keeping to the shadows. "There are a few stops we
need to make before we go to meet the Sabbat leaders." They both nodded
and followed.
Rene thought about how good nachos and bunghole would be together.
Mackie thought this was his worst assignment ever.
Thomas, despite his intial doubts, was happy. At last they had a
decent CO. The young vampire _was_ young, but had what it took. Still,
he was troubled.
Mackie Stingray's comments and plans were too precise, his
answers too familiar, and his knowledges too well known. A life time of
military experience had allowed him to recognize that Mackie was taking
the first steps of building up the Black Hand into a covert ops unit. The
young Lasombra also seemed to know knew a distressing amount about the
Herculean effort it took to create such a unit.
Thomas Jefferson Washington wanted very much to know how a young
scientist turned vampire had intimate knowledge of small unit tactics,
judging on how Mackie had them spread out as they walked, military
tactics and organization, given how he was organizing the MegaTokyo Black
Hand, and seemed to be completely familiar with logistics and supply.
Most importantly, Thomas wanted to know how Mackie knew how to create an
elite unit that could operate under Genom's nose and strike out at them,
which is what he was apparantly trying to do. His mind could only come up
with one answer to that question. But the answer itself was puzzling.
(What would Mackie have to do with the Knight Sabers?)
END PART 6A
In part 6B: Mackie has some surprises for his friends in the Black Hand;
the Black Hand and Mackie meet the Sabbat and Monomacy erupts!; the Genom
board meeting, and more fun!
Brief Addendum: A couple of people have asked if other WoD races will be
appearing in the 'fic and if the Kuei-jin will show up. The answer to
both of these questions is yes, though not quite yet in the 'fic.
Brief Addendum 2: To those I have sent E-mail to me or have tried to send
me E-mail: My school's system closed my account for a time, and has been
awfully screwy, so a lot of incoming E-mails were lost. Apologies for any
confusion or incoveniance.
As always, C+C is appreciated!
Thought for the day:
"You know, it's a modern conceit that insanity should be pitied and safely
contained until it can be remedied. I miss the good old days, when lunacy
was regarded as a sign of demonic possession and the insane were lynched
by superstitious mobs."
-From Clanbook: Giovanni, page 39.
And because of the requests I have received, here are some stats for
another character from Night Sabers:
Character File:
Name: James Woodsworth
Sire: Mei Ling
Nature: Conformist/Defender
Demeanor: Loner/Defender
Clan: Dai'Shar
Born: 1982
Embrace: 1999
Apparant Age: Early 20s
Five Faction: Ancients and Guardians
Generation: 10th
Physical Social Mental
Strength ** Charisma *** Perception ***
Dexterity ***** Lithe Manipulation ** Intelligence **
Stamina *** Appearance *** Wits ***
Talents Skills Knowledges
Acting * Animal Ken * Investigation **
Alertness *** Etiquette ** Law *
Athletics ** Firearms *** Linguistics ****
Brawl (Way) **** Melee ** (English,Cantonese
Dodge ** Mandarin,Japanese
Latin)
Security **
Empathy * Stealth ** Medicine *
Intimidation ** Survival * Occult **
Leadership * Poetry ** Lupine Lore *
Streetwise *** Clan Knowledge:
Subterfuge *** Dai'Shar ***
Vampire Lore***
Call (Dai'Shar) ** Kindred Lore:
Eastern Kindred**
Politics **
Disciplines: Auspex 2, Fortitude 4, Celerity 3, Potence 3, Obfuscate 2,
Presence 1, Protean 1, Quietus 1, Thaumaturgy 2 (Primary: *Flowing Blood
of the Raging Currents 2, Secondary: **Harmony of the Inner Essence 1).
*Flowing Blood of the Raging Currents is an ancient Dai'Shar Path. The
first level allows the Thaumaturgist to form their vitae into hard
patches, typically used as bandages, or for any other application of the
rubbery, semi-adhesive material. The second level is greater mastery of
blood, enabling the Thaumaturgist to will the blood suffusing her to
harden to extreme levels, allowing greater damage from physical blows and
allowing the body the ability to take greater damage from physical blows.
Similar to the Kuei-jin Blood Shintai.
**Harmony of the Inner Essence is merely the Dai'Shar name for the Path
commonly called The Path of Blood.
Powers: Strike of the Cobra,
Background: Allies 2, Contacts 3, Mentor 3, Clan Status 1, Herd 2,
Resources 2
Virtues: Conscience 2 Self-Control 4 Courage 4
Humanity 7
Willpower 6
Image: A pleasantly handsome, athletic Eurasian, with the best features
of both worlds. He tends to be very personable, definitely street-smart;
however, his constant Dai'Shar aura makes it hard for him to have any
social contact. Tends to dress in casual, unrestrictive clothes, more
formal wear when necessary, or a traditional Kung-Fu outfit when
practicing martial arts.
Haven: A small home in the dregs of the city, adjecent to a run-down gym
where he practices martial arts and co-owns. Has a number of small Havens
around the city.
Influence: Very little. The only influence he has is with the Eastern
Kindred, most of whom have fled Tokyo for Kyoto and other, farther cities.
He occasionally keeps in touch with those who remain.
Quote: "We should hold back for now- no sense in getting killed. We can
recoup and observe- what? I don't sound like a Dai'Shar? Very well;
'the wind calls, for the earth can not resist the fire that awaits, as the
chimes sound in my heart. The dance is not here, though the watching eye
knows the moves.' There, that Dai'Shar enough for you?"
History: Yeah, I was born back then, back when Hong Kong wasn't a part of
China. My father was a rich, white businessman from England, my mother a
hardworking Chinese office worker. I suppose they loved each other, and
me, their only child, but Dad was always gone, and Mom always busy, so I
pretty much grew up in the streets.
I joined a gang of sorts, really just a bunch of kids hanging out
together, doing wild stuff. I was pretty rich, and so my friends and I
got along okay. Then one day, some of them got beat up by some other
kids. It made me mad; I don't know why it made me so furious. But I
decided to do something about it. So, I asked my dad for money, and went
to the best martial arts place I could find.
And I was refused flat out. I was livid, and very angry. Buying
their excuse of "not being fit enough", I started to work out, ignoring
the harping of my mother about my grades, eager to enter the school, so my
friends wouldn't be hurt, but most of all for myself. I refused my
father's help in pulling some strings; he understood, though mother never
did, saying I would never get accepted. I didn't realize she did
understand, all too well; though I had experienced racism before, I never
realized "not fit being fit enough" meant not being pure Asian,
specifically Chinese. Because of their racism, I wouldn't be accepted
into the school.
I was livid! Dumb kid I was, I tried to learn on my own, then I
later challenged them one night to make them accept me. Got beat up good
too, until one of the masters of the school and his friend appeared. The
master and the mysterious stranger conversed, and the stranger took me to
home, and offered to train me.
'Course, I didn't know about Kindred, never realized the old
master was Eastern Kindred, or the freaky stranger that became my teacher
was Dai'Shar. She always gave me the willies. I always thought it was
because she was a woman, little did I know. But still, I trained, and
grew.
Then the handover of Hong Kong came, and with it, an important
decision on my part: I decided to stay with Mom's relatives, while she and
Dad went to America, to handle the business there. I kept training,
learning, having fun. My Master had left, leaving me, as she put it,
with a wry smile, "To find my own Way."
Then, shortly after, the Sabbat entrenched in Hong Kong started to
fight the returning Eastern Kindred. Both sides had more arrogance than
common sense, and the infamous Riots of 1998 were the result.
It was a dark time; really dark. People started disappearing,
and the People's Army started nightly patrols with strict curfews. Thank
God for that; without them, things would have been even worse then they
were. As it turned out, it was bloody enough as it was.
A couple of my relatives disappeared. I didn't like that much, so
me and my old friends got together and started a _real_ gang, to protect
our neighborhood. My parents wanted me to leave and go join father's
relatives in England, but I couldn't abandon my family in Hong Kong, or my
friends.
Make the long story short, after one battle with an old friend who
was now Sabbat, I learned about vampires and werewolves the hard way. It
was the old Master of the school I had applied to who saved me, as I lay
dying, with my Master fighting beside him.
She then gave me the standard spiel; you know, the one about
accepting the mandate of the Five Clans, the holy quest, blah, blah...
truth be told, I was so out of it from the blood loss, she could have told
me she was Lo Pan, and I would have believed her. She said "You have a
fine spirit, and a true heart; the woods and reeds beside the placid pond
give wisdom to the swan." Then a group of Dai'Shar made me Dai'Shar.
It was an interesting experience, to say the least, as I rose from
the old bath tub that had been used as a substitution for the Vestibule of
the True Embrace. A lot of Licks talk about the loss of their morality,
or the pleasure; not a lot changed for me, and everything did. I mean,
as a member of the Clans, I was True Embraced, so I can feel human anytime
at will. The Hunger freaked me a little, but more than that were the
Thoughts. I knew several languages, even back then, and being Dai'Shar
has n othing on that. Even more than thinking in another language, my
very perceptions began to warp, my blood calling. It is this alienness of
Thought that makes those of the Five so alien to others, when the blood
sings to us. I soon learned about vampire s, that I was one, how to fight
them, and all that. I figured it was cool. The Sabbat was beat back.
While training in my new form, I regretfully told my parents I had
to go away; the call for BloodWar had been issued. It sure suprised the
Asian Kindred when they saw how many of us there were; I don't think they
realized how powerful the Five truly was. Remembering the atrocities of
the Sabbat, I joined the Crusader faction of the Dai'Shar, much to the
disappointment of my sire. It's in our blood, truly; I think only the
Brujah and the Gangrel, those of our Refirmation can understand the raging
call to battle every Dai' Shar feels. I went to war. I was stupid back
then.
Yep, I was there during the assaults on the Sabbat, and it filled
my heart with joy to be liberating those cities. The Sabbat were the
corrupt earth, as we were the wind, smiting them with our fire, the
dancing calling to my soul... sorry, tend to let my blood speak for me
too much. I was still weak by Dai'Shar standards, when we joined up with
the Assamites on our attack on Mexico City.
I wish I could say I wasn't there; what I saw revolted me. It
was akin to my idea of Hell, with Wraiths, and Mages, and Five, and
Sabbat, and Infernals all lashing out with their awesome powers as the
mortals died in droves around us. I had taken the Bitter Tears, to bury
my conscience, but even then I wept. I will talk of what happened no
further; the memories are too painful. The Crusaders claim to be
salvation and just, but I see their justice and price for salvation as
being too high. Too high by far.
Of course, I joined the Conclave with the rest of the Five. I was
one of those assigned to help in persuading the Anarch Free State of
California to join the Conclave. The Elders say there I found my true
calling, for I became, difficult as it may be t o believe, a Dai'Shar
diplomat. I didn't know all that much about politics and such, but hey,
the Anarchs seemed to like me and some other representatives, and next
thing you know the Anarchs joined the Conclave. About this time, I allied
with the Ancients, by their invitation.
About three years ago, I was sent as an observer of MegaTokyo, to
see what was going on, to keep a tab on Genom and other supernaturals.
The last group had been killed; the same thing happened to most of those
in my group assigned to observe. Observing, I do that, though I
occasionally lend a helping hand to those in need. The people down here
in the slums are still people. I have made some contacts with the local
Nosferatu Kindred and Eastern vampires, the Keui-jin, and have helped to
discretely protect these people from the Sabbat, and Genom, and others.
Thus it is so.
Of course, there are things I don't like. Being a Dai'Shar is
nice; after all, we are the best warrior Kindred around, and we now have
an awesome rep. But I really hate it when I walk up to somebody and that
damn aura of ours causes everyone to act as if I am Pho the Butcher. I
swear, if another person runs away from me screaming when I ask them the
time of day, I'm going to scream myself. Sheesh. Truth be told, I am
not much of a poet, I have pretty weak blood and power for a Dai'Shar, so
I don't have that much status among my clan as a scholar or warrior, but
I do my job. Sure, I don't like thinking sometimes in terms so alien only
my fellows understand me. I resent that my parents are old, while I am
young still, as they slowly waste away. I regret many things. But
besides that, at my innermost heart, I am Dai'Shar.
I am all, I am nothing. And those who would threaten our sacred charge, must die.
I am Dai'Shar.
. . .
Kami, I hate it when I Think like that sometimes.
Roleplaying hints: James is well aware that he is not quite up to Dai'
Shar criteria in acceptable skill as far as disciplines and power goes.
Nonetheless, he does his job as best he is able to. Like most of the
Five, he is accepted by the Eastern and Western Kindred, though very
mistrusted by both sides. Thus, he acts very modest and moderate, always
observing. He acts polite and socialable when able to, retreats when
threatened, protects those he can, and kill those when he must. He is a
small fish, but strategic ally placed. A genuine good guy, who has seen a
lot in his life. Liked by the Nosferatu, AD Police (helps occasionally as
an informant), and the common people of the street. No real emotional
connections outside his elderly parents.
Secrets: MegaTokyo: B/B+. Knows many of the secrets of MegaTokyo. Has
heard hints of the OMS. Knows some boomer malfunctions aren't accidents,
and suspects why. Knows about the existence of some splinter groups in
Genom.