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Wednesday, August 6th 

9:06 AM              The Hotel 

Superior Construction workers install the thick golden security doors on both the front and back entrances, drastically increasing the building's security. In addition, they continue to replace and install the windows with the new tinted, bulletproof glass. In only three and  half more hours, every window in the building will be replaced. 

 

Site Supervisor Adam Reeves sips his coffee and barks out orders. He's being tough on the guys, but he's really pleased with the work. Everything is on schedule. Across the street, a shadowy figure watches, and jots notes down on a pad. Nobody notices.  

OOC: Salihah gets credit for increasing the defense rating of The Hotel, which improves to 3. 

9:30 AM          Police Precinct, Chicago 

Sgt. Wallace stares blankly at the Police Chief for a moment. Then he hands him his gun and badge. He meekly accepts his suspension without any backtalk. At least his wife was also involved, so she isn't going to leave him. At least, he doesn't think she will. She thinks he drugged her as she hardly remembers a thing after the girls busted into the bedroom. Certainly, she didn't arrange for hookers. So it must have been him right? Except that he didn't. 

 

A setup. Somebody set him up and now he's lost his job. But who? Who did it? 

10:03 AM                  U-Spy Store, Chicago 

The sales representative sure is glad he came in today! Not that he works on commission, oh boy he wishes he did today! But the boss is going to be very pleased. Jeeps, wearing blue jeans and a plain t-shirt, has a huge list of items on his list. A very specific list created by the Nosferatu Mortimer T. Smith, who plans on upgrading the surveilance systems with everything from a full monitor bank for the lobby to very high grade, weather resistant, infra-red motion-detection cameras. It is Mortimer's contribution to upgrading The Hotel, and the Nosferatu has put $5,000 into the package.

 

The sales rep is very disappointed that Jeeps refuses to agree to an installation fee. The equipment itself is one thing, but the real money for the company comes in from parts and labor during installation. It would have cost another 10-15K for that, but instead, because Mortimer is just buying the parts, the sale goes from being a blockbuster one to merely average. 

 

The sales rep's heart sinks completely when Jeeps refuses to purchase a single in-store warranty. He knows between Mortimer and Katarina, they'll be able to fix anything as well as these jerks can. 

 

Very pleased with the bundle, Jeeps puts the goodies in the trunk of his own newly acquired SUV. Mr. Confetti agreed that it was time. Jeeps' duties are about to greatly expand. Yes indeed, its a most exciting time indeed! 

 

Of all of Mr. Confetti's adventures, this one has more...potential for super craziness and unpredictablity. Its only the first week and already, very exciting things have happened! Jeeps grins. He loves his job. He hits the highway and heads for home. 

 

11:07 AM          Massachussetts Street, Gary, Indiana

Brenda Guffinlaw casually walks down the street with Safety Inspector Loretta Barnes. They gaze at all of the houses. Most of them are unoccupied. "So most of these are livable? Because I need houses where people can safely move in, with children, and then, you know, fix them up themselves."

 

"Have to say Brenda, I was surprised to get your phone call. Most people are looking to sell, not buy."

 

"And that's why it's a buyers market Loretta."

 

"Yeah, that sounds like a smooth move. But then you gotta sell them again, right? And who's moving into Gary?"

 

"I hear what you're saying but, I don't know. I have a feeling...Gary is about to change."

 

"Yeah, for the worse. With what the Sin City Disciples did, ain't no cop's wife gonna allow her man to move in here and work for that department. No cops? No safety. No safety? No families."

 

"Well, I can't say you didn't warn me." Brenda grins. "Now, let's go over specifically which of these houses are ready right now, and which of them just need a minor fix."

 

12:37 PM                  Tolleston Cemetery, Gary, Indiana

Spread quite thin, Superior Construction has never had two jobs before, let alone three. At least the window and door installation job are at the same site, but here, the job is not to build or install, it is to remove.

 

Just about out of workers, Vice President Bill Falding and President Mitch Smaldey are both on their hands and knees, in overalls, making it work. "This sucks." Bill Falding says. For the life of him, he can't remember why he agreed to be here and to do this.

 

"Yeah, well, whatever. Boss says that in order for the company to land a half million dollar job from the mysterious bigwig in that mansion we have to do this job here. It's apparently part of the contract, or something like that." Mitch Smaldey says.

 

"Oh." Bill Falding replies. Well, at least now he knows why he's doing it.

 

Inside the mausoleum of Martin Greenman, the Malkavian Fledgling Michael sleeps happily. He can't hear them working through the stones, but he can hear their minds, their thoughts. "Yay!" he says softly, in the darkness. A smile crosses his face.

2:39 PM                        The Hotel 

Jeeps pulls into the parking lot in his SUV. His eyes narrow as he notes the long, black van that rests facing outwards. It wasn't there before, and it doesn't belong to any of the Kindred. Worse, its engine still runs.

 

Jeeps opens the side compartment and slides out the Uzi. It's very illegal to have it, but he's faced down too many opposing vampire's own ghouls to be stupid about this.

 

Besides, thanks to Marshall Barry, there aren't any cops in Gary, Indiana anymore. Sure, he only killed a third of them. But the ones who are left barely patrol the streets. They were pretty bad before the event, but now, they just don't do their jobs at all. It's a make-believy police force.

 

He clicks off his seatbelt, and slides the door open. Slowly he heads towards the black van. He is relieved to see no one by the front wheel. At least he isn't going to get run over with this maneuver.

 

Slowly, quietly his free hand reaches out for the door handle to the side compartment. He rips it open! Russell Hampton looks up at him, be-bops his head to whatever song he listens to on his mp3 player, and finishes sawing a piece of wood in half.

 

Jeeps smiles brightly, and clicks the safety off. Russell takes the headphones out of his ears. "Damn inhospitable of you, damn it. I mean, you call me up, tell me to saddle up and get on over to Gary, Indiana, just out of the damn blue. I get here exactly when you tell me to, but are you here? No. I gotta bang on your pretty little gold doors over there. I chiseled me off a damn piece by the way, I'm gonna sell it at the closest damn jeweler's store, but you didn't hear that from me."

 

Jeeps laughs, and laughs loudly. Russell Hampton is the best weapon and armorsmith he's ever met. He is among the first of the elite staff members that he and Mr. Confetti have put together for the Contest of Will. Little by little, as the game expands, more will come.

 

"I had to run an errand. I wasn't sure if you were coming today."

 

"I'm just pulling your damn leg, Jeeps. Now let's get inside the joint and make us a workshop, shall we? And I hope you've got some sandwiches, because I'm starving."

 

Jeeps frowns a bit. "We haven't got a working kitchen yet."

 

"You what?"

 

Jeeps laughs. "Let's drive around and find a place, and I can fill you in on the craziness of what's happening this time."

 

"Yeah. You got the strangest boss out of all the bosses, don't you? And I bet he can hear me right now with those damn mind powers of his. Damn vampires!"

 

"How about not yelling that too loudly Russ."

 

"How about kissing my ass, Jeeps."

 

They both laugh this time. Jeeps hops into the passenger seat, as Russell takes the wheel. Jeeps is more pleased then he realized he would be at first sight of one of the elite staff. Mr. Confetti has always been kind to him, and he knows it. He's seen what some of the other ghouls get. But Jeeps can't talk to him, or any of the Kindred, as a peer.

 

The Bellboy Girl, whose real name Jeeps knows but isn't allowed to say, at her own request, barely speaks three words a day. It's only been a week, and there's been so much to do that Jeeps hasn't had much time to brood on it. But it would be nice to have an actual friend here. Someone during the day to talk to, and share the load with him.

 

Russell puts on some Johnny Cash, and starts to sing along. "Come on Jeeps. You know the lyrics." Jeeps does. He grins, and they sing the song together. 

 

7:01 PM     Private Suite: Mortimer T. Smith 

Mortimer's eyes blink as he wakes. He involuntarily groans, extremely sore. He hasn't experienced anything like this since his mortal days. Every evening waking up as Kindred has been blissful, in terms of physical agony. Well, not the first few days, but after that...

 

He decides that fire totally sucks. He suddenly hears the whimsical voice of Mr. Confetti in his head. "Ah, you are awake. Is it all right if Jeeps and I enter your suite? We have an experiment we want to run."

 

Mortimer agrees, and soon Mr. Confetti and Jeeps enter with a few monitors, brand new, unopened, still in their boxes. Jeeps also has a fishing rod with him, and some kind of metal weight on the hook.

 

"It is curious to me that the monitor exploded, but not your computer itself, though it is clear from your memory that the computer button served as the ignition switch." Mr. Confetti says simply. The other competitors huddle near the door and watch. 

 

Jeeps unwraps the first monitor and plugs it into the computer system. "Okay, let's back away." Everyone retreats, including Mortimer who heads out into the hallway. His face, arms, and body are all still burned, and he examines the wounds, perhaps realizing for the first time what a close call he'd had the day before. Somebody tried to assassinate him and just barely missed getting the job done. 

 

Jeeps stands alone in the doorway, and extends the weight down onto the On button. Almost immediately, the brand new monitor explodes!

 

"So it wasn't a bomb planted on the monitor!" Salihah says, in wonderment.

 

"That brings us to magic." Pablo suggests, eyeing Reverend Thomas suspiciously.

 

"There is no indication of magic here. And I have been searching." Reverend Thomas responds, not grasping immediately Pablo's meaning.  

 

"That's exactly what you'd say." Pablo says snidely, his tone accusing. 

 

Katarina walks into the room. "No, I think perhaps it is not magic at all. I may understand what is happening. But I will need to take your computer system apart to see." 

 

"I can take my own computer apart." Mortimer suggests, as Jeeps puts out the fire with a fire extinguisher and the Bellboy Girl runs in with a broom and sweeps up glass and broken parts. 

 

"I must do it." Katarina complains. "I must see which parts respond and which don't."

 

Mortimer relents. He isn't up for the task anyway and he knows Katarina can handle something as easy as this. Still...if she is the one who sabotaged the computer, this could be her way to get rid of the evidence. Mortimer is going to watch the proceedings very closely. 

 

,Jeeps hands her his tool belt, and Katarina quickly gets to work. She takes apart everything, and it is clear that an electrical surge has nearly fried the wires and the port that leads to the monitor. "I think it would only work one more time. But it was likely designed only to be used once, and to kill whomever used this computer."

 

"Lucky thing you are already dead." Mr. Confetti muses. "And tough to kill again, now."

 

"So someone got in here and changed parts on the computer?" Pablo wants to know.

 

Mortimer closely examines all of the parts, laid out. He built this computer, having carefully selected only the finest of parts. Many of them are hard to get, some impossible, in this region of the world. He built this computer in Moscow, after all. Also, he memorized the serial numbers of all of the parts as well. Having eidetic memory is one of those special skills that few people possess but which serves an infiltration specialist best.   

 

Puzzling. He can tell that no parts were changed or replaced. He realizes that this had to be done from the software side of things. In other words, his computer downloaded some kind of virus bomb package that caused his computer's innards to take in an extra large dosage of electricity. He shares this information with the rest of the group. 

 

"Is that even possible?" Salihah is amazed.

 

"I have heard of such things theorized." Katarina says. "All it would require is for a program to essentially reverse polarize the energy saving function of the computer so that it takes in five hundred times as much energy as is required to run the computer, and you could make the system into a bomb."

 

"Theorized, you say. But did anyone ever try it?" Pablo wants to know.

 

"I would not allow it. I had too many other sensitive things going on in my lab to risk exposure to such an overload of electricity, and for such a crude purpose." 

 

"Perhaps Pablo was right. Perhaps we should all focus on securing The Hotel." Salihah says softly. She knows her beautiful doors were installed and she can't wait to see them. But some of the others have neglected enhancing their base. 

 

Reverend Thomas rubs his chin slowly. "The pressing issue is the roof. Pablo, can Superior Construc-"

 

"My company's resources are stretched thin at the moment. But I have secured a large contract. Let me get the funding for that first and then, I'll fix the roof here." Pablo is annoyed. Mr. Confetti's insistence that they take bad companies in Gary and build them up have caused this issue. If he could have grabbed a real construction company operating in Chicago, they could be here by this time tomorrow upgrading the roof the same as he had Superior upgrade the windows. Still, Adam Reeves did seem to do a good job supervising here and at Salihah's plant also. Give it another six months...

 

"So in the meantime," Katarina grumbles, "We will be un-secure?" Mr. Confetti chimes in, "Perhaps you should take shifts on the roof." It's Marshall's turn to grumble. "So whoever draws the short straw for the night is on guard duty, and can't really participate in the Contest?"

 

Mr. Confetti shrugs at the Gangrel. "It is, of course, up to you. I would bring it to a vote."  "It's only for one night a week." Pablo suggests. "And given what happened to Mortimer, I think we should."

 

Salihah leans against a wall. "At least my doors are in. The entrances are secure."  "And the windows too. So its just the roof." Pablo adds. 

 

Jeeps, content that there is no chance the fire can spark up again turns towards the group. "Well, the weather isn't bad. I suppose I could watch up there so none of you are interrupted." "Good man, Jeeps!" Mr. Confetti beams at his ghoul. 

 

Jeeps, however, turns towards Mortimer. "Mr. Smith, I have taken the liberty of purchasing a separate computer system. It likely isn't as good as your current system but-"

 

Mr. Confetti moves towards the exit. "Let's move this conversation to the Central Room. There is much to discuss after last night's activities."

7:34 PM                The Hotel, Roof 

Jeeps clambers up the last of the steps and pushes through the roof access door with his left shoulder blade. He staggers to the middle of the roof then puts the large comfortable chair on a firm spot.

 

He puts the large enclosed container on the chair and walks over to where Tron, the Harpy Eagle sits comfortably. "Caw." It says to him. Jeeps smiles. He places a fresh bowl of corn on the roof. Tron eagerly flaps his wings a few times and flutters down to it.

 

Jeeps then walks back to the chair. He opens it, pulls out the shotgun, and loads a few cartridges into it. He readies it. Ca-Clack!

 

He places it down by his feet, opens the warm container of vegetable soup and scoops out a nice helping with his spoon. He immediately gets warm inside and enjoys the rich broth, which he made himself. Yes, being a ghoul has its advantages. Some of the powers of a vampire, immortality, but none of the terrible defects. And yet, he knows, one day...

 

But that is a day far off in the future, when his current role no longer makes sense. The biggest worry is that Mr. Confetti does not hide in his house like Prince Modius. He is active and puts himself at risk. If anything happened to Mr. Confetti, what would happen to him? To the Bellboy Girl as well? He'd survive, he supposed. He's well enough known now to get another position among the undead. But, would he feel the same amount of loyalty to any of them that he feels to Mr. Confetti? Best not to dwell on such morbid things. Nobody is going to kill Mr. Confetti he tells himself. He's the best of the best.

 

He scoops another spoonful of soup into his mouth, and settles into his chair. He intentionally didn't bring a good book with him, or music. Only fools do such things when on guard duty. Jeeps has always been determined to never play the part of the fool.

 

7:35 PM                  The Central Room 

Salihah and Katarina eye each other warily. Apparently, hearing each other's thoughts about each other from the night before is having an effect on both of them, and they choose to sit far apart.

 

Marshall Barry is in an awful mood, and broods, he looks around the room. "Somebody do that to Mortimer? Huh?"

 

"Why would someone in here do that to Mortimer?" Reverend Thomas wants to know. "Killing one another is off-limits. Even if it were not, Mortimer has done nothing to any of us to warrant such an action."

 

Pablo regards the Tremere warily. "Perhaps someone was having mixed emotions about being discovered by his clan, and decided to start knocking the rest of us off with magic."

 

Reverend Thomas eyes Pablo. "A silly notion. And you know it wasn't me."

 

"How exactly do we know that for sure?" Pablo wants to know.

 

"Simple. Mortimer survived." Reverend Thomas' tone is even, which makes it even scarier than it otherwise would be. "When I try to murder someone, they die."

 

Salihah shrugs. "We already know it was mechanical. And the person who it would have been easiest for would have been..."

 

Katarina's temper almost flares out of control as Salihah completes her thought.

 

Salihah finishes her sentence. "Jeeps." Katarina closes her mouth, and sits back, and considers it.

 

"Jeeps? That's-" Pablo can't believe that. "All together possible." Reverend Thomas adds. "We don't know what his capabilities truly are."

 

"I can tell you that Jeeps is very capable." Mr. Confetti suggests, "But he is also extremely loyal."

 

"Yes. To you." Salihah complains. "And we don't know you at all. You could easily have convinced him to sabotage Mortimer's computer as part of your game."Mr. Confetti grins brightly. "I have no intention of sabotaging any of you."

 

"So you say." Salihah leaves it at that. She clearly suspects Mr. Confetti of duplicity.

 

A great quiet washes over the room.

 

"Maybe we should change the subject." Marshall says glumly. "We got lots of things to think about, like that guy Mortimer found in that cell under the Prince's house."

 

"Yes, what are we going to do about him?" Salihah's tone suggests she is up for a big breakout.

 

"Do? He's the Prince's prisoner. We should just leave that alone." Pablo says.

 

"Loyalty to your clan aside, Pablo, we should figure out the best end game for ourselves. And that means we need to know exactly who that man is and what helping him might get us." Katarina's tone is precise. Reverend Thomas nods his head. "I am in agreement."

 

"I am going to talk to Alexander Danov. I will find out who he is." The determination in Mortimer's voice despite his charred condition gives everyone in the room pause. "That's excellent." Reverend Thomas breaks the silence. "Armed with the proper information, we will figure out what to do next." 

 

Pablo leans back in his chair. "We should also take a vote on who exactly we are going to frame for the cops that Marshall killed."

 

Mr. Confetti, at the head of the table, stands abruptly. "Indeed. Even I will vote on this one. There are three choices that we know Prince Modius will believe. The Ventrue elders, the Anarch Movement, and the Sin City Disciples. Personally, I will vote for the Ventrue Elders. I think it is the best way to actually nullify the situation as Modius can't do much against them but pout." He grins.

 

"He can send us against them, that's what he can do." Pablo says simply. "I think it is more dangerous than you realize Mr. Confetti."  

 

Marshall shrugs. "I gotta vote for the Sin City Disciples. No choice there for me. And with the FBI coming in to off 'em, and then the Bloods..."

 

Reverend Thomas pipes in, "Yes, it seems that eliminating them and driving a wedge between Modius and Juggler would be the easiest course. I also must vote for the Disciples. I have been ordered to do so by my clan elder."

 

"Easiest, but is it the best course?" Katarina leans forward. "We want to find out more about the Ventrue clan. And the best way to do that would be to set Modius in motion against them. It would prolong the battle and we might actually get to see what the Ventrue can do first hand."

 

"Yeah. Against us." Marshall replies. "We're Modius' foot soldiers now, remember?"

 

"That's just what he thinks." Reverend Thomas says. "Not what the reality is."

 

It is Pablo's turn to stand now . "You all seem to forget that I am actually for supporting Modius. The other two candidates we now know about are the Tremere elder DuSable and the Ventrue elder Peterson. I'm not for either of those guys becoming Prince of Chicago."

 

"We have barely started uncovering candidates." Salihah says. "It's too early to declare."

 

"Not for me." Reverend Thomas is calm but his voice is firm. "I will support DuSable. In that way, even while I betray my clan I still help them. If my role is uncovered here, I can now say that Nicolai ordered me to play Mr. Confetti's game. I can now do both and that's what my intentions are."

 

"Let's get back to the vote." Marshall says. "I need to know if I have your backs with framing the Sin City Disciples."

 

"Sorry, Marshall." Pablo says. "But I think we should frame the Anarch Movement. They are violent and antagonistic, and they ran from the four of you like scared little rabbits. We can frame them and unlike the Ventrue, we can easily squash them. All of the elders, no matter what clan, will like that. It's the only scenario where we win on every front."

 

"I must agree." Salihah says. "The Anarch Movement is my choice."

 

Mr. Confetti laughs loudly, and kicks his feet up on the table. Everyone turns to him. "Six of us have voted. And the vote is tied at 2. It appears that the tie will now be broken, and our course will be decided...by Mortimer T. Smith."

 

Everybody turns their gaze at Mortimer. Mortimer scowls. 

 

Mortimer considers his answer very carefully, then he proceeds. "Initially, I thought I was going to vote for the Anarch Movement, but actually I think we should frame the Ventrue Elders. We need to be able to stretch the conflict out so that we can see who the real threats and candidates are." 

 

"My point exactly." Mr. Confetti beams at Mortimer. "The tie is broken. We will work towards making Modius think that the police were murdered by the Ventrue Elders in Chicago. Well done, everyone." 

 

Marshall slams his hands on the table. "Thanks for having my backs guys." He says sarcastically. "I fail to see the problem Marshall." Katarina leans towards him. "All you have to do to get your debt paid is to encourage a gang of mortals to leave Gary after they are nearly destroyed by the FBI. Framing them in the eyes of Modius seems a waste."


Marshall shrugs his shoulders. "I'm screwed no matter what I do."

 

"I disagree. You should continue your plan to bring the Hell's Angels here." Reverend Thomas says. "If we have to eliminate the Bloods later, then we will."

 

Marshall perks up. "Oh yeah? Really?"

 

Reverend Thomas smirks. "There will be layers upon layers of problems. Allowing the Ventrue to take over a region that clearly must fall under our own control would be a silly mistake. I will personally burn the Bloods down if need be."


"Peterson won't like it." Marshall grunts.

 

"Once you get rid of the Sin City Disciples, your debt to him will be clear. Then you can freely destroy his assets." Salihah laughs. "And perhaps, we will help you."

 

"Perhaps?" Marshall says, getting the joke. "Great. I'll go from owing Peterson to owing you, huh?"

 

Salihah winks at him.

 

Pablo looks at his watch. "I think we know where we stand on the major issues."

 

Mr. Confetti smiles. "There is one more thing, Pablo."

 

Everyone settles back into their chairs.

 

"What is it Mr. Confetti?" Pablo raises a brow.

 

"I have decided on that ruling regarding the money banks."

 

Pablo smiles. "Oh yeah. Almost forgot about that with everything else going on."

 

"You are correct. Since everyone is using your resource, you should be rewarded for it. I am ruling that you must use each other's resources in any area where you can, whether it is a business or municipal asset. And then that Kindred gets paid the $5,000 in resources, to add to their bank."

 

Pablo pumps his fist. "Oh yes!"

 

Salihah face-palms. "He's rich."

 

Katarina grins appreciatively. "Taking the construction company was a great opening move Pablo. We will all have to be more careful as we build businesses."

 

"Speaking of the competition," Marshall says. "I looked at the big board. You forgot to give me my points."

 

Mr. Confetti smirks. "Points? For what, Marshall?"

 

"I took over a municipal asset last night!" he growls.

 

Mr. Confetti laughs. Everyone else starts laughing too. "What? What's so damn funny? She agreed to buy exclusively from me!"

 

Mr. Confetti looks at Pablo. "Do you want to tell him, or shall I?"

 

"Tell me what? What's going on?"

 

"Marshall, you didn't take over a municipal asset. Just like my construction company, the real estate company is a business. Since you already got your points for taking over a business, you didn't earn any new points." Pablo grins brightly. Everyone laughs.

 

Marshall pounds his fist on the table. "Damn it. Even when I do something right, I do it wrong in this damn Contest."

 

"Awww." Salihah smirks. "But I thought it was very clever the way you fooled her. And you look so manly in a suit!"

 

"Shut up." Marshall growls. Everyone laughs.

 

"The real estate company is a wise acquisition." Reverend Thomas says. "And with Mr. Confetti's new ruling, over time we will have to come to you if we want to acquire properties, which many of us will."

 

Mr. Confetti's eyes gleam with mischief. "However, you only have permission to run one business in this competition. So you'll have to choose which one."

 

Marshall leans back in his chair. "I killed forty-three cops to take over Citgo and you are saying I gotta dump it?"

 

"Only for now." Mr. Confetti beams. "I am about to expand on the reward system greatly. You will be able to cash in points for rewards, which will include permissions to take over additional businesses and municipal assets, as well as big cash rewards and other fun prizes."

 

"Oh goody!" Salihah exclaims.

 

"Yes, I could not help noticing that you did not give us enough money to raise both our businesses and municipal assets high enough to advance to the second round." Reverend Thomas says.

 

Mr. Confetti gestures to the Fun-Time Tasks board. "Because then none of you would do any of the fun-time tasks. And see how much fun we had last night?" Salihah laughs. "We did indeed. Even if Katarina ended up not getting into the mood."

 

Katarina shrugs. "We helped Evelyn frame a likely, innocent man who lost his career. And for what? A few points. In the process, we consorted with pimps and prostitutes."

 

Salihah counters. "In the process, we learned Juggler has embraced in Gary without the Prince's permission." She grins. "We own the both of them."

 

Mr. Confetti nods his head. "We will continue to rely upon the foolishness of others to gain the advantage. Good work everybody."

 

Reverend Thomas looks at Pablo. "You did hear that part right? About the foolishness of others and not one's own foolishness?"

 

Pablo has to laugh. "Yeah, I freaked out when Michael ripped that guy's head off, I admit it. I mean, that was really stupid of me. Can't deny it."

 

"Next time just get some lighter fluid." Marshall says. "And burn the fucker."

 

Katarina shrugs. "Let's not talk about fire. I don't like it."

 

"And on that note, this meeting is adjourned." Mr. Confetti announces. Everyone pops up from their seats and files out.  

 

7:55 PM              4th Floor Hallway, The Hotel

Jeremiah catches up to the wounded Nosferatu. "I want to discuss something with you privately, Mortimer. Please step into my suite."

 

Curious, Mortimer does so without arguement.  Swiftly, Jeremiah invokes a mystical circle. "There. Now, nobody can hear us."

 

"Okay. What's going on?" Mortimer stays near the door, just in case. 

 

"Very simply put, I have surmised where Mr. Confetti's pirate flag in Prince Modius' house is. There is only one place left that hasn't been checked. It must be in there. The risk is greatly reduced as a two-man operation, however. And I trust you to get the job done correctly. We both have more important tasks this evening. You will, of course, try and learn who this Hinds fellow is while I must try and surmise where the spirit of Garwood Marshall has been taken. But this will be a simple operation. Are you in or out?"

 

"In."  

 

Jeremiah grins slyly. They confer on the plan.  

7:58 PM                 3rd Floor Suite, The Hotel 

Mr. Confetti leads Salihah, Pablo, and Katarina in. "What's this surprise of yours?" Pablo asks, warily. Mr. Confetti grins brightly. "You should be able to guess Pablo, since you earned it. All three of you have."

 

Hanging from wires across the room are pictures of different motorcycles of all sizes and varieties, along with catalogs with their specifications.

 

"Ooh!" Salihah moans, excited as soon as she sees them. Mr. Confetti extends his hands wide and spins around. "Fast bikes. Tough bikes. Slow bikes. Mud bikes!"

 

"What's this all about?" Katarina is puzzled.

 

"It's prizes time." Mr. Confetti beams. "You each earned a motorcycle by completing your prestation fun time task!"

 

Salihah runs around, checks them all out like a nine year old. "Can we pick the color? Can we?"

 

"Sure!" Mr. Confetti yells, enthusiastically.

 

"Whee!" Salihah yells back.

 

8:02 PM            The Hotel Workshop 

 

Marshall Barry heads down the back hallway towards the back parking lot. He's the only one that nobody wants to talk to. He's dead last in the competition. But, he feels he's finally getting a handle on this whole thing. It's finally starting to make some sense to him. Except that he has no idea what a municipal asset is.

 

Oh well, he'll solve that problem later. He has his shirt and tie in a satchel, and five thousand dollars stuffed in his pocket. Time to upgrade the one thing he actually has.

 

Funny, but Reverend Thomas both encouraged him to keep the real estate office over the grocery store, and to continue his idea of bringing the Hell's Angels here despite the orders from clan Ventrue to do otherwise. It's like the Reverend has his back or something. Probably just self-interest. He don't want the Bloods here. Nobody does. But how to stop them without sparking a huge war between the competitors and the Ventrue clan. They're businessmen but they can be physically tough sometimes too, with their mastery of Fortitude. Not that they are the only ones, Marshall grins.

 

It is at that point that he stops short. Someone is using an electric drill in one of the side rooms. Maybe its one of Pablo's people from Superior Construction re-doing a window, but...a little peek won't hurt. After all, these rooms are empty and nothing is in them. So...

 

He looks in. He's shocked to see a fully built workshop. Metal works on the west side, woodworking on the east. A rugged looking guy in a black cowboy hat uses the electric drill to put a huge shelving unit up against the north wall.

 

Weaponsmaster Russell Hampton turns his head and smiles. "Well, shit me a brick, you're a big dude."

 

Marshall looks around the workshop. "Yeah. So..."

 

"So, this is now my damn workshop, or will be when it's finished. Give it a day or two."

 

Marshall nods his head slowly. "So, we started with just Jeeps and the girl, and you're coming in as a craftsman?"

 

"Weaponer and armorer yeah. But, apparently I can't work on anything for anybody unless you earn it in this crazy game you all are playing. You vampires are insane, you know that?"

 

"Are you a ghoul?"

 

"That your chopper out there?"

 

"What about it?"

 

"It's nice. No, man. I'm totally human. Gonna stay that way too."

 

Marshall is surprised. "Huh." Marshall heads out of the room. Every few days it seems Mr. Confetti has some new surprise.

 

As he puts the key into the ignition of his chopper, Marshall decides he's going to have a few surprises of his own. Last place. But just for now. 

8:16 PM           Streets of Gary, Indiana

Magnussen, Pablo's loyal manservant, drives down the street in Pablo's red convertible, the lid however, is on. Pablo sits next to him, lost in thought. Pablo doesn't have to think about his strategy tonight. It's very clear to him that he can be the very first competitor to complete the business portion of round one.

 

"So, what is on the itinerary tonight, sir? Going to crack some heads, perhaps?"


"Nope. Just business tonight."

"You seem tense tonight, sir."

 

"Just politics. My views don't correspond with the others in the group right now."

 

"Now there's something new." Magnussen's dry sense of humor makes Pablo laugh. 

 

All he has to do is increase the security at Superior Construction. He chuckles to himself, just getting his president and vice-president on the straight and narrow instead of being total con artists should count! He'll have to watch very closely to make sure they don't embezzle as profits come in. Unfortunately for them, Pablo has every kind of advanced degree in finance that's ever been thought of. His sire mused that she should have let a Ventrue embrace Pablo, or that his art form is mathematics.

 

Well, money has always just been a means to an end for Pablo. But being able to generate it himself and being up on the latest trends in business and marketing have helped not only himself, but other Kindred who are less inclined towards earning money, who have been wise enough to make an ally of Pablo.

 

It's also helped him get the finest in crime-fighting equipment, which has allowed him to fight the forces of evil without breaking the Masquerade. He has often found dark supernatural forces behind the mortal ones on the surface, and has successfully uncovered plots by various nefarious Sabbat and other Kindred who weren't conducting themselves correctly. But have the Princes in those cities ever thanked him? No, just the opposite. They have declared blood hunts against him, claiming that Pablo's Night Fist alter-ego has been the actual breach in the Masquerade. Ludicrous. But Pablo has always survived.

 

Magnussen pulls into the parking lot at Superior Construction. Pablo decides to check out the exterior fence. It's low, easily climbed, no barbed wire. The door would be easy to kick in. Sure, you'd think nobody would want to steal the company's old, somewhat broken down construction equipment. But it won't always be like that, and frankly, once they get their first new piece of machinery the gangs might try and steal it and sell it.

 

Another reason to encourage Marshall to get the Hell's Angels in here. He can do business with Juggler to get him to keep his gang away from the place, but there are all manner of criminals in Gary. There will be less of them when there are Hell's Angels driving all over the place. Between them and Night Fist's own brand of justice, they'll run the bad elements out of here in a relatively short period.

 

Magnussen stands near Pablo as he examines the fence door. "Shoddy work if you ask me, sir. Not that you did."

 

Pablo grins. "We could replace it with a better fence but..."

 

"Might I suggest an actual wall, sir? If it comes to it and you get caught, exposed out of The Hotel it would make a slightly more difficult deterrent for opponents."

 

"Yeah, with a thick double gate for the equipment to roll in and out of. The wall should be tall enough that you can't even see what's in here. That'll discourage thieves."

 

"Or drive their curiosity further, but I do see your point, sir. Although I might also point out that such an obvious upgrade would point to an elder Kindred operating here, given how the rest of Gary would compare."

 

"I need Kindred for customers. They are always the ones who want the biggest jobs done. For them to note that I have secured and upgraded it might be an advantage."

 

"I see. At any rate, you have to increase the defensive capabilities in order to advance your cause in Mr. Confetti's competition so-"

 

"So the point is moot. A concrete wall it is."

 

"Don't forget the door sir, or you'll have to airlift all of the equipment out."

 

"You're hilarious Magnussen."

 

"I know, sir. It is only my loyalty to you that's prevented me from re-opening my very successful vaudeville act."

 

Pablo returns to the car for his laptop to do the financial projection for the project. Just as he is about to boot it up, he notices he received a text message from Mortimer a few minutes ago. He had left his phone on the dashboard of the car.

 

He checks it out, and discovers a warning. Mortimer has cautioned him that Pablo used his laptop and therefore the same connection that the software package that caused Mortimer's monitor to explode came from. Pablo blinks. He should have considered it himself. He looks at his laptop. Is it just a computer or is a mini-bomb now?

 

He opens the trunk, pulls out his costume, and pulls it on over his shirt.

 

"Sir? I thought that-"

 

Pablo shows him the text message. Magnussen eyes the laptop warily. "I see."

 

Pablo takes the laptop with him as he jogs to a remote part of the site. Magnussen waits by the car, knowing full well that even as a ghoul, he is susceptible to explosions.

 

Pablo turns on the laptop, and, using Celerity, dives behind some barrels. The computer loads up with no difficulty, however. Pablo rubs his chin, and creeps towards it. He hits a few buttons on it, and everything appears fine. "Hmm. Well, I guess my laptop isn't infected. Guess whoever did it really had it out for Mortimer."

 

"Or perhaps the software package wouldn't be strong enough to generate a signal strong enough to cause your monitor to explode on this laptop anyhow." Magnussen offers.

 

"Yeah, that's altogether possible. Oh well, let's get these projections together and then craft some instructions for my people to follow."

 

"Very good, sir."    

8:18 PM                             Exova Laboratories 

Katarina couldn't have been more excited when she discovered the Exova Laboratory. Exova is one of the best companies in the world where scientific experimentation is concerned. It's local location means she can take over an entire branch of it, and likely not have to deal with the horrific conditions of seemingly every other business "opportunity" in Gary, and she would have access to a major lab without even needing to build one in The Hotel, where her experiments would be scrutinized by the other competitors.

 

That it is just past Modius' mansion and essentially equally spaced between Pablo's Superior Construction headquarters, situated north by the highway, and her own municipal asset Inland Power is a huge plus. Indeed, a defensive scheme could be worked out between the four locations, or at least between her and Pablo's assets. She will have to discuss such with him later. But first things first.

 

That she can essentially just walk right on into the facility is dangerous. There is a weak little fence, rusted and short, that is a deterrent perhaps to those who are drunk or have leprosy, she considers. Everyone else should get through the defenses here with ease.

 

She uses her ability to shroud herself in the shadows to walk up to the ventilation system. It is disturbing to her how easily she can climb up to the second floor window, and slide it open. Ridiculous. She squeezes her thin body through the window.

 

She was done with ludicrous outfits like the purple catsuit. That was just because she had thought it was going to be a fun night out and she wanted to show up Salihah, who obviously gets plenty of attention from men. It was silly. Tonight she wears dark slacks and a black t-shirt. Nothing fancy, just regular infiltration clothes. Not that she had infiltrated much of anything in her life or un-life. But just as Marshall Barry had gained the benefit of watching Pablo and her own work to adjust his methods, Katarina had gained much from watching Mortimer work. There is much to be said for having stealth skills.

 

She had never quite realized how her own powers could be used to such great effect, and she decided she would learn from the best, Mortimer essentially being that person, and mimic his methods as much as possible. Though she did not have obfuscation and could not hide herself in plain sight, she could meld with shadows and would do so. If someone located her, she would just act like she belonged there. She could talk science all day and all night. It is, after all, the reason she is interested.

 

Taking over a business in this fashion is more up Pablo's sleeve, but if there's one thing she knows about a laboratory, it is that if you can control the lead scientist, as well as the CEO, then you have both the science and the money and nothing else really matters.

 

To gain control of Exova, she would need both. She sneaks into the adminstration office, and finds the filing cabinet. It's not like the good old days when everything was paper. Most everything she'd need would be on the computer systems, and they would likely use a password. That had never been an issue in Romania. But, again, unlike Mortimer would could find out someone's password with a few swipes of the buttons, she would be overmatched by such a challenge. No matter.

 

She found what she needed in the filing cabinets anyway. The payroll book was surprisingly in there! How sloppy. It gave her not only the key administration's names and addresses as well as their salary bases, it also told her who the lead scientist is.

 

Of course, there is a lead scientist on each individual project and there are many divisions at Exova. But only three here in Gary. The three department lead scientists all report to someone named Dr. Ving Koda. It was him that she would need to convince.

 

She finds her way to the laboratories themselves. The Gary Exova laboratories specialize in oil & gas research, as well as infrastructure with metal technology testing. She quickly considers how easy it will be to get access to silver, an essential ingredient when fighting werewolves, she has heard. Surely, even the Kindred in Chicago will recognize her cleverness when she is able to help build the region's defenses from another successful Garou incursion from this very spot.

 

She avoids the metal labs however and enters the aerospace wing. This is a huge field and Katarina licks her chops. The newest concepts in both airplane and space flight, being developed right here.

 

She digs into the research to see what she can find wrong with it. 

8:22 PM                     Modius' Mansion 

Mortimer, completely invisible to the naked eye, stands patiently as Reverend Thomas rings the doorbell of Prince Modius' estate. They survey the damage, still un-repaired from the previous night. Almost all of the windows have been smashed in, and there is glass everywhere. This no longer looks like a house that is lived in, but one of the many dark and abandoned places that constitute a large part of Gary's residential sectors.

 

But the door opens and Strohman gazes politely at Reverend Thomas. "Hello, sir, are you seeking audience with the Prince? He is not expecting you."

 

"Perhaps. Tell me..." Reverend Thomas gazes deep into Strohman's eyes, and Mortimer grins as the Tremere Elder begins his successful domination of the disloyal butler. "Do you know the combination to the electronic safe in the basement?"

 

Strohman is deep under the Tremere's power, that much is immediately clear. "No, sir. I don't. Only the Prince and his childe Allicia know that. Sorry, sir."

 

Reverend Thomas' face tightens slightly. "It's no matter. You will forget I asked. Now, escort me directly to the Prince."

 

"Yes, I shall." Strohman turns abruptly and heads down the hallway. Reverend Thomas stops in the doorway, and makes certain that the heavy oak door does not close and lock his Nosferatu partner outside. Without a word to Mortimer, Reverend Thomas simply follows Strohman down the hallway.

 

Mortimer darts in, and silently shuts the door behind them. He creeps silently down the hallway, careful not to get too close to them. Strohman leads Jeremiah up the stairs. Good enough, Mortimer thinks. The farther away the prince is, the less chance of discovery.

 

He pushes open the basement door and creeps down the stairs. He is expecting the sight of armed guards but there aren't any. So much the better. He rushes quickly through the hallway, directly to the vault door. He lays out his infiltration tools, and carefully selects the decryption device he'd essentially created with The Algorithm. There were others like it on the market, mostly the black market.

 

But his is 500 percent more effective, and there is only one. He attaches it to the lock and waits, as it does its dirty work. 

8:25 PM   2nd Floor Hallway, Modius' Mansion

Upstairs, Jeremiah follows the butler. Before they can reach the room where the Prince is, Reverend stops him. "Tell me," he says slyly. "Who is Bronwyn?"

 

"I don't know, sir."

 

"You don't know who Bronwyn is. But you do communicate with a Bronwyn, don't you?"

 

"From time to time I do, yes. But I don't know who Bronwyn is. There is an address where I send my correspondence."

 

"And what is that address?"

 

The butler delivers the address to him. Jeremiah grins and tells Strohman to forget he asked about that too. "Yes, sir." Jeremiah just shakes his head. To have a servant who is so easily turned against you is sheer folly. As he reflects on that, he feels a bit of pity for both of Strohman's masters. The group will likely take both of them down, in the end.

 

Strohman pushes the door open, where Jeremiah finds the Prince reading an old book, lost in thought. He is quite surprised to have a guest, and rises quickly to his feet.

 

"Hello Prince Modius. I am sorry to drop in unexpectedly. But I wanted to discuss a few things with you, all of which are important subjects."

 

"I am listening." Prince Modius says in a respectful tone, and places a bookmark in his tome.

 

"In the case of an opening for the position of Prince, usually there are only a couple of candidates. They have a small war which ultimately the strongest wins, and gains the support of a majority of the Kindred in the city, and attains the throne."

 

"Yes, what is your point?"

 

"This is not the case in Chicago. There are too many candidates for that to last. The entire city would burn in flames before a Prince is declared. I believe at some point the Primogen will step in and declare a Prince. So I believe it is less about defeating the other candidates and more about simply gaining a majority vote amongst the Primogen Council."

 

Modius quietly contemplates the issue, he rubs his chin slowly, and nods affirmatively.

 

"I had considered this very question, actually, myself. I believe you are correct."

 

"How many Primogen are there, Prince Modius?"

 

"There are six. I am sure of that."

 

"So you need four of them, and you claim to have one already. Perhaps you are ahead of many of the candidates already, but certainly not all of them. You need three more. It will help me greatly to learn their names, so that I can figure out how to impress each in turn."

 

"I...yes, but...I don't know any of their names. Only my own Primogen and I have direct contact with her. So..."

 

Jeremiah can't believe his ears. "The Primogen Council of Chicago are all unknown to you, the Prince of Gary? How can that be?"

 

"They are all very secretive, except amongst themselves. They hide in plain sight you see. Virtually any Elder you meet might be a member of the Primogen Council. Even my own Primogen refuses to let her name be known, lest she be targeted for annihilation."

 

"And you are certain that the Primogen Council all survived the recent Garou assaults?"

 

"According to my Primogen, the rest of the Council did. Actually, our clan elder in Chicago used to be Maria. A beautiful, powerful woman. But she disappeared. And she's not the kind to do that, you see. We have a new power in the clan. Well, I shouldn't say new. But new at being...in charge, let's say. She doesn't want her name known, so-"

 

"Yes, I see. So you are sure there are six. You have one, we need three more. Very good. Let's move on to more pedestrian subject matters."

 

"Pedestrian?"

 

"The Sabbat could move in here today and there's nothing we can do about it. We need a plan to make them at least think twice."

 

"And same with the Anarch Movement!" Modius perks up. "Yes, let's figure out how to obliterate them all, once and for all. I so tire of all of them!"

 

Jeremiah looks at the Prince of Gary. He'd heard of Kindred that just get...old. Their interests, their passions, just wither away and though they themselves will never die, they become a shell of who they used to be. He knows without needing to consult anyone that this is what has happened to this wretched specimen.

 

Who are the other five elder Kindred in the Primogen Council of Chicago? Even the Prince of Gary doesn't know their names. 

8:24 PM                             Gary Transfer Station 

Salihah walks through the deserted plant, very satisfied with what she sees. She is quite amazed that Pablo's work crew did such an excellent job, as she was skeptical they would given Superior Construction's reputation. Pablo had obviously whipped them into shape in a quick hurry. Then again, none of the new windows at The Hotel had fallen out.

 

She needed to consider how best to improve the station further. She needed to increase both its defense and its influence in order to get checkmarks in those areas and advance in the Contest of Will. She'd need funds, and would go after another fun-time task or two shortly. But tonight, its back to business.

 

Defense would be more easily obtained at a disposal yard such as this. Unlike other businesses, she doubted anyone would sabotage the plant. Even Anarchs and Sabbat like to dispose of bodies easily, when they need to. In point of fact, that is currently the issue. There is no way to do that without being seen from the street. To increase the security level of the plant, she decided, she could have a thick wall built so that no one can see in. But that would make it hard to get a body into the plant at night.

 

She could have a door that could electronically swing open. You'd have to have a remote control for it to open it. Salihah therefore could control who has access to the yard and who doesn't, and she could charge money for the right to have a remote control. Lots of money. Each of her competitors would have to pay her, and other Kindred as well.

 

She already felt the flow of green into her game bank! She cackles, and walks the yard to draw up a plan for the wall and stone gate. She'd pay Pablo another five thousand, she wagered, but he'd give it all back to her. She could rent the remote control and force a monthly payment! How much could she get away with charging? Hmmm...

 

Her eyes open wide and she spins completely around. "Hello?" She yells. She prepares herself for battle. That strange tingling that she's always gotten, since before her embrace, is tingling now. She knows she is not alone. 

 

"You are a Follower of Set, are you not?" The Nosferatu Elder appears next to her, stake in hand. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you."

 

She recoils from Alexander Danov! So close. He could have staked her! How could she have gotten so careless?

 

"I...I have been approved by the Prince of Gary!"

 

Alexander laughs. "And he knows what you are?"

 

"He does. I am...I am with Mr. Confetti. You need not fear me."

 

"I have never once feared a member of your clan. Your pathetic and childish fetishes that lure other Kindred down the paths of corruption hold no allure for members of my clan."

 

Everyone has a weakness, she knows. Everyone can be led to their own private hell. But she also knows if she tells that to Alexander Danov, he will stake her and kill her.

 

"I am no threat to you, I tell you."

 

"I know you have taken over this facility. Soon you will build a temple in Gary. And then there will be a flock of your clan here. I cannot allow this, you understand."

 

"You should prefer us here than a nest of Assamites. I am a specialist at-"

 

"I don't want to hear it. I have told you." He brandishes the stake at her. "If you are here by yourself, then I will always watch you. And should you start a temple and lure others of your clan here, then every member of my clan will rally and we will burn it to the ground. I have told you."

 

He disappears from her sight. She stands there at a loss. She has not been this frightened in decades, at least. The fun of last night and the motorcycle prize evaporates. No one will ever trust her, no matter her intentions.

 

And that is no matter. For if they will not allow her to prove them wrong, then she will prove them right! And they will pay for the mistake.  

8:25 PM              Solutions Services

Marshall Barry parks his Harley Davidson outside the office. He can see Brenda typing away on her computer. He quickly takes off his vest and puts on his shirt and tie. She laughs to herself as she can clearly see him do it through the front window, but when he knocks on the door, she pretends she hadn't seen him and buzzes him in. 

 

He puts on that winning smile and heads her way. She finishes typing her sentence on the computer and gazes at him. "I have started investigating housing for your people. When are you expecting them to arrive?' 

 

"I wanted to acquire housing for about twelve of them to start, and then we'll talk about expanding from there." Marshall says slowly. She is surprised. "Only twelve? I was under the impression that an entire contingent would be coming in." 

 

"Oh don't you worry, there will be. Maybe as many as a hundred. But if a ton of us just roll in on day one, we might get confused by the Feds and the cops as part of the problem that was created by these Sin City assholes. So, we'll keep ourselves on the low to start out. But yeah, don't you worry. Lots of members are coming here for the new Chicago branch. I guarantee it." 

 

"That's what I want to hear." Brenda gazes at the paper bag in Marshall's hand. "What's that? Packed a late lunch?" 

 

"Funny, but no. This is actually for you." He dumps $5,000 on the table. She gazes at the stack of money as though it might bite her. "You do realize that even the cheapest of houses cost-" 

 

"Yeah, yeah, it ain't for that. I don't like you being in here late all by yourself, like this. Anybody can just roll on in here."

 

"That's sweet of you but I-"

 

"You have a gun. And that's good and all, but even so. Things ain't so good in Gary. And it'll be awhile before they get better. So, how's about you go ahead and install a roll down steel curtain that you can close after normal working hours. Then people will think the place is closed and empty. And you can put a better lock on that front door too."

 

She opens a drawer in her desk and shovels the money into it. "Very thoughtful of you. All right, I will take those precautions, if you think them truly necessary, Mr. Howe."

 

He'd forgotten that he'd called himself that. He covers by smiling brightly. "Hey, we're in business together. For the long haul. That money will come back to me in spades later, I know it. Anyway, I gotta run, other things to get done tonight."

 

"What kinds of things?" Brenda wants to know. He laughs. "Hey, we're both on the hustle right? Talk to you soon Brenda."

 

He walks out the door before he can screw it up. He gets on his Harley Davidson and rides away.  

 

On a nearby rooftop, the Brujah Elder known only as Juggler watches Marshall drive away through infrared binoculars. By his side, Evelyn Stephens licks blood off her fingers from a recent kill. "So are we gonna take this guy out, or what are we doing?" 

 

Juggler doesn't respond. He just smiles. It is a cold, cruel thing, his smile. 

 

Juggler and his illegal Fledgeling Evelyn Stephens are up to something!

8:44 PM              2nd Floor Library, Modius' Mansion

Jeremiah pretends to listen with interest as Modius drones on about his views of how the Sabbat will assault Chicago. Everything about it is wrong, the undead priest decides. Modius has had no experience against the Sabbat, at least not the capable ones, that's obvious to Jeremiah who has had many battles against them. Modius, he decides, is quite fortunate. He would not survive them. Indeed, he has only survived the Anarchs because the Anarchs have let him. Or because they are afraid of Lucian and Juggler, perhaps.

 

As he realizes how silly that sounds in his own head, and that he doesn't know why the Anarch Movement has allowed the incompetent and completely defenseless Prince of Gary survive, and that it is, in fact, quite odd that they have and it is perhaps something to look into, he receives a text message on his cell phone. He gazes at it, and tries not to smile. It only took Mortimer twenty minutes to crack the vault. It would have taken anyone else with the right skill set at least an hour. The Tremere elder knows that he himself could have never done it without using powerful magic that would have left an obvious signature. Mr. Confetti's hidden in plain sight flag is a tough get. If it isn't in there, of course, then they'd have to re-think things entirely. But...

 

"Prince Modius, I am being summoned."

 

"Oh?"

 

"My clan. It is quite urgent."

 

"What's the matter?" Modius stands, alarmed.

 

"I'm not sure at all. But it is in Chicago. So-"

 

"Oh." Modius sits down, quite relieved. "In Chicago. Well, I'd love to assist you with whatever the trouble is, but it is out of my jurisdiction. For now, anyway. See that I become Prince of Chicago and I would be right in the center of things, with all of clan Toreador with me, in point of fact!"

 

"I will certainly keep that in mind." Jeremiah marvels at himself, and his ability not to laugh in the face of true comedic theatre. He heads out of the room. "Strohman!" Modius calls, but Jeremiah waves him off. "I can see myself out, no need to trouble your man. I'm sure he's involved in some important task."

 

Jeremiah walks out. Careful not to be seen by Strohman, any of the wandering guards he notices pop out of rooms and walk around now and again, or Allicia, who he hasn't seen tonight, thankfully, he turns on his obfuscate and creeps to the basement.

 

He doesn't see the Nosferatu, which considering his high level of Auspex, is bewildering. Just how amazing is Mortimer at hiding? But the door to the vault is still closed. Mortimer could have betrayed him by flinging the door open and claiming the prize himself. But he has not done so. Good on Mortimer, the priest muses. One day in a similar scenario, he will be sure to repay the favor.

 

He turns off his own Obfuscate. "I'm here." He whispers. "I assume you are also still here?"

 

Mortimer's voice calls from the far corner of the room. "Yes." is all he says. Jeremiah walks open to the door. "I'm going to open it. Can you see the opening?"

 

"Yeah. Go ahead and open it." Mortimer replies.

 

Jeremiah pulls the door open. There is a large stack of money inside, as well as corporate stocks and bonds. There is a small silver box with an opened letter resting on it, and standing on a shelf, a small but very noticeable pirate flag!

 

Jeremiah lifts it up triumphantly. "Here!" he grins. "We win." He pockets the flag. He then takes a stack of money and tosses it at the spot where Mortimer's voice came from. It hits the ground with a thud.

 

Mortimer appears in a completely different place. "What's that for?"

 

"This money is covered in dust. We might as well make a use for a small portion of it." He takes a stack and pockets it himself. Mortimer grins, picks up the stack, counts. "Five grand!" he mutters, then Mortimer's eyes fall on the letter. Jeremiah's eyes follow his own. "Mmm. What's this?" Mortimer wants to know.

 

Jeremiah lifts it up, and they both read it silently.

 

Dear Prince Modius,

 

We are both delighted by the death of Lodin, as we have both lost our kingdoms to him. I am re-taking my seat as Prince of Chicago. I am certain you covet the seat as well. I do not wish for us to be enemies. Should you choose to support me, I promise you I will do everything in my power to help restore the wealth and prosperity to Gary and other regions under your domain that you used to enjoy. I also assure your personal safety and that of your childe, Alicia, for the duration of my tenure as Prince. This is a contract to that effect. As long as you make no offense or move against me, nor make any serious attempt to take the throne of Chicago, this contract will be honored. You know me. You know I keep my word. 

 

I look forward to receiving your support.

 

Maxwell

 

Mortimer pulls out his phone and takes a picture of the letter. Jeremiah nods at him, re-folds it and places it back on the shelf.

 

"We'd best leave." Jeremiah says, shutting the vault door back in place. "Meet you at the van." Mortimer says, then grins and disappears. Jeremiah disappears too. Unable to see each other, they both make their successful escape. 

 

J

8:50 PM                      The Hotel, Lobby

Pablo's eyes narrow as he sees a thick, medium-sized fellow with a safari cap pace back and forth in the front of The Hotel, clearly trying to find a way in. He parks his car and makes a swift approach.

 

"Can I help you?" Pablo asks politely, though he is tense and ready for a fight.

 

"Oh, very good! Very good indeed! Can't seem to find a doorbell around here." The man has a thick Australian accent. 

 

Pablo immediately feels very stupid. They have added incredibly thick, sealed security doors to the front and back of The Hotel. And that is great for keeping out the bad guys. Nobody thought about adding a doorbell so that people not so bad could also get in.

 

"We're making a lot of repairs to the place. Doorbell is, uh, on the list."

 

"I see, I see. Well, it's of no consequence. I just need to deliver this, is all." He holds up an envelope. "Are you Mr. C?" Pablo reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small tracking transceiver. He takes the letter from the man, and pats him on the back a few times. "Thanks. I'm sorry you had to wait out here like this. As for Mr. C, I'm not him, but I believe he's just inside if-"

 

"Thank you very much! I'll be off now, if you don't mind delivering the message."

 

"Uh, sure. I didn't get your name."

 

"Oh, sorry mate. I'm Jimbo M. Tarley, I am."

 

"Okay, then." Pablo takes his passkey out of his pocket and inserts it in the door scanner. With a small beep, the door unlocks. "I'll see that he gets it. Unless you'd like to-"

 

Julius M. Tarley tips his safari cap and heads on down the sidewalk swiftly. Pablo frowns, enters the lobby, and shuts the door behind him. "You've got a letter. And, we need to install a doorbell."

 

Mr. Confetti takes it, and opens it. He unfolds it. "How unusual."

 

Dear Mr. C,

 

I have been watching you and yours with great interest. I have high hopes as a prime candidate for the seat. An alliance would be delightful. I will communicate again soon.

 

Baron Wittger

 

"People still use the title Baron?" Pablo asks Confetti. They both laugh. "Only if he's very old. I suppose we should be polite in that case." Confetti returns. "Well, I suppose his man had instructions not to actually approach me. Wise on his part."

 

"Yeah, but he didn't count on me. I stuck a tracer device on him." Pablo pulls his phone out, and activates a GPS tracker.

 

"You just...you just carry tracking devices on you wherever you go?" Mr. Confetti is speechless. "Yeah. I have regretted not doing so twice in my life. So, now-"

 

"So now the hunt is on. Let's see where this assistant takes us, shall we?"

 

"I'm going to change into-"

 

Mr. Confetti grins. "Right, right. I'll wait." 

 

As soon as Pablo walks up the stairs, Mr. Confetti turns his gaze upon the door. Pablo had thought that he'd shut it completely behind him. But that had just been a trick played on him by the Nosferatu Elder who'd entered right behind him. "You do know I can see you, Mr. Danov." 

 

"Yes. But don't worry, I'm not trying to spy on you this time." 

 

"And what brings you to our humble abode?" 

 

"Not you. I have come for Mortimer. Clan business." 

 

"Oooh! How exciting. He's out at the moment. I think he's-" 

 

"He's trying to steal a pirate flag you planted in Prince Modius' mansion. I almost brought it back to you myself, but I didn't want to ruin your fun." 

 

Mr. Confetti has to laugh. "You Nosferatu are the best at scavenger hunts!" 

 

"You didn't let me find out what you were planning to do here a few months ago. But I've been watching your people very carefully. They are orchestrating a takeover operation, one business at a time. But why did you allow a Setite into your operation? You know she's poison, right?"

 

"You misjudge poor Salihah, as most people have. But she is different than most Setites. We shouldn't stereotype. After all, you wouldn't want me thinking the things about you that they say all Nosferatu do." 

 

"I may not be able to watch you, Confetti. But nothing is stopping me from watching your people. You got paper?" 

 

Mr. Confetti hands him a piece. Alexander Danov scrunches his face up. "C'mon. You got a pen, Confetti?" 

 

Mr. Confetti hands him a pen. "You should be more specific about what you want Alex. I can call you Alex, right?" 

 

Alexander Danov mutters a profanity-laced tirade under his breath and writes. He folds it up and hands it to Mr. Confetti. "Please give this to Mortimer."

 

"I will. And though you may not believe me, I will not read it." 

 

"Yeah. Thanks." Alexander Danov had specifically written something vague because he assumed that Mr. Confetti would immediately read it. And Mr. Confetti knew it. So he wouldn't read it just for the fun of making Danov feel stupid yet again. 

 

Without another word, Danov exits the building. Mr. Confetti laughs his head off. 

8:52 PM              The Hotel, Parking Lot 

Mortimer parks the white van. Jeremiah quickly pops out of the passenger seat and unlocks the security door with his passkey. Mortimer trails right behind him.

 

Jeremiah pulls out the little pirate flag. "I can't wait to see the look on everyone's face."

 

Mortimer smirks. "Yeah."

 

They both stop outside the new workshop, gaze at each other, and then enter. Russell Hampton looks up from the sword he is crafting, and nods his head at the Kindred.

 

"A weaponsmith." Jeremiah grins, and walks in. Mortimer squints at the different armaments hanging on the wall.

 

"Yup. But, you have to earn the right for me to make you a weapon, or armor, as it goes. All according to the rules of the Contest of Will." Russell Hampton is getting used to the spiel.

 

Jeremiah pulls the pirate flag out and shows it to him. "Ah, but you see, Mortimer and I have both earned the right to have a weapon made. As a prize for retrieving this."

 

Russell grins as he sees the flag. "Well, I'll be! You got it huh? Well, turn it in to Mr. Confetti. Once he confirms it with me, we'll be in business. Hot damn. Good thing I set up shop today, huh?"

 

"Yeah. Good thing." Mortimer says, and gazes at Jeremiah. Obviously, Mr. Confetti had anticipated someone would get the flag and the reward.

 

They head out of the workshop. "Damn vampires didn't even ask my name." Russell complains, but goes back to work on the sword.

 

Mortimer and Jeremiah find Mr. Confetti at the front desk. "Hello gentlemen, you are back early from your adventure. What did you-"

 

Jeremiah holds up the flag. Mr. Confetti immediately howls with laughter and takes it. "Yes! You did it! Congratulations. Is it just you who gets the prize Jeremiah, or did both of you-"

 

"It was both of us. A joint effort." Jeremiah grins at Mortimer. Night Fist arrives from upstairs, sees the flag. "No way!" he is shocked. "I looked in every room but the-"

 

"But the vault." Jeremiah beams. "I know. You virtually eliminated every other place it could have possibly been. I was very observant during the re-play."

 

Night Fist bangs his head against the counter top. "I could have just asked him to open it for a second. So stupid. Is that what you did?"

 

"Nope." Mortimer grins slyly. Mr. Confetti howls with laughter again. "Wait. You...you broke into the Prince's safe?" Night Fist is beside himself. "How did you do that? I mean I know that Mortimer is excellent at that sort of thing but there must have been-"

 

"Well, I'll tell you what Mortimer and I discovered." Even Mortimer turns a sideways glance, figuring this will be about the letter.

 

"What's that? What did you learn?" Pablo wants to know. Jeremiah gives him a snide look. "We learned that teamwork is for winners!" And with that Jeremiah heads up the stairs. Mortimer laughs. Mr. Confetti hands him Danov's note. "This is from Alexander Danov. I didn't read it." 

 

Mortimer unfolds it, reads it, and nods his head, satisfied. "See you later." is all he says, and abruptly heads down the hallway towards the parking lot. 

 

Pablo and Mr. Confetti are left standing alone. "Now I really want to hit somebody."

 

"Off to Baron Wittger's we go!"

 

"But what if someone wants to get in here? We'll have no one guarding the entrance."

 

"Silly boy, the big new door is guarding the entrance!"

 

"That's...that's not what I meant."

 

But Mr. Confetti heads through the front door. Pablo shakes his head, pulls out his phone and locks in the GPS tracking signal. And now he knows where Baron Wittger lives. 

For turning in the pirate flag, Jeremiah and Mortimer each receive 200 points plus either a melee or firearm weapon of their personal choosing! 

9:02 PM              Curves 

Salihah knocks on the door and excited Athletic Director and Branch Manager Julie Woo opens the door to the Curves gymnasium. "Thanks so much for coming!" Julie, a hot aerobics and yoga instructor leads Salihah inside. "Thanks so much for having me!" Salihah answers, tone for tone. This will be an easy acquisition. Both the gym and the girl, she muses.

 

"Well," Julie outstretches her arms and gestures to the various exercise stations. "As you can see, we have the equipment, but its just old, old, old! The old owner of the franchise died and her daughter lives in Oregon or something and inherited it, but has never once come to see us, and doesn't care at all! So..."

 

"So you need an investor. Someone who can help build this place up to snuff."

 

"Exactly!"

 

Kindred are dead. That much is true. What is also true is that Kindred can continue to build up their bodies with exercise. They can increase their strength, endurance, and dexterity to higher levels than any mortal can. Especially Elders. She had originally thought she might build a gym in The Hotel for everyone's use to gain her checkmark at enhancing the complex, but it became painfully obvious to everyone that security was the priority there.

 

She decided to acquire a gym as her business. In truth, she had wanted the YMCA, but both of them are just slightly outside of Gary. She had asked permission from Mr. Confetti but he'd just cackled at her, and told her she had to remain within the borders of Gary for round one for it to count. She wouldn't make the same mistake Marshall Barry had, and expended lots of time and energy on a wasted effort like he had with Citgo.

 

This brought her back to her roots. As a world champion gymnist, she'd spent most of her childhood in a gym. She'd been shut out of the Olympics despite having won the first ever women's world championship in gymanstics because Egypt couldn't field an entire team and no one else would have her. The bigotry and jealousy she encountered shut her out of being one of the first women to compete in the Olympics in gymnastics.

 

And as a result, the world had forgotten her. There is a bitterness to it all, that she can never seem to swallow. But her Sire gave her a new purpose, and it has led her to Gary, Indiana. The Jiyhad here would be exciting and complicated. The challenge would be fantastic. One week in, and she is already enlightened about so much she didn't know about many of the other clans.  

 

After her discussion with Mr. Confetti, she'd settled on the local Curves. Not much of a gym here, but a good start, and once she invests money into it, all of the Kindred can use it at night. Yes, they'll all have to pay her for the privilege. She'd seen Pablo's rise to financial prominence among the group with his smart acquisition of the construction company. Now she has a municipal asset and a business that she can profit off of her fellow Kindred from. Very nice.  

 

"I can give you a brief tour of the place, if you'd like." Julie squeaks at her. "Oh yes, please do!" Salihah beams at her. She won't even have to use powers on this one. 

9:04 PM         Private Suite: Jeremiah Thomas

Jeremiah finishes setting up the brazier in the center of the mostly empty room. He had taken the time the previous evening to draw the proper sigils and create a makeshift mystic circle. He would inlay that with real gold and silver and other necessary materials in time, but for a minor incantation such as this one, the makeshift circle should suffice. 

 

He changes into casual clothing, and unpacks a small throw rug from his chest, and lays it down in the middle of the circle. Not having to wear his priestly garb or his sorcerer's robe is a rare treat. He revels in the comfort of pajamas. 

 

It is his duty to locate the captured spirit of former Tremere neonate Garwood Marshall, and he meant to do so quickly and learn the truth of it this very evening.

 

But even a minor spell takes the proper preparation. With such a shoddy work area, he would take twice the time as normal for meditation and mantra practice. He would do this at the Chantry, but then he'd have the others looking over his shoulder. Given his treason, Jeremiah had decided he would spend the least amount of time in the Chantry as possible. He'd now met the Regent, and he could tell that Nicolai is not someone to cross swords with. During a non-harmful ritual would be exactly the time for the Regent to enter and launch a surprise assault upon his mind, potentially learning everything about Mr. Confetti, the Contest of Will, and the other elders. He might not do anything about it. Or he might kill Jeremiah on the spot.

 

The wizard-priest puts such thoughts out of his mind. He needs to meditate on the ritual, and finding Garwood Marshall. After much concentration, he successfully clears his mind. He decides he needs thirty minutes of practicing the mantra to ensure its perfection.

 

He closes his eyes, and quietly chants.  

 

9:05 PM                        Play Some Billiards 

Marshall Barry slows his bike again. He gazes at the pool hall. "Play Some Billiards." He laughs at the straightforward name. The place is a bit of a dump, but what can you expect? He jots it down and the address. He's been having a good night, just riding around, understanding Gary a little more. He has no clue what he's going to do about taking over a municipal asset, but that's not his focus right now. When he calls in the Hells Angels, they need housing, supplies, and a place to hang out and call their own. A base of sorts, of their own, where the other gangs and criminals don't go. This might be the place, but it is only one of a few he's written down on the notepad. Tonight he's just getting possibilities. He'll check out each place, see what it's like, then when he's narrowed it down to his favorites, he'll give the list to Brenda and see what she can buy.

 

A decent plan, Marshall thinks to himself. At least, it won't involve violence.

 

He starts up his motorcycle and looks at the gauges. It needs some gas. He's decided to stay away from Citgo though. He'll fill up somewhere else. He cranks up the bike and rides down the street.

 

9:07 PM                     Exova 

Katarina writes down a few equations on a yellow pad she'd brought with her, compares them to the ones in the formula, and smiles. Four different flaws, and she'd found them in such a short time. How many more before the formula would be perfect for creating a new, better base from which to make construction materials? She had forgotten all about the Contest of Will. This is where she belongs, in a laboratory. Right here. This is her passion. But she had been limited in terms of what she was allowed to study in Romania.

 

Here, she could do anything!

 

And with hundreds of years of training and experience, plus her own natural and then evolved genius, she is miles ahead of even the most brilliant scientist on the staff.

 

Miles ahead. She was counting on it, and with just these four alterations, she has saved them years of failure and misery. The CEO and the lead scientist will eat right out of her hand by the time she proves the second one to them, let alone all four.

 

She smiles brightly. Pablo has the construction company, but soon he would be buying her materials! She had trumped him. Hah! Her competitive juices fill her once again. Just as Jeremiah has discovered he can compete and support his clan by supporting Abraham DuSable for Prince, she has now discovered she can indeed compete while furthering the cause of science. This is the perfect-

 

She snaps upright! A noise. Just the faintest, barest, hint of a noise. But a noise nonetheless. This is not like Inland Power, where machines churn all day and all night. Here, everything gets shut down at night. There is no night time security staff, she'd checked on that. The entire building proved empty.

 

But she'd definitely heard a noise. And she thinks, not a something. A someone.

 

She quickly shuffles her paperwork into her large purse, and floats backwards against a wall, melding with the shadows. And then she waits. 

.

9:09 PM          Taney Street and W. 19th Place, Gary, Indiana

Mortimer parks his white van near the sewer entrance closest to where he'd discovered the junction in the sewers below. He thought about what he wanted to ask Alexander. So many things they'd learned about recently. So many questions. But, he'd also decided to be careful. He didn't want to jeopardize his relationship with Alexander or the potential for one with the clan members in Chicago.

 

He prepares for the terrible stench, and heads into the sewers. 

 

9:15                               Curves

Salihah has grown fonder and fonder of Julie Woo as the minutes pass. They took a cursory tour of the entire facility. Not that much to it. Woo has been completely honest about the fact that a lot of the equipment just isn't up to par anymore, and showed her a storage room where machines considered un-safe had been placed. They kept them because they had to, because Curves is a corporate entity, and, eventually someone is going to come by and take the old equipment, and they'll be assessed a company write-off at which point they'll have additional funds to get new equipment.

 

But in the meantime, they are at a loss what to do and afraid of losing their membership to rivals in the area. Yes, Curves is the last dominant gym in Gary, but there are plenty of other facilities within a fifteen to twenty minute drive.

 

Salihah agrees that they'll have to do something about it, and fast. She also agrees, privately, to herself, that Alexander Danov is a big problem. Salihah always knows when someone is obfuscating around her. She can't see or hear them, it's just this feeling she gets. She's had it since before she was Kindred. All her life, actually. When her family thought she was paranoid and crazy, and she would burst into tears at the bazaars at night, the vampires who were actually there did not think she was crazy at all. They thought she was special. She wouldn't know it until many years later, but those odd feelings she would get that she was being watched ended up not being paranoia after all.

 

It ended up being the Followers of Set, who had taken a huge interest in her because of her special ability to sense what ordinarily could not be sensed. It worked with ghosts and other things too. She had learned to follow her instincts when she felt it, and she was almost always right. She had convinced herself that the times she didn't find anything was because of the skill of the cloaked being's ability to escape before she could catch him, her, or it, and not because she was wrong about there being something.

 

She had felt Alexander Danov earlier. And he had told her. He would always be watching her. She tries not to laugh. Let him watch her invest money into a small gym for profit. Maybe he'll try out the treadmill or lift some weights.

 

Still, she had thought about building a temple in Gary. The idea came to her when Marshall talked about bringing the Hell's Angels here. Imagine, she had thought, if his mortal gang roamed the streets during the day and night, and an alliance could be formed between them and the Followers of Set. Gary would be secure from the Sabbat, the Assamites, the Anarch Movement, and anybody else who would try them.

 

But this Nosferatu Elder had made himself a problem. A problem she could correct, except it would make her an enemy in Mortimer. And she likes Mortimer. She could see herself going on many capers with him.

 

Maybe it could work in reverse. Maybe she could ask Mortimer to talk to Danov on her behalf. He wouldn't listen to her or Mr. Confetti, either, but maybe he'd listen to one of his own clan. For now, she had to deal with him obviously standing there, a few feet away. She decided she would ignore him completely.

 

Julie Woo walks to the office door, and opens it for her. "Thanks so much." Salihah beams at her. She'd not heard a word the girl had said for the last few minutes, since she'd detected Danov there with her.

 

 

9:24 PM                       Gary Sewer Junction

Mortimer reaches the junction in only a few minutes. For others, outside the clan, there are many intentional obstacles to navigating the sewers. But the clan has secret paths as well, and these are similar by design in every system. If you know what you are looking for, then you will be able to navigate quickly to the center, usually the hub of any Nosferatu system. This is so that escape is possible in any direction, with multiple routes always planned and designed. It would take anyone else at least an hour and a half to reach the junction hub, as they would have to crawl through heaps of disgusting debris and filth. It takes Mortimer ten minutes, and he doesn't get a drop of black water on his clothing. As he approaches, he sees Alexander Danov, who sits on a chair, reads a book.

 

He looks up and sees the burns on Mortimer's face and arms."What happened to you Mortimer? Are you well?"

 

"I'm okay." He tells Alexander what happened with his computer monitor. Danov's eyes narrow. "I see. We all have enemies. We will have to find out who yours is."

 

"Well, I'm here for the tour. And also, I have some questions. But, before I ask anything I want you to understand that you shouldn't tell me anything that would compromise the clan."

 

Alexander nods his head, immediately understanding. "Or Mr. Confetti will read your mind and learn it too. Thank you for your warning. I will be careful. We will walk and talk. I will show you the main areas of the underground haven here. Since I am the only one who really uses it, it is not nearly as complex as the one in Chicago. I have kept it simple as that allows me to use precaution and safety measures easily without it taking my entire evening, so this will be a short, but useful tour. "

 

Mortimer nods, satisfied that he has protected the clan as best as he possibly can under the circumstances. He follows Alexander Danov further into the tunnel.

 

9:25 PM                 Cass Street, Gary, Indiana

Mr. Confetti and The Night Fist approach a rather mundane looking house at the outskirts of the suburbs. It is, in fact, the last house on the street, and apart from all of the others. It is also at the tip of a dead end. The street and the sidewalk end here.  

 

"This? Really?" Mr. Confetti laughs. Night Fist smirks as well. "The good baron is living modestly these days I guess."

 

They both get quiet and consider their circumstances. "What do you think is really going on here?" Pablo finally asks him. "Can't say. That fellow was supposed to deliver a note, for me, and did, but intentionally avoided actually seeing me. Now he returns here. To this strange place."

 

"He could have been just some regular guy, dominated into being a messenger for an hour. He might not even remember-"

 

"Very true. But there's only one way to find out. At any rate, once I get my mental mitts into him-"

 

"Why do I feel like I'm completely wasting my evening and you won't need me at all?"

 

Mr. Confetti smiles and kicks the door. It opens wide, unlocked. Pablo is baffled. "How did you know it was-"

 

Mr. Confetti shrugs his shoulders. "Intuition. It's in the blood, don't you know?" He strolls into the house. Night Fist follows. All the rumors about Malkavians knowing things they shouldn't always turn out to be true. He saw them do it in Europe too.

 

They wander past the living room, full of nice furnishings. "Hmm, not too shabby for Gary." Confetti muses. Then they hear it. "Mmmph! Mmph!"

 

Mr. Confetti obfuscates to creep forward. Night Fist is a creature of action, however, and he rushes forward, into the living room.

 

He recoils immediately. A family of four -mother, father, and two children, sit at the table. All of them are quite dead, their eyes wide open, filled with horror-stricken expressions. Their throats have all been cut.

 

At the head of the table, Julius M. Tarley is tied to a chair with white rope, and gagged. His eyes are wide with fear as he struggles against his bonds. His efforts are futile. "Mmmph! Mmmph!"  

 

Mr. Confetti appears behind Night Fist. "Don't touch him. It's-"

 

Metal shutters roll over the windows and the doorway! Instantly a loud children's song plays through speakers. Also loud, a beeping sound. A very dangerous beeping sound. 

 

Mr. Confetti freezes the moment he hears it. Night Fist rushes to Tarley and unties him.

 

"We need to get out of here. Confetti. Mr. Confetti!"

 

Mr. Confetti snaps back into the moment. "Yes, right, out of here. Good idea."

 

He spins and checks the metal shutters. "Well, this may constitute a problem."

 

"You think? Mr. Confetti, I don't have Potence, but we can both-"

 

"Mmm. Yes. Quality idea. That one would be wisest."  He points at the window. Night Mask nods once.

 

They concentrate, divert blood within their vampiric bodies into physical might. As one, they throw themselves at the metal shutter in the window. They bounce backwards into the living room and hit the floor hard.

 

The beeping sound rises in intensity, as does the music.

 

"Uht oh." Mr. Confetti mutters. Then he laughs loudly.  "Intuition, I tell you. It's nothing but trouble." 

Play it! 

9:26 PM                    Shell Gas Station

Marshall Barry checks the meter. He's filled up the tank on his Harley Davidson to half a tank. Might as well go the full amount. He hadn't used his credit card in a few months, but it should be just fine. He pulls out his wallet, and takes out the plastic.

 

He looks up as he hears the eighteen-wheeler roll towards him. At first he thinks it is just some trucker making a run-through. But it's not slowing down!

 

Marshall has just enough time to pull the shotgun out of its holster and dive out of the way before it rolls on through at top speed, bashing the Harley. It flies into the sky and lands a few feet away. As parts fly off the partly crushed machine, Marshall takes the safety off the shotgun. The eighteen wheeler pulls a U-Turn. It accelerates as it drives back towards Marshall Barry. 

 

Marshall looks at his chopper. He knows this time around whoever is driving it will try and do that to him. He looks around. Its wide open here. No place to run. No place to hide. Instead, he slowly walks into the middle of the road and grits his teeth. 

9:32 PM            Private Suite: Jeremiah Thomas

Jeremiah opens his eyes. He feels calm, ready, and prepared. This is an easy ritual, one he has performed many times. A wizard, alive or undead, can trap a spirit. But hiding its location is a very difficult matter, and usually takes quite awhile to do successfully.

 

Jeremiah opens the golden lighter that he'd received as a gift from an ally. Normally, Kindred shy away from fire. It is one of the few things that can harm them. But fire is a great activator when it comes to magic. A Tremere elder cannot be afraid of it, just like he cannot be afraid of just about anything else. For anything that is useful must be mastered. Jeremiah had found getting over the fear of fire quite therapeutic when he had done so, well over a century ago.

 

He lights the brazier and begins his well-practiced chant.

 

He is quite surprised when it explodes! 

9:33 PM                    Curves

Salihah barely understands what happens as Julie Woo's head explodes and her blood splashes Salihah's face crimson. She turns towards the office door. "Oh." she says.

 

A very tall Middle-Eastern man, built like a granite statue grins widely at her. The silencer on his long pistol will keep this between the two of them. The gun smokes. He slowly holsters it. "Mortals. Such a nuisance. Why do you put up with their chitterings, Salihah? Well, it hardly matters anyway, since I'm finally going to murder you, then drink you dry, you little bitch."

 

"Fahd. How did you find me? I didn't even tell my own childer where I was-"

 

"You say that as if I ever lost you. I've been waiting so long for you to leave the protection of your temple and those very same childer. Now you are all alone. And I am no longer cursed. Haven't been for months now, you see." He grins brightly. Those fangs of his show dangerously. 

 

Salihah blinks. The Tremere curse on the Assamite clan had indeed been broken. And Salihah already knew that Fahd had slaked his revenge on someone. He'd be more powerful then the last time. And she only survived him by sheer luck.

 

Fahd. The Panther. Here in Gary.

 

She runs at him, flicks her forked tongue at his neck. He chuckles, grabs the tongue before it can reach him, yanks her towards him, and gives her a closed backhand to the face. She flies through the air, over the desk and the corpse of Julie Woo, and tumbles to the floor. "Shall I kill you quickly, or shall I drag it out? Only I know the answer, Salihah." He draws a long, curved knife. "And you shall only learn its answer at the end of this conversation."

 

"I thought...I thought you hated the mortals for their chitterings." Salihah growls, and hurls a chair his way. He giggles as he side-steps it. "I am so very proud of you, Salihah. I will remember that the very last words out of your mouth had spine."

 

Then he charges, two steps, a leap, he lands gracefully with his left leg on the desk. His right leg he swings skillfully forward. His foot is planted firmly in Salihah's face. She breaks through the window, but before she can fall out of it to the pavement outside, he grabs her ankle...and pulls her back in! 

9:34 PM                      Exova 

Katarina hadn't moved a muscle in twenty-seven minutes.

 

Impossible for a mortal, but Kindred can do it without much effort. Especially those practiced at such. For a Tscizime, the art of flesh crafting one's own flesh begins with not moving for extended periods in order to ensure that during a sculpting one does not pull one's own face to pieces by accident. Careless neonates had actually committed accidental suicide this way.

 

Not Katarina. She had learned to not move a muscle for hours at a time. She hasn't even begun to get impatient, and if need be, could stay like this for another three hours without a single twitch. Finally, the door quietly opens and she hears soft but firm footsteps approach her position. It is probably some scientist with a brainstorm. If so, she doesn't want to harm the person. But still, it is inevitable that he or she will flick on the lights and when that happens...

 

"Ah, there you are Katarina Novoskyatin." the familiar voice of her Family's agent breathes through the air. "We are quite alone here."

 

"How did you know I was here?"

 

"And where else in this town would you be? This is where the laboratory is, no? To find you here was an inevitability. Your predictability is your liability." He adds.

 

"Yes. Very clever of you." She tries to relax but is finding it increasingly difficult to do so in this man's presence. "I should know your name, shouldn't I?"

 

"No, you should not. No one learns my name, so no one can tell another what it is. No one knows my face. No one knows, and this is why I survive, where others quickly die."

 

"Fair enough. What have you learned?"

 

He hands her a file. "This is the information you asked for."

 

"The names of the other Tzimisce in this region?"

 

"That was your specific request."

 

"So, I suppose you did not include the Lasombra then, or other Sabbat?"

 

"That was not your request. Do you request that I provide you with that information?"

 

"No. This is enough for now. But, I want to be able to reach you, when I need something. I will not abuse such use of you. I know you have other responsibilities."

 

"My responsibility is only to your family. And you are their representative in this region now. So, I have no other priority aside from serving you. I expected your request. Here is the number to send a message to me. You cannot call this number. You can only text to it. If you request my presence, I will arrive at a time and place of your choosing."

 

The man knows his place. She wants badly to trust him. but finds she cannot quite do so. Still, her brother and cousin both vouched for this man. And neither of them makes mistakes when it comes to placing faith in others. Such care had kept the family safe for centuries. She inserts the number into her cell phone. "Thank you for your loyal service. What reward do you wish to receive?"

 

"That is a matter I shall take up with your brother." He says simply. "You need not concern yourself with such petty matters."

 

She shrugs her shoulders. It is true that her brother has been placed in charge of the family's entire treasury. He pays the most important servants directly. That this man is on that payroll is another mark in his favor.

 

"Very good, then. I must get back to work here."

 

"Then I will leave you, Katarina Novoskyatin." And with that, he does exactly that. She must give him credit. He is perfectly quiet. 

9:35 PM                     Cass Street 

Night Fist throws himself at the window again. He and Mr. Confetti had done so twelve times in unison, and had made a sizable dent in it.

 

The song had ended, which, after the bomb didn't explode after a few seconds, or in the first minute, became their next thought of concern. "When it ends," Tarley had suggested, pale and in a great fright, "We end!"

 

They had all thought as much. But then the song ended. And nothing had exploded. Then the song re-started and they all felt the icy stab of fear again. But again it had ended, and again, and another time after that. They were now on their fifth helping of it.

 

"Such an idiotic song!" Night Fist growls. "Why that one?"

 

"Well, you see," Tarley explains, apologetically. "It is rather a rub against me, I'm afraid. You see, Baron Wittger-"

 

"What? He's real?" Night Fist threw himself at the window again. "Confetti! I can't do this by myself."

 

Mr. Confetti had stopped moving completely. He was now looking around the room, deep in concentration.

 

"Confetti!"

 

Mr. Confetti waves him off. Night Fist tosses himself at the window again.

 

"Baron Wittger and I have gone on many hunting safari's together in Africa. At the manor-"

 

"There's a manor?" Night Fist tears at the edge of the bent metal covering the window. "Confetti! I can-"

 

"I think that's how we die." Mr. Confetti says simply. "So you should stop doing it."

 

"What? What do you-"

 

"The children singing is reminiscent of any good horror film. It is out of place and in juxtaposition with the context of the other events. When you combine that with the quick ticking of a bomb, you put everyone in a hurry to escape. Worked on me for a few minutes, but I've recovered now. You see my meaning?"

 

Night Fist gazes hard at Mr. Confetti. "So if I tear this off, then the bomb explodes?"

 

"Precisely."

 

"Well, why make it so hard for us to do it then?" Night Fist isn't sure he's buying it, but he backs away from the window all the same.

 

"To make sure it's us that sets it off, and not Mr. Tarley here. He could never hope to open that window. But you and me, working together? Yes, we would eventually. But, in doing so, we'd drain all of our elder blood, making it impossible for us to heal once the bomb does go off. So, even if we aren't killed immediately-"

 

Night Fist's eyes narrow. "We're sitting ducks. There's a plan B waiting for us outside, isn't there?"

 

"My word! That's dastardly clever!" Tarley wipes the sweat off his brow. "I say, why'd they snatch me? I just delivered a letter to-"

 

"They snatched you because they knew we'd want to know more about your employer, and that we'd track you to wherever you were. They improvised, I think, using you once you came by. Unless your boss was manipulated into delivering it today." Mr. Confetti analyzes the metal on the door. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, since you've not seen Baron Wittger in quite some time, have you?"

 

"A few months, to be sure. But he's in and out of the manor some evenings. He leaves instructions. Mostly he leaves me to live my life, you see. I'm not his slave or anything. We have an agreement. I quite like it!"

 

"Yes, I'm sure you do." Mr. Confetti smiles. "You are just like my own Jeeps, aren't you? Well, we do need to leave. Eventually, someone will decide we are in here after all and blow us up by remote control, likely."

 

"If we can't leave by the window, then this door-"

 

"No." Mr. Confetti says simply. "It leads back into this house. More traps, that way, I'd suggest."


Night Fist stands on the table. "We're going up through the attic, then. Top of the house. We can scan for baddies from the roof, then climb down."

 

"Easy peasy." Mr. Confetti agrees. Night Fist activates Celerity, and punches the ceiling above them at super speed. The lighting unit falls with a crash, and he continues to work, like an undead electric drill.

 

"That's going to take him a few minutes." Mr. Confetti says with a smile, as he pats Jimbo M. Tarley on the shoulder blade. "Let's talk some more about Baron Wittger, shall we? I am just dying to meet him."

 

The song nears its end again. All three of them pause a moment, and brace for instant and final death as it does. It goes silent, and then after a moment, starts again. Large beads of sweat drip down Jimbo M. Tarley's face and he audibly gasps for breath. "It's maddening! Maddening!"

 

"Of course it is. That's the entire point of it!" Mr. Confetti laughs his head off. Night Fist decides he's making this hole before it ends again. Just in case. 

9:26 PM              Shell Station

As the 18-wheel semi barrels his way Marshall Barry once again considers diving out of the way at the last minute. That way lies final death he reminds himself. This. This is how you survive.

 

And with that he charges with all the speed his own Celerity can muster, right at the truck. When he is four feet away he transfers blood into his legs, and then leaps forward!

 

A large claw extends from his right hand, and that he uses to puncture the hood of the truck. That keeps him pinned in place. He gazes into the shocked faces of Juggler and Evelyn Stephens, quite surprised to see them there. He grins at Juggler who is behind the wheel, then he points his sawed off shotgun right at his stupid face.

 

Juggler barrels into Evelyn next to him just before Marshall squeezes the trigger. The windshield shatters and Marshall kicks it in just to make sure the opening is wide enough, then he jumps inside the cab.

 

He slashes his claw at Juggler's mid-section, and at this range there is no way to miss. Juggler screams in pain. But then it is Marshall's turn to be surprised. Evelyn Stephen gives him a double-mule kick and he goes right through the door, which he takes with him. The door clangs loudly as it hits the pavement. Marshall falls on top of it.

 

He looks around for his shotgun and doesn't see it. Damn. He had them. He has only himself to blame. The girl had mentioned that she's a trained mixed martial artist. And a Brujah to add to it. But just a three-week old baby, he wasn't expecting her to slam him with that much potence. Guess Juggler really is an elder, and he transferred a good bit of strong blood into his childe.

 

Juggler is behind the wheel again. He steers the semi in Marshall's direction, but this time Marshall has plenty of time to react. And instead of dive rolling or charging the semi-again, he transforms...into a large bat!

 

He flies right into the cab and bites Juggler in his stupid pretty face. "Ow! Damn it! I...hate...Gangrels!"

 

"He turned himself into a bat? I don't believe it! I thought that part was just in the movies!" Evelyn screeches. To prove his realness to her, he flies over and bites her ear!

 

Marshall's found his shotgun. She's holding it.

 

"Ow! That's actually painful."

 

"Whatever!" Juggler slams on the brakes. His own Celerity is quite excellent, and he reaches out with both hands and grabs Marshall successfully. Then he slowly starts ripping him apart with his Potence. "Now you're dead, you bastard. This is what happens to people who screw with me!"

 

He knows, Marshall Barry thinks. He knows all about the dead cops. How could he know? Only the people in the competitor group know the truth!

 

His wings begin to rip...

9:37 PM                  Rooftop, The Hotel 

Jeeps bites into the sandwich. Delicious! Honey ham. Melted gouda cheese. Whole wheat pita bread. Tomatoes. Spicy mustard. It's wonderful. He hadn't eaten real food in days.

 

One of the advantages of being a ghoul is that you can do that and not have to worry about starvation. Not if you have plenty of powerful vampire blood inside your veins, and Mr. Confetti made sure that Jeeps did.

 

He wondered how he really felt, deep down inside, about Mr. Confetti. Long, long ago, Mr. Confetti had been very forthright about the blood bond and what it entailed. How if Jeeps drank his blood a third time that he would become, in essence, Mr. Confetti's slave. That he would never want to betray him for any reason.

 

"I wouldn't want to betray you for any reason in any case." Jeeps had responded. Mr. Confetti had smiled at that, yet there was also a sadness in his eyes. "I just wish that there was another way." Confetti had said, before offering his wrist. Jeeps hadn't hesitated.

 

And it wasn't because he was addicted to the blood like so many other ghouls he'd met over the centuries. No better than crack addicts, some of them. It wasn't the immortality or the super powers, either, though the obvious benefits to those perks were magnificent.

 

No, it was that his life before meeting Mr. Confetti was so awful. Being an orderly at a psychiatric institute had given him a nervous tick and led him down a very dark path. A path which led him into his very own padded cell. But how could he have known that the Malkavians took a special interest in the insane, looking for prime candidates for their own clan? Mr. Confetti did not do such things. He did not embrace such sorry cases.

 

It was another, the madman Varsuvias who had chosen three other inmates. Those who were deemed unsuitable were fed to the new Kindred, or to Varsuvias himself. And they had saved Jeeps for the very last. His terrified screams had delighted Varsuvias to no end.

 

Yes Varsuvias was about to kill him when Mr. Confetti had appeared. They didn't fight, which was strange. Jeeps still finds it strange, even now. But they didn't. They calmly, rationally talked it over. And in the end, Varsuvias allowed Mr. Confetti to escort Jeeps out of that hell. Jeeps had been Mr. Confetti's loyal manservant ever since.

 

It had once been fashionable to have a manservant. Usual. You don't see it much anymore, not amongst the mortals. He bites into the sandwich. Delicious.

 

The sandwich flies out of Jeeps' hand as the explosion from within The Hotel resounds. "No. Not again." He grabs his shotgun and runs through the roof entrance.

 

By the time he reaches the right suite, and there could only be one right suite because only Reverend Jeremiah Thomas is still home, the Bellboy Girl had already gone inside and pulled him away from the fire. Unlike Mortimer, who had sustained bad burns and injuries but had kept clear of the fire itself, Jeremiah Thomas is actually burning!

 

The sight is horrifying. Worse than that is the scream that comes from his mouth. The Bellboy Girl had brought an extinguisher with her, but it lay idle on the ground. She had to pull Jeremiah away from the brazier which had fallen over and caused the small throw rug underneath it to catch aflame.

 

Jeeps rushes forward and lifts the extinguisher, and douses Jeremiah.

 

That's when Russell Hampton rushes in from the front desk. He'd agreed to take over for Mr. Confetti and watch the front.

 

But the explosion had obviously drawn his attention, and he too holds a fire extinguisher. Despite the nature of the competition, Jeeps had brought extinguishers to spare. You never knew in an old building like this. And Jeeps had to live here too.

 

Hampton assesses the situation quickly and sprays the brazier and rug. "What the hell happened! He screwed up his damn magic vampire wizard holy spell or something?

 

"No. He was sabotaged." Jeeps relates how an eerily identical thing had happened to Mortimer T. Smith just the previous night. "Thanks for telling me all about it." Hampton's remarks in a snarky tone. "I like to know what I'm walking into, ya know?"

 

"Would you have left or changed anything in any way had you known?" Jeeps asks, as they unload the extinguishers, just to make sure.

 

"Nah." Hampton laughs. "Well, maybe. Maybe I'd have bought a bottle of Southern Comfort, instead of that weak shit I bought instead."

 

Jeeps has to laugh. He and the Bellboy Girl gently lift the crispy-fried Reverend Thomas and carry him to his bedroom. "I guess there's no Kindred Hospital or nothing, right?"

 

"There is nothing anyone can do for him. Perhaps when he is strong enough and awake one of the others will be kind enough to feed him some of their vampiric blood, which will aid his healing process. But when it comes to fire damage-"

 

"Yadda Yadda Yadda. I honestly don't want to know, Jeeps." He honestly didn't, which is what makes Hampton such a unique specimen, and always has. As long as he knows what his job is, he doesn't care if you are human, ghoul, vampire, or something else.

 

He's a good man who keeps his mouth shut. And worth every penny too.

 

"All right, I guess there's nothing else we can do for now." Jeeps says, looking down sadly at the Reverend. He walks back to the hallway. "But keep an eye on the entrances and make sure that nothing gets in to finish the job."

 

"I got a special reason for making sure nothing gets in here that can kill a vampire." Hampton remarks, in his usual snarky way. "What's her name?" Jeeps replied. They laugh. Jeeps heads back up to the roof, Hampton to the front desk.

 

He returns to his vigilance. His sandwich is cold and on the floor.  

9:32 PM         Nosferatu Warren - Gary Sewers

Alexander Danov had been right, the tour had been short compared to what Mortimer had experienced in the sewers in Moscow, especially. There had been the usual chambers - the good ones for Nosferatu to meet and talk in comfortably, and the bad ones for everyone else who would never know the comfortable ones exist at all. A Nosferatu joke.

 

Well, if they want to come into the sewers, its the sewers they get, has always been the motto. Mortimer had gotten the joke in Moscow and he is glad to see the tradition is carried over on this side of the world as well.

 

"I have a few questions."

 

"I'm sure you do. Ask away, neonate." Alexander is gruff but straightforward.

 

"What do you know about someone named Hinds?"

 

Alexander's eyes widen at that name. "Hinds. As in Tommy Hinds?"

 

Mortimer shrugs. Even Hinds doesn't know his own first name at this point. "Why do you ask about him?"

 

"Prince Modius has someone named Hinds in his dungeon in the basement. He's definitely an elder Kindred and he's being tortured for information."

 

Alexander grins brightly at Mortimer. "This is a great secret you have shared with me. Tommy Hinds is a Ventrue. He ran a few clubs in Chicago, in the Hive district. Most notably, the Succubus Club, a place known for its blood dolls."

​

"Huh." Mortimer listens intently. This is what he came down here for.

 

"The club was targeted and hit very hard during the Garou assault. It was blamed on terrorists just like the other assaults. Anyway, Hinds was last seen going in there, he had a private haven in there, apparently. He died at the hands of the Lupines, or so we thought and the club was eventually taken over by a Toreador. So it is still open though it is not what it once was."

 

"This is what the man in the cell looks like." Mortimer uses Mask of 1000 Faces to shift to Hinds. "Yes, that's him. Hinds, still alive, most interesting."

 

"Not for long, I think. There are other people I want to ask you about."

 

Now Alexander Danov is having a good time. This meeting has turned from the droll job of showing a neonate the ropes, to that very same neonate knowing more about the doings of Prince Modius then he does. He'd given the Prince too little respect, barely watched him at all. Danov is much more concerned about the Anarch Movement and the obvious ability of the Sabbat to enter Chicago through Gary.

 

"The butler Strohman is a traitor, he's been spying on Modius for someone named Bronwyn for, like, decades."

 

"Indeed? And how did you come by this information?"

 

"He's not a very good spy. He has letters from Bronwyn in his suitcase under his bed."

 

Danov has to laugh. "You have done a thorough job going through everything in the Prince's mansion, haven't you? That's excellent. Most excellent. Hmm...Bronwyn. No, that is not a name I am familiar with. I will look into it, however, on your behalf."

 

"Also, there's this." He shows Danov the note he took a picture of from inside the vault. This, Danov already knew about. "Maxwell was the former prince but was forced out by Lodin. A Brujah. Lodin is dead, Maxwell has returned. He's been quiet about his return. But this is certainly interesting, isn't it?"

 

"One last thing." Mortimer puts his phone away. "I was wondering if you would introduce me to some clan members in Chicago."

 

"Ah, normally he would have already come to meet you. But he is preoccupied with other matters. No, that can't be arranged quite yet. I will tell you this secret. The clan isn't what it once was. Since the Lupine assault, every member seems occupied with a personal matter, and as a result, our network has nearly fallen apart. The Primogen is trying to help everyone, and because of that he has in fact succeeded in helping no one. He has other responsibilities as well. I do what I can, but...you want an introduction? We will start with Tammy, yes, if you can help her with her problem, it would go a long way towards the entire clan feeling grateful for your presence."

 

"What's wrong with her?"

 

"It is better if you see it for yourself." Danov scribbles an address in Chicago on a piece of paper, and hands it to Mortimer. "We trade in secrets, and you have given me three, two of which I did not already know. So, you are ahead in our barter. I will share two secrets with you eventually, when you need them the most. Simply tossing out useless tidbits about this or that person won't help you. And unlike other clans, we genuinely try and help one another."

 

"I appreciate that."

 

"You have done much in your first week here. I am impressed, Mortimer T. Smith. I hope your alliance with Mr. Confetti and those other elders does not cloud your relationship with the clan."

 

"Me too." Mortimer couldn't think of a better response. "Come. I will escort you to the entrance closest to your facility. You should enter from there from now on."

 

Mortimer follows. He knows he'll have to then go all the way back on foot and retrieve his van, but knowing the closest entrance to The Hotel will definitely be a huge help in the future.

 

Who is Bronwyn? 

 

 

 

Hinds is a Ventrue elder!

Maxwell is the former Prince of Chicago. Apparently he's back and a contender to re-claim his throne. 

9:34 PM                   Curves 

Salihah had been put into a state of absolute shock, then terrified fright. But she is not some neonate whelp. She is an elder of her clan. A High Priestess of the Followers of Set. Her tactics had been horrifically bad, going straight at a man as fast and strong as Fahd.

 

She is an acrobat, and she doesn't need to win this fight, she only needs to escape. The Hotel is far away, and a blood hunter like Fahd will not be fooled by her obfuscate.

 

If she can only take out her phone and call or text for help, but Fahd would have her head off before she could finish the first sentence. Options, options.

 

She dive rolls away from him, and performs three cartwheels. He simply runs after her, his celerity in effect. She cannot outrun him, cannot outfight him, cannot call for help, and cannot get to The Hotel before he easily catches her.

 

Only one thing for it, then. She dives through the nearest window, and dive rolls out to the parking lot. She runs, and he is fast behind her. Her chance is to enter the closest house, and hope there are lots of people in it. None of them will trouble Fahd, but he will lose a moment or two. Six or seven of those and she will have gained enough distance to use her phone and contact help. Twelve or fifteen of them, and help will arrive in time to save her. She estimates between twenty to thirty people will lose their lives in the process. But that's fate.

 

Salihah is a survivor, and her own existence comes before anyone else's. Just as she nears the window of the closest house with the lights on, she trips and falls, hits the ground hard! This is not clumsiness on her part, she gazes down to see her legs corralled in some kind of lasso. Fahd pulls the thick, steel carbon rope and yanks her backwards towards him. He holds a hatchet!

 

She whips her forked tongue out at him and he quickly slices it off! She screams in agony. She knows nobody will respond to it. The Assamites have a special Discipline that allows them to create a wall of silence around themselves. She could scream all night, but only she and Fahd will hear it. And of course, he wants to hear it. It is what he traveled from the Middle East to America specifically to hear, she knows. 

 

She wonders if he is successful here if he will just go home, or if he will kill all of her new allies. What if she has not brought anything but doom to Mr. Confetti and the competitors of The Contest of Will. A pang of guilt and regret overtakes her. The first she has felt in many decades. 

 

Then he chops off her left foot. He grabs it up and quickly drinks the wonderful vitae. "I have not had your delicious blood in...how long has it been Salihah? Close to twenty years since we made that assault on your temple. I have longed to taste it since. And now, I will taste it all!

 

Salihah moans in horror. She remembers landing on that foot to win the world championship, a perfect plant landing. Her plan for escape is over.

 

She can't outrun him. She can't outfight him. She can't call for help. She can't escape. Her mind races as the pain and shock jolt her system. What can she do? What can she do?

 

.

9:26 PM          Shell Station 

Juggler cackles, a cruel, cold sound, as he tears the wings off of Marshall Barry's bat form. He tosses him out the window. Evelyn climbs through the hole in the windshield, locates the bat on the pavement, and jumps to try and finish this by squashing him!

 

 She's amazed by how quickly Marshall transforms from a bat to a man again, and by the time she lands on him, he isn't even a little bit squishy. "He tore your wings off. How do you have arms?" She quickly grabs one of those arms. "Little girl, I advise you to-"

 

"Yeah, yeah." She says, and whips him over so he is face-first on the pavement. Then she locks him up in a rear-naked choke hold! "I got him!" She yells. "Evelyn, what are you doing? Get away from him. Now!"

 

"No, I got him. This is my best maneuver. I used to choke out everyone at the gym! See he's going limp!"

 

"Evelyn, get away from-"

 

Marshall Barry sends a backhand fist so powerful that when it connects it instantly shatters Evelyn Stephens' jaw. She flies through the air and smashes into the front fender of a car, and bends it. Her right arm snaps in four places. Her left leg breaks in two upon impact with the pavement. "Uh...Uh...." she moans, in total shock as blood pours from her nose and mouth.

 

Juggler hops out of the driver's side door, shotgun in hand. "Evelyn, you little fool. He's a Kindred. He doesn't need to breathe air!"

 

"Guess I'd ask what this is about but we both know." Marshall says grimly. "But blaming it on your gang wasn't my idea. And in fact, we have a plan to-"

 

"Oh, shut up." Juggler pulls the trigger and blasts Marshall point blank in the chest. Marshall had designed the payload specifically to work well against Kindred. Though he has an amazing amount of Fortitude, and can take all kinds of damage, he is immediately floored by the buckshot. It hurts ten times worse than what the police were using on him when he creamed them.

 

"I knew it was you right away. I was trying to blame it on the Ventrue also. I saw the bodies. Lots of them had claw marks. You are the new Gangrel in the area. Modius is an idiot, but I only pretended to be because you don't know me. I've been gathering intelligence on you and your playmates."

 

"That whole thing was-"

 

"It was brilliant. No doubt. I mean, obviously Mr. Confetti is pushing Modius out. First he takes over his base of operations in a completely non-violent stroke. Then he chops his legs out by having you destroy the only members of the police force that actually respond to problems out here. Now Confetti can replace those lost police with his own and that'll be that. A quick one-two punch combination. Nice!"

 

Juggler grins brightly. Marshall drags himself a few feet away. He wants to climb to his feet but the pain is too severe. He moves blood to the area, and the buckshot is shot out of his body like a cannon. He thinks of something to say, but even though it all went down by accident, the truth is Mr. Confetti did use it to the group's advantage. It's a fun time task to take over the whole police department now. Just because nobody has made a move on it yet doesn't mean that everybody won't. Juggler's got that part worked out.

 

 

 "Damn, Marshall. You are one tough guy, man. But the thing is, Modius might just sit around and do nothing while his kingdom, modest as Gary is, is ripped from him. But me? I'm a whole different animal. You try and take what's mine? I fight back."

 

He aims the shotgun at Marshall's head. "I could end this right now. We both know it. But what would be the fun in that?" He tosses the shotgun away. He grabs Marshall by the back of his vest. "Healing up, aren't you? Yeah, you're damn tough. Most Kindred would have been finished from that one shot."

 

Juggler runs forward, forces Marshall with him. "Let's find out just how tough." He bashes Marshall face-first into a parked car on the street. Then smashes his face through the driver-side front window!

 

"I'm guessing not tough enough!" Juggler laughs brightly. 

9:41 PM                    Cass Street

Mr. Confetti sits Indian-style on the rooftop, a serene look upon his face. He concentrates outwards. Just four feet away, Night Fist yanks Jimbo M. Tarley up through the large hole he made. He'd had to bust first through the living room floor, then again up through the ceiling. He'd burned through half of the blood in his system doing so, and frankly, the blood inside of Jimbo M. Tarley smells delicious.

 

Night Fist puts such thoughts away. This is Gary, Indiana. Even if he can't find the person responsible for all of this, he'll find plenty of criminals to drink from. Night Fist is a Toreador, not a Ventrue. He does not have their weakness of having to specifically drink from a particular type. But he finds it much more palatable to his philosophy to drink from bad guys. He prefers it even to seducing mortal women, as many of his fellow Toreadors do. Drinking someone's blood leaves them weak for a day or two. The symptoms are the same as if you end up having a common cold, so it is undetectable. Still, it is interfering with a person's life. Night Fist would rather interfere with the lives of lowlifes than pretty women who don't deserve it.

 

Of course, this is no time for such meandering thoughts. He gazes outwards. "Do you see anything?"

 

"Yes."

 

"What?"

 

"I see that we'd better get the hell off of this roof." Mr. Confetti suggests. "And fast."

 

"How will we-"

 

Mr. Confetti answers by standing up suddenly, and hurling himself off the roof. He laughs all the way down, and breaks both legs immediately upon the harsh impact. Night Fist grabs Tarley, hefts him over his head. "Yeah, this is going to hurt. A lot."

 

"But I'm not a vampire. I'll squish like a-"

 

Night Fist jumps off the roof. He uses even more blood to increase his speed. He has some of the most powerful Celerity in the world, and this enables him to slow his descent by performing somersaults while in mid-air. Doing so while holding Tarley is a very difficult mission, so he expends even more blood to increase his physical strength.

 

He bends both knees and breaks the ground as he lands. Even Salihah, he reflects, would have to be impressed with that. He puts Tarley down and rushes over to Mr. Confetti. As he does so, his red convertible drives up at an incredibly fast speed. His loyal manservant Magnussen is behind the wheel. But there isn't room for four.

 

"Run." Mr. Confetti yells to Tarley. "Run!"

 

Jimbo M. Tarley does so. The entire house explodes!

 

Mr. Confetti is blown off the spot on the front grass and thrown thirty feet through the air. Night Fist, due to his armor, is only thrown fifteen feet, but skids another ten. Fortunately, his special battle suit is specifically made to take kinetic blows, and he is only partially wounded. Mr. Confetti, on the other hand, lies prone.

 

"Oh God. Confetti!" Night Fist rushes towards him. Tarley enters the red convertible, and Magnussen, holding an AK-47 assault rifle, scans around them carefully.

 

When Night Fist arrives at Mr. Confetti's side, he turns him over. Instantly, Mr. Confetti grabs both sides of his face. Night Fist is shocked by what Mr. Confetti makes him see.

 

"Go. Go now!"

 

"I can't just leave you-"

 

"Go right now!"

 

Night Fist abandons Mr. Confetti, hops on the trunk of the convertible and yells instructions to Magnussen, who takes a last look at the broken Mr. Confetti and then drives off. 

9:45 PM              Abandoned Parking Lot

Juggler and Marshall Barry had both given in to their respective Beasts and were both in the heat of Frenzy. What other way was there to deal with a powerful Elder vampire who is intent on ripping your head off with his bare hands?

 

They had now been fighting for twenty two minutes, tooth and nail. They had long ago left the Shell station and had pushed each other into a parking lot. The stores were all closed and the cars in the lot had been abandoned by their owners long ago.

 

Evelyn Stephens had been left behind, as had the shotgun. She eyes it, and wants it, and whimpers in more pain then she has ever experienced. She gazes at her collarbone, which sticks out of her shoulder and her clothes. She should be able to just heal all of her wounds, and quickly. In fact, she should be fully healed by now.

 

But Evelyn has only been a Kindred for three weeks. And she is just in total shock from the extraordinary pain. She just wants to pass out from it, but she can't. She whimpers.

 

In the parking lot, Juggler grunts as Marshall Barry football tackles him. Marshall is faster than he suspected. Juggler uses blood on his Celerity, and then uses his Potence to kick him off with both legs.

 

Marshall flies through the air and into the door of a nearby car. The car dents and so does Marshall's spine, but he doesn't care. He rushes at Juggler again. They meet in the middle and exchange punches. Marshall simply takes everything that Juggler has.

 

Juggler has more Celerity than Marshall, and deftly avoids the Gangrel's powerful blows. He still bleeds from his mid-section. Gangrel claws are supernatural wounds, and even the most powerful of Kindred need a few days to heal from them. Marshall's claws have been put away for now, which frankly, puzzles Juggler.

 

Then he laughs to himself, and realizes that Marshall Barry is holding back. Juggler realizes Marshall intends to question him after he beats him. He wants to know more. That just gives Juggler an edge. He no longer has to worry about being killed by the Hell's Angel. 

 

Juggler ducks under an overhand right from Marshall, then uppercuts his jaw. Marshall staggers back, rocked by the powerful blow. Juggler grabs him by his stupid shirt, and hurls him through the windshield of a nearby four-door sedan. 

9:46 PM          Private Suite: Jeremiah Thomas

Reverend Jeremiah Thomas sits up suddenly. A bad dream? He examines himself. He's mostly naked, and his body is covered in burns. Not a bad dream. In point of fact, it only just happened. But when an elder Tremere is going to work with fire, he protects himself with spells that protect himself from fire. That is the only rational and intelligent thing to do. 

 

He had been caught quite off guard by the explosion, for certain. It had rattled his cage and singed his skin badly. But the protective spells had worked marvels. The damage, while painful, is for a Kindred, essentially cosmetic. There are no internal injuries to be concerned about. His blood had not boiled inside his body and turned his innards to goo. His assassin had underestimated him, just as he had clearly underestimated Mortimer the night before. Both had survived the identical same kind of assault. And now they both have a common enemy. 

 

He knows where Mortimer likely is. Spotting his white van from the air near the sewer junction should prove easy. He will simply go there, and wait for the Nosferatu to return to his vehicle. Then they will compare notes, talk it over, and start the hunt. They had already collaborated successfully to find Mr. Confetti's silly flag. It had just been a game, but it proved that Mortimer is as skilled and reliable as he seems to be. Thomas is certain that between their dual skill sets, the enemy can both be found, and dealt with. 

 

Then he can get back to the task of locating the spirit of Garwood Marshall, which Jeremiah isn't certain has anything to do with this particular attack whatsoever. Not one enemy, Jeremiah thinks to himself. I am hunting for two of them. 

 

He rises from the bed, tromps angrily over to his closet, and dons his red Tremere robe. He tromps up the stairs to the roof. Jeeps turns quickly as the roof access door opens, and aims his shotgun, but quickly turns it away.

 

"You need to stay in bed, Reverend Thomas."

 

"Hardly." Jeremiah scoffs. Without another word, he jumps off the roof. Jeeps marvels as the undead priest doesn't fall a single inch, and instead runs across the night sky. Then he disappears from plain sight. Jeeps smiles, and continues his vigilance. 

 

9:46 PM                  Miller Ave. & Salt Lake St. 

Salihah does the only thing she can think of to do. She secretly grows her tongue back. It costs her more blood than she remembered it would. She hadn't needed to do that in at least a quarter of a century, maybe more.

 

Not too many people had successfully cut off her tongue. Those that had, had paid the price, as they hadn't expected her acrobatic prowess and other powers. They'd thought her forked tongue was the worst she could do to them. They'd been so very, very wrong.

 

But Fahd knew her. He'd clearly been watching and studying her for the past two decades since their last encounter. She'd only survived that one because she and two other Followers at the temple had burned him by using a ball of acid spit from a mini-catapult, one of the many successful defensive systems she had implemented as High Priestess. 

 

Fahd had been caught unawares that day, a very rare mistake for an extremely powerful and capable assassin. He'd had to retreat, a point of dishonor for him. He'd had to go back to his Nest, tail between his legs, having not killed a single Setite in the assault.

 

He must have been severely punished, and likely demoted for his failure. Of course, he'd have blamed Salihah, though how she could be blamed for defending her own home instead of dying like a good little victim, is not the thing she wants to dwell on in the moments before his revenge and her own death. She'd diablerized the murderer of her Sire, and all of his traitors in the temple. She knew what horror is about to befall her.

 

Soon she would be a tiny part of Fahd. A part that would be his tool, his servant, for all the rest of his days. Unless she could fool him one more time.

 

She knew that diablerie is what he craved, but to do so he couldn't cut off her head, and cutting off any more of her at all would be to lose most of the rest of the vitae.

 

He'd now have to approach her, and bite her. Close range. He looks down at her, and just as she suspected, he drops the hatchet, and reaches out his hands. The lust in his eyes is palpable. Unlike all the other men who'd looked at her that way though, Fahd is only interested in drinking her dry. The lust is for the blood. Only for her blood.

 

He grabs her shirt, raises her up, lifts his mouth. His bared fangs are frightening. Salihah opens her own mouth, and puts her regenerated forked tongue right through his eye. He shrieks in pain and surprise!

 

She enjoys the taste of his blood instead! Though she can talk, there is no witticisms that come out of her mouth. She is weak and crippled, and he is whole and strong. She will have to drink it all. And she will have to do so quickly, to turn him from the most fearsome enemy she's ever encountered, into a pile of dust on the ground.

 

A Setite's forked tongue causes anyone who's flesh is penetrated by it to feel The Kiss. The ecstasy normally reserved for when a vampire's fangs bite into the victim. Mortals are completely helpless against it, but Kindred can at least keep half their wits about them and fight against it. As Salihah drinks Fahd's blood as quickly as she can, he struggles mightily. Normally when attacking with her tongue, Salihah will keep herself out of physical reach of her victim. But she couldn't afford to do that with Fahd. Doing that is what got it cut off before, and if she missed this chance, it would have been the end.

 

So she had waited until he was upon her and just about to bite her, before thrusting it through his eye socket at point-blank range. It had worked. But Fahd is able to grab her and pull her in, and bite deep and hard into her left shoulder.

 

And just like that, her strategy has failed. He can now replenish his own blood by drinking hers. He has far more in his body than she does, especially since she is still leaking like a sieve through the whole at the bottom of her leg where her foot used to be.

 

She feels herself weakening moment by moment. She will run out of blood long before he does. And then he will complete his fantasy of diablerizing her, and she will crumble to dust in his hands. It's over.

 

As the red covertible races in, Fahd has just enough time to pull his fangs out of Salihah and turn his head when Pablo's hard boot kicks him perfectly in the jaw!

 

The car was doing ninety miles an hour. Fahd's jaw breaks instantly and he falls backward so hard that Salihah has to recoil her forked tongue or it would have been ripped out again.

 

Fahd shakes off the cobwebs and grabs for his hatchet as the car comes around for another pass. Jumbo M. Farley, armed with Magnussen's AK-47 assault rifle, rips off a shot worthy of a safari hunter and blows a hole through the assassin's chest.

 

As the car passes, Fahd has his first encounter with the Night Fist! Pablo jumps off the car, barrels into Fahd, and unloads extremely accurate rights and lefts in super fast fashion. Salihah grins brightly, and lashes out her tongue just as Fahd raises the hatchet to bring down a powerful blow on Pablo's head.

 

Her tongue wraps around his wrist, slowing the strike so Pablo easily dodges it. Pablo then delivers sixteen body blows in quick succession, intentionally opening the hole that Tarley put in the Assamite much further. His precious vitae leaks out.

 

Fahd lets out a raging bellow, hurls Pablo away, into Salihah. He is able to easily unwrap his hand from her tongue. Pablo rises and Fahd sees that the safari hunter is lining him up for another shot from the vehicle, now a safe distance away and parked. Fahd hisses at Salihah, then disappears. 

 

They wait there, tense and silent, for his next attack. But it never comes. Fahd The Panther has retreated. Pablo lifts Salihah gently off the ground. She winds her arms around his neck and presses her face into his chest. She hasn't ever been this weak. Even the bastard who killed her sire had never let her get this dangerously low on blood. She concentrates all her will, moves enough of her blood through her body and heals just enough of the skin on her leg to close the wound. Then she falls into torpor. 

 

"Pop the trunk." Pablo says, as he carries her to the car. His movements are slow and he suddenly feels his age. Centuries. 

 

Magnussen presses the button on the control panel, and the trunk pops open. Pablo deposits Salihah in there, and closes it. "She'll be safe now. Let's go Magnussen." 

 

"Back to The Hotel, sir?" 

 

"Don't be thick Magnussen. Mr. Confetti is lying in front of a burning house. We're going back for him." 

 

 

9:45 PM          Cass Street

Mr. Confetti crawls towards a nearby tree, then leans his back against it. His legs are both completely shattered, as are his ribs. But he fell correctly and has full use of his arms and hands. He wonders how long before the mostly incompetent Gary fire department even hears that there is a fire, let alone shows up to combat it? He has to give his enemy credit. He chose the right house to burn down. It's alone and it would take a disaster of truly terrible misfortune for it to spread to another house as long as it is dealt with, within the hour. The Gary fire department can't be that bad, can they?

 

"How interesting it is," The grainy woman's voice drawls in a Southern accent. "That you haven't healed your leg. Didn't spend too much of that vitae banging on the walls inside, did you?"

 

"I admit that for those few first minutes, I did exactly that. But afterwards, when the bomb didn't explode, I realized that you wanted us to use up our blood. That you'd planned exactly for that. So, I stopped using my powers. All of them."

 

Mr. Confetti assesses his aggressor. She is tall, wears a strangely form-fitting outfit that reveals a mostly average-shaped body. It is a costume. A super villain's costume, Mr. Confetti realizes. This one is meant for Pablo, then. Of course she is.

 

The mask contains a small symbol which is duplicated on the chest of her all-black bodysuit. It is a trapezoid, inside a skull. Mr. Confetti realizes. A trapezoid.

 

"So, you are a specialist at making these kinds of things, are you?"

 

"Please allow me the indulgence of introducing myself to you. I am Doctor Deathtrap."

 

"That is a great name! Why has none of Batman's writers ever thought of-"

 

"You find me humorous, do you? But I should not be offended. You are Mr. Confetti. You find everything humorous. As to your previous question," He watches her long dark cape flow in the breeze. Mr. Confetti decides he really does need to get himself a cape, "I am. I used to revel in hunting them, you see."

 

"Them? You mean humans."

 

"I mean hunters. I hunted supernatural hunters to death before I even realized Kindred were real. I thought they were so stupid. So I got rid of them, one at a time. The joke in all of that was on me, in the end. My Sire was so excited about me. But then he angered me. He wanted to know all of my secrets, tried to force them out of me and-"

 

"And you put him in an inescapable trap. He died screaming. It was glorious. Now you hunt vampires because the thrill in hunting even the cagiest of humans is long gone."

 

She grimaces and pulls out a small box that looks like a modified Rubik's Cube. "I hate it when people finish my stories for me. I know what you are thinking, Mr. Confetti. You are thinking that I have failed. That you and the Night Fist escaped my trap. He has left. And since you saved all of your blood for this very moment, you can now use it to destroy my mind. But, that wasn't the trap. It was just meant to cause you to use up at least some of your blood, which indeed you did. You are now in the trap. Do you see?"

 

She clicks a little button on the Rubik's cube. It beeps. She quickly rolls it at Confetti. "Now you have a choice. You can either use your blood to heal your legs and run from my explosive device, or you can get blown to smithereens. The problem is, when I pushed the button to activate it, I also activated all of the mines I buried under the lawn. You sit in the middle of a minefield. And only I know how to deactivate them. And you will never learn. You are doomed. But, I think, you will run. It is, after all, your only real chance."

 

Mr. Confetti eyes the glowing, beeping cube, as its light pulses on and off in various colors. As it speeds up, and the beep becomes more intense, the lights flash and change more and more rapidly, he grimaces.

9:55 PM                   Abandoned Parking Lot

Juggler punches Marshall Barry again. And again. Blood pours out of the Gangrel elder's nose and from his mouth, as Juggler has picked him apart with fast precision shots that have eventually broken through his Fortitude.

 

"How does it feel to get your ass kicked, Gangrel?" He punches Marshall hard in the face again. This time, Marshall hits the pavement. Juggler kicks him, and again, and again!

 

Marshall looks up at him defiantly, as he gets on all fours to try and climb back to his feet. "It's all over for ya Juggler. Or can I call ya Jugs?"

 

That hits a nerve. He kicks Marshall hard in the face. Marshall falls onto his back again. "Shut up! That idiot girl-"

 

"Is yer undoing. Cause she talks too much, don't she? Just made her three weeks ago, and didn't get nobody's permission to do it. And now yer gang is taking the fall. They're gonna get wiped out, buddy. And you're smart enough to know it. And then, just like your boss, you got nothing. But he ain't gonna trust you no more cause he thinks you turned on him by killing his coppers, and when he finds out about your little tutti-fruitti over there, you'll have broken a major tradition. And we know the Prince just loves his little traditions now don't he? Yeah, throw another punch at me. In the end, I'm gonna stick a big-ass fork in ya Juggler, cause yer done! I own you."

 

Marshall sits up, starts to push himself back up to his feet.

 

Juggler's eyes almost pop out of his head as Marshall talks. He is frozen in space for a minute. Then he laughs and laughs. Then he calmly kicks Marshall again, right between the eyes. "Oh man, you need a microphone and a cigarette in your free hand for that comedy act. Oh...Oh man." He laughs and laughs .

 

"You think you can blackmail me about Evelyn? Go ahead! Tell him! Tell him all about her. I didn't ask his permission and I didn't introduce her cause why would I? What's he gonna do about it? Pull out a fencing sword and stick me with it?" He snickers, his voice thick with contempt. He lifts Marshall, and puts his head through another car window. Then he pulls him out and tosses him back on the pavement. "I knew it was you the first day with those dead cops. I didn't bother to tell him. Cause you know why? Cause he'd just mope that's why. He'd just get all sad and mope, and frankly that's even worse than his stupid monologues!"

 

A slight drizzle begins from the sky above. It makes a nice pitter-patter all around them, and Marshall's blood slides along the pavement.

 

Marshall tries to get to his feet. Juggler's boot steps on his face and forces him back down to the pavement. "As for the Sin City Disciples? Who cares. Come on man. I'm supposed to give a damn what happens to a low-level street gang? You think that's the base of my power?" He laughs loudly again. "They're a food source, man. If they get exterminated tomorrow I probably won't even remember them by the end of the weekend."

 

Marshall pushes his foot off his face. "Then why are we fighting?"

 

"Cause you could have just told me it was you, but instead you sided with the Ventrue and decided to mess with me, man. So I'm gonna beat the crap out of you until just before sunrise!" He punches Marshall in the face again.

 

The drizzle turns into a calm rain. "I got real power, in Chicago. I got backers, man. I got support from the high places in Kindred society. People don't know, man. If they did, they'd all get it. But they're not gonna get it until it's too late! And then they'll all be kissing my ass and my ring!"

 

The rain turns into a heavy downpour. Evelyn Stephens looks up and her mouth opens wide from her vantage spot at the Shell Station. "Juggler..." She crawls forward, the bones that have popped out of her shoulder crackling and causing her extraordinary pain as she moves, inch by inch. It's no use, it'll take her hours to get there.

 

Juggler lifts Marshall Barry up and is about to hit him, but he stops as it is Marshall's turn to laugh and laugh. As the rain drenches them, Juggler leans in. "What's so goddamn funny?"

 

"You are. I mean, I'm listening to you, and I finally get it. You think you're gonna be the Prince of Chicago somehow, don't you? But that's not the funny part."

 

Juggler's mouth curls into a thin cruel thing. "I'm listening. Make it good, fool."

 

"See, this ain't my first rodeo. I'm just getting started. I can fight you all night, pal. I mean, I can heal all of this stuff in ten seconds, and then start putting you through some car doors too. But that's not the funny part."

 

The rain turns torrential. Sheets of rain spray the elder vampires. 

 

Juggler starts to worry. "What's the funny part!"

 

Marshall Barry's eyes gaze into the sky. Juggler follows them, and turns his head, and sees an angry, immortal, undead wizard priest floating in the air above him, and realizes immediately where the rain is coming from.

 

Reverend Jeremiah Thomas opens his left hand.

 

Juggler is blown halfway across the parking lot by a powerful wind. "Ahhhhhhh!"

 

He opens his right hand. Lightning strikes the car next to where Juggler lands. The front and back windshields, and all of the side windows explode as the car flips over, and over.

 

 "Ahhhh! Oh shit!" Juggler screams. "Wait! You didn't let me finish! You didn't let me finish what I was saying! Wait! Wait!"

 

Jeremiah Thomas lands near Marshall Barry. Marshall grins. "I had this."

 

"You were taking too long to get answers out of him. And I needed to blow off steam."

 

"You're burned, Rev."

 

"Yes."

 

Reverend Thomas calmly walks towards Juggler. Marshall walks with him. The rain abruptly stops. Juggler, down on his knees, holds his hands out.

 

"I was just testing him. I have plans, see?" Juggler climbs to his feet. There is no fear in his eyes, only the indignant rage that marks him as a Brujah rebel.

 

"Plans. To become Prince of Chicago." Reverend Thomas says, almost incredulous that he's saying it.

 

"I have backers. Real players. Primogen support, I'm telling you guys. You want to side with me. Marshall, I just wanted to see what you're made of. I have an offer for ya."

 

"He has an offer for me. Sure, I'm listening." Marshall cracks both of his knuckles.

 

"When I'm Prince, you'd be perfect for the position of Scourge. You can travel through all three territories. And since the Archons in the region are also bikers and Gangrel, you'd have a total posse with you."

 

"Scourge." The word resonates off Marshall's tongue. The Scourge is the Kindred authorized to travel within the radius of a Prince's domain, rooting out lawbreakers. The Scourge is authorized to deal immediate justice. Judge, Jury, Executioner. With impunity.

 

It is a position of real power. "Who's the Scourge now? Won't he or she be pissed that-"

 

"Scourge died. Killed off early by the Garou. Took a whole bunch of them to do it, but they got him. Prince and Scourge. Both spots are open, ripe for us."

 

"You said all three territories." Reverend Thomas had heard that quite clearly. Juggler shrugs, starts walking back towards the Shell station. "You gotta stop treating me like I'm stupid. I can see what Confetti is doing."

 

"Can you? How intriguing. I'd like to hear your ideas on that subject." Reverend Thomas' smug tone tells Juggler he will already discount his ideas. But Juggler presses on.

 

Juggler grins brightly, and extends his arms wide. "Come on, he knows that Gary is only in the shit state its in because Lodin wanted to keep Modius down. But, you get rid of Modius, you take over the place yourself? You hit the re-set button on a place right next to a major city that everyone agrees is its own princedom. He can expand west and south as much as he wants and nobody will blink at it. Next thing you know, he's the most powerful vampire in Indiana, and he's right next to his gal pal, the Prince of Milwaukee. If anybody in Chicago gives either of them trouble, you got them in a two-pronged assault. Yeah, it's a damn good plan and I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't her idea. After all, they're both Malkavians. "

 

Marshall and Jeremiah exchange sideways glances. He could very well be right.

 

"So you take the seat of Prince, what, with our support. Now we got it all locked up from Milwaukee to Indianapolis." Marshall Barry rubs his chin. "Plenty of room for Hells Angels to roam."

 

"Even the Council in Vienna would see it as greater stability than what has been seen here in at least fifty years." Reverend Thomas mutters. "But there is one thing I don't understand that you need to explain to me."

 

"Go right ahead."

 

"Your assault on Marshall Barry has come at almost the same time that I, myself, was attacked. Only a day after another of our group was attacked. I don't believe in coincidence that high."

 

"Well, all I can tell you is that-"

 

"You tried to run me over with a truck. Then you pulled my wings off!"

 

Juggler blinks, and rubs his chin. "Yeah...yeah I did. But that wasn't my original intention. I don't even own that truck..." he looks at the truck as he passes Evelyn Stephens, who he plainly ignores as she crawls towards him.

 

"I don't even remember where I got that truck from." Juggler is puzzled. "I just wanted to fight you. I mean, you offed forty plus cops by yourself. All by yourself. Impressive. I just needed to show you that I can hang with you, physically. So that you'd stop associating me with Modius and start respecting me as someone you can take over the region with. Killing you would have actually ruined my own scheme. Why did I-" 

 

"Somebody screwed with your head, huh?" Marshall looks down at Evelyn, who tries to physically force her collarbone back into place and only succeeds in breaking it. She cries and screams out in agony. 

 

"Dude, help your childe out over here."

 

"She tried to strangle a dead person. I'm starting to think that she's a mistake."

 

"Screw you!" She blurts out.

 

"What? What did you say to me?" He steps on her back, and curses at her in a thick Italian accent that he clearly has been hiding this whole time. But seeing her pathetic whimpering has pushed his buttons. 

 

"Come on man. Chill." Marshall says, pulling him off her.

 

"So anyway. I'm the man with the plan!" Juggler beams at them. "Put 'er there!"

 

Juggler extends his hand toward Marshall. Marshall stares at it. "Scourge?"

 

"Scourge, buddy."

 

Marshall shakes his hand. Jeremiah Thomas folds his arms across his chest. He doesn't know whether to laugh or frown. So he does neither. 

 

Marshall Barry has agreed to a secret alliance with Juggler!

Juggler is a secret candidate to become Prince of Chicago!

To Be Continued on Day 6 Page 2! 

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