Some candles burned slowly on a table, providing a dim, flickering 
illumination for the underground lair. Rutger Leick sat on a 
weathered chair in the corner of the abandoned subway station that 
he called his Haven, watching the hypnotizing flames dancing the 
night away with wild abandon. Occasionally, slight breezes 
threatened to extinguish the fires' brief existence, but they held 
on for dear life, refusing to give up their tentative hold on this 
world. Beside one of them sat Sherilyn Massee, gazing deep into the 
orange heart of the tiny blaze, her eyes flickering the same glow 
back at the candle.

The Primogen didn't know how she managed to remain so close. It was 
all Leick could do to contain his rötschreck long enough to light 
the candles - something he hadn't even wanted to do. The Brujah 
Elder liked it dark, and even if he needed light there was enough 
electricity available to power the overhead bulbs. But Sherilyn was 
entranced by candlelight, and insisted on having them lit tonight. 
There was a thrill to be had by sitting mere inches from an open 
flame (or so she told him), an excitement at the nearness of death 
that it provided. He would have to take her word for it.

Musing, Leick wondered if she had been like this before he 
re-Embraced her. Had she always been so obsessed with death and 
pain, was it the quality that had attracted her original Sire to 
her? Or was this a recent development, a Derangement caused by the 
trauma of the change of blood? Leick didn't know, but found it 
strangely compelling. Most Kindred had an obsession with death, of 
course, for they were all dead - in a manner of speaking. They saw 
death every day, it was how they lived. But to Sherilyn, it was 
something different, something more personal. She saw hurt in a 
closer way than Leick had ever thought of, and it was fascinating to 
watch her. Sherilyn loved to examine pain, to explore it. And Rutger 
Leick enjoyed dispensing it.

All in all, it worked out pretty well.

She was vicious. He had seen that the other night. After she had 
slaughtered the first couple of victims, Leick managed to convince 
her that killing was not necessary. Sherilyn seemed to understand, 
though he was not certain she comprehended the Traditions. Anyway, 
she found just as much fun in torturing her victims as in killing 
them. Her Sire took comfort in the knowledge that, whatever she did 
to them, they would never remember. Her Dominate was strong enough 
to ensure that.

Seeing her there, watching her kill with such ferocity... it caused 
unusual feelings in him. He realized that night that his feelings 
for her went beyond the relationship between Sire and Get. Not 
different, just deeper. He knew, too, that they were reciprocated. 
She was scared, and vulnerable. She needed protection. That appealed 
to Leick. He had not made her take the Blood Oath as that would have 
destroyed any relationship they might have. He wanted her to stay 
near him because she needed him, he could protect her. Not because 
she had to. Even without the Bond, she would never leave him.

He watched her take up his hook from the table. Idly, Leick fingered 
his wrist. The spike implement was attached today - a simple steel 
rod, sharpened to a bright point. His spare attachments lay on the 
table, and Sherilyn had picked one of them up. Carefully, she drew 
the point of the hook across her chest. A thin strip of bright blood 
spilled down from the incision, dripping down onto the bodice of her 
short black dress. Her eyes closed as she tipped her head back, 
sighing in pleasure. Leick's nostrils flared as he stared at her, 
sharing some part of her ecstasy from afar.

The moment was interrupted by a thump at the heavy door behind him. 
Sherilyn didn't flinch, apparently unaware of her surroundings, but 
Leick stood up in annoyance and marched over to the entrance.

He swung open the door, and there stood a short young woman with 
long blond hair and green eyes staring up at him. Her face was 
rounded cutely, though her expression was impertinent and hard.

"You knocked?" Leick growled, enquiring of her intentions.

"Well, I thought it was only polite," she responded, easing past him 
into the main area. She was dressed simply, in a baggy gray jog 
suit, and bounced as she walked. Leick frowned after her, following 
her in. "What's with the mood lighting?" she asked, looking about. 
"You trying to summon the dead?"

He did his best to ignore her remarks, and asked her: "What are you 
doing here?"

She grinned. "Well, you know, I'd heard so much about you, I really 
thought it was about time I came and met you myself. The great 
Rutger Leick."

Was she a Cainite? He had no way of telling, though he hoped she 
was, else he had made a serious breach of the Masquerade somewhere 
along the line. But he had never seen this woman before in his life. 
How had she escaped his notice?

As though reading his thoughts, she replied: "I don't get out a lot. 
Never did introduce myself to the Prince. I should probably get 
round to it one of these days, but I just have so much on my mind." 
She continued strolling around as she spoke. "Y'know, this really is 
a nice place. I like what you've done with the... walls."

In a flash, the Brujah was at her side, scowling meanly. "If you 
don't get to the point," Leick hissed, "you're going to be seeing 
something you won't like half as well."

Hope continued grinning up at him, completely unfazed. "Easy big 
boy," she patted him on the shoulder. "If you're that itchy I'll 
tell ya." She paused for a moment, then continued. "I want to join 
your team."

The Brujah snorted. This little pup? "You're just a kid!" he 
retorted.

"Yeah, well, I'm older than I look."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just snap your neck right 
now?" Leick enquired.

"How 'bout a Blood Bond," she answered. "I know you ain't got a lot 
of subjects around these days. 'Cept her," the girl nodded toward 
Sherilyn. "I know I'm not a Brujah, but when I'm Blood Bound to you, 
what do you care what clan I am? It's not as though I can walk away, 
now is it?"

That stopped Leick in his tracks. It was true that he needed 
subjects. This year was going to be his year, the one where he 
reclaimed his power. But to do that he needed subjects. And it 
wasn't like Airegon was going to help him out - even though he'd 
saved her life.

But could he trust this... whatever clan she was? She was right 
about one thing though: once Blood Bound she could never disobey 
him. Unless she was already Bound to another...

"Nope," she anticipated the question. "I'm free as a bird."

"How can I be sure?" Leick asked.

The girl sighed. "Are we gonna have to go through my life history? 
Look, I serve nobody, okay? The only reason I'm offering to take the 
Oath with you is that events in my life have taken a turn for the 
worse.

"How 'bout this: if I was a Thrall, I'd have to stay alive, right? 
My Regent wouldn't let me endanger my life."

Leick nodded. It seemed reasonable.

Then she did something unexpected. Picking up a candle, she stuck 
one hand in the flame until it caught on fire! She replaced the 
candlestick on the table and stood calmly while the flames engulfed 
her flesh.

"There. Now how 'bout that?" she smiled. "Well, you gonna put me out 
or what?"

Leick pretended to think about it, but quickly wrapped a nearby 
towel about her arm, dousing the flames. It had taken quite a bit of 
Willpower to do so, but the act was completed now. She still stood 
there calmly, and Leick noticed that her flesh was unhurt by the 
fire.

"Fortitude," he realized.

"Yes," she admitted, "but the flames would have got me eventually. 
Do you agree that I'm not a Thrall?"

While it wasn't conclusive proof, it was enough to convince Leick 
she probably was who she said she was. Come to think of it, she 
hadn't actually said anything at all about that...

"I have one question," Leick began.

"Who am I?" she asked.

"And why did you seek me out?"

Her face twisted then, contorting into a mask of hatred. "My sister. 
She and that bitch she's shacked up with ditched me in England, and 
now I want revenge. She's not going to get away with what she did to 
me. However, it's two against one. I don't like those odds, and 
something tells me you're the only one in the city who might 
actually be able to help me."

"Revenge? Not exactly a noble cause."

"Yeah, neither is your quest for power, Rabble boy," she pointed 
out. "And word has it you're looking for a little bit of 
ass-whooping on that Frost guy who's been causing you so much 
trouble."

She was well-informed, Leick admitted that. And she recognized his 
power - something too few in New Chelsea did these days. But would 
he gain more from this joining than the effort it would take to help 
her in her pointless, personal pursuit? He just might, and besides, 
after she was Blood Bound he wouldn't even need to help her.

"You got yourself a deal," Leick smiled, darkly.

The girl grinned in response. "I thought I might. By the way, I'm 
Hope. Hope Chitcka." She stuck out her left hand innocently. Leick 
merely glared at her, squinting his disapproval. She stared down at 
his steel spike with wide-eyed ingenuousness. "Oh, I'm sorry!"

"Rutger," came a breathy voice from behind him. Leick turned to see 
Sherilyn squirming, hand on his shoulder. She began tugging him 
toward the side room, a make-shift bedroom.

He turned briefly back to Hope. "Excuse me, I have some... business 
to attend to." And he followed the swaying Sherilyn across the 
floor.

Idly, he fingered a large silver cross which hung about his neck - a 
reminder of the man he used to be. He still had faith, just not in 
God. He had faith in himself, his own power. Smiling, Leick looked 
at the people about him.

He had three things: faith, Hope, and love. These three remain, he 
reminded himself.

As he was tugged into the bedroom, Leick clamped his right hand 
tightly over Sherilyn's mouth, shoving her brutally onto the rough 
bed. With one foot, he slammed the door hard behind them, blocking 
them from view.


                   - End of Post.
                     Rutger Leick,
                     Brujah Primogen.






When Alain had been summoned, in secret, to meet his Tremere 
Primogen a feeling of relative calm washed over him. Maybe, he 
mused, things were not too bad......

It had taken over three hours for Alain to make his way, with 
Sekuyu, to the Tremere Primogen's Haven. The Yakuza and the trainees 
of his house had helped. He was sure that no eyes, alive or dead, 
would know of this meeting. Sekuyu had reported with pride that at 
least twenty in number had been dealt with. Alain was sure that some 
of them would have either been Ghouls or of his Kindred. Tonight the 
Tremere were once again a force. The other clans would know that 
something was happening, but none would be sure of what.

Now standing in front of Marcus Grogan his heart sank. Walking in, 
he noted the lack of honor and security with which his master had 
been held. Anger flowed through him. His Lord merely reflected the 
environment. 'How can any being recover in this environment?' Alain 
thought. He could clearly see the torment twisting in the Tremere 
before him. He knew well that, had he been in charge, the place 
would be clean and honored and that the surroundings would be 
conducive to Grogan's recovery. Still, as yet, he had no right or 
duty to judge.

Moving slowly forward, Alain bowed onto one knee. His clothing had 
been selected specially. Alain wore the sash of first commander and 
Master of Assassins. Bowing his head he pulled out his own sword, 
presented it, blade in hand, at his neck. Again, signifying deep 
honor. It would be so easy for his Lord to end his existence.

Alain spoke formally, his eyes ever to the floor: "My lord it is of 
little concern, but I am Alain Roche, Ryu Kassiguru, Lord of the 
House of Leaves, Master of Assassins, Sword-Master. I kneel before 
you in obedience." Alain paused. "Will you accept me into your 
service, taking me as your servant, yet - " Alain hesitated, here 
came the crunch - "do honor to me as a Lord?"

Alain waited. This was the turning point! Should Marcus Grogan 
accept, then Alain would be honour bound to rise up and take 
command, to strengthen his Clan. He was forcing the issue. As a 
Lord, his Primogen would have to acknowledge his right and duty to 
protect him, even if it meant killing others of the Tremere. The way 
Alain saw his master at the moment indicated that, should his 
Tremere accept his service, a few should die. They had failed their 
lord, they had let him grow soft - without honor. What would the 
other Primogen think?

Alain waited. If his Lord refused his service, then he might not 
live...... Should his Lord accept then he would try to be the very 
best of friends, but always the servant, unless otherwise indicated. 
Even the Prince would not turn him against his own Primogen Lord.


              - End of Post.
                Alain Roche,
                Tremere.







It was dark on the streets of New Chelsea, and silent. A time for 
introspection. Something a new arrival to the city was taking the 
time to do:

"Shadow. What a name. Not that my birth name is much better, but 
it's one I've not used for quite some time. Besides, the name Shadow 
seems to be growing on me. Enveloping all that I have become. Many 
things have changed in my life. It's funny: I was raised to revere 
life and to defend those who could not defend themselves. Probably 
what led me to enlist. But nothing ever stays the same if life has 
its way. So here I am now.

"Years have passed, and now the weak and innocent just seem to get 
on my nerves. As of late, not a very good thing for anyone to do. It 
was probably being Embraced and used as a grunt during a Sabbat 
attack on Los Angeles that had the most effect on me. So much 
killing just for the sake of killing. My morality seemed to be the 
first casualty. My life has ended, and with it everything that was 
part of me. So... I re-invented myself. I must use violence to 
exist, so violence has become a part of me. I believe it was this 
utter lack of caring about anything that led to my current 
incarnation: a fixer.

"A gang of Brujah wanted something done, but couldn't dirty their 
hands with it for various reasons. And in I came. They say the first 
is always the worst. After that initial job I seemed to care and 
feel less and less about what I was doing. I would take any job just 
for a diversion from the repetition of my undead existance.

"And now, here I am. Los Angeles has lost its excitement for me. No 
more challenges. All I feel for that city now is apathy. I couldn't 
care less. So here I am, staring at the welcome sign of a city I've 
never been to with all my worldly possessions strapped to my bike. 
Not much except the tools of my trade. What else does someone like 
me need? My last contact in Los Angeles, someone I'd done more than 
a few jobs for, said he had friends here who had need of someone 
with my particular talents and lack of conscience. Good. He could 
have at least told me who. Not that I care, but it does make things 
a bit more difficult when all I have is a time and a bar to meet. 
Said they would contact me. So be it.

"Got a few hours till the meet. Might as well get there early to 
check out the area. I may take risks, but self-preservation is an 
instinct I've yet to discard. Hope the bar has good music at least. 
From the looks of the city, might not have much else going for it."

And with those final thoughts, he revved the engine of his 
motorbike, and took off into the towering blackness of New Chelsea.


              - End of Post.
                Shadow,
                Caitiff.







The silence of the night was broken by the sudden hoot of an owl. 
The dark figure crouched below the tree didn't even flinch. She was 
Brooke Stills, hunter of vampires.

A sneer crept across her face then. Hunter of vampires! What 
hypocrisy this was! She was, after all, now one of them. A Malkavian 
if she hadn't missed her guess, though no-one had hung around to 
confirm it for her. The madness that tortured her mind, however, 
informed her that this must be what she was. Unless she was just 
crazy.

At first, when the pain seared her brain like hot pokers in her 
skull, Brooke had wanted to die. As a matter of fact, she had tried 
to kill herself. Not just because of the pain, but in fear of what 
she would Become. So she had taken up a wooden stake and fell upon 
it, hoping that she would be frozen until sunrise. Unfortunately, 
someone had removed the weapon from her chest long before that time, 
and she had risen from the torpor almost immediately. She had never 
had the strength of will to try it again.

There was another, much slower, way to die though. Don't eat. The 
thought of drinking blood was repulsive to her, but every fiber of 
her body cried out for the taste of vitae. Even now, her stomach 
cramped in hunger, and her mind screamed to be fed. But she would 
resist. She had to.

Unless she could think of another way. And she had. Brooke would 
revert to her old ways - become a Kindred Killer once again. Only 
this time, she would drink the blood of her victims. Vampire blood 
was not so bad as human blood, was it? They were pure evil, after 
all, and deserved their fate.

But were they inherently evil? In order to hold this theory, Brooke 
would have to believe that she was evil. Wasn't she a vampire now as 
well?

She shook the thoughts from her head. Not appropriate, not now. 
Concentrate on the task at hand.

A rustle, in the bushes ahead. Someone was approaching. Kindred? 
Kine?

It was a wolf. Just an animal. But something about it struck a 
chord. Hadn't Brooke seen this beast before?

Of course! The Gangrel she had seen roaming these woods on more than 
one occasion. As before, Brooke felt some feeling between them, a 
kinship. But this time she shut it out, putting a wall between her 
and her emotions. This was a vampire, and must be killed.

Summoning her Obfuscational powers, Brooke slipped the mask of night 
over her, and stalked slowly toward the lycanthropic Cainite.




Kayle Jade sniffed around the trees. She had no idea what terror was 
approaching.


            - End of Post.
              Brooke Stills,
              Malkavian.
              Posted by Rutger Leick.






Paige Mackenzie wandered through the woods looking for her friend, 
Kayla Jade. She had gotten information on her whereabouts from 
another Cainite.

She heard breathing, and the heartbeat of an animal ahead of her. 
She paused as it came out from the bushes. It was a wolf but not 
Kayla; this wolf had yellow eyes not violet. The wolf which Kayla 
called Gorge seemed to study Paige. That made her feel weird, like 
he could read her thoughts.

"Where's Kayla?" she whispered. Suddenly she felt stupid. Duh, she 
thought, like he knows what I'm saying! But he seemed to understand. 
Maybe he thought of Paige as a savior, because at that moment Brooke 
the Malkavian Kindred Killer had just set her sights on Kayla. He 
walked towards the clearing where Kayla was. Paige got there in time 
to see Brooke disappear, with weapon in hand. She also noticed Kayla 
unaware of the approaching danger. She didn't know what to do. She 
seemed stunned for a second then thought of a way to save her 
friend.


Kayla became aware of another Kindred. She looked up from her small 
kill to see Paige frantically trying to tell her something. Kayla 
just shook her head. Until she also noticed Gorge standing by Paige. 
Which he never did.

Kayla closed her eyes, expanding her senses, feeling only two 
presences. The Gangrel was on her feet when Gorge 'told' her of a 
Kindred Killer near her. Kayla misted back into her vampire shape 
and stood ready to face the danger which she could not see.


                 - End of Post.
                   Paige Mackenzie,
                   Caitiff.






Shadow turned off the roaring engine of his bike and looked at the 
entrance of the bar. He chuckled to himself. "The Vampire". 
Apparently his contact had a sense of humor. He adjusted the patch 
over his left eye and fitted it more comfortably. Rummaging through 
his saddlebags he procured and stored several small arms into the 
folds of his trench coat. Better safe than sorry, he thought to 
himself. He started towards the door of the establishment, stopped 
and strode back to his bike. Reaching over he opened the flap on the 
left side saddle bag and withdrew a trio of grenades. I like being 
REALLY safe, he chuckled.

He kicked open the door with a boot-clad foot and walked in. The 
smoke pervading the common room of the bar immediately assaulted his 
nostrils. Shadow winced in distaste from the stale smell. He walked 
in casually - well, as casually as he could with ever fiber of his 
being tensed to strike. He walked calmly past a waitress. Pretty 
little thing, he thought absently. Shadow frowned. Get back to 
business, damn it. His eyes scanned the room. Typical filth, he 
thought. He shrugged his shoulders and sat in the corner, his back 
facing the wall as his eyes roamed the bar.

This had better not be a waste of my time, he thought somewhat 
bitterly. Traveling all this way to this horrid little town for 
nothing would not put him in a good mood. After several minutes, a 
rather ragged looking gentleman rose from a table in the center of 
the room and walked uneasily towards Shadow. The Caitiff looked up 
with his monocular gaze and kicked a chair at the newcomer. The man 
practically tripped over the unexpected chair. Pulling himself from 
the ground he sat uneasily down at the table, and stuttered out a 
few words.

"You're him right, the guy from California?"

Shadow groaned inwardly and shook his head. He looked his new 
companion up and down. What a waste of a man. "What do you want?" he 
growled softly. The man was taken back slightly by the tone of the 
Kindred.

"Well, um, ya see.. there's these guys that come in here. Damn bunch 
of Outlanders. Gangrel..."

Shadow growled. Was this guy really that stupid? Announcing openly 
the presence of a Kindred clan in an open room. The Caitiff lashed 
out under the table with a booted foot and snapped the legs of his 
companion's chair, sending him sprawling to the ground. Shadow rose 
silently and walked purposefully over, and drove his foot into the 
gut of the fallen man, holding him down and eliciting a gasp of 
pain. Shadow lowered his head to come face to face with his apparent 
employer.

"Your reasoning doesn't concern me. All I care about is where, when, 
and payment."

The man struggled to speak. "They should be here shortly; I sent 
word that I had someone coming for them."

The Cainite snarled and lashed his hand out, snapping it around the 
other's neck. He growled lowly. "You did what? You idiot!" Shadow 
rose up just as the door opened and four fierce looking figures 
walked in. Shadow groaned inwardly again. Is this what I've been 
reduced to? Shadow shook his head.

"So I've been reduced to taking out trash." He sighed. The four 
Gangrel produced a variety of hand weaponry. Amateurs, he thought. 
Shadow tensed slightly. With a flick of the wrist twin pistols 
sprang into his hand and began belching out flames. Within seconds 
all four of the attacking Kindred lay in crumpled heaps. Shadow 
walked calmly over to the bodies, still bleeding and finished them 
off. "Is this all there is? Pathetic."

He kicked the door open again and strode outside into the driving 
rain.


             - End of Post.
               Shadow,
               Caitiff.






Karl coughed again, this time a little louder. He figured that he 
was getting better now since he had the strength to cough. Lying on 
his apartment floor, he longed for some blood; he wasn't aware of 
how long he'd been out cold on the floor.

He could tell by the sounds outside that it was day. Construction 
workers regularly tended to keep him awake. This time he didn't mind 
- if he slept any more he would probably not be able to awaken until 
dark and he hungered for blood more than anything else.

As he endeavored to climb to his feet, he felt his lower limbs set 
with paralysis as they twisted away from beneath him. He didn't 
quite understand what he was going through, but he knew that it was 
because he had drank the blood samples of other Kindred in the city.

There was a knock at the door.

Karl dizzily swung his head round in its general direction. He heard 
the sound, that much was certain, but couldn't get to it. "Help me!" 
he yelled. "Help me... me," with a duller tone.

The door was not locked, he hadn't gotten round to securing it yet. 
A small man peeked round the door. The sun was bright in the sky 
and, as the door opened, the rays fell on Karl's left leg. It 
started to burn slightly and though at first unaware, Karl pulled 
the leg back into the shadows, yelling as the heat seared through 
the numbness of paralysis. This just added to the state of need that 
he was in, and the man came further into the building.

"Are you OK? Do you need a doctor? I could sell you insurance, you 
know!" Damn salesman!

He walked over and knelt beside Karl. Karl's body language ushered 
the man down to hear what he was saying.

"I... I... need you," he whispered to the man.

"I'll go call an ambulance, OK?" He started to stand up again.

"Noo!!" Karl was determined. "No... wait...  I have to... tell you 
something."

The man knelt down again. "You're wasting precious time my friend."

In a sudden strike of assault from a built up urge of greed and an 
adrenalin rush, the man fell on top of Karl, a look of sheer terror 
on his face. His expression did not change throughout his ordeal - 
not that it lasted long for him, for Karl had never drank so fast or 
so fluidly since he was a mortal child at his mother's breast. The 
blood ran thick and warm, flooding Karl's legs, where it was 
required the most and making him feel a lot better. At dusk he would 
rise and kill again to regain his full strength. Maybe he knew what 
was going on inside him too; this battle was won but the the war 
still rages on.


             - End of Post.
               Karenthuras,
               Tremere.






The Caitiff shrugged the rain off of his clothing as he strode back 
into "The Vampire". His one eyed gaze roamed around, looking for his 
new employer, and spied him struggling to clean up the remains of 
the four Gangrel. Shadow lifted his bike's saddle bags off of his 
shoulder and gently placed them on the bar. He walked casually 
around the bar, shaking his head at the emptiness of the club. 
Fishing around, he pulled out a small saucer and a nearly expired 
jug of milk. His nostrils flared slightly as he poured the milk into 
the saucer. His employer began watching him curiously but a quick 
glare from the Caitiff sent him back to his work.

Shadow gently opened a small pouch at the side of one of the saddle 
bags and slid his hand inside. Again his employer's gaze was drawn 
to the strange behavior of his new employee. The big Caitiff slowly 
withdrew his hand, revealing a small ball of white fur. The kitten 
in Shadow's hand looked very annoyed at being disturbed but began 
purring as Shadow placed it beside the milk. "The Vampire's" owner 
strode over to the bar and stared quizzically at the little kitten. 
Shadow looked up.

"What?" he growled.

The other Kindred tensed a bit at the Caitiff's tone of voice. He 
began to stammer a bit. "Well, since we are going to be working 
together..."

Shadow frowned and cut the other Cainite off. "We are not working 
together! I work alone... You have procured my services, for which I 
expect payment, nothing more," he said.

The other Kindred sucked in his breath. "Nevertheless, I believe I 
should introduce myself. My name is Vincent Cole, and I believe we 
must get a few things in order before we (or rather you) begin on my 
plans for this city. First thing: as Tradition dictates, you must 
present yourself to the Prince..."

Shadow once again cut him off: "Are you really that much of an 
idiot? First off, I could care less about Camarilla traditions. 
Secondly, if I presented myself to the Prince, as you suggest, 
that's one more person who knows of my existence. It's my 
understanding that the fewer people who know I'm alive, the smoother 
your plans will go off. Now if you will excuse me, I must rest." 
With that said, Shadow scooped up his saddle bags and his kitten and 
pushed his way through the doors of the back store room, searching 
for a place to sleep for the day.

Vincent stared thoughtfully at the departing vampire. Yes, he 
thought, this hired gun from California will work out nicely... I 
just have to keep everyone else from finding out until its too late. 
I certainly hope no one misses his first victims, Vincent chuckled 
as he sped upstairs to his office. He began to stare intently at his 
map of the city.

Where to start, where to start. Grinning evilly, he picked up his 
phone and began making a few calls. Yes, this will work out 
perfectly...


            - End of Post.
              Shadow,
              Caitiff.







Vincent was ecstatic. So far, two of the three establishments on the 
list he had given the Caitiff had called and had given in to 
Vincent's demands. He strode to his office window and looked down at 
the patrons of the club. Soon, he thought. Soon "The Vampire" club 
would be filled with patrons... and soon his plans would be fully 
underway. Even now his profits were increasing as word of several 
incidents of gunfire at the surrounding clubs had drawn customers to 
the safety of his. It was going better than even he had imagined.

Earlier he had called a few of his rivals, and placed his demands 
with them. Then Vincent sent out his secret weapon: Shadow. Still, 
he thought, something unerved him about the Caitiff gunman. Seeing 
him a few nights ago murder his ex-partners with such lack of 
emotion, or even conscience, and yet the attention he paid to a 
little kitten... Strange. Not to mention the bloodbath he seemed to 
be working on tonight. True it was getting the job done, but to 
Vincent it seemed a bit excessive. So far fifteen people had died 
tonight at the hands of the Californian Cainite. He began to get 
worried that it would attract too much attention. One thing he did 
not need was the attention of the Prince. At least not yet. He 
intended to demand that the Caitiff tone it down, but when the 
gunman contacted him after the second hit, something in his voice 
made Vincent back off. So be it, he thought. He was getting results.

The phone rang, and Vincent strode over to his desk to pick up the 
receiver. He smiled. The frightened and submissive voice at the 
other end of the line confirmed the third club had fallen into line. 
Excellent, only one more to go.





Shadow frowned disgustedly. Must it always rain in this city? He 
shrugged the rain off and settled into the alleyway across from his 
last target of the night. He lifted his monocular gaze into the sky 
and squinted at the moon as rain pelted his face.

He waited, watching the club from across the street. His nerves and 
muscles were taut and ready to strike. The incessant waiting was 
beginning to annoy him. He glanced at his watch. Two hours. He had 
been in this same spot hidden in the shadows in the alley for two 
hours, waiting for the right time. His patience was growing thin and 
his ire was building.

A small, barely discernable noise penetrated his ears. Without 
moving a muscle, he shifted his gaze slightly and caught a glimpse 
of movement. He shuddered inwardly. Nosferatu. Bunch of nosy, ugly 
little suckers. He contemplated easing his tension a bit by killing 
the little monster that was apparently watching him. Sighing 
inwardly, he thought that the little Sewer Rat would probably make 
too much noise when it died and give away his position. Later, he 
thought. After I'm done. He smiled at the thought. He'd killed so 
many tonight, what was one more? His gaze refocused on his target 
just as a black BMW pulled into the club's parking lot.

Finally, he thought to himself. The big Caitiff once again shrugged 
the rain off of him and strode purposefully out of the shadows of 
the alley and crossed the street to the parking lot. The passenger 
side door of the car opened and a monster of a man stepped out. 
Probably the club owner's bodyguard. The big Caitiff spat and walked 
straight in front of the car, grinned at the bodyguard, pulled his 
hands from his trenchcoat withdrawing a customized weapon and 
promptly sent a burst of lead into the man's face, throwing him 
back. Shadow lept onto the hood of the car and looked down through 
the windshield. Inside, the driver and two men in the back seat were 
fumbling for weapons. Shadow raised his firearm and sprayed bullets 
through the windshield and into the car interior. As his weapon 
clicked on empty, he peered into the car.

Two of the three were riddled with bullets. The third, only minor 
wounds. Good enough, he thought. He stepped off the hood of the car 
and opened one of the back doors, thrusting his hand inside to pull 
the living passenger out onto the pavement.

"You know why I'm here don't you?" he growled. The frightened and 
bleeding man nodded silently, his lips moving but unable to speak. 
"Good. Then you know what to do."

With that said, the Caitiff walked towards a crowd forming outside 
of the club. Flicking his wrists, his pistols shot from his sleeves 
into his hands. Flames spat from the barrels into the crowd. Once at 
the door, Shadow grinned sadistically and rolled a pair of grenades 
into the club and walked away. As the explosion rocked the street, 
Shadow was already firing into the alleyway. He heard a grunt of 
pain and a scramble of movement. He smiled to himself as he reached 
the alleyway and his bike. As the engine revved up, the Caitiff 
pondered the night's events.

Such is life, he thought. He gunned the engine and rode off back 
towards his current abode underneath the Club Vampire.


               - End of Post.
                 Shadow,
                 Caitiff.





Vincent burst down the stairs of the basement, a furious expression 
on his face as he clenched a newspaper in his hand. As he descended 
into the basement, his eyes focused on the gunman. Shadow sat at a 
long table, various small arms broken down into their component 
parts were arranged in neat orderly piles, with the Caitiff busily 
working on one in his hand, occasionally glancing at the screen of a 
small laptop computer. As Vincent walked towards him, his foot 
connected with a small object on the ground. Vincent stumbled 
towards the table and a small but fierce little growl penetrated his 
ears. The Cainite steadied himself, and turned his eyes towards the 
floor. Glaring up at him from the floor was Shadow's very angry 
white kitten. Vincent was not in the mood for this.

"Step on him again, and I'll rip your throat out," Shadow spoke in a 
low monotone voice. Vincent was a bit startled by this but 
nevertheless composed himself. He tossed the scrunched up newspaper 
into Shadow's lap.

"Look at that... on the front page no less. I told you you were 
being excessive last night." Shadow lifted the paper to his gaze.

"26 DEAD IN NIGHT CLUB ATTACKS." Shadow rolled his eye then read a 
bit of the article.

"First off," he said in a low whisper, "I don't recall you saying 
anything of the kind. Secondly, nothing here leads to you." With 
that he shoved the paper at Vincent and returned to his work. 
Vincent struggled to keep control of his emotions.

"That's not the point. You killed twenty-six people last night and 
apparently threw grenades into a club. You blew the place up, you 
idiot! The Prince is going to see this and have a fit."

Shadow turned his gaze to the irate Cainite and promptly lashed out 
and backhanded his employer across the room. After Vincent crashed 
to the wall and rose to his feet he gingerly touched his jaw. Shadow 
had drawn blood. He was at a loss. Vincent began to realize just how 
little control he had over his "employee". He calmed himself as much 
as he could.

"All I'm saying is that this is more than likely going to catch the 
Prince's attention, as well as a few of the Primogen. They are going 
to want to know what is happening."

Shadow shrugged and finished putting together one of his pistols. 
"So?" was his only response. Vincent took a deep breath to keep from 
exploding. For some reason he knew the Californian would probably 
kill him without a second thought. Not good. Not good at all. He 
took another breath.

"Look, I'm just saying that from now on certain powers in the city 
will probably be taking an interest in your activities. All because 
of that little bloodbath last night. This city has seen enough of 
them lately and I doubt anyone is going to appreciate it."

Shadow sighed inwardly. "Look," he began. "You, the Camarilla, the 
Prince, hell even the Sabbat, mean precisely squat to me. I take a 
job, I do it, I get paid, I move on. Plain and simple. I told you 
before that all your Traditions don't mean anything to me. The 
Prince and Primogen can take an interest all they want. They get in 
my way... well they'll only do it once. I don't care." Shadow shook 
his head disgustedly. "You've paid me to help you secure certain 
business ventures in the city. I'm going to do that. My way. You try 
to second guess me or my methods - I'll bury you, stake in the heart 
optional. Now if you don't mind I have to finish up here, feed my 
cat and go to work. I believe I have people to persuade to go into 
business with you. Now leave."

Vincent clenched his fists and stalked up the basement stairs, and 
then the stairs to his office. What should I do? he thought. One one 
hand my plans are moving faster than even I expected. But on the 
other hand I can't control him in the slightest; at the rate he's 
going the city is going to be one big graveyard, and if the Prince 
finds out I'm involved in all this I'll probably be killed. Why 
can't my life be easy?

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. Yes, of course! I can 
proceed with my plans for the city's entertainment industry, and lay 
the groundwork for getting rid of the one who made it all possible. 
Vincent chuckled to himself as he strode to his desk and rifled 
through one of the drawers. Found it. He sat in his chair and slid a 
voice masking collar over the phone reciever. He grinned at his own 
genius.

Two calls. I'll make two calls. One to the Prince (anonymous of 
course) and one to... the Toreador themselves - without the Prince. 
Yes, the Toreador would have an interest in this. I'm sure several 
of them have had interests in the clubs Shadow hit. Of course I'll 
make sure to cover my tracks and ensure nothing leads back to me, 
but it should work nicely. I'll get what I want and eventually get 
rid of Shadow in the process.

He dialed in a number and prepared to tell the Prince all about 
Shadow. A hired gun from the Anarch Free states of California. I'll 
tell him just enough to get his interest and just enough to lead him 
in the right direction. I'm sure he has the means to find out all he 
needs to know about a certain Cainite.




Shadow strode out of the club doors. Rain again. Figures. Doesn't 
this city have any other weather? He shook his head in disgust. It's 
going to be a long night, he thought to himself. As he revved his 
bike's engine he thought back. Twenty-six people wasn't a bloodbath. 
Leave it to the media to over exagerate things. He sighed to 
himself. Besides, tonight was going to be a bit more. Wonder what 
tomorrow's papers will say. He grinned to himself. Maybe after 
business was concluded tonight he'd drop a few grenades down a few 
sewer pipes and try to flush out the rat that watched him last 
night.

If nothing else... it would be fun.


             - End of Post.
               Shadow,
               Caitiff.