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When she was on the edge of sleep or if she let her mind go blank she could hear him. The message was almost always the same. Whispered bile and hate, urges mostly, sickening desires that he needed flesh to accomplish. With Calvin’s death Scarlet had apparently inherited his need to kill, mostly women, pale, while red heads with trim bodies and piercing eyes.

Why, because that’s what she looked like and that’s who the Bastard would like to kill more than any other human being currently breathing. Well, except maybe his mother, and that’s how Scarlet Masters, part-time Tantric sorceress and sometime psychic ended up in Las Vegas nodding off by the pool and wring in her grimoire about a kidnapper’s erection.

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Alright, time to scratch a Cueball.

 

Paxton takes a breath and begins walking, milling around at first to look like one of the herded civilians before finally moving, albeit lazily, towards the Second-in-Command. He's careful to skirt around the 'edge' of the crowd, trying to make his intent less obvious.

 

Hokay, you wanna do this? March up, talk to him, apologize for keeping the keys, make to return 'em, then BOP BOP BOP.'

 

Paxton's right arm nervously shadow-boxes, the jerking rousing him out of his stealthy focus. Looking around to see if anyone noticed, he takes his arm up and rubs it, acting like it the pumping arm was a cramp or spasm instead of a warm-up.

 

Slowly drawing the keys into his left hand, Paxton takes a breath and walks to the Metrocop Lieutenant.

 

---

 

Paxton's gonna give Mark 20-25 seconds after he sees him going inside, just in case the CP make him go in a bucket or something and he has to act quickly. My earlier post'll be what goes down, and Paxton will be open to contact by any other PC if they wanna get something across.

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Prologue

 

Most people have, one time or another heard of Murphy's Law. More properly though, one would have to say Murphy's LAWS. Combined, they basically state that if something CAN go wrong, it WILL go wrong, at the worst possible time, in the worst way possible, in the manner which will involve the most people...you get the point. In short, the shit will always hit the fan, making the biggest mess. (Interestingly, the 2nd law of thermodynamics states something similar; the entropy (or disorder) of a system will always increase).

 

What is less well known is that it originated only recently, in 1949 at Edward's Air force Base. It was named after Captain Edward A. Murphy; it's generally agreed among the geeks who bother to argue this point that he didn't really coin the phrase so much as inadvertently give a name to an opinion that had been around for almost as long as taxes.

 

What is even LESS known is that one trans-dimensional version of Murphy (a different Murphy who was still responsible for coining the law in HIS universe) was posthumously deified. (He was hitchhiking to a gas station after his car ran out of gas, wearing white, and facing oncoming traffic when a British motorist driving on the wrong side of the rode ran him over). Specifically, the god Murphy; Deity 3rd class, License Pending; god of outrageous plot devices and random, inexplicable occurrences.

 

At the moment, he was in charge of a shop known simply as "Murphy's." You've probably seen similar shops before; places that sell natural goods, weird jewelry, mainstream witchcraft paraphernalia...that sort of thing. Stuff for people who think they're mystical and spiritual and in tune with the Earth Mother, but who really don't know what the hell they're babbling about.

 

Which is why I hasten to point out that the person inside wasn't one of them. Don't get me wrong, he believed in magic, spirits, a higher power that no major religion had gotten right, and the truth represented in science fiction. He just had the basic common sense to realize that what this place was selling had nothing to do with real magic.

 

He just liked the style of jewelry; mainly pendants and such.

 

There were quite a few problems though. Mostly ones that he didn't know about. Though more on those AFTER they hit the fan.

 

"Anyway, I was wondering if you have anything involving Native American art. Specifically, anything with coyote."

 

Murphy shrugged. His god markings were oddly enough, little wrenches; one on each cheek, one on the forehead. "We have a little bit of everything. What were you hoping for specifically? Something that actually came from a coyote or just a representation."

 

Alex blinked. "Um...do I want to know what kind of things you have from coyotes?" He happened to like coyotes; he respected their genius at surviving.

 

"Claws, teeth, carvings from bone, tufts of fur, eyeballs..."

 

"I'll take a representation, thanks."

 

"Metal, wood, gemstone, what?"

 

Alex shook his head. "You really have that much? What about a wolf, or..." he wracked his brains "...some kind of mongoose?"

 

"Mongoose or just some kind of relative; civet, genet, linsang?"

 

Much staring. "...how precisely do you keep that much stuff in this place?" The store couldn't have been more than a couple hundred square feet.

 

Suddenly a bit more alert, Murphy grinned. "We don't display much; most of it's stored in the basement warehouse. Anyway, you said you wanted something having to do with coyotes?"

 

He wasn't entirely sure why, but something about this was making him nervous. Still, he plunged ahead, confident he'd get through relatively unscathed. Poor fool. "Well ,like I said, I feel kind of nervous about going around with something that used to be an actual PART of a coyote, but I'd like something."

 

Nodding, Murphy turned to head for the alleged storage room. "I think I have just the thing for you. Would you mind waiting around?" Not bothering to wait for an answer, he disappeared into the dark doorway. Startled a bit by the rather abrupt departure, Alex continued looking around. Most of the walls were covered in various posters and wall-hangings; glass-lined cases stood in front of the walls providing counter and display cases both. Kusudama, wind-chimes, bells, and various other noise-makers hung from the rafters. The tops of the cases were covered in magical paraphernalia; ofuda scrolls and charms, incense racks, ornate knives that were barely sharp enough to be used as letter openers, and masks. The cases themselves held huge trays of rings; some jeweled, some ornate metal...some were gold, some silver, some looked like they were copper, a few even looked like they'd been carved from solid gemstones.

 

"As I said, I think this will be perfect for you."

 

Alex started as the proprietor showed up; he hadn't thought that he could have been out of his line-of-sight long enough to be back. Then his eyes fell on the pendant dangling from Murphy's fingers, and any worry was swept away in a wave of mixed awe and avarice.

 

It wasn't too terribly large; it could have fit in a box two inches square, possibly smaller. The first thing he noticed was the large, spherical gem at the top of the pendant. He wasn't sure what it was, but he guessed it was amber, or maybe a flawed topaz. Though topaz wouldn't have had a cat's eye in it.

 

What struck him though was the rest of the piece. Receiving a nod of permission from Murphy, he tentatively held it in his hand. His first thought that it was some kind of wood was banished; no wood would have been that cool to touch, that perfectly smooth. It had been carved from what looked like a mixture of hawks eye and tigers eye; black brown and gold in a mixed pattern almost like wood grain. The lowest portion took on the appearance of a canine in the sit position; he couldn't decide if it was supposed to be a wolf, fox, coyote, German shepherd...really, it was just kind of vaguely doglike. What was so startling however was that rising over its head was an intricately woven pattern of what looked like tails; nine of them, he noticed after counting. Rising over the dog's head, they swirled and wove evenly to encircle and clasp the gemstone, as well as providing the space needed for the cord holding it.

 

It took a minute for him to stop looking at it and actually remember where he was. Starting, he ruefully handed it back to the proprietor. "Thanks, but I asked for a coyote, not a fox."

 

"It IS a coyote."

 

He laughed slightly. No way something with that obvious degree of workmanship in it was within his price range; he needed some better excuse to turn it down. "I know enough mysticism to recognize that; it's a nogitsune, a Japanese nine-tailed fox."

 

Murphy grinned. "Actually, there are legends of coyotes having nine tails. (1) They're just less known. Besides, it's a fairly well-known comparison that the fox spirit of the east and the coyote of the west serve essentially the same purpose; trickster."

 

Alex's smile turned rueful. "If you say so. Sorry, but there's no way I can afford that; I don't have that much on me anyway - "

 

"6.99."

 

"...You're kidding."

 

"Nope. This piece is six dollars and ninety-nine cents. Seven dollars and twenty eight cents with tax."

 

Alex stared at the piece. He wanted it; he REALLY wanted it, which surprised him. Still, he wasn't sure that he was willing to trust the shopkeeper; for all he knew, this guy fenced cultural treasures or something. "What's the stone made of?"

 

Murphy smiled. Gotcha! "Oddly enough, this is all one piece of quartz crystal. Well, one piece of various minerals, anyway. The carving is hawks eye, as you might have guessed, while the cabochon is citrine."

 

He frowned in thought. He'd heard of the stone; basically yellow quartz crystal. Rare, but not particularly valuable. Greed finally won out over his worries as he dug out the cash necessary.

 

Murphy smiled as the young man turned to leave. "Come again." He hadn't even bothered to wait to get out of the store before he'd put the piece on. Probably for the best really; he'd need all the help he could get.

 

Leaning against the counter, Murphy grinned. Part of his test for making it to God 2nd Class was this; supposedly something about learning balance. The kid had actually been planning to enter the Third Planet, some weird shop in a college town that sold stuff similar to what he'd seen. But that was part of the magic of the shop; you'd never even realize you'd made a wrong turn. Murphy just had to learn how to match each potential customer with something they'd buy. Not necessarily something that would benefit them, though the odds were 50/50.

 

And last of all, the magic of the door. Not only would it let anyone in from any place, it would lead them to wherever they wanted to go.

 

Whether they realized it or not.

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Evan Douglas

 

Evan throws himself into work, focusing all his mental energies on fortifying the house. Seldom do outside sounds penetrate his consciousness. A muffled cackling comes from inside the house as he tries to build a makeshift tank-trap out of broken-up furniture, just something to slow down that van if it tried to make a run at the house's walls. Evan doesn't pause in his work as the laughter is followed by a wet thump, the sound barely registering in his mind.

 

When he's used up all the supplies at hand, he goes back inside and heads upstairs, passing on a second bag of chewy potato chips. "Stomach sure has shrunk a bit since we went underground," he thinks. Initially heading up to keep John company, who he'd seen go up to keep watch earlier, he passes him coming downstairs, but doesn't alter his course, his objective forgotten as he'd begun thinking about the Taurus' condition and ways to improve it.

 

Finding himself alone upstairs he takes up watch at the circular window and thinks of ways to improve their situation technologically. His eyes feel sharper, having adjusted to the light of the surface world fully after coming out of a year of artificial lighting. Evan has gotten used to looking for danger as well in the past few days, finding it better to keep his head down out of the clouds more than he used to.

 

Spending 6 CP to increase perception by 1 and buy off "Overweight"

 

---

 

Jacob

 

Jacob looks on the scene before him.

 

and continues to look.

 

He remembers what he was thinking about earlier in the evening. "F*** him. Just cut his throat or some other way Brandon. Animals that pray on others don't deserve compassion, not after what they were going to do to Becky. These are the decisions we are going to have to make from now on. Those that have been able to keep their humanity deserve to be helped. Those that lost it and pray on others whether they are human or those abominations need to be destroyed. Yes, just end it now or I will." Jacob looks back, "Close the door before Becky has to see this."

 

Jacob will first move over and close the door telling Becky to wait, that everything is fine if no one else does. After that Jacob will find some sharp implement and cut the mans throat if no one moves to do it soon.

 

---

 

Brandon

 

Brandon looks at Jacob, then back at Mike, defiant to the end, with bits of his brain peeking out through holes in his skull, holes he inflicted.

 

"Yeah," he says, "okay, alright." He digs into his paramedic's kit, takes another hypo filled with a massive dose of painkillers (Jacob said he wouldn't need them runs crazily through his head,) and inject it directly into Mark's heart. The absurdity of administering this comparatively humane execution to him, right after doing what he did, is not lost on Brandon, but he forces himself not to laugh or do anything similarly idiotic. His f*** up this time only cost the life of a proven murderer, fortunately--another one could cost the life of one or all of the rest of the people that depended on him.

 

---

 

(Chapter 1)

 

June 23rd, 12:01 A.M.

 

Mark gurgles a quiet wheeze, head lolling weakly as he starts to come round. The needle has a tough time pressing into him, but with the injection oozing thickly into the man, he twitches a brief spasm before his eyes close fully, a grating sigh slowly fluttering past cracked and broken lips and whistling out of a demolished nose. His chest ceases to rise and fall any further.

 

Becky frowns, but does as she's told when shooed away from the scene, resigning herself again to the corner of the den and huddling up amidst the blankets she was able to gather together; she's not long for wakefulness given how late it is, and is soon off to slumbering again. With Mark dead, the blood and gore in the room slowly starts to dry, to harden and darken. Grisly reminders of Brandon's sordid deed. But he had been justified, no? Hadn't this man been a murderer, for certain?

 

Wait as you might throughout the night, no transgression comes to your doorstep--no spirit of vengeance comes knocking, nor does a harbinger of pandemonium hark a summoning cry from fifty paces. The streets remain dark, dead, and cloyingly humid, and silence reigns with a stifling authority.

 

 

June 23rd, 3:11 A.M.

 

Tonight when sleep finds Brandon, the abyss of slumber does not spare the R.E.M. wrought nightmare that awaits him. He's lost, forlorn and abandoned to his own survival amidst skeletal buildings and a sea of rust and acid rain. Yell as he does, imploring till his lungs ache and his voice is hoarse, there is no reply. The buildings creak and groan under their own weight all around him, as if some twisted inanimate whale-song of dilapidated debris--and then, he sees them. Gathered, as if some grandiose mob, more than a hundred faces stare him down, flooding the streets before and behind him.

 

"We know what you did." a voice whispers hoarsely, though to whom it belongs eludes Brandon, as does its source. A blackbird, perched atop a rusted street lamp, caws a half-choked cry, then spasms upon takeoff, plummeting limp and lifeless to the filthy pavement below with a quiet patter. Brandon becomes keenly aware of a man standing near him, and finds to his right a fellow wearing a peculiar bowler hat, looking impassively at a rusted pocket watch in one hand. Half of his face has been eroded away, the socket empty--the other eye is a milky emptiness, devoid of a pupil. He turns his head, seemingly to address Brandon. His lips move, but nothing is heard--and a sensation of despair wracks him; somehow, he knows the consul to be of crucial importance, but he cannot understand what is being conveyed by those lips.

 

Brandon wakes up in the blackness of the room, feeling very cold. Turning to shift his weight and re-arrange amongst his sleeping arrangements, Brandon finds Mark standing there not a foot from where he lies, staring at him with bloodshot eyes.

 

Brandon wakes up in the blackness of the room, feeling very cold.

 

 

June 23rd, 7:11 A.M.

 

Some are slower to rise in the morning than others. It's overcast outside, and the sun doesn't seem keen on making an early appearance. Humidity is higher than the days prior, and seems intent on only climbing further up the barometer as the morning stretches on. Outside, a tuft of oily black fur is found snagged on one of Evan's tank traps, a smear of dark brackish ichor smudged along the ground nearby it.

 

Becky sits on the porch, resting her chin on a palm as she watches out along the deserted street. "Not much to look at anymore." she sighs quietly, then glances back to her numerous new 'friends' questioningly. "You're...going to find that guy? And kill him, right?" she frowns a bit, and holds her elbows, leaning in with a sudden chill. "Maybe...maybe we should just go."

 

---

 

Jacob

 

Jacob wakes having a decent night's sleep. Though the pain is there, the painkillers are keeping it at bay enough to function. Picking up the staff he gingerly moves to his pack and pulls out a roll of duct tape and finds a comfortable height to fashion a better grip than just holding onto the wood.

 

With that done he takes in the day outside. Hearing Becky, "I don't know for sure what is next Becky but you don't have to worry about those men hurting you anymore. We will need to talk about what is next. My suggestion is that, yes, these men should be eradicated from the earth." Jacob takes a seat and realizes that on top of the pain he is sore and his muscles are screaming even from the little walking around he has done. Being careful to not hurt the stitches he stretches his legs and tries to massage his muscles. Recovery is going to take some time but he is alive and will eventually be able to move freely again.

 

---

 

Raymond

 

Raymond awakes, refreshed and disappointed. He had had a good night's sleep, but there had been no further insight, no more clues as to what sought to harm them, or where they must go. However, he feels better able to withstand the dark forces in his sleep. He'll continue to try to master them, as they had once controlled him.

 

Ignoring Jacob's suggestion, and hoping Becky isn't too disturbed by the wounded man's venom, he turns to her to try to suggest something a bit more positive. "O-o-our original plan was to f-find more survivors and s-supplies, to start l-living again. Wh-where..." He pauses a moment, not wanting to bring it up again so soon. "Did you and R-Rick have a destination in m-mind? Y-you've had six m-m-more months out here than us, h-have you heard any r-rumors of places that s-survivors are c-c-congregating?"

 

---

 

Nodding a bit, Becky rubs her cheek and thinks for a moment. "Well..I remember something about Chicago, and Toledo, both managing a little better--their police were pretty good." she frowns deeply at the mention of Rick again.

 

"We were going to try and check other shelters. Rick thought we might be able to find more survivors, and get together. All that did was...was get him killed." she stares at the ground, looking decidedly gloomy. "But afterwards.. The plan was to go to Detroit. Early on he heard something on the radio about the Michigan Militia trying to take it back--and there were some army bases or something, too--you know, since the big three sometimes made tanks instead of cars..."

 

---

 

Brandon

 

Brandon wakes, his eyes bloodshot and his head aching, feeling both cold and tired. He is weary, both from the life-and-death ordeals of yesterday, his own killing of their captive "butcher," and the fact that his dreams, seemingly perfectly accurate beforehand, have become less and less reliable. In truth, he had vested most of his hope in the future to his seeming ability to see what would happen before it did, and his total reliance on that had been a glaring weakness that others could exploit.

 

He stumbles out onto the porch, squinting into the surprisingly bright sunlight. "If we're going to come to a decision about whether to finish off these 'butchers' or leave them behind, we should probably do so now, before we lose what momentum we've already gathered. For my part, I vote that we take the Wal-Mart--there may be some captives still inside,

 

and castrated, right? your stupidity is going to get others killed now

 

and there's no telling what they'll do to anyone who comes after us if we leave them intact. Besides," he looks at Becky, "do we have any reason to believe that there's more than one of them left alive?"

 

---

 

Markson

 

John awakens from his post next to the window, not realizing he fell asleep. It appeared somebody had shoved a pillow under his head, and as he rubbed his eyes, he felt the texture of dried drool on his right cheek.

 

Must have been a good sleep. John thinks as he moves downstairs, and sits at the table, listening to Ray speak.

 

"I think we could do alot of good by taking out the people at that Wal*Mart, and we don't want more dead people on our conscience do we?" John asks to everyone in the room, hoping that he can get everyone else to come along this time.

 

---

 

Mike O'Neill

 

Mike wanders out to the porch in time to hear what the others are saying. He nods along with them.

 

"I think we should go there, too. That other crazy f** from the grocery store might not even be there anymore, but we have to check. Only thing is, who goes? Jacob's in no state to fight and I don't think Becky needs to see what's there."

 

He gives Brandon a clap on the back, feeling bad for him. Man, I hope he slept last night. The guy was a murderer and his friend nearly killed Jacob, then he f***ing laughs at Brandon. I'm surprised I didn't kill him back at the grocery store.

 

"Brandon, maybe you could stay with Jacob and Becky - look after them."

 

We're probably going to kill another guy, I don't know if he can handle that so soon after last night.

 

"You could probably stay on the CB while we're gone, see if this guy's talking to anyone. Or if anybody else is talking, anywhere."

 

"I don't really want to split up, but if we're going to take care of this ***hole let's get it done soon. Walking over there's the best bet, 'cause he'd be able to hear that car from a f***ing mile away. We go in, do what has to be done and then get back here."

 

Mike is trying to sound confident, but all he can think about is the fact that he is planning to walk into a Walmart and kill a man. Monster or not, its kind of hard for him to swallow, and the only thing he can think of is that its like a bandaid - get it done quick and it won't be as painful.

 

He wonders what kind of man he is becoming, when all that he can think about is this, rather than the fact that the first real woman he's seen in over a year is sitting only a few feet away from him.

 

---

 

Jacob

 

Upon hearing Mike's idea of leaving Jacob behind he starts shaking his head. "Yea I know I'm hurt and still a little fragile. But I'm also probably one of the best with the rifle. I can stay near the car and provide cover while you guys check it out. That is sound tactics and you know it."

 

---

 

Evan Douglas

 

"I wonder if we could smoke them out somehow, get them to come to us. They're going to know that we're coming whether or not we take the Taurus, since they obviously have cameras outside. We know they have automatic weapons and scoped rifles. I think we're outclassed in terms of hardware, especially if we go on their turf. Jacob's the soldier, but I don't see us getting out of this without someone else getting hurt. Maybe it's worth the risk, especially if they have a cache of supplies, but it's going to be extremely dangerous."

 

code:

 

HP 10/10

Will 13

Per 12

FP 10/10

 

---

 

Becky Jenkins

 

 

 

The six of them were discussing assaulting the very place to which, it seems, those men intended to take her by force. She recalled then, past the terror, past the adrenaline of the man dragging her bodily along--how he kept snickering, muffled mumbling about how they had a 'ripe catch', and how they just needed to 'thin the herd' to go fishing again.

 

 

 

"I can help." she offers suddenly, expression grim. "They're just going to keep at it, right? Or what if they follow us, even if we do leave them there?"

 

 

 

Turning to Jacob, Becky frowns. "I'm sorry you got hurt trying to save me." a glance then, to Brandon; "And that you had to do what you did." With a sigh, she turns her own attentions up the street, back towards those looming stained block letters in the distance. "He's right though." she nods towards Evan. "Those guys are probably prepared for opposition in there. Otherwise, someone would've gotten rid of them before, right? Or the...creatures...would've gotten in."

 

---

 

Brandon Gray

 

 

 

Brandon turns to Becky, inwardly surprised at the sympathy being displayed by the rest of the group. Or perhaps they're just being polite, or they don't want to upset her. Perhaps they think you're that fragile, that they have to keep you in high spirits or you'll become useless. He shoves such unproductive thoughts from his mind, for now.

 

 

 

"Do you have any idea what they were trying to accomplish, or how many of them there might be? Did you hear a particular number of distinct voices over the radio? Do you know exactly what they mean by 'saving' people?'"

 

---

 

June 23rd, 8:01 A.M.

 

 

 

Off in the distance, a single crow slowly circles about the block letters of Wal-Mart, and in the midst of your discussion for raiding, slaying, and ousting the building's occupants, your radios crackles up a loud flare of static before a familiar voice resonates in a grainy nasally tone from the small speaker.

 

 

 

"Ahoy ahoy ahoy! You'll be wanting to turn loose Mr. Phillips if you want things to end nicely! Otherwise, things are going to have to end decidedly -not- nicely!"

 

 

 

Static hisses and pops, and then you are privy to a hollow, echoing additional man's voice, older sounding. "Hello? Hello?! Please! Do what the man says!" Towards the end, the voice grows more distant, and you hear the loud squeal of a door swinging shut, muting further talk from the man.

 

 

 

"Let him go, I'll let this happy fellow free, and we can all be nice and happy again, can't we?!" there is a snickering, almost manic wheeze.

 

---

 

Mike O'Neill

 

 

 

Mike lets out a stream of expletives after the man on the radio finishes speaking.

 

 

 

He says to Jacob, "Buddy, if you think you're up to it I ain't going to argue. The more the f***ing merrier, right?"

 

 

 

To the group at large, he says, "So do we lie, tell him his friend's still alive? If we could lure him outside we could blow his f***ing head off."

 

---

 

Raymond

 

 

 

"W-w-well, I think it would be b-better to suggest n-neutral drop-offs, and pick up a-any old a-audio recording of an old man out in the o-open where we c-could see he's real...then, i-if you w-want, you c-could a-ambush him wh-wherever y-you like, r-r-right?!" The look on Raymond's face is equal parts frustration, anger, and the color red.

 

 

 

"Wh-what the h-hell are you guys t-talking about? R-rushing in to k-kill another h-human b-being? Wh-what did that g-guy tell you last n-night to c-convince you to th-th-throw away your humanity and e-e-ethics so easily?!"

 

 

 

He turns to walk out of the room, wanting no part in this, then pauses for a moment, having calmed down a notch. "A-at least demand to s-see the h-hostage on the r-roof, or h-hear him say s-something novel that they c-couldn't have r-recorded m-months ago." He finishes his exit, having said what he wanted to.

 

---

 

Mike O'Neill

 

 

 

Mike bridles at what Ray says, mostly because it hits a little too close to home.

 

 

 

The men from the Walmart, they were normal people like us, caught up in this hell. Could we have become like them just as easily? Are we becoming like them?

 

 

 

"You want to scour the country for a judge and f***ing jury, Ray? That kind of thing is a luxury we don't have now that everything's turned to shit. Don't forget this son of a bitch nearly killed Jacob, and he's done God know's what else to God knows how many people. There's no legal system anymore," he points at the shotgun, "apart from that, like it or not."

 

 

 

He hopes he's convinced Ray. He hopes he's convinced himself.

 

 

 

Angrily, he picks up the radio and speaks into it.

 

 

 

"Yeah, we've got your buddy. He's unconscious right now. Let us see the guy you've got, so we know you're not a lying sack of shit. Send him up to the roof. We'll see him."

 

---

 

June 23rd, 9:11 A.M.

 

 

 

Sallying forth from your fortified colonial home, the group's majority has undergone a sense of dedication to find closure with the man surmised to be quite disturbed, holed up within the Wal-Mart. Though Brandon has already seen to the demise of one of his counterparts, in an effort to lure the deranged individual out of his own doubtlessly

fortified sanctuary, an 'exchange' of prisoners is to be made. Mark, however, is hardly in any sort of fit state to be waltzing across the lot for such an exchange however.

 

 

 

Becky seems restless about the whole ordeal, brought on entirely after the sudden radio communication with the remaining man. Agreement found nigh unanimously to resolve -something- about the place, however, drivesseveral men and a woman to return to that shrine-like parking lot again. Keeping a solid distance from the entryway and its nigh totemic shopping carts full of sordid undesirables, the graveyard of rusted automobiles gives off slight heat waves under the rising sun's

onslaught.

 

 

 

"Oh yes, you'll see him." had been the reply--and the promise is made complete. Not long after your arrival before the building, a pair of figures appear on the roof, through the range-finders one of them a man wearing what now appears to be a helmet along with his gas mask, and to his right, a sun-burned older looking fellow, perhaps in his mid fifties. Liver spots dot the right side of his bald head, and a

scraggly unkempt beard adorns his face. Squinting dazedly into the light, the man tries discern the lot of you it seems, given a somewhat rough shake by the man in the gas mask. Afterwards, that same man brings up a megaphone from under the edge of the roof.

 

 

 

"This is Adam Burry--and he'd very much like to meet you, heehee! Now be good little boys and girls and let's see Mark, eh? Eh?"

 

 

 

For emphasis, then, he waggles the megaphone over his head in thrusting gestures, before setting it down and lifting up a bulky pair of binoculars to watch the lot of you.

 

 

 

There is an edged near-parapet at the top of Wal-Mart which conceals the two men from just shy of their sternum and downward. Were either of them to step back even a few paces, you would not be able to see them any longer. From your position, you are perhaps two hundred feet away, and they are a little over two stories off the ground.

 

---

 

Evan Douglas

 

 

 

"This is going to get hairy guys, we'd better think of a plan, and fast. Should we try to prop him up so he looks like he's okay? Do any of us look enough like him that we could pass from this distance? Maybe if we painted someone's face bloody he wouldn't be able to tell."

 

 

 

Evan begins assessing the situation. "If he's taking hostages, his position must not be strong enough to defend on its own. We could try a flat-out assault, but it's likely the hostage would get killed and I don't think we could get in fast enough to prevent that. Based on the shopping carts and the barricade, there could be traps inside."

 

 

 

HP 10/10

Will 13

Per 12

FP 10/10

 

---

 

Mike O'Neill

 

 

 

Mike's mind has been racing as he tries to think of a plan. He goes with the best he can come up with.

 

 

 

"I think we should prop him up, make sure the side facing the Walmart is the non-f***ed up one. Tell the guy that we drugged him to make sure he's still out and hope to f*** he doesn't notice that his buddy isn't breathing. Then, I guess, tell him to send his hostage out and have him walk away from both us and the store, then we'll retreat and leave his buddy here. If he buys that, which he probably won't, we can try to take him out before he gets back to the store. Sorry guys, that's all I can

think of."

 

 

 

He grimaces before picking up the radio.

 

 

 

"Guys, I think we might have to come to grips with the fact that there's a good chance that Mr. Burry up there isn't going to live. But we've got to stop this guy, he's obviously crazy as f*** and we don't know how many more people he's got in there."

 

 

 

Mike's going to go with that plan, speaking to the guy on the radio if nobody has any better ideas. Please somebody come up with a better idea.

 

Tactics - 8 IQ/Hard

 

---

 

Jacob

 

 

 

"Keep an eye out around us and don't fixate on him. If he has any other friends around we need to see them fast." Jacob whispers.

 

 

 

Standing up next to the car cradling the rifle Jacob yells out, "Listen, we are not doing this now. Your boy is secured in a safe place. In 1 hour we will contact you on the radio and setup a spot if it is not raining. There is no discussion on this."

 

 

 

Jacob backs up around the car, "Everyone in the car now. Drive off and take a different route back to the house."

 

 

 

Once they are in and moving, "Sorry but that felt all wrong. There was no way for us to fake it while he was looking at us. Keep an eye out for someone following us. We need a plan, we shouldn't have gone near there without one."

 

 

 

Writing up a plan so we can move forward if you guys agree.

 

---

 

Brandon

 

 

 

Despite the fact that they are presently away from the "butcher" and far, far out of earshot, Brandon still cannot stop himself from whispering...at first. "Yeah, you're right. There's no way that could have gone well." He feels yet another apology for his violent outburst on his lips, but shuts himself up for now--there'll be plenty of time for self-pity later, when the town and their own group are safe. "What place did you have in mind for making 'the switch?' Or do you expect him and any others to follow us back to the house?" For his part, Brandon spends the car ride in the back, looking carefully for any signs that they're being followed.

 

 

 

HP 10/10

FP 12/12

Will 12 / Perception 12

 

---

 

Jacob

 

 

 

Once they arrive back at the house baring any problems he gathers everyone in the main room.

 

 

 

"Okay to my way of thinking if we suggest a different location and he accepts that means he probably still has some friends that will come with him. If he absolutely refuses it could mean he is alone. That will determine what we need to do."

 

 

 

"If he will come out to a location then we try to make it one of the parks I saw. I'll need someone to drive me out there right away then come back for the others. That will give me time to find a good spot to use the rifle. We'll take the CB and drive over there so who ever it is can come back and pick the others up and show up on time so it looks like you are just arriving."

 

 

 

"If he won't come out then we will use what we have to even our odds in the parking lot. I'll need help with the car. We need to empty out the trunk and change a few things. The idea came from remembering that crazy wackjob in D.C. that was shooting people from a hole in his trunk. I'm pretty small and should be able to fit in there and since there are already some bullet holes it won't make much difference if there is another bigger one in it. As soon as you start talking I am going to

take my shot so just don't piss him off right away."

 

 

 

"Either way lets hook that fat f*** up to the car's hood or roof and figure out a way to keep him upright and move his arms around a bit."

 

 

 

Jacob looks around, "Listen I know it all sounds like a fricken movie, but either way I figure we have a better shot than just trying to make it up as we go with these freaks."

 

---

 

Mike O'Neill

 

 

 

Mike nods along with Jacob's plan, glad that the others have been thinking a bit more than he has.

 

 

 

"I'm sure a couple of us can sort out the car the way you want it, and we can probably fix up "Mark" here to make it look like he isn't so... dead. So I think the sooner we get to it, the sooner this can be over."

 

 

 

"I'm happy to drive you out to the park."

 

 

 

HP 10/11

Will 10

Per 10

FP 12

 

Versatile

 

Carpentry 13

Driving 10

Electrician 11

Lifting 13

Masonry 13

 

 

---

 

Markson

 

 

 

Markson breaks out into a sweat as he thinks about what he's seriously considering doing. This isn't some epic fantasy novel where they storm the castle, rescue the hostages from the evil lord, then laugh about it over pints afterwards; they're considering rushing into a modern castle, with modern weapons, death and carnage everywhere, the possibility of catching a burst to the chest like Jacob, and possibly dying from said burst.

 

 

 

That thought, John knows it's the right thing to do.

 

 

 

"We have to make sure the body would pass a binoc sweep, and that he won't just open fire on all of us the second we pull up. Storming the place is going to be a bitch too."

 

 

 

John sighs, looking though his mind and memories to figure something out, something that can help them.

 

 

 

ST 9 DX 11

 

IQ 14 HT 9

 

HP 8 Will 11 [-15]

 

Per 14 FP 8

 

 

 

R. Skills: Intuition (maybe? Figured I might as well put it down.)

 

Editic Memory

 

---

 

June 23rd, 9:52 A.M.

 

 

 

Evan notices some movement from inside of the Wal-Mart during the parlay, his vision having gotten rather keener as of late--but it is naught but a brief glimpse. With the withdraw from the originally predetermined exchange, the figure on the roof seems to grow rather agitated--but the lot of you are gone before any sort of countenance is

is conveyed beyond general arm waving. Becky stares grimly out one of the Taurus's filthy windows, slowly wringing a small scrap of handkerchief with a J embroidered on the corner.

 

 

 

Your departure does not appear to draw a tail on your direction, but evasive side-street navigation is used just the same--you can never be too careful. Once back at your fortified homestead, you're able to get the garage open and go to a bit of work on the Taurus's trunk. In and of itself, even with Jacob's slim stature, it would be an extraordinarily tight fit. However, the rear passenger seats fold down,

leaving an opening into the trunk. This could, combined with a hole bored into the trunk itself, provide a rifleman's blind--however, you'll need to provide, presumably, some concealment for your gunman's lower half, and you'd also be eliminating all but two seats from the vehicle in the meantime.

 

 

 

As the morning rolls on, the sky remains bright and clear--almost enough to fool a daydreamer into thinking it a comfortable day in the summer. Contrast to this is the pallid complexion 'Mark's body now boasts, coupled with the rather poignant unsettling smell of death that the heat has coaxed from his corpse. Raymond, already making a point of removing himself from the proceedings, is still given fresh recourse to vomit and shudder, necrophobia making ready company with his ethical

distaste for the situation.

 

 

 

Whilst putting the plan together, John does recall at least -some- sliver of what might be of use--Mark had been wearing a gas mask and heavy butcher's apron, both of which conceivably could lend some small credence to disguising oneself. However, it does seem fairly impractical that he would still be adorned in such during a prisoner

exchange. Mike has no small trouble properly setting up the trunk of the Taurus--it will be a tight, uncomfortable fit, and it will be very difficult for Jacob to draw an accurate bead on a target unless if the vehicle is positioned properly and your intended target is not highly mobile.

 

 

 

Tactically, Evan is entirely convinced that the inside of the Wal-Mart will be heavily fortified, and rather likely booby-trapped as well. From discernment so far, there are potentially at the very least two remaining 'aggressors' from Mark's compatriots, even withstanding the one Jacob certainly killed with the shot to the head yesterday.

 

 

 

There is a dilapidated playground / park which could be used for the meeting, as well as the grocery parking lot again, or other retail lots of similar expanse. Rushing to get preparations in place, Mike is down a fatigue. Jacob, under the strain of his recovering injuries during all this excitement, is down two fatigue. Raymond has failed a necrophobia roll to a moderate level, and is feeling nausea.

 

---

 

Evan Douglas

 

 

 

Glad that they haven't gone with the "Weekend at Bernie's" strategy, Evan sets to work trying to make a workable setup for the back seat of the Taurus. He winds up taking out the seat entirely, and putting in some hardwood chairs from inside the house, which he drapes a blanket over, hoping to keep the seat looking "stock". The result is that instead of the trunk ending in a wall of foam and springs, it ends in

open space broken up by a few chair legs, hopefully giving Jacob a wider firing arc out of the trunk. He also makes sure the trunk latch is accessible from the inside, in case Jacob needs to pop up and shoot.

 

 

 

HP 10/10

Will 13

Per 12

FP 10/10

 

12 - Carpentry IQ/Easy

(To bolt together the chairs,

with whatever tools he can scrounge)

15 - Machinist IQ/Avg

(To rig up an internal trunk handle)

12 - Mechanic: Auto IQ/Avg

(To keep the car looking unmodified)

 

---

 

Mike O'Neill

 

 

 

Once all the modifications to the car are complete, Mike looks at it approvingly.

 

 

 

"Just like the f***ing A-Team, huh?", he says, trying to bring a light-heartedness to the situation that he doesn't feel.

 

 

 

He gives a half-hearted laugh and then becomes sombre again.

 

 

 

"So who's going to do the talking with this ahole? Over the radio and face to face? I'm gonna count myself out, on account of me probably losing my temper and breaking his f***ing jaw first chance I get."

 

---

 

Raymond

 

 

 

Raymond grows up that morning feeling sick, though he's not certain whether it's from his visions the previous night, or overhearing snippets of the guys' plan this morning. They're really going to go through with all this.

 

 

 

Gathering some of his equipment, and the crowbar, Raymond speaks up while the Taurus is being retrofitted. "Wh-wh-while you guys take care of these m-m-m-matters, I'll t-try to find us s-some more food and w-water the n-next street over."

 

---

 

Evan succeeds with a 10, 3, and 11--the middle portion, rigging up a quick release internal handle, is a critical success, and Evan is able to rig things up so that someone from inside of the trunk can conceivably open and exit in a very smooth movement--or, as Jacob might desire, to pop the trunk open and 'pop up' with rifle ready for a more clear shot.

 

 

 

When Raymond departs to seek out additional supplies, Becky opts to join him, having second thoughts about seeing the shooting that is planned ahead. She'll make small talk as the two of them wander off into the neighborhood, and provide conversation for subjects that are decidedly more pleasant than the post-apocalyptic world around them.

 

---

 

Markson

 

 

 

Markson's been feeling better about talking to other people lately. From just the group of six, to those merc types from before, he's just become better at it. He's been thinking of how his parents always handled thier business deals, and reading through his new book collection, has been subconciously picking up hints and tips from them. Sure, they're a little hokey, but they seemed like they'd work well

enough...

 

 

 

Hell, all sorts of things are coming to Markson. He's concentrated more on some early memories of his dad trying to teach him to fire handguns correctly. Now that he thinks about it, the model of gun he always used was a Single Action Army. Sure, he always thought it was worthless, but him thinking about the upcoming battle gives him cause to reflect on that line of thinking.

 

 

 

The irony of the parents who had hated him and he had hated for it teaching him possibly life-saving skills is not lost on him.

 

 

 

"I'll do the talking. I should be able to figure something out to distract him. And if we're doing a raid, and Jacob is taking the rifle, then could someone hand me that Single Action Army? My... dad... attempted to train me to use one, and I'll have to see if it ever rubbed off."

 

 

 

Spending 1 CP on diplomacy, and 2CP on Guns/pisols for a score of 12 in diplo and in pistols.

 

---

 

Brandon

 

 

 

Brandon hands the single-action revolver over to Markson wordlessly, and the box of rounds as well, claiming the .357 revolver for his own use. Still deeply ashamed of his own outburst earlier, and the fact that it more or less put them in the difficult situation they were in now, he resolves to keep his mouth shut and stay out of the way of the others and let more capable heads prevail for now.

 

---

 

Markson

 

 

 

So... are we going to the walmart? Something else? I think we're pretty much covered with stuff we can do here...

 

---

 

Jacob

 

 

 

Seeing that time was almost up, "Alright Markson lets drive over to the park and make the CB call. Then we can see which plan we are going to have to go with."

 

 

 

Jacob heads out to the car so they can make the call. He takes 4 of the rain ponchos and a roll of duct tape with him along with some water and the rifle plus some extra bullets and the machete.

 

---

 

June 23rd, 10:11 A.M.

 

 

 

With the assemblage of your hidden gunman roost complete, the Taurus is driven to the city's park, weaving amidst a series of piled-up rusted spokes and wheels, rubber shrapnel and handlebars--a bicycle graveyard, quite nearly. The park is hardly the idyllic scenery it may have once boasted, if the small memoriam sign is to be believed--on it, with rain-deteriorated paint and chipped imagery, a sprawling gorgeous social picnic is underway, with children enjoying the large sandbox and play structure, and husbands and wives enjoying a game of crochet off to the side near a small pond.

 

 

 

In actual practice, the scenery has fallen a long way. The pond remains where it is shown in the picture, but the water appears fully grown over by a sickly black algae-like substance. The trees are barren and partially petrified, and within the children's sandbox is one of the largest, deepest sinkholes you've yet seen in your surface travels. The swing set is rusted to the core, a swing hanging from a single chain, with a small dirty child's shoe a foot away. There is a set of spring-mounted 'rocking' animals for children as well, but the rain has left their features more akin to gargoyles.

 

 

 

Given a few moments of review, an 'ideal' spot is found to park the Taurus, backed in such a fashion that the trunk compartment will have a clear view into the park from the direction opposite the Wal-Mart overlord's presumed approach. Perhaps to your surprise, not long after the turn of the hour the sound of the armored-up van can be heard on approach--that terrible exhaust system's bangs and whistles unmistakable by now. Pulling up to the lot at the opposite end of the park, black smog wafts and dissipates into the air. The heavy sliding door comes slamming open, and out from it is shoved the older man you had seen on the roof of the Wal-Mart wearing baggy dirty jogger's sweats, a thin man adorned with a gas mask and dirty butcher's apron stepping out bodily behind him. With another harsh push, the 'hostage' is marched along--from here, you can make out a sizable cleaver dangling from the masked man's belt.

 

 

 

Once roughly one hundred feet away, the masked man kicks the older fellow ahead with a boot, before leveling what looks like a sawn-off shotgun at his back with one hand, his other clenched into a tight fist. "Alright you monsters." the man in the mask howls. "Now give my brother back!"

 

 

 

Jacob has a fairly clear shot at the masked man now. The older man looks dazed and delirious, and appears as though he is either drugged or suffering some kind of concussion at a glance.

 

 

 

Raymond and Becky discover a small Yorkshire terrier sniffing about in the backyard of a large house. Its fur is heavily matted and dirty, but its small tail wags excitedly upon sight of the two, and it hurries to hop at Raymond's leg.

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Ragitsu Grand Master

Ragitsu

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Re: Ctrl+V

 

Nick Knight stood on the edge of the Police Basin Slip looking at Toronto Island as the last glimpses of the sun were going down in the western sky. For years, the various police precincts throughout the city decided to get together on the waterfront for their annual Christmas party. Never mind the fact that the weather was usually very cold; supposedly Commissioner Vetter couldn't resist showing off the view to the few attendees who were not police officers but elected officials. Nick usually didn't attend, but Natalie had insisted this year, saying he needed to get into the Christmas spirit.

 

"There you are."

 

Nick heard the voice behind him. He recognized it, so he didn't bother turning around; instead, he continued to peer at the island.

 

Natalie came to stand beside him, bouncing slightly to get warm, and said, "Everyone is inside. Why are you out here in the cold?"

 

Nick looked at Natalie as he put an arm around her, even though he knew he wouldn't provide much warmth aside from the extra pressure and his clothes would give. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

 

Natalie sighed and said, "I didn't bring you so you could slip out unnoticed and stand alone in the dark."

 

"It's hardly dark out here…" he started to answer, but Natalie cut him off.

 

"You know what I mean! Why are you out here?"

 

Nick stared back at the island and said, "I don't know. I just have a feeling, like something is going to happen tonight, and I'm not entirely sure if it's good or bad."

 

Natalie slipped her arm around Nick's waist and said, "It'll be good. Everyone is making merry, and I want you to be a part of that." She started tugging on his waist, and Nick reluctantly let her pull him back towards the building.

 

"I just don't feel comfortable in there, Nat," he finally whispered.

 

Their descent into the throngs of partygoers quickly came to a halt just outside the backdoor. "Uncomfortable as in not being in a partying mood, or uncomfortable for vampire reasons," she asked, softly.

 

He shrugged. "I don't know. All of the above?"

 

"Are you asking me?"

 

"It's just that I haven't participated in anything dealing with Christmas since before the Crusades," he explained, getting a faraway look.

 

Nicolas peered down the hall to make sure everyone was sleeping. The last of their guests, along with his mother, were finally going to settle down for the night. He smiled as he heard several doors close.

 

He slowly and quietly crept through the corridors that led to the kitchen. He stuck his head inside and smiled at Cedany, one of his mother's personal servants, as she helped the others clean up the Christmas dinner they just had. "She's outside in the barn," the elderly woman stated with a knowing smile.

 

Nicolas felt a rush of heat center in his cheeks and he was sure it was evident to the others in the room. Despite his slight embarrassment, determination entered his eyes as he sped through the kitchen, out the backdoor, and into the nearby barn. "Alianor?" he called into the darkness.

 

"Up here," a voice answered from the haystack high above his head. Using a nearby ladder, Nicolas climbed to the top and sat beside the blonde beauty waiting for him.

 

"Cedany told me you'd be here," he whispered, giving her one of his dazzling toothy grins before he kissed her on the cheek.

 

"The ol' woman is too smart and nosy for her own good," answered Alianor. "Or at least, that's what I overheard your mother saying just this morning."

 

Nicolas chuckled and replied, "I've heard my mother say that, as well, but I don't know. She seems to, at least, give us her blessings."

 

Alianor turned sad eyes onto Nicolas. "I do not believe everyone will give such sentiments."

 

"I do not care."

 

"You have to," she insisted, looking away. "You are Nicolas de Brabant. So many have their hopes placed on your shoulders. You cannot let them down, especially your mama."

 

Nicolas sighed and said, "I do have many obligations, but I feel it is my right as a man to decide who I shall wed. Father died many years ago, so I am the head of this household. No one can contradict me."

 

Alianor smiled, softly. "Then, why do we hide in the barn?"

 

Nicolas returned the smile and said, "Timing is everything. I want to court you a while longer before we face the burden of disapproval."

 

Alianor leaned against Nicolas' shoulder, and with more confidence than she felt, she grabbed his hand. Nicolas responded by intertwining their fingers together and placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. "Must you go with Lord DeLabarre in the spring?" she asked. She had wanted to ask for weeks now, ever since Nicolas had told her of his imminent departure.

 

"Yes," he answered. "It is my duty as a man and knight. But I'll be back."

 

"Promise?"

 

"I promise. But that brings me to what I really came out here for."

 

Alianor sat up and turned to face him. "What's that?"

 

"I have a present for you. Call it a Christmas present, something to remember me by while I'm gone."

 

Nicolas handed her something small wrapped in a white cloth tied with a small piece of rope.

 

Alianor smiled as a small wooden object was revealed. As soon as she inspected it further, she realized it was of two birds, flying through the clouds with their wings slightly touching. One bird had an "A" on its back while the other had an "N." Tears came to eyes as she said, "It's beautiful. Thank you so much."

 

"I made it myself," stated Nicolas, proudly. "Do you really like it?"

 

"Yes," she answered quickly, as she threw her arms around him and kissed him deeply. It was the first time she had initiated a kiss. "Merry Christmas," she whispered as she pulled back and glanced at the present.

 

Nick shook his head to banish the memory away.

 

"Nick, I asked if there is a specific reason for that!"

 

He shrugged. "Lacroix isn't big on mortal holidays, and besides, with my…being what I am, it is kind of hypocritical to celebrate something I turned my back on." He closed his eyes briefly to avoid Natalie's gaze and expression at his words.

 

"You haven't turned your back on anything, Nick," she whispered. "That much is obvious."

 

Nick took a deep and calming breath, not really believing it was as obvious as she claimed, but said, "Okay, I'll go inside. I'll try to 'make merry,' but no promises."

 

"That's all I can ask for."

 

=) =) =)

 

Nick followed Natalie around as she worked her way to the refreshment table. She poured herself a cup of red punch and handed it to Nick before pouring another. At Nick's grimace, she slipped her arm through his and insisted, "It won't kill you. At least try it and look like you enjoy it. It'll be the only Christmas present I'll ask from you this year."

 

For what seemed like the millionth time that night, Nick sighed. He brought the cup to his mouth, and his nostrils flared as he smelled the fruity concoction. He almost pulled the cup away from his lips until he saw Natalie's insistent look. He poured a little into his mouth and closed his eyes as he forced himself to swallow without spitting the drink back up.

 

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" asked Natalie as she pulled him across the room to Tracy who was standing next to her father and Captain Reese.

 

"And, speaking of the devil," Reese said, slapping Nick's back as they reached them.

 

Commissioner Vetter placed the cup he was holding in his right hand in his left, wiped his right hand on his pants leg, and extended it. "Yes, Captain Reese's Golden Boy."

 

Nick shook it as his eyebrows rose in surprise.

 

Tracy laughed and said, "He's only kidding. You're his Golden Boy, too."

 

Commissioner Vetter smiled as he nodded and said, "I really do appreciate you taking my daughter under your wing and taking care of her. I know there have been some unfortunate mishaps in that job, but trust me, I know she is entirely to blame."

 

"Dad," whined Tracy.

 

Nick glanced at Tracy and said, "It's no problem. Tracy is a good partner, and I don't have to look after her anymore than I did Schanke." To himself, he thought, "Okay, that might be a little fib." But, he knew his statement had been appreciated as Tracy beamed a smile at him and punched him lightly in the arm as she exclaimed, "Thanks, partner!"

 

"You're welcome," he answered as he felt a little tingle run down his spine. He glanced quickly at Nat, handed her his cup, and said, "If you could excuse me." He headed to the back of the room and went back outside.

 

Nat shook her head and sighed.

 

=) =) =)

 

Nick glanced at the sky as soon as he walked outside. A moment before, a vampire had been in the vicinity. He no longer felt whoever it was, but his or her aura was still in the area. He walked farther to the water and looked in both directions—he didn't see anything. "Maybe he or she was just passing by," he whispered to himself. He was about to turn around and go back inside when he heard a whimper and someone yell "No!"

 

Quickly, Nick ran to the side of the building before taking to the air. At the nearby West Pier, he saw a black figure hunched over another. He quickly flew down and grabbed the vampire off the mortal.

 

"This is none of your concern, de Brabant," the vampire spat, as they saw each other's faces.

 

Nick looked at the vampire before him and was sure he had never seen him before. "I don't know who you are," he answered, "but you're hunting on my grounds."

 

"Your grounds?" the vampire laughed.

 

Nick stood there firmly and stared at the vampire.

 

"You have no claim here," he spat, walking back toward the woman.

 

"Regardless of what you believe," answered Nick, cutting him off, "there is no dispute that you were making a kill in the vicinity of multiple humans to witness." He flung his arm, indicating the city behind them. "The Council would not think so highly of it."

 

The other sneered and replied, "You're a fine one to threaten me with the Council." He rushed forward to grab Nick, but Nick was older and, therefore, faster. He threw the younger one behind him into a tree.

 

The vampire was dazed but stated, "You win, de Brabant. It doesn't matter. I got what I wanted from her." He glanced back at the heap closer to the water and smiled before zipping away.

 

Nick watched as the vampire took the air before walking over to the girl. One glance at her pale face told him he had been too late. He shook his head angrily as he thought about the life that had been cut too short. She looked to be in her late-twenties or early-thirties, barely enough time to have really begun living.

 

Nick bent down beside her, trying to decide what he should do. Should he call it in and let the authorities help her, or should he simply take care of the body himself? Her heart was still beating, but it was slowing significantly. It would be a matter of seconds before it stopped, so there was no means of saving her life. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her, deciding that he at least owed her a proper burial with her family and friends present.

 

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Before he could even dial, he felt the presence of the earlier vampire approaching at a high rate of speed. Nick turned his head and bared his fangs at the intruder before trying to get to his feet. He wasn't quick enough since the vampire had built up his speed from a distance. The vampire slammed into Nick with a sharp tree branch in his hand.

 

The vampire had been aiming for Nick's heart, but Nick had moved in time to grab the offending wood with his hand. His hand scraped against the unforgiving bark which caused many lacerations as he tried to stop its motion. When he finally succeeded, he ripped the blood-covered stake from the vampire and used it to pierce the attacker's heart. "I warned you," hissed Nick as he drove it deep.

 

He let the vampire fall, and he looked back at the woman at his feet behind him. "Oh, no," he gasped as he noticed her face had several splotches of blood running down it…and her throat was moving.

 

=) =) =)

 

Nick stared at the woman who was lying on several blankets and pillows he had placed before the fire in his loft. "It's done," he mind stated, "There's nothing you can do about it, now. It wasn't your fault."

 

He had been repeating the same lines to himself since he brought the woman home an hour earlier. There was no way he could call the authorities now, and he couldn't kill her because she hadn't done anything to deserve it, yet. After all, she *was* the victim.

 

Nick walked back to his couch, sat down, and buried his face in his hands. "What am I going to do with her?" he questioned himself. Whether he liked it or not, he realized she was his responsibility. He had killed the vampire responsible for all of this, so the vampire couldn't look after her (Like Nick would have let that happen, anyway), and the slight tingle at the back of his neck told him it wasn't the younger vampire's blood she had swallowed on the pier, anyway…it was his.

 

"A fledgling," he murmured as he got to his feet and started pacing. He had tried to make a few others in his past, but for the most part, he either took too much blood or if he was successful, he would end up killing them because they were too evil. He didn't have a good track record with fledglings. "Maybe I should kill her now to spare us both the pain," he thought, but as he looked at her, he knew he couldn't. It would be murder, murder without cause, and he was loathed to do it.

 

He walked back to the woman, feeling through the tenuous bond that they shared that she was about to wake and that she was very hungry. He picked up a bottle of blood off the table, pulled the woman into a sitting position, rested her back against his knee, and poured the blood into her mouth. She came alive, grabbed the bottle, and held it for herself. After draining the bottle, she dropped it to the ground and looked at the only other person in the room.

 

"Where am I?" she questioned.

 

"You're in my home," answered Nick. "What is the last thing you remember before waking here?"

 

The woman brought a hand to her forehead as she pulled away from Nick and tried to remember. "I was taking a stroll on the pier. I wanted to go when there were no crowds, and my friend Lisa told me to go at night even though I wouldn't be able to see anything, so I went a little before sundown." She shrugged and then pulled her legs up to her chest to wrap her arms around them. "I remember staring at the high-boats when a man—but he wasn't a man—grabbed me. I ran…but he caught up with me." She reached for her throat and felt the two little holes that had not healed, yet.

 

She turned fearful eyes to Nick as he stood and walked a short distance away from her.

 

"I don't remember seeing much after that, but I remember your voice. You told him he was hunting on your grounds, and I knew you started fighting shortly after that. I could hear the struggle." She put her forehead on her knees and cried, "I feel so strange. What is happening to me? Why aren't I in the hospital?"

 

Nick knelt beside the woman and touched her shoulder softly. "It's hard to explain. You probably won't believe me at first, but the truth will become apparent soon enough."

 

She lifted her head and stared at him desperately. "And, what truth is that?"

 

With a deep breath, Nick answered, "You were bitten by a vampire…and that is what you now are."

 

=) =) =)

 

Nick didn't expect the laughter that erupted from the woman, but he knew she was hardly joyous or finding the situation amusing.

 

When the laughter was finally tempered, she wiped her eyes, taking no note of the blood now on her hands, and said, "You've got to be kidding me."

 

Nick stood back up and answered, "I'm afraid it's true. You're a vampire…and so am I."

 

The woman continued to stare at Nick as he opened his mouth and showed her his fangs. She immediately gasped and closed her eyes. "A Halloween toy," she shouted to herself. When she reopened her eyes, she gasped again as she looked into Nick's eerily glowing green eyes.

 

"These aren't toys, and neither are yours," he replied as he watched her bring her fingers to her mouth and touch the fangs now present.

 

"Oh, my God," she whispered. As she continued to touch her fangs, she suddenly doubled over in pain and laid on the ground clutching her stomach. "What's happening?" she yelled.

 

Nick ran to the refrigerator and grabbed another bottle of blood. "Here," he answered, carrying it to her. "You need more blood. The vampire who attacked you drained your body."

 

Nick watched vigilantly as she once again sat up and emptied the bottle. She handed it to him and then rubbed her stomach. "It helped, but something's not right. That's not quite…what I wanted," she whispered.

 

"It's cow's blood," he answered. He knew the conversation was inevitable, so he decided to have it now. "I think you currently desire human blood, but I don't drink it. I was hoping you…" He was cut off from his asking her to join him in this diet.

 

"Will I always feel this horrible if I drink cow's blood?" she cried. "I feel so empty."

 

"Empty?" he questioned. Cow may not soothe his cravings, but it did stop the immediate hunger. "What do you mean?"

 

The woman cried and replied, "I feel dead inside. I feel…" She waved her arms, not knowing how to explain it.

 

And, suddenly, Nick knew. Even though she could live without it, he knew what she wanted—she only received a small amount of his blood when she was brought across. His blood was not coursing through her body in this early stage. Even though she could feel him as her master (though she probably couldn't give it a name), he had not bitten her and his blood was not there to comfort her, to allow her to feel something, anything. Cow did not provide many feelings to help her cope with this problem.

 

He sat beside her on the floor and tried to decide what he should do. She could live without it, but it would be a torturous and miserable way to begin her new life as a vampire, especially since things definitely didn't get any better. His decision made, he offered her his wrist.

 

She looked at him confusedly. "What?" she questioned.

 

"Bite me in the wrist," he explained. "Drink from me. See if that helps."

 

The woman looked at the wrist before her, took it, and brought it to her lips, but quickly shook her head before she bit. "I can't do this," she stated.

 

"It is our way," replied Nick, shocked at hearing himself say something Lacroix had said to him constantly in their beginning years together.

 

She looked back at his wrist and once again brought it to her mouth. She breathed deeply through her nose to prepare herself and marveled at the smell that suddenly overwhelmed her. She knew what it was—it was his blood, and it was what she was craving. She looked into the man's eyes as she bit into his wrist.

 

Both vampires immediately closed their eyes at the intimacy of the feeding. She instantly felt unbelievably warm and protected, and she recognized it was because of this man that she felt that way. She could read some of his inner thoughts, but most were rushing by too quickly for her to comprehend: She knew he was worried about teaching her properly and being able to have a "fledgling"—whatever that was—in this life. Just as she was about to release his wrist, she caught a glimpse of a feeling that warmed her even more. He was enjoying the bite, even though he felt like he shouldn't. She pulled her teeth out of his wrist and licked the wounds until they stopped oozing. She was surprised to see when he pulled his wrist away from her that the wounds were already healed.

 

"My name is Nick," he said suddenly. "What's yours?"

 

She smiled shyly and replied, "Ashley."

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