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Tuesday August 5th 2014 

11:30 PM             The Hotel 

Mortimer, disguised with Mask of 1000 faces to fit in, in Gary, walks next to the finely dressed Pablo, who isn't.

 

"I can't believe none of you found that pirate flag." he says. Mortimer merely shrugs.

 

"Well, its still up for grabs, then." Pablo says enthustically. "Anyway, we made a good impression on Prince Modius. The Anarchs really helped us out, actually."

 

"You should send them a gift basket!" Mr. Confetti sits calmly on a chair in front of The Hotel, stringing up a banjo. All around them, Superior Construction workers install the new high grade security windows.

​

"Confetti. Is there really a pirate flag in there or are you sending us on a wild goose chase for your own amusement?"

​

"The flag is there. And in plain sight too. It's not buried or hidden under anything. You just have to open the right door. And there it is. Easy, peasy."

 

Pablo is skeptical. "Well, all right then. I have something else I want to talk to you about."

 

Mortimer heads on into The Hotel. He has his own plans for the rest of the evening. And to get it all done, he'd have to act quickly.

 

Mr. Confetti continues to string his banjo. "What's up, amigo?"

 

"My money bank is quickly depleting."

 

"Too bad, so sad."

 

"But here's the thing. Some of my competitors are using my business to increase their own assets, so shouldn't I be able to put that money into my money bank as a game credit?"

 

Mr. Confetti stops stringing his banjo, and considers Pablo's words. "Hmm. Now, that is an interesting wrinkle isn't it? Use your fellow competitor's businesses or assets, that person gets paid what you had to spend. You can use a competitor instead, but then you are dealing with mortals, and who knows what the actual price will end up being." Mr. Confetti laughs. "Let me sleep on it Pablo. I promise I'll have an answer to you by tomorrow night's group meeting."

 

"Great." Pablo smiles brightly, and heads towards site supervisor Adam Reeves, who looks like he is about to fall over from sleep deprivation. "Man, you should go home. I can oversee the job."

 

"Uh, not sure who you are sir, but I'm the site supervisor so-"

​

Pablo smirks. "I'm actually the guy who hired you. I'm Pablo, the new partner at Superior."

​

"Oh!" Adam extends his hand and Pablo shakes it firmly. "Well, sir, let me just say that I feel very fortunate to have this opportunity. Me and my wife really needed something good to happen."

​

"I'm glad to hear that," Pablo says. "But you are clearly being overworked."

​

"A couple of easy jobs, sir. Nothing a hot cup of coffee can't fix. Besides, we're going to wrap this up soon, we're just doing clean up. We'll finish it tomorrow afternoon."

​

"I'll see that you get one. The rest of the workers too. How much longer do you anticipate this taking?"

​

"Oh we're just three, maybe four hours out to completion."

​

Pablo nods his head. "Excellent." He shakes the man's hand again and heads into The Hotel. Adam Reeves, he reflects, is going to work out. The resume had been in the filing cabinet at the Superior Construction office, and it was far better than anybody else's. He wanted a site supervisor immediately, so he decided to give Reeves a try. So far, so good. But he'd have to hear from Salihah on how the Gary Transfer Station job went .

​

He passes Mortimer, who is now showing Jeeps some kind of schematics in the hallway. "What's all that?" Pablo inquires.

​

"Mr. Smith is proposing an upgrade to the security here with a very high level infrared, motion detection camera package."

​

Pablo whistles. "Nice, but how are you going to do it for only five grand Mortimer? I know how much that stuff costs and-"

​

"I have my ways." Mortimer says, purposefully in a mysterious tone. Pablo gets it, smirks. "Well, its a good idea. It'll be nice to see them coming. And I have a feeling after what we experienced at Prince Modius' mansion tonight, they will be coming for us."

​

"Jeeps you can get all of this stuff by tomorrow night?"

​

"I can try, certainly. I'll have to make a trip into Chicago proper for it, likely. But, if you want me to subcontract a company to make the installations-"

 

"No. I'll install everything myself." Mortimer says simply. Jeeps is mildly shocked. "I see. Well, then, very good sir." He neatly folds up all of the materials. Mortimer heads back up to his suite. Pablo heads up the stairs as well.

​

"I wonder how long he'll keep them there. We have the edge tonight." Pablo chuckles.

​

"Sure." Mortimer replies. But he too is greatly amused that the rest of the competitors are stuck listening to old, boring Prince Modius wax poetic about the traditions. 

11:50 PM               Modius' Mansion

Modius is indeed, droning on. "And so, it is my responsibility as prince to remind you that for every Kindred in the region, there should be one hundred thousand mortals. The population of Gary, Indiana cannot currently contain so many of you. Therefore, I will require at least some of you to hunt for blood within Chicago itself, where there is more than enough blood to sustain all of you newcomers. And now, we shall get to your individual applications for acceptance into my realm."

 

Reverend Thomas quickly stands up from his seat. "My good Prince Modius, I regret wholeheartedly that I must quickly go to Chicago, as I am expected at the Chantry."

 

Modius is visually annoyed that Reverend Thomas "double-booked" for the night. "I see."

 

Reverend Thomas shrugs. "When both my Prince and my Regent want to see me on the same evening, what can I do but attend both meetings?"

 

Modius' anger is still palpable. "Yes. Nothing to be done about that. One must respect one's clan elder, that is for certain. Very well, come and present yourself. I will take you first."

 

"I thank you." Reverend Thomas advances and kisses Prince Modius' ring. Katarina whispers to Salihah. "He's going. He's going to the meeting." Salihah nods excitedly as well. What secrets would they learn about the fabled clan Tremere? Even Marshall Barry watches Reverend Thomas with a keen eye.

 

Midnight   Private Suite: Mortimer T. Smith 

Mortimer gazes at the useless optic fiber cable hanging out of the wall, and uses his hotspot internet connection to leech Ivy College's internet. He had battled internally if he should upgrade The Hotel for an ultra fast internet connection that he, himself, would have full control of, or to upgrade the security system. Ultimately, the security system had won out, and in light of the fact that they are going to make a powerful enemy soon any way one slices it, getting The Hotel ready defensively is the right decision.

 

While he knows he needs to upgrade the petting zoo drastically in order to advance, none of the other competitors have both their companies and municipal assets. Mortimer can't help but wonder if it won't get some of them scrambling one way or another if he is the first to get both, and cause them to stop upgrading their current assets. He got behind in the game early on the first night, and now he has to slow the others down.

​

Leading in the points game is one thing. But Mortimer hasn't made the decision yet if he is going to abandon trying to be the first to complete the required task list to just try and get the most points. And he has targeted the perfect new acquisition for himself.

 

His hands move with speed and precision on the keyboard, and on the left-side monitor a webpage pops up: Gary City Hall. He gets to work.

 

12:04 AM      Streets of Gary, Indiana

Reverend Thomas and Marshall Barry stroll at a not-so-leisurely pace back to The Hotel. "He couldn't wait to get rid of me." Marshall laughs loudly.

 

"You have that effect on people." The barest corner of Reverend Thomas' mouth curls, indicating he is joking.

 

Marshall smirks at him. "As annoying as that was, we actually got out of there faster that I would have thought, even with the Anarchs shooting up the place. So, uh, what's your take on the Prince of Gary?" 

 

"Modius is a fool. He would be devoured by the high stakes politics in Chicago. I have no intention of backing him. In fact, just the opposite."

 

"What's the opposite?" Marshall thinks he knows what Reverend Thomas is suggesting, but he wants to hear the Tremere say it. "I understand all of this now, Marshall. Why Confetti chose for us to be here instead of starting his game inside Chicago itself. I had wondered about that, greatly. But now I see."

 

"Yeah? See what, exactly?"

 

They approach The Hotel, where the workers are closing things down. Mr. Confetti is now playing the banjo, and seems to be enjoying himself. 

"You know exactly what I am driving at, Marshall. You know exactly."

 

As they pass, Mr. Confetti stops playing. "Gentlemen. Fully approved now are we?"


"Yeah. The girls are almost done too. He saved them for last, since they're not part of the Camarilla. Somebody needs to tell him that my clan left the Camarilla too." Marshall laughs loudly.

 

Mr. Confetti laughs too, but he stares quite intensely at Reverend Thomas. The Tremere stares back momentarily, then heads into The Hotel. Marshall eyes the exchange with wariness. "What was that all about?"

 

"His meeting at the Chantry in Chicago starts in..." Mr. Confetti consults his watch. "Forty five minutes. It will take him close to that to get there if he leaves for the train now. He could have walked easily from the Prince's house to the train and been halfway there by now."

 

"Oh." Marshall shrugs. "Well, too bad. Guess we won't find out what those damn warlocks are up to eh?"

 

Mr. Confetti grins conspiratorially. "Oh, I'll find out. One way or another. Marshall, see Jeeps before you leave. He has something for you."

 

"Oh yeah?"

 

Curious, Marshall heads into The Hotel, where Jeeps is studying a group of papers and consulting a map of Chicago. "You got something for me, Jeeps?"

 

"Ah, yes, sir Mr. Barry. Come with me, please."

 

Marshall follows him down the hallway and then out the back door. The Gangrel Elder's grin spreads far and wide as his Harley Davidson chopper sits in a parking space. "Oh hell yeah! My ride!"

 

"You were forced to leave it behind in Citgo's parking space, where it was impounded by the police. It was an easy matter to retrieve it, however. I took the liberty of having it cleaned, and I had an expert mechanic give it a tune-up. I hope you don't mind."

 

Marshall sits on the bike, pulls the key out of his vest pocket. As the ignition turns, the chopper absolutely purrs, as it has not done in years.

 

"Oh man! Fuck yeah!"

 

Jeeps is outwardly passive, his hands folded behind his back. But inwardly, he swells with pride and happiness. 

12:20 AM                             The Hotel 

Salihah and Katrina can't stop laughing as they saunter into the lobby. The workmen outside had left a few minutes earlier, and Mr. Confetti had disappeared as well.

 

All is quiet, except for the raucous laughter of the Setite and the Tzimisce, now fully accepted members of Prince Modius' small fraternity of local immortals.

 

"He looked absolutely chilled to the bone when you leaned over to kiss his ring." Salihah chimes. "And when you leaned forward, he pulled back, like you were going to shoot your tongue out right into his throat." Katrina counters. They laugh harder.

 

Jeeps couldn't help but be amused. "Wish I had been a fly on that wall." He mutters. "Next time we'll be sure to bring you Jeeps." Salihah says with a flirtatious wink. The ghoul blushes brightly, sending the two Kindred into hysterics again.

 

They walk up the stairs. "So, what are you going to be doing this evening? Making further improvements to your waste disposal company?"
 

"Mmm. I was considering going over there to see what Pablo's people did, but it seems like a waste of time. If something is wrong, my people will handle it. You know, I was thinking about my cash bank reserves. And how low it is getting." Salihah heads towards the Central room. Curious, Katrina follows.

 

They enter and study the map. "We could look into one of these map points. I am very curious to see what is there." Katrina says excitedly. "I am tired of politics and business. I want to do something exciting tonight."

 

"You are all riled up because we didn't get to actually fight those Anarchs. But, I admit I am feeling quite the same. Not a map point though."

 

Katrina frowns. "Why not?"

 

"There's no cash reward attached to that one. Let's instead try and get introduced to someone in Chicago. A ten thousand dollar reward, plus two hundred points!"

 

"Oh very well. Who shall we ask? The Prince? He likely knows some important people in Chicago."

 

"Yes, who all hate him, most likely. Or will pretend they don't and then set us up for the big fall. But his childe, Allicia? She intrigues me. I want to find out more about her." Salihah rubs her hands together. "She's got secrets, that one. I am sure of it."

 

"And just when I thought we had finally escaped the Prince's mansion."

 

"Yes," Salihah grins, "But this time, we'll have to sneak in!"

 

They giggle like school girls. "Let's change into more appropriate clothing." Katrina is not going to risk her only good gown that she has with her. Or her high heeled shoes. 

 

They exit the room quickly and head to their respective suites. 

12:21 AM  Private Suite: Jeremiah Thomas

12:21 Private Suite: Reverend Thomas

 

He sits on his meditation mat, eyes closed. But his feeble attempt to calm his mind fails. He has been in perilous waters before. Very perilous. But this is somehow different.

 

It is just as Mr. Confetti had said. This is exactly the same as when he left his family for good, never looking back, to join the clergy. Then when he felt they were misguided and foolish, and murdering immortal beings for all the wrong reasons, he left that family.

 

Since that time he has been a loyal member of Clan Tremere. They have taught him all of their secrets, given him vast resources with which to conduct his thaumaturgical experiments, many of which failed. But there was never a complaint. Failure is part of any experiment, after all. And his successes had been extraordinary ones that had, in some small way, increased the power of many of his brethren. So his role as a priest of God, at least in his own mind, was tolerated by the clan.

 

This betrayal will not be. If he attends meetings that are observed by outsiders and gives up true secrets of the clan, or causes their plans for Chicago, right now the most important Camarilla-controlled city in the United States, to fail, his life would surely be forfeit. He can, of course, just leave the competition. He can join the Chantry in earnest, taking poor Garwood Marshall's place, and forgetting all about the Contest of Will.

 

He checks the clock. 12:25. He is out of time. The decision must be made now. He closes his eyes and tests his soul. He had done so on two previous occasions. But both of those times he knew ahead of time what he would find there, he was just looking for confirmation. This time...this time...

The Tremere Chantry

 The Hotel 

12:22                 Modius' Mansion

Pablo had come to two conclusions at the same time. The first is that nobody had found the pirate flag and it was still up for grabs. The second is that he could make the Prince a deal and still have him become the most lucrative client that Superior Construction has had in many years. It was worth it to forgo other plans for the evening and double back to the house, where he was received well by the Prince. 

 

"So you have taken over a construction company? Very useful. Well done." Modius says. "Thanks, but in order to assess the damage we should go through every room in the mansion." 

 

"That hardly seems necessary. The first floor is-" 

 

"It has been awhile since you've had any remodeling done. I have some ideas. After all, you are the Prince of Gary, and you aspire to become Prince of Chicago. You can't just live in a house. You need to live in a palace, so that everyone can see the splendor of your kingdom."

 

Pablo flashes that winning smile. He doesn't dare use his Presence on the Prince, especially not in his own haven. But he hopes that his natural charm and negotiation skills will win the day. Modius, feeling flush from having all of these new elders on his side, is in the best mood that he's been in, in at least a decade, perhaps more. 

 

"A quality point. Very well, Pablo. We can go over the house, room by room." 

 

"Great!" The pirate flag would soon be in his grasp, Pablo reflects, and Superior Construction is about to get a major boost. With the Prince using his company, word will get around. Other Kindred would soon be coming to Pablo for their construction needs as well. 

 

They start in the right wing of the first floor. Pablo is certain that Mortimer covered this area. He had seen the sewer rat poke around here when Pablo had helped put out the fire. Still, you never know, he could have missed it. Mr. Confetti is quite clever. Plain sight to a Malkavian is not plain sight to everybody else.  There is a riddle to this pirate flag thing, and Pablo will be the one solve it! 

12:23 AM       Just outside Modius' Mansion

Salihah and Katrina had both changed into form-fitting clothing, for stealth and free movement purposes. Currently, both are covered in long coats, to not seem overly suspicious as they walked over.  Salihah also sports an equipment gym bag. Katrina gets down on one knee as they gaze up at the window. 

 

They shed their coats. Salihah reveals a grey catsuit. Katarina's is bright purple. 

 

"I thought you were going to wear something that would help you to not be seen!" Salihah blinks.

 

"Why would I not want to be seen? I am perfect." Katarina retorts simply. Salihah face-palms.  

 

"I'll boost you up." Katrina offers. Salihah smirks at her, performs a cartwheel, and easily does a fast wall-walk, and pulls herself up to the window pane. She looks in, and confirms she is outside Allicia's room. The neonate is inside, knitting.

 

Salihah slides open the unlocked window, and slithers inside. "Hi!" she says brightly. Allicia's mouth opens in wide surprise. Salihah poses. "My outfit is sexy, isn't it?" 

 

"Forget about somebody?" Katrina calls from outside. Salihah leans out the window, extends her arms. She then pulls Katarina up and through the window. They awkwardly tumble to the floor, laughing. "So." Katarina says, showing off her perfect body in her cat suit as she rises. "We want you to introduce us to somebody in Chicago." 

 

"Yes, we are so new in town and we thought we'd have an all girls night." 

 

"It's okay if you don't have a body suit. I brought you one, its in my bag. It is green with mermaid patterns." Salihah winks.

 

"You will look too cute in it!" Katarina chirps!  

 

Allicia's body tenses completely, and she looks mortified by the intrusion, and even more so by the suggestion that she dress like that. 

 

"Or you can wear whatever pleases you dear." Katarina changes tactics. "As long as you introduce us to someone in Chicago." 

 

"She doesn't know anybody in Chicago. I don't think she's ever been there." A crisp, sultry, woman's voice says from behind them. Salihah and Katarina turn quickly, both surprised. A young, beautiful woman they've never met before sits on the window sill. Her long brown hair has clearly been worked over by a stylist. Her pale skin, so evident against her bright red lipstick, marks her clearly as one of the undead. 

 

"Woah! Who are you?" Salihah is impressed by the girl's style and stealth abilities. Clearly she had followed them. 

 

"I'm someone who likes mermaids." She winks at them. "And is approximately your size." 

 

Salihah lifts up the cat suit out of her bag. "Yes you are." 

 

"The name's Evelyn. Hiya Allicia." 

 

Allicia shrinks further into her chair as Evelyn takes the forest green cat suit and checks the tags. "Very nice. You have style, girls. Finally, something exciting has happened in this lame town." 

 

"How come you weren't at our introductions, Evelyn?" 

 

The doorknob turns. Katarina gazes at it. The door opens and Prince Modius and Pablo walk in together. "Sorry for the intrusion Allicia-" the Prince starts, then he sees Katarina. "What are you doing in here?" He is immediately suspicious and in a near panic. 

 

"Well, we-" Katarina looks behind her but she is completely alone in the room with Allicia. "We" she gestures to Pablo. "are here to help." is the best she can muster. 

 

Modius gazes at Pablo, who realizes he now must cover for her. "Yes, Katarina voluntered to also take a look around. She's, uh, planning to take over the electricity plant." 

 

Modius raises an eyebrow. "Oh?" 

 

"Yes. Inland Power Company. I have my eye on them. Now that I have your permission to spread influence in the region. After all, we can't let the Sabbat take it over or they will be able to create a huge blackout just before an assault." 

 

"Oh." That had never occurred to Modius. "Good thinking. Very strategic. Yes, you have my permission. Perhaps when you re-construct the mansion we can also re-do the electrical wiring." Modius says, calming down. "It's been quite a long time with the same wires, actually. Someone told me recently I should get them changed as a precaution." 

 

"For my Prince, it will be done." Katarina bows her head respectfully. Modius kisses Allicia's hand. "Well, we have a lot of rooms to go through. Good evening Allicia. And to you, Katarina." Katarina bows. 

 

As Modius walks out, Pablo raises a brow at her. She grins mischievously. Near her, Salihah, who had obfuscated, re-appears. Pablo blinks. The two of them, next to each other in form-fitting outfits stirs something long dead in him. He shakes it off. "Pablooo," Salihah winks flirtatiously. 

 

"Now look, whatever you are up to-" 

 

"We need to go to Chicago. Can we borrow your beautiful car?" Salihah winks again. 

 

"I...no you can't, I need it to-" 

 

Katarina pouts. "But we need it. Please. Please. Please." 

 

Salihah pouts too. "Please. Please. Please." 

 

Pablo reaches into his pocket and tosses them the keys. "You both owe me prestation now." 

 

Katarina poses. "And what shall we do to repay you, hmm?" 

 

Pablo is rendered instantly speechless. He retreats from the room. They giggle. Allicia frowns at the two flirts and then rushes out of the room. 

 

"Hmmph. What's her problem?" Katarina wants to know. 

 

"I think she likes him." Salihah grins, and hops out of the window, almost lands on Evelyn who has been lying quiet and prone underneath it. But she rolls out of the way in time. Katarina is fast behind her. 

 

"So, uh, not on good terms with Prince Modius?" Salihah asks her. 

 

"I'm sure he'll like me a lot. When he finds out I exist." Evelyn says quickly. "To Chicago!" 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evelyn Stephens is, uh, trouble. 

12:26 AM             Department Store 

Marshall Barry throws a garbage can through the storefront window. Smash!

 

He climbs inside, careful not to stab himself. He walks over to a rack, and pulls off a suit, checks the size. He tries the jacket on, moves his arms around. Nice!  

 

12:26 AM     Private Suite: Mortimer T. Smith 

Mortimer gazes down at the picture of a security guard, transforms into him using Mask of 1000 faces, checks himself out in the bathroom mirror. He heads into his bedroom, then pulls a white shirt and black tie out of his closet. Nice!

 

12:26 AM  Private Suite: Jeremiah Thomas 

Reverend Thomas opens his closet, and pulls out a red gown that only old school sorcerers would wear. Of course, he is an old school sorcerer. He changes into it. Nice!

12:32 AM              Business Supply Store 

Marshall Barry now wears a complete suit with white button down shirt and tie.

 

He throws a garbage can through the storefront window. He climbs in, avoids the glass. He finds a leather attache case, fills it with a couple of pads and pens, and a stapler. 

 

Oh, a calculator. Can't forget about that. Nice!

 

12:32 AM             Private Suite: Mortimer T. Smith 

Mortimer opens his attache case, which already has his infiltration tools carefully placed in special moldings created for each one. He checks everything out, goes through the old routine.

 

Everything checks out perfectly. Nice! 

12:32 AM       Private Suite: Jeremiah Thomas 

Now garbed in his crimson Tremere Robe, Jeremiah pulls a special amulet out of his closet. It glows brightly. He deposits it in his large pocket inside near the left breast. Nice! 

 

 

12:34 AM      Parking Lot, The Hotel 

Marshall Barry parks his chopper and pats it fondly. "Sorry pal, can't bring you on this special mission." He gazes at the shotgun that sticks out of its holster on the right side panel.

"You neither." He trots off. 

12:34 AM      The Hotel, 4th Floor Hallway

Mortimer and Reverend Thomas nod respectfully as they pass one another. Reverend Thomas heads up to the roof while Mortimer, with his attache case heads down the stairs. 

12:40 AM            Used Car Lot 

Marshall Barry picks the lock on a 2013 sports car. He's opened a lot of cars to sell to hundreds of chop shops, but this one might be the nicest.  

 

He quickly hot wires it.

 

It breathes to life and he drives it out of the lot.

 

12:40 AM               Some dude's house

Mortimer, disguised as a young white yuppie student using Mask of 1000 Faces, counts out the money for the actual long-haired hippie dude.

 

$750. This isn't from his money bank for the game, this is Mortimer's own money, of which he only has about two grand remaining. But, it's worth it. He's tired of having to walk around everywhere. And you never know when you'll need to put something in a big ol' van. Right? 

 

"Dude, I so thought you were going to show up two hours ago." 

 

"Well, I didn't." Mortimer signs the papers in some dead guy's name and takes the keys. Now all he has to hope for is that this guy was honest about the condition of the van. If he wasn't, he's gonna be a snack sometime in the near future. 

 

Mortimer climbs into the front seat of his new white van. He adjusts the seat, and turns the ignition. The van sounds right, and Mortimer has no problem with the steering. This little maneuver might just work out. 

12:40 AM           Rooftop, The Hotel 

Jeremiah admires Tron the harpy eagle, who happily eats corn from a plate that Jeeps set out for him. Jeremiah avoids the weak structural areas of the roof - reflects that this is yet another thing that needs to be fixed about The Hotel, and soon.

 

He concentrates, and chants a mantra, over and over again. Soon enough the winds around him pick up. He is lifted into the air. He obfuscates as well, a trick he picked up a good half-century ago. Now he flies through the air, the wind allows him to glide across the sky. He gazes downwards and is amused to spot Katarina, Salihah, and a third girl in Pablo's car, streaking towards the highway. Just before they turn onto it, he re-appears, lowers himself down into the back seat next to Evelyn, who shrieks in surprise.

 

"Going my way, ladies?" he asks in as normal a tone as he can muster, as if this is just an every day kind of occurence. Katarina and Salihah are silent for just a moment, they look at each other, and then they laugh loudly. Salihah steps on the gas. 

12:45 AM          Modius' Mansion

Prince Modius shakes Pablo's hand firmly. "I like your ideas. I am not certain about adding a swimming pool and jacuzzi to the back of the house but-"

 

Pablo grins brightly. "You'd be surprised how many people will attend a party here if you add a pool to the yard. Plus, the relaxation and comfort of it would be a real spit in the face to the Anarchs and your competitors for the Prince seat alike."

 

Prince Modius nods his head so fast it looks like some bobblehead action. "I will certainly take that advise under consideration. Thank you."

 

Modius heads down the hallway. Pablo turns towards the front door. He may have just secured a half a million dollar contract for his company, which would get it back on its feet and ready for some real upgrades to personnel and equipment. That is wonderful. He can now understand the confusion, however, of everyone in the competitor group. He has literally been in every room in the house, and looked in every closet. No pirate flag.

 

Pablo had spent considerable time in the sub-basement and Mortimer claims to have checked every room in the basement itself. No flag. And yet, Mr. Confetti insists it is not only here, but in plain sight. How odd.

 

He turns back around as he hears the approach of Allicia, who runs towards him. She nearly tackles him she hugs him so hard. "Uh..." He has no idea what to say. She leans in towards his ear. "I love you." She whispers to him. He is stunned.

 

Those are the first words she has spoken in fifty years. She un-clutches from him in what feels, to him, like an eternity and a half has passed. This is the Prince's childe! And they are in the same clan. Alarm bells go off in Pablo's head.

 

She hands him a note. "What's this? Uh..." He is afraid its some corny love letter. She'd be just the kind to write one and hand it to him, and just stand there while he reads it right in front of her. He opens it. It reads. "Please find Michael. He usually stays in Tolleston Cemetary near the mausoleums. Thanks! Allicia"

 

Pablo blinks. He is about to tell her that he can't possibly wander around the cemetary right now, he has other business to take care of, but then he remembers the Fun Time tasks. "Yes. I can certainly do that." Allicia beams at him.

 

"But of course, in the honored tradition of Prestation, if I were to do so you would then owe me a medium sized-boon for ensuring the safety of your friend."

 

Allicia blinks for a moment, then breaks out crying. Pablo is horrified. Allicia hating him would  end up even worse than her loving him. Pablo laughs loudly.

 

"I'm just kidding. It was a joke. I was trying to sound like Prince Modius. How'd I do?"

 

She wipes her tears away and smiles at him. And says nothing. Awkward.

 

"Okay, I'm off to the cemetery then. Uh, I'm new in town, can you give me directions?"

 

Allicia opens her mouth to speak. A long uncomfortable silence happens. "You know what? It's fine. No, because I have a GPS on my cell phone." Pablo clicks his phone open, and waves it at her. She stares at it and he realizes she's likely never had a reason to own one. "Well, see you later."

 

She waves at him, and smiles. He escapes out the door.

 

"I am so dead." he mutters, as he types the cemetery name into his phone's GPS system.

Toreador have a tendency to become dazzled by things. Sometimes those things are people. They mistake that for being in love. Now they are obsessed with a person. 

 

It usually ends very badly. 

12:47 AM                                  Solutions Services Real Estate

Marshall Barry parks his stolen car right next to the curb, where the woman he is pleased to find still inside, as he hoped she would be, is sure to see it. Marshall walks right up to the door, and knocks on the glass, startling her.

 

Brenda Guffinlaw is 43, has still retained her girl-next-door prettiness despite losing her husband in an auto wreck five years ago, and having to take over the family business. This one. Her eyes narrow as she gazes at the large, hulking figure outside her door.

 

But he has a suit and tie on, and carries an attache case. She opens a drawer with a revolver in it anyhow, and buzzes him in.

 

Marshall is all smiles as he strides across the floor towards her. "Howdy." he says in a bright and friendly voice. "Who are you and what do you want?" She says in a none-too-friendly tone.

 

"Sam Howe. And I have a real nice business proposition for you, ma'am. I've been scouting around Gary the last few nights, and I couldn't help but notice you working in here by yourself."

 

Her hand edges closer to the revolver. "Get to the point, Mr. Howe."

 

He senses danger, and stops in his tracks. "Well, ma'am, I represent a large group of people who are going to be looking to move into the area. And there's some other side interests, all real estate based, that we can get into. There's a lot of money in it for the company that takes on the load of it, you see."

 

"And you have chosen me for this golden pot of money for what reason, Mr. Howe?"

 

Mr. Howe shrugs his shoulders. "You keep unconventional hours. Now me, I have a regular nine to five, as it were, and so I can only represent the group in the evenings. It's hard to find people willing to work after six, which I fully understand."

 

He steps to the side, so that she gets a full view of his gorgeous sports car. She does look at it and it does increase his legitimacy in her eyes. 

 

"And who is this group you are referring to?"

 

"Well, that doesn't really matter, now does it? There's a lot of money in it for-"

 

"Forget it. I'm not going to do business with a group of people if I don't know who they are and what they stand for."

 

"Well, it's just-"

 

"Are they the Klu Klux Klan looking to move into this region and kill a bunch of darkies? Are they terrorists from the Middle East looking to slaughter some Jews? Which, by the way, I'm Jewish so-"

 

"I represent the Hell's Angels biker club, ma'am. We're opening a branch in Chicago. But before we can do that, the club members that have decided to come here need a place to live where they can ride free. Hard to do that in a big city so we like these suburbs. See?"

 

"Hell's Angels. I think we have enough gang problems in these parts with the Sin City Disciples, and what they've done has been all over the news all over the country. Then you've got those terrible Bloods in Chicago that-"

 

"Ma'am, first of all, the Hell's Angels are not a gang. They're a biker club. Second of all, what the Sin City Disciples did to those good police officers has made us all, frankly, sick to our stomachs. It's one of the reasons we, uh, they chose Gary. See, the people here are largely afraid. It's going to be some time before the police department is back up to snuff."

 

"They haven't been up to snuff in decades, if you ask me."

 

"Even more reason. I'll be frank. When it comes to the law, there are places all over the world that look to us more than the usual law enforcement branches for their safety."

 

"I don't know that I-"

 

"The organization has already decided we're coming here. Either you can make a lot of money on this deal, or someone else can, ma'am."

 

"First of all, stop calling me ma'am. My name is Brenda. Second of all, let's get things straight between us Mr. Howe. I'm not sure how you've found out about me, but it's clear you have come to the right person for your...biker club's needs."

 

"I just made a phone call to the proper person, is all." Marshall shrugs, as he approaches warily, then sits down across from her desk. He opens the attache case. When he pulls out a pen and a pad of paper, she finally takes her hand off the revolver.

 

"I moved to Gary when my husband died because there's more profit in buying low, fixing things, and then selling them off then in buying properties to rent that are already in great shape. This whole town is a financial coup for me, waiting to happen." She narrows her eyes at Marshall. "Just how much property are we talking about for the Hell's Angels Mr. Howe?"

 

"Each one of them will buy a house cheap, and fix it up themselves. Over time, we're talking about an entire neighborhood's worth of houses. When we've secured this town, everybody will move their families in. We'll need a garage for our bikes, a big one. We'll probably want to have a bar of our own too, as our local meeting house. I'm sure there's other things that we can think about and do business with as time goes on."

 

Brenda does the math. "And you will buy exclusively through me, Mr. Howe?"

 

Barry Marshall extends his hand towards her. "I will."

 

She leans back in her chair. "Then you've got yourself a business partner. Let's get into some specific details." 

12:50 AM                      Gary City Hall 

Mortimer parks the white van across the street and, taking the role of one of the six security personnel he's intensely studied, casually walks to the front door.

 

He's got his tools in his attache case, and also holds a container with four steaming cups of coffee in it. Getting in requires punching in a seven digit code, which Mortimer nonchalantly punches in.

 

A lot of infiltration is doing the work ahead of time. Mortimer had easily cracked the codes on all of the important aspects of Gary's City Hall from his own computer back at The Hotel. It was not like this was the Pentagon. Gary's security is normal. And normal isn't going to cut it against one of the world's true infiltration specialists.

 

He walks casually to the front desk, where two security guards, Milton and Ahmad are surprised to see him enter.

 

"I didn't see you leave your post Joe." One of them says. "How'd you get past us?"

 

"I turned invisible." Mortimer replies, which causes them to laugh. He laughs too, hands them each a cup of coffee. "Just went out the back way, actually. I've only been gone six minutes."

 

"Relax, Joe. Hasn't been an incident here in, what, sixteen years?"

 

All three of them laugh again. Nice camaraderie, Mortimer thinks. Is that what's happening with the competitors at The Hotel? He, of course had a nice rapport with his fellow Nosferatu in Russia, but that was, for many of them, out of sheer necessity. No one else wanted to talk to them there. The clan has a lot of power there, but also, they are mostly outcasts. Perhaps it's because to get that power they had to slaughter a lot of Brujah, but mostly its because of who and what Nosferatu are.

 

At The Hotel its different. Mortimer was expecting horror and rejection, and hasn't gotten any. His defenses had been up from the moment he'd arrived. But both Pablo and Salihah had gone out of their way to make him feel welcome. It was weird, but a little nice.

 

He'd decided not to trust either of them. At least you could tell what Marshall Barry is thinking. But those two are slick. And trust doesn't come easy among the unliving.

 

Mortimer casually walks to the elevator, and pushes the down button, which is exactly where they would expect him to be going. Mortimer had selected Joe as his initial cover identity because Joe is down there right now. Plus he's the new guy. Mortimer can get away with a personality slip or two and nobody will really notice.

 

He enters the elevator and pushes the button for the fourth basement level. It requires a security key that Mortimer doesn't have. He does have his jimmy pick, and quickly uses it, employing a bit of celerity to make sure that what he's doing isn't clearly seen on the camera banks over there on the front desk.

 

Normally, Mask of 1000 Faces can't fool a camera and the front desk security would be treated to seeing Mortimer as he really is, in their elevator. But great fortune struck the Nosferatu and during his Embrace he was gifted with a unique merit that allows his Mask of 1000 Faces to fool even electronic devices. Still, using two disciplines simultaneously requires a great deal of concentration.

 

He quickly jury-rigs the elevator and it starts its quick descent down to basement level four. Relieved, he puts the valuable tool away, and sniffs the coffee. Its lovely aroma is pleasing and relaxing. Mortimer remembers, only five years ago, when he'd have happily gulped the caffeine down. Unlike most Kindred, Mortimer is able to eat food and drinks, and privately in his room will do so sometimes.

 

But eating it and digesting it are two different things. He's learned to hold it all down for ten minutes before he vomits it back up again. That won't do on an infiltration mission.

 

Too bad.

 

The elevator opens onto the right floor. Gary's Department of Information. This is the target. If Mortimer can take this over, he can gain virtual access to anything in the region. And that suits his purposes for both the competition and his clan. It's the perfect municipal asset to acquire.

 

He is no longer Joe. He is now Milton, from the front desk. Joe looks up from the newspaper he's reading. The sports section, focused on the Pacers off-season trades and the Colts upcoming opponent, the Rams.

 

He hands Joe a cup of coffee. "Thanks a lot." Mortimer nods and tries to head on up the floor. Joe raises a brow as this is out of character for Milton.

"Something going on Milton?"

 

"I gotta do some research is all. Won't take me long." Mortimer replies. His ability to mimic the voices of others has proven to be one of the most useful of his skills. He nails Milton perfectly. Just having talked to the man was very helpful, indeed.

 

Joe sips the coffee. It is slightly bitter on purpose. Mortimer holds up a paper bag. "Almost forgot. I got sugar and milk in this bag." He hands it to Joe. Of course, now the guard is completely distracted as he looks inside it.

 

Without another word, Mortimer heads down the hallway. He bought a coffee for himself, because if he hadn't it would have looked odd. He heads into the staff bathroom down here and pours half the coffee down the sink, to make it look like he's been consuming it.

 

He transforms back into Joe, checks himself in the mirror, then exits and walks past the security camera and into the main server room. So far, so good. 

12:55 AM                Tremere Chantry

The red sports car pulls up to a strange looking building that is actually very hard to notice amongst all of the rest of the buildings. This is because of a ritual that helps preserve the Masquerade, sort of. Mortals all get the heebie-jeebies around here, and so they mostly stay away. This has resulted in the rest of the block being abandoned, including all of the stores that used to operate across the street.

 

That residents of Chicago do not find it odd that a large, scary looking mansion with stone gargoyles and a very large black gate on the outside is planted near the heart of Chicago is very odd indeed, and a testament to the dark powers of Thaumaturgy.

 

"Why are you getting out here?" Evelyn Stephens wants to know. Reverend Thomas gazes deeply into her eyes and says, "You will not remember this location. Now sleep." Her eyelids flutter a few times, then she sinks into her chair.

 

"Why did you do that to her?" Katarina prepared her internal willpower in case the same is due for her. "Because she is not one of us." Reverend Thomas answers simply. "She should not know where the Chantry is."

 

"We're not Tremere either." Katarina replies, almost daring him to try it. Reverend Thomas says nothing in response. He leaves the car and heads up the stairs.

 

"Of course by us he meant a competitor in the Contest of Will." Salihah says quietly. "After all, even if he took the memory of this location from us, we'd just re-learn it while we sleep from Mr. Confetti."

 

"Everything one of us knows, all of the rest of us know." Katarina says, nodding her head. "But, we should leave before we are noticed. That would be even more awkward for Jeremiah than it would be for us."

 

Salihah puts the vehicle into motion, and the ladies are off.

 

Jeremiah takes the amulet out of his pocket and holds it up to the front door. A beam of light shoots from a small crystal over the archway, hits the amulet. The door opens. Jeremiah pockets the amulet and heads inside.

 

He strolls boldly through the great hall. It's red and purple carpeting regal and elegant. Such a huge contrast between Gary and Chicago, Jeremiah muses. Why are we there and not here? Confetti must have some big plan that he's not sharing.

 

But he decides to wipe such thoughts from his mind. It is dangerous to think such things in a place like this. All Tremere are masters of dominate, and he might encounter someone here who is capable of reading his mind. It is usually only in chantries that he has to fear such things. Although he has of late come to respect the power of the Malkavians in that regard. If Mr. Confetti could do so much with Dominate, he would not underestimate any member of that clan from now on.

 

A young, extremely beautiful woman walks in through a side door. She is surprised to see him, but walks towards him in greeting. "Hello. I am Erichtho. And you are?"

 

"Jeremiah Thomas."

 

"Are you just passing through the territory or-"

 

"I have been sent. I will be taking Garwood Marshall's place in this chantry."

 

"Oh. I see. Poor Garwood. Yes, it makes sense that they would send someone. Well, the meeting is about to start, I guess."

 

"What generally happens at these meetings? In my last chantry, we only met once every three months."

 

"This is new. Nicolai has been more actively coordinating our activities since the Garou assault. This is only our third one. Mostly Nicolai and Abraham just outlined their plans for the near future, and I had to sit through it. I'm not big on this kind of stuff."

 

"What kind of stuff, exactly, are you referring to?"

 

"Kindred politics. Not my thing. I simply prefer astrological and mystical research."

 

"Ah. I see. Well, now you won't have to suffer through it alone." The corner of his mouth twists upwards. Erichtho smirks and leads him through another hallway, and past two thick oak double doors. "This chantry is quite beautiful. The architecture is remarkable." Reverend Thomas says, honestly impressed.

 

"Nicolai is a patron of the arts. He always has been and when he was assigned to build the chantry here in Chicago, he spared no expense. He brought in great artisans. I admit I find it very soothing here because of it."

 

Jeremiah can't help but notice the twists in her inflection. The internal battle between scorn and respect, from righteous anger to affectionate sentimentality. This is a woman torn inside somehow, and perhaps, at a crossroads or precipice. Jeremiah decides he will tread lightly while he learns more about her.

 

As they walk through the double doors into a large meditation center, he can see Abraham DuSable, who sits cross-legged on a large mat. He sits in the South position. Mats have also been placed exactly in the North, East, and West positions. In the center is a huge brazier, the fire underneath is burning like a campfire.

 

Jeremiah raises a brow. "Will we be conducting a ritual this evening?"


Erichtho shrugs. "I haven't been told what's on the agenda. I was simply ordered to be here. So, I'm here for this one."

 

Jeremiah gazes at the beautiful sorceress. "Ordered? I was told the clan meetings are conducted every Tuesday."

 

"Like I said, I'm not fond of politics. I attended the first one and skipped the second. They weren't happy about it." She takes her place in the West position. Abraham gestures to the East position. "Good evening Erichtho, and Jeremiah please sit here."

 

He does, and gazes at the Chantry caretaker's left arm. There is only a stump, and it is covered in some kind of odd green ichor.

 

"Abraham, what exactly is that on your arm?"

 

"If I knew the answer to that, Jeremiah, it would no longer be on my arm. During the conflict, I found myself cornered by four Garou. One of them was successful in ripping my arm off from the elbow joint down. Usually, that is not such a huge problem. That is when Garwood sacrificed himself, and I was able to recover enough to perform a spell that killed the Garou. Before the last of the Garou died from my spell, it cursed me and spat this ichor on my arm. I have not been able to remove it to heal."

 

Jeremiah's eyes grow wide from the story. "I see. We shall have to do something about it. Perhaps I can take a small piece of it as a sample."


"If you can chip a piece off of it. It has proven quite difficult. It takes hours to chip a single tiny fragment."

 

"I can make the time, Abraham." Jeremiah says simply. Abraham nods appreciatively, though as usual he displays no outward emotion. "The clan needs to operate as one. Our plans are very thorough Jeremiah. We have much to do over the coming months."

 

"I am eager to hear our plans."

 

"Then hear them you will." A voice echoes out from behind a large curtain. It is not the voice of a man, but of a young boy. Nicolai, clad in a beautiful red magus robe, streaked with black lines, emerges from behind it. He holds a thick tome.

 

He looks like he can't be more than eight years old. But his eyes are much older. Perhaps half a millenium older, Jeremiah calculates.

 

"I have studied the tome you suggested Abraham. I agree with you. This is the correct ritual." Nicolai moves forward, and takes the North position.

 

Abraham nods his head. "I thought it might be."

 

Jeremiah is forced to turn around as he hears something crash against the floor, over and over. A massive being, seemingly made of rock enters the room through the double doors. Jeremiah whispers. "A golem."  

 

Jeremiah, please allow me to introduce Nicolai, the elder of our clan in Chicago. He is the founder of this Chantry and is a member of the city's Primogen. This golem is Ublo-Satha. She, like yourself, is a recent addition to the Chantry. She provides added security."
 

"Given the many threats we will face in the coming years," Nicolai begins, "We are appreciative of Ublo-Satha's presence."

 

"I live to serve." She says in a very grainy, gravelly voice. It suits her, Jeremiah muses.

 

"Now that we are all here," Nicolai states. "Let us begin." 

Nicolai may look like a little kid, but he's a member of the Primogen Council. That means he's among the most powerful Kindred in the most important Camarilla controlled city in the USA. 

DuSable is the caretaker of the Chantry. He killed four werewolves with one spell while wounded. 

Erichtho seems conflicted. She's clearly a complicated woman. And not someone to wisely cross swords with. 

1:10 AM             Chicago, Parking Garage

As Katarina works to wake up Evelyn Stephens, Salihah pulls into an automated parking garage. At least they would be out of sight. The police in Gary might be inept even when present, but things are very different in Chicago. Salihah and Katarina know that Evelyn is only sleeping. But undead don't breathe so she appears as a pale dead girl in the back seat of a sports car with the top down.

 

"Did she tell you where she meant for us to go?" Katarina asks Salihah. "No. I was going to ask her but I thought we'd wait to drop Jeremiah off first." Katarina smiles. "I had the same thought. Funny isn't it, but he's absolutely right. Telling him or not telling him is exactly the same thing. He's going to find out what we're up to. They all will."

 

Salihah grins brightly. "You're wrong. It's not the same thing. If we told him, he could perhaps sabotage it somehow to prevent us from getting points. Now all he can do is observe our eventual victory."

 

"Ooh, that's true!" Katarina grins. They giggle. Katarina jostles Evelyn Stephens harder. This time, her eyes pop open. "Woah. What happened to me?"

 

"Never mind that. Where are we going?"

 

"Okay, so this is what's up. My brother is a police detective here in Chicago. His supervisor is a real shit. I would have just sliced his fucking throat open but there's some kind of edict on not harming police officers in Chicago from when Lodin was in charge. He's dead now, of course, but apparently the Primogen are still keeping that edict in effect. So I can't touch the asshole. So I need him removed some other way."

 

"Hold on a moment. You said you'd introduce us to a Chicago-based Kindred." Salihah protests.

 

"And maybe I will sometime. But only if you help out my brother, first."

 

"Is your brother Kindred? You could just introduce us to him." Katarina wants to know.

 

"Nope. He's totally human. But, he knows all about us."

 

"How does he know if...you told him?"

 

"Yeah, Juggler sort of didn't ask me before he put the big bite on me. I like it now, and Jugs is cool as hell!"

 

"Jugs?" Salihah is very amused.

 

"I don't call him that to his face. You shouldn't either. But anyway, he's the party king of Chicago! That's how we met. Cause I like to party too, so...anyway, I sort of ran away from Juggler and went to my brother."

 

"Oh boy." Salihah thinks this over. "So your brother knows all about us, then?"

 

"Well, he knows about me and Juggler. But he's cool about it. I mean, he actually helps us out, from time to time. You know?"

 

"How long exactly have you been Kindred?" Katarina asks.

 

"Um, going on my third week now."

 

Salihah face-palms. "What division is your brother in?"

 

"Homicide."

 

"Of course he is. So, we're to take out his division supervisor without physically harming him. Is that it?" Salihah's mind works overtime.

 

"Yup. I don't know much about how to get things like that done." Evelyn just shrugs her shoulders. "I mean, I was studying to be a mixed martial artist."

 

"Really? So you know how to do choke holds?" Katarina is intrigued.

 

"Yeah. I wanted to be in the Ultimate Fighting Championship. They are opening up to more and more women fighters now. It was the best time, but, well, that dream is over. So, how are we going to get this guy fired? His name is Sergeant Wallace."

 

Katarina is silent. She considers ideas, but getting high level police fired isn't exactly her forte. With a few hours to sit and think, she knows she can work out a plan, but then it would have to be done tomorrow and coming all the way out here would have been a waste of time. She tries not to brood. She almost misses the fact that in the front seat, Salihah grins from ear to ear as she faces them. 

 

"What? What are we going to do?" Evelyn is excited by Salihah's knowing smile.

 

"We're going to rent a whole bunch of prostitutes!"

 

Katarina and Evelyn look at each other, and laugh their heads off. "Oooh, it is, how do you say, going to be a barrel of hedgehogs!" Katarina announces. They stare at her blankly. She bravely tries again. "No, that is not the expression. It is, how do you say-"

 

"Monkeys." Evelyn calls out.

 

"No, that can't be it. That is racist." Katarina states matter of factly.

 

"Never mind." Salihah  turns the key in the ignition and starts up Pablo's car. "Now, where's the closest brothel, Evelyn?" Salihah stares at the Brujah neonate. Evelyn's face becomes completely blank. Salihah face-palms.     

1:25 AM                     Tolleston Cemetery

Pablo wanders through the headstones. This cemetery is in altogether bad shape, Pablo considers. It's one thing for businesses or even entire city blocks to be worn down. But a cemetery? Usually there are caretakers who handle the simple things such as the grounds. But the grass is overgrown and there are dead flowers and weeds all over the place.

 

Worse, there is graffiti spray-painted on many tombstones, and on some of the tops of the gates. Just disrespectful. Maybe, Pablo considers, he is so offended because he's just as much dead as alive, but these poor souls can't defend themselves or their tombstones.

 

One day, he'll meet his Final Death too, but there won't be a body to bury. Just ashes. He pushes the thought from his mind, and heads for the large mausoleums. By the time he reaches the fifth one, he sees Michael, who sits in front of a mausoleum and rocks back and forth quietly muttering to himself.

 

Pablo approaches cautiously, not wanting to startle him. "Hey, Michael. How you doing, buddy?"


Michael instantly shrinks away, a look of panic across his face. "No, it's okay Michael. Remember me? We met just a few hours ago at the Prince's house."

 

Michael peers at him in the darkness. He can't see well in the dark, Pablo realizes. He doesn't have any Auspex. Someone should teach heightened senses to him, at least. But he knows if he suggests such to Allicia or Prince Modius, it will be him doing the lesson.

 

He's got more important things to do, like building a construction company and advancing in the Contest of Will.

 

"Toreador?" Michael asks, remembering Pablo a little bit from earlier. "Yes, that's right. I'm Pablo, the Toreador. Everything is okay now. We took care of those nasty Anarchs."

 

Michael clutches himself at the word "anarch" clearly understanding they are the ones who set the house on fire. "Bad! They bad peoples." he rocks some more.

 

"Yes, they are. But it's okay now Michael." Pablo approaches calmly. "Everything is all right now."

 

Michael is quiet as he continues to clutch himself and rock back and forth. Pablo reaches him, and pats him gently on the shoulder. To say it is an awkward moment is the understatement of the year. Pablo clears his throat. "See? Everything is okay."

 

"No! Not okay! Not okay!" Michael yells, rocking harder back and forth. Pablo takes a step back. "Woah, relax Michael. I'm telling you that-"

 

Michael points at the mausoleum. "Not okay! Bad! Bad man did it." Pablo turns around and gazes at the mausoleum. It is for someone named Martin Greenman. The mausoleum has been spray-painted, and judging by the way the paint smells, very recently too.

 

"Huh. Do you...did you know him? Martin Greenman?"

 

Michael smiles and gazes happily at the mausoleum. "Daddy." he says. Pablo is filled with a profound sadness. He had thought perhaps that Michael was turned by some cruel, unfeeling Malkavian as a practical joke. But what if that was not the case? What if Michael, as a mentally challenged teenager, was left to his own devices and came here regularly to visit his dead father? How could such a boy survive for long in a place like Gary, Indiana? He would die, if not from some terrible act of violence, then from starvation or accident. Perhaps the Malkavian thought that Michael deserved to survive.

 

Perhaps the Superman costume is even a part of it. Meant to bolster the boy's self-esteem, and act as a warning to those who think of him as easy prey. Mortals wouldn't get it, but other Kindred just might. The S doesn't stand for Superman, it stands for "Stay the fuck away from this one. He's protected. He deserves to survive."

 

Perhaps he does, Pablo thinks. His perspective on the entire scenario changes, and he finds himself seeing it as the Malkavian must have. Though if he had sired the boy, he would not have just left him to his own devices. Maybe the sire hasn't. Maybe it's Mr. Confetti or one of the Malkavians in Chicago. Maybe.

 

Pablo gets down on one knee and gazes at Michael. "Michael, I can help. I can clean this entire cemetery up. Would you like that?"

 

Michael smiles, and claps happily. Pablo rubs his chin. "Do you know what the word prestation means?" Michael shakes his head. He's never heard the term. "It means when a Kindred does a favor for you, eventually you do a favor for him. I could clean this cemetery, it would just be a small favor. And one day, I would ask you for a favor too. How does that sound to you?"

 

Michael thinks. He thinks really, really hard about it. It is clearly difficult. Then he nods his head. "But you have to stop the bad man or he'll just messy it again with the ugly colors! I don't like the ugly colors!"

 

"Neither do I, Michael. Neither do I. But don't you worry" He pats the unfortunate Malkavian on the shoulder. "I know just what to do about it. " 

1:26 AM          Tremere Chantry

Jeremiah closes his eyes and joins in the chant. The Tremere are not holding hands, there is no reason to, mortals are so silly. They do have their arms extended out side-to-side with their index fingers pointed at each other. This creates an energy circle between all of the participants. An energy circle is all that is needed, when conducting a seance.

 

All four of the Tremere warlocks chant the same mantra, and think about memories concerning the late Garwood Marshall. As Jeremiah never met Abraham DuSable's apprentice, the best he can do is think about memories of conversations he's had about Garwood. Since there are three powerful mages here who have lots of personal memories regarding Garwood, and can easily summon him without Jeremiah's help, it doesn't matter. Jeremiah is essentially just easing the burden on his fellow wizards.

 

It takes sixteen and a half minutes, but the spirit of Garwood Marshall appears in the center of the brazier. He gazes at the group, and smiles. He does not show any traits of being a vampire, but instead looks like he did, presumably, before his embrace.

 

"Hi." He says simply. Everyone opens their eyes.

 

"Garwood." Nicolai says, softly. "We have summoned your eternal spirit this evening as both an exercise for our clan in the art of spirit manipulation, and to hear your last will and testament. We are sorry that we could not save you from the Lupines, and your bravery in stepping in front of Abraham DuSable while he was wounded will never be forgotten. Will it Abraham?"

 

"Never." Abraham DuSable says, a touch of emotion in that otherwise neutral and harsh expression. "I sit here knowing that without your noble sacrifice, I would not be."

 

"I didn't know if I saved you or just died right before you, so I'm grateful for the summoning. It makes my final death have meaning, to see you still alive Master Abraham."

 

"Thank you Garwood." Abraham says softly. This time, the hardened exterior cracks like a hard boiled egg. It is clear that he does care about Garwood Marshall, and that this exercise is emotionally difficult for the Tremere Elder.

 

"Well. My last will and testament. Yes, you should have it. As you all know, I was a mere neonate, and not in the same class of wizard as either Master Nicolai or Master Abraham, or an elder such as you Erichtho. I would like to dedicate my writings, therefore, to the Chantry library. I feel they will prove helpful, especially to younger Tremere who struggle with the Path of Movement of the Mind, especially."

 

Nicolai nods his head appreciatively. "Such writings will be added to the library here. You have my word."

 

"As you all know, I was gifted an artifact by Master DuSable for my progression. A gem that enhanced my ability to see past events when touching an object, and which also strengthened my resolve when dealing with unfriendly spirits. It would seem redundant for Master DuSable to have it, and I know Erichtho has a great interest in the spirit world. Therefore I would like her to be granted the artifact."

 

Erichtho smiles brightly at the ghost of Garwood Marshall. A stream of blood trails from her left eye down her face. "I will cherish it. Thank you Garwood."

 

"As you all know, magic was not my only passion. I would like my saxophone to be given to the Toreador neonate Kathy Glens, that she might remember our fond times playing music together as members of Baby Chorus. Kathy was a true inspiration to me, and in many ways my creative muse. The music helped me focus to become the best wizard I could be, even if some of you felt that it was a useless distraction. I always felt otherwise, and I would like Kathy to feel my appreciation."


Abraham nods his head slowly. "I only feared it would eventually be a breach of the Masquerade. But, I enjoyed your concerts as much as anyone. I will see that Kathy Glens receives what she is due from you."

 

"Thank you. For you, Master Abraham, I will give you what you currently covet most."

 

Abraham DuSable raises an eyebrow. "There is a tome called The Childless Unicorn. There you will find a solution to the ichor plaguing your arm."


DuSable's mouth drops. He is shocked. "I see. That is..."

 

Garwood grins. "I was in that Chantry for fourteen years. I expected to be summoned and I didn't want to show up empty-handed, Master. Not after all that you and everyone here taught me." 

 

"I understand." Nicolai states firmly. "We appreciate your resourcefulness."

 

"I also have something for you Master Nicolai. What you covet the most."

 

Nicolai looks firmly at the spirit. "What have you for me, Garwood Marshall?"

 

"A secret. Telling you what it is would spoil it for you. I will only tell you where it is. It will then be up to you to investigate it at your own leisure."

 

Nicolai tries to act cool as a cucumber, but he unconsciously shifts in anticipation.

 

"In Gary, Indiana there is a large house. The address is 1275-"

 

Garwood Marshall's expression changes from calm to sudden panic. "Ahhhhhh!"

 

And in a flash, the spirit of Garwood Marshall vanishes!

 

"Garwood!" Erichtho cries out. But it is too late. He is gone!

 

"What was that?" Abraham DuSable's concern is clear in his voice.

 

"A defensive spell. He was not allowed to complete the address." Jeremiah had, in fact, seen this kind of thing twice before. It did not bode well for the spirit of Garwood Marshall. The power behind a spell this far-reaching is clearly a strong one.

 

Nicolai stands, rubs his chin. "This needs to be further investigated. Reverend, you are situated in Gary at present. I authorize you to undertake this investigation. If Garwood's spirit has been captured, I authorize you to either free it or destroy it."

 

"Destroy it? No! You can't!" Erichtho is in a rage.

 

"You know we cannot allow the secrets of the Tremere to fall into the hands of an outsider. I concur with Master Nicolai." Abraham DuSable is back to his cold, unfeeling self as he speaks. "Garwood was an excellent pupil. That only means the danger to our secrets being unraveled if his spirit is now bound by another is extreme."

 

"I understand." Jeremiah rises. "I will take care of it. One other thing, though. I would like to be the one to deliver the saxophone to Kathy Glens."

 

"That task is quite mundane compared to-"

 

"I realize what the priority of the tasks are Master Nicolai. I am new to this region. It would be a good exercise for me to familiarize myself with Kindred in Chicago. This would act as an introduction of sorts."

 

"Very well. You may take the saxophone with you and deliver it to Kathy Glens. We know where she can be found."

 

"Very well, I-"

 

"Now, please return to your seats. We have much to discuss concerning the politics of Chicago, and our upcoming roles in the drama that is to play out." Nicolai gestures to the mats. Erichtho looks aghast.

 

"Politics? After what just happened to Garwood? We-"

 

"It is very late. Even if Reverend Thomas can find the address tonight, confronting a being who might not be affected by the rising of the sun would put him at a huge disadvantage. No, the investigation will begin tomorrow evening."

 

"I understand." Reverend Thomas says simply, and re-takes his seat. Erichtho is still up in arms however. "Perhaps if we all-"

 

"Erichtho. Please sit." Abraham says to her coldly. "You do not know Jeremiah. But I do. He is among the most capable of our entire clan at hunting and dealing with an enemy. He will get the job done."

 

Erichtho gazes at Jeremiah, unsure. But Jeremiah levels her with a calm, even gaze. She sits on the mat. "Fine. Politics, then." The disdain in her tone is quite clear.    

 

1:45 AM             Chicago streets

Evelyn knows Chicago like the back of her hand, having lived here all of her young life. Salihah is familiar with the underground world of prostitution, though in Egypt things are very different than in the United States, in some regards, the prostitution industry is the same everywhere. Katarina doesn't know a thing about Chicago or prostitution, but her brain is working overtime, instead, on the next phases of the overall plan.

 

They almost pass a huge club called PoleKatz, but Salihah slams on the breaks of the car when she sees it. Evelyn almost shoots out of the topless convertible like a cannonball performer at a circus. "Hey!" she growls. "Sorry!" Salihah says, as she hunts for a nearby parking spot. 

 

The three women saunter and strut their stuff for the large, impressive bouncer, and he lets them into the back.  One look at the three girls and they are ushered into the manager's office.

 

Leon "Studdy" Woolton has been in the club game a long time. But even he is blown away by the three drastically different beauties that walk in. He takes their pale, thin bodies to mean that, like most wannabe supermodels, all three use cocaine regularly.

 

"Ladies, looking for work? I might be able to help you out."

 

"Actually, no." Salihah says quickly. "We are not talent. We are managers. We have recently re-located to Chicago, and I want to employ some of your dancers for a very private party for a very important man."

 

Leon rubs his chin. "First of all, I don't like competition. Second of all, you need to get your own talent, not try to steal any of mine. Third, if there's a private party to be booked, by anyone, they can have it right here. I have private rooms available so-"

 

Salihah struts her stuff, and turns on the Presence to full blast. "Oh baby, you have my intentions all wrong. I've heard that you're the man. So I want to do business with you."

 

She sits on his lap, and puts her arm around the back of his neck. "This is just the beginning of our business relationship." She unzips the front of her cat suit, which Leon can't look away from, and pulls out a small wad of money. "Here is five thousand dollars to cover your costs. I just need three girls, and just for tonight. I promise they will be right back here dancing for you tomorrow."

 

Leon takes the wad of money. He'd be impressed by it even if he wasn't feeling the effects of Salihah's vampiric powers. "Oh, well, I didn't know it was all like this honeypot. I guess I can see clear to let three of my girls play at your party tonight, though I'm very upset I haven't gotten my own invitation yet."

 

"Sorry, baby, its just the girls and the client. That's how he wants it to be. I promise if there's a real hot event going on, you will be the first name on the list." She kisses his cheek.

 

"All right, honeypot. You go pick some of the girls out that you want. No more than three, now. I got to keep this club running hot for another two hours before we close down for the night, you know."

 

Salihah, Katarina, and Evelyn walk out onto the floor. "Wow, you've got the moves." Evelyn says appreciatively, though all of that did make her uncomfortable. Katarina, for all of her flirtatiousness, is clearly frowning.

 

"What's the matter?" Salihah asks her.

 

"I would never allow a fleabag like that to touch my personage." She says simply. "You have lower standards than I." She adds, with a flair of arrogance. Salihah laughs. "I do what's necessary to get things done, Katarina. Soon enough, you will see the wisdom in it and take instruction from me."

 

Katarina's eyes opened quite wide for a moment. Evelyn laughs, as though it is a joke. But Katarina can't help but remember Prince Modius' monologue on the subject of the Followers of Set. Perhaps she is allowing herself to get too close to Salihah. Will her association lead her down a path of corruption?

 

Salihah picks out the girls quickly and efficiently. After whispering her plan to each one, they all agree and soon there are six hot girls squeezed into Pablo's convertible.

 

"Now this is what I call a party!" Evelyn yells. Everybody laughs and whoops it up. Except Katarina. She only pretends. But sharing the front passenger side seat with one of the whores, she feels...unclean. She looks at Salihah with a dark expression that the Egyptian is too busy driving to notice. 

2:03 AM             Gary City Hall 

Mortimer has spent the last hour infusing his special "bots" into the computer system. Mortimer's true gift, and the reason for his embrace by his sire is because of The Algorithm.

 

The Algorithm is a process by which Mortimer's super genius brain is able to discern his way past any security system that there is. As the notorious CoolRose, his stature in the world as one of the preeminent infiltration specialists is well known. Indeed, once it became understood that it was CoolRose that implemented special security protocols to protect all of Russia's intelligence data, even massive spy network organizations stopped trying to break in, as doing so would simply lead to their own computers being traced, hacked, and massive deadly viruses being immediately installed.

 

Mortimer inserts his special code into a secret location on all of the drives, and with that process now complete, the physical work here is now done. 

 

Gary's City Hall is not the Kremlin. This is so easy that Mortimer just shakes his head, feels sorry for them, and then ensures that everything once under their control is now under his control. In a modern society, there is so much that is automated.

 

Everything automated can be manipulated, if you know how. Mortimer does. He finishes up in less time than he anticipates, which is good. The longer he is here the longer there is the possibility of Joe realizing that the real Milton is upstairs. And then there would be the kind of trouble that Mortimer doesn't need.

 

He cleans everything up and heads back out, nods to Joe, who nods back, and heads into the elevator. He exits on the 2nd floor, obfuscates, walks one floor down and right past the front desk without notice. Part of high level obfuscate is that they also don't notice the front door open by itself. It's all about fooling the mind.

 

Mortimer gets into his van and drives back to The Hotel. Mortimer had taken a few hours to plan the operation. It went as smoothly as any he'd ever undertaken. Suddenly, he is thankful for all of the hard years. His family literally selling him and his skills to the highest bidder which landed him in China and then his embrace which saw him moved to Russia had caused him to have to perform high stakes missions in extremely difficult circumstances. He'd found all of it challenging and stimulating, of course, but also, he'd been close to death many times. Now, he can do what he wants. Totally free. And with his skills, this pathetic, un-secure region of the world won't know what's going to hit them.

 

He takes up two parking spaces on purpose, gets out of the van and enters The Hotel. Jeeps looks up from his book and nods appreciatively at him. "Good hunting tonight, sir?"

 

"You might say that."

 

But the work is not complete. He'd inserted what he'd needed to at City Hall. The rest would need to be done from his computer station. Once again he felt the uncomfortable tug that the internet here was not from a server that he, himself, controls. It is good sometimes to be paranoid, but he pushes it away. This is Gary, Indiana. He'd already met all of the other Kindred in the area, and none of them are computer savvy. There's nothing to worry about. He heads into his suite and turns his computer on.

 

He is quite surprised when it explodes.

 

2:16 AM                   Logan Square, Chicago 

The car pulls up quietly to the curb and parks. "Wait here. I will text you once the client is ready. Julie, with me." Salihah says simply. The girls nod. Katarina had worked out the next phases of the plan and had conferred with Salihah, and they had agreed upon it. Now it is just about lying to the silly "dancers" and executing the plan.

 

Salihah and Evelyn begin the two block jog to Sgt. Wallace's house. "My name isn't Julie. I only knew you meant me because you were staring right at me. If you can't remember-"

 

"You wanted those silly prostitutes to know your name? They will surely pay for their part in this later, and will happily give us up, you know."

 

Evelyn hadn't thought about that. "Julie it is. There. That's his house."

 

"You are certain?"

 

"Oh yeah. I've been casing the joint for the last week, trying to figure out what to do next."

 

Salihah spots the security system on the door. It's a good one. But there will likely be no security on the 2nd floor windows, and she is an undead Olympic gymnast.

 

"Go back and wait with the others."

"But-"

"And how will they find the right house without you?"

"Right." Evelyn smirks, and feels stupid.

 

Salihah performs four consecutive cartwheels to gain momentum, and then springboards herself up through the air. She catches her hands on the edge of the house, and pulls herself up. Evelyn is quite amazed. Salihah winks at her, then proceeds to the window, which she is able to slide open easily enough.

 

Evelyn jogs back down the street.

 

It always amazes Salihah how easily the houses of police officers can be burglarized. Many of them feel the badge protects them from all harm. That nobody would be stupid enough to rob a high level policeman. Fools! How little they know about the true depths humanity can sink to. And Salihah has not been human for quite some time. Her depths are considerably lower. One cannot force others to succumb to their true nature without first succumbing oneself. To be a Priestess of Set, Salihah had to let her own humanity go. She now travels down a much darker path. It has been her strength and her crutch, on different occasions. Tonight? A strength.

 

She slides into the house.

 

Her main concern is if there is a dog or not. Evelyn had never heard one, she'd said, but she is a complete rookie at this and knows so little. A dog would sniff her out and start barking well long enough for the good sergeant to get his gun and be put on guard. And that would make things much more difficult.

 

Tonight, however, Salihah would get lucky. She finds the master bedroom where the Sergeant and his wife are sleeping. A wife! But this Salihah had known about. It would make no difference.

              

She crept down the stairs and opens the front door and sends the text message to Katarina's phone. A few minutes later Katarina, Evelyn, and the three whores enter the house quiet as mice. They tiptoe up the stairs towards the bedroom, and enter.

 

The noise of them immediately wakes the middle-aged couple. Sergeant Wallace reaches for a drawer, clearly where his gun is. But Katarina throws the light on, and the whores jump on the bed. Salihah and Evelyn both have Presence and blast the couple with a double-dose. That puts them in a much friendlier mood.

 

Katarina turns on her hand-held stereo, blasts a choice batch of Latino club dance music. They had found it in the trunk of the car and would surely razz Pablo for it later. But it had saved them a lot of time and effort.

 

Evelyn has the unsavory task of taking care of the wife. She quickly wraps her up in a choke lock, and Katarina watches her bite the woman's neck, which sends her into ecstasy. Captain Wallace is easily overcome by the three whores, and Salihah gives out instructions of what to do to him while she snaps pictures of it all. Evelyn is quick to lick the wound and then turn the wife over to one of the whores, and she escapes the bed.

 

Now reeling from ecstasy, the pictures of Captain Wallace's wife in the arms of a pair of whores with a big smile on her face is easy to capture.

 

Yup. It's a regular party. Katarina stands by the door, and watches. Everything goes as planned. She should be elated. But this is smut. It is beneath her.

 

2:18 AM            Tolleston Cemetery

Davey shakes the can a few more times, then lets 'er rip. He's really into this design, and it certainly makes this plain ol' grey tombstone look much better. Hahah!

 

Davey turns when he hears footsteps coming towards him at a high speed. His eyes widen when a huge man in a black and gold suit approaches like a speeding bullet. The spray can flies out of Davey's hand as the punch connects with his solar plexus and knocks the wind out of him. He barely registers it as his knees hit the ground, and he crumples, struggles for breath!

 

Night Fist lifts him up by his gang vest and presses him against a tree. "So, you think the right thing to do is to desecrate the tombs of the dead, is that it, punk?"

 

Night Fist turns on the Presence. Presence can be used to put people at ease and make them feel love and loyalty towards you. But it can also be used to inspire great dread and fear. And that is what Night Fist is doing to Davey now. Davey would scream but he can't get enough air. That is exactly why Night Fist hit him there. Instead, Davey just hyperventilates like crazy, and shakes like a leaf.

 

"I said do you think the right thing to do is to desecrate the tombs of the dead, boy?"

 

"Nuh...nuh..."

 

"I can't hear your answer, boy!"

 

"No! No, sir. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

 

"Damn right you are. You will never come back to this cemetery. Hell, you won't come back into a cemetery again until you're in a damn wooden box to do it! Have we got an agreement, punk?"

 

"Yes! Yes sir!"

 

"All right, then." Night Fist tosses Davey away like a bag of garbage. He usually feeds on the criminals he hunts, but that's because he usually beats them so bloody they have no idea. He decides he's done with this one. The graffiti is only a minor offense.

 

Not a bad night all in all. Introduced to the prince of the region, gain permissions to run a business, and then convinced Prince Modius to hire his construction company to repair his mansion, possibly up to a half million dollar job. He's not quite sure if Michael understands Prestation, so, maybe he accomplished the fun-time task. Maybe not. He'll let Mr. Confetti rule on it and act accordingly.

 

Night Fist turns towards the exit to leave, when he hears a horrified scream. He turns back around. Davey screams because Michael lifts him up by the head with one hand!

 

"Bad! You the bad man!" Michael yells at him.

 

"It's okay! Put him down. Put him down now, Michael!" Pablo is too far away to hit Michael with his Presence. He needs to get closer to-

 

"Michael! Michael, no! Oh, shit!"

 

"Bad man!" Michael yells again, and rips Davey's head right off of his neck! 

 

 

2:18 AM    Private Suite: Mortimer T. Smith

Mortimer blinks, his eyes bleary. He is being dragged. He flails his arms out to try and stop his momentum, but whoever drags him is too strong. He sees Jeeps run by with a fire extinguisher, and then he remembers. His computer exploded with him sitting right in front of it.

 

He watches Jeeps quickly put out the fire. It's only a small one. It appears only the monitor exploded. Mortimer tries to assess the damage to his entire system but he's in too much pain. He weaves in and out of consciousness.

 

"That's far enough away." he hears Mr. Confetti's voice say. The Bellboy girl looks down at him. Apparently it was her that dragged him away from the fire. Can't be too mad about that, even if she wasn't gentle about it. He'd take a drag mark across his back then being burned to cinders.

 

Mr. Confetti looks into his eyes, and the events that occurred replay. Mr. Confetti looks suspiciously at the computer system. Jeeps looks mortified.

 

"I...I don't understand how this could have happened sir. I was diligent downstairs. I don't know how-"

 

"I haven't left since I returned from Prince Modius' mansion. Nobody entered without you knowing Jeeps. Not through the front door, anyway." 

 

"Perhaps leaving this place as unsecure as we did was a bad idea after all, sir."

 

"Attacks like this will be inevitable. It is up to the players to secure their sanctuary. Still, the whole thing is rather curious. Why Mortimer?"

 

Mr. Confetti kneels down by the horribly wounded Nosferatu. "This is going to sting. A lot." He then carefully pulls a huge piece of monitor screen out of Mortimer's abdomen.

 

"This attack would have killed a human. Easily. I wonder..."

 

"Perhaps it is just a warning of some kind." Jeeps postulates.

 

"Might as well not rule that out as a possibility."

 

Mr. Confetti turns the glass on his own arm, and pours a few drops into Mortimer's mouth. "Drink this, and you'll be fine."

 

Mortimer experiences elder Malkavian blood for the first time and finds himself immediately invigorated. The blood is extremely potent! And the Malkavian bloodline has an odd, strangely spice-filled taste to it. Every bloodline, Mortimer has been learning, tastes different from the others. He might have to sample Malkavian again soon, as long as it doesn't come with any mental illnesses.

 

The Nosferatu uses the blood to heal as much as his body will allow. "Some of that is fire damage. It'll take some time before you are one hundred percent. It appears you've made an enemy Mortimer." Mr. Confetti pats him on the shoulder and grins. "You must be doing something right!" 

2:35 AM        Tremere Chantry

Abraham DuSable had taken over the meeting from the start of the talk about politics. Erichtho had not said a single word, nor had Jeremiah. Both had simply been listening very intently. Nicolai interjected here and there, and Ublo-Satha, the giant stone golem, proved she is not simply a personality-less guard by moving closer to the group to also listen. Now that the ritual of the evening was over, there was no possibility of her accidentally interfering with the goings-on by the brazier.

 

"And so, to sum up, for the past century we allowed first the Brujah and then the Ventrue to rule the city. The time has finally come for us to stake our own claim to it. The evidence that neither of those clans can hold onto it with the Sabbat closing in, and that the Toreador, Nosferatu, and Gangrel have no true candidates-"

 

"What about the Caitiffs? You didn't mention them." Erichtho says simply.

 

"No, I didn't mention them." DuSable agrees. "But that the six clans I did mention can provide no true candidates for Prince that are worthier for the position than myself does not mean that many individuals will not try for the throne."

 

"I can tell you all first hand that it has always been the Primogen Council who has decided the course of the seat of Prince. And I can also tell you that all of them will back different candidates until someone proves that he or she is the strongest. So it will be a back and forth, tedious process. There are true contenders for the throne and there are those who see themselves as worthy, but will have no backing. Some of these will have personal powers, some great influence in the city, a few will actually have both. Our job is to sabotage every true contender, in such a way as to ensure that Abraham is the only true viable contender in the eyes of the Council, that they will fall in line and accept Abraham. This is the game we play." Nicolai smiles contentedly. It is obviously a game he is extremely familiar with and has played well over the centuries.

 

"I want nothing to do with any of this." Erichtho says grimly.

 

"Of course you don't. In truth, none of us truly do." Abraham DuSable says, clearly and blatantly lying given Nicolai's confident smile just feet away from her. "But, if Nicolai maintains a very heavy presence on the Council, and I am Prince, do you think things will be better or worse for you regarding your privacy and your mystical studies for the next hundred years?"

 

Erichtho is silent. The truth of that statement is undeniable. Reverend Thomas has to admire how easily DuSable and Nicolai jointly led her by the nose and easily played her.

 

"Sounds like we'll need to get our hands a little dirty Abraham. I'm certain you already have assignments for us?"

 

Abraham turns towards Jeremiah and smiles. "Indeed I do. Since you are situated in Gary, I would first like a report on the Prince there, and if he is considering a run at-"

 

"I met him just a few hours ago. Modius is pathetic, but yes, he believes his Primogen will back him."

 

"There are rumors of a large group of elders now in Gary. They have just arrived. This is in exact conjunction with the fortress Modius had erected suddenly being rebuilt. That is my chief concern." Nicolai states. "I find it interesting that you have arrived at exactly the same moment, and have situated yourself in Gary, also." Nicolai leans towards Jeremiah meaningfully. What did he know? What did he not know?

 

Jeremiah knows this is where he must tread very carefully. He notices that Nicolai's hand is inside his left pocket. He suspects the Tremere Primogen is wisely carrying a lie detector there, one that will grow warm or cold depending on the answers he gives. It is a common trinket among the Tremere, and extremely useful. Indeed, Jeremiah has utilized it on many occasions himself. It is very effective, especially when used by a capable mage. Nicolai is the Primogen of the clan. He must be very powerful. His eyes. His eyes are so old!

 

"Very well, I will tell you what I know. Modius no longer controls his fortress. He has sold it to another."

 

"Indeed?" Abraham is surprised. "Why would he do such a thing?"

 

"Because he is weak and foolish, and the very crafty inventor of the Gargantuan clan has purchased it from him for nothing but a feeble and carefully worded promise."

 

"Gargantuan? I've never heard of that one. Is that a clan from the far-east?" Erichtho's attention rises to higher levels. This might be of interest.

 

Jeremiah laughs. "No, it is fictional. The Malkavian elder Mr. Confetti invented it. The building is now his. And the elders, including myself, have come at his calling."

 

"What do we know about Mr. Confetti?" Abraham DuSable is extremely concerned.

 

"I will tell you what I know." Nicolai leans back in his seat, apparently satisfied with Jeremiah's answer. "He is extremely dangerous. He is a fifth generation Malkavian known for three things. First, he appears at Toreador parties he is not invited to and takes them over by outperforming the greatest Toreador musicians with his own unrivaled skill at almost every instrument invented, they say. Likely an exaggeration. Second, he took down an entire Sabbat strikeforce by himself. Not a weak one either. He saved Milwaukee from takeover and has an extremely strong ally in the Prince and many of the Elders there. And Milwaukee is the closest major city to Chicago. So, him choosing to settle here and bring in allies from elsewhere instantly makes him among the most dangerous contenders for the seat. You will likely have to choose your loyalties, Jeremiah."

 

"I don't think he wants the seat of Chicago. I think he's here for some other reason."

 

"What reason is that? The Sabbat? He of course hates them, and they hate him. If Chicago were threatened by them, it would make sense for him to come here to hunt them. Is that it, Jeremiah? Is that the reason you think he's here?" Nicolai is leaning towards him again.

 

Jeremiah inwardly frowns, and has to admire Nicolai's slickness. That damned artifact in his pocket...if he lies about this, Nicolai and Abraham will discard him as an ally and look into Mr. Confetti's activities as a priority, themselves. They will then learn about the Contest of Will, and will report his own participation in it to the elders. Jeremiah will then be recalled to Vienna and never be heard from again. This is a moment of great danger, and Jeremiah has been around long enough to know it.

 

"That is exactly what I am trying to learn. I believe everything he is doing is a cover-up for something bigger. And that is why I agreed to join in his little...game."

 

Nicolai regards Jeremiah silently for almost a full minute. It is a minute that Jeremiah will never forget. Then he leans backwards again. "Mr. Confetti is known for his grand pranks. Some of which have proven very deadly for those in his disfavor. He is admired for his loyalty to the sect, but has none for his own clan. And what he does, he generally does mostly for himself. Very well, I agree. Play his game. Learn what you can. Tell me, what is his agreement with Modius?"

 

"That he and the elders will support his bid for the seat of Prince of Chicago."

 

"That seems clear enough." Erichtho states.

 

Jeremiah grins broadly. "Except that it isn't. Because there is nothing within that agreement to prevent Mr. Confetti and the rest of us from helping any and every other candidate as well. We can support whomever we want, and though Modius will feel betrayed, the wording of the agreement has no hint of exclusivity in it."

 

Abraham and Nicolai consider that a moment, and then laugh loudly. "Mr. Confetti understands the game, all right. I admit, I was concerned about this situation with the fortress." Abraham says, amused. "But, now I almost feel bad for Modius. He is too desperate to see the fate that will soon befall him."

 

"I have a question." Erichtho blurts out. Everyone looks at her. "What about this situation with the police in Gary? I understood that Juggler ran that gang, and I thought he and Modius had some kind of unspoken arrangement."

 

"Do they?" Abraham regards Erichtho a moment. Perhaps the girl is not so out of the loop regarding Kindred politics as she wants them to think.

 

Erichtho instantly realizes her mistake, but its too late to back away from it now. "What do you know about it?"

 

Jeremiah grins. "We did it. We slaughtered those police officers."

 

Everyone is quiet, it is the last answer they expected. "Oh my God." Erichtho says. "Why would you do that?"

 

"There was a Masquerade breach and we fixed it. But the Ventrue Peterson blamed it on the gang. A wise move. Internally, we are deciding who we are going to frame."

 

"Driving a wedge between Modius and his allies is a good move." Abraham says quietly. "We should follow the company line on this one."

 

"We are discussing it inwardly. I will only have one vote among many there. But I will try and sway them in that direction."

 

"Very well." Nicolai says. "Mr. Confetti is your main assignment. If Modius does become a threat somehow, we'll work to sabotage his efforts. I am much more concerned about the real candidates."

 

"I am new to this territory. Could you outline them for me?" Jeremiah asks simply. Abraham looks to Nicolai. Nicolai smiles slyly. "We're compiling a list. In all honesty, it seems every Kindred in this city thinks he or she can be Prince. We assume the ones of the highest threat level will take each other out of the game with bold moves. Modius will see himself in that group, I think, as Prince of Gary. We are more concerned with candidates who are quietly gathering support. I think the Council wants a peace-time candidate who will bring order to the city with their backing. So it doesn't necessarily have to be someone powerful."

 

"We have to correct their way of thinking." Abraham says boldly.

 

"Indeed." Nicolai continues, "So while the high level candidates go to war against each other, we will quietly sabotage the low level candidates and quickly eliminate them. Then the high level candidates will be weak, and none of them will have a reason to hate us, nor have the power any longer to fight us when Abraham walks in to take the seat of Prince with my support."

 

"An intriguing plan. I like it." Jeremiah says. And he knows the truth artifact is glowing warm. Because the plan is good. It just might work. Perhaps he can play Mr. Confetti's game and support Abraham at the same time. Perhaps.

 

"I think this is a good start, and enough for now. One last thing though, is there any truth at all to your so-called experiment in Gary?"

 

"Do you think I could lie about a thing like that to our superiors?"

 

"What is the nature of your experiment?"

 

"I have mastered wind and electricity. I believe by combining both I can create whirlwind hurricanes that are controllable and can batter my enemies."

 

"Intriguing, Jeremiah. I wish you good fortune with such a venture." Nicolai seems very pleased by this experiment.

 

"Nobody is going to notice if you knock down a few buildings in Gary." Erichtho says appreciatively.

 

"Yes, so I can get much done by being situated there."

 

"I am calling an end to this meeting. See you again in a week's time."

 

Abraham DuSable has revealed himself as a candidate for the throne of Prince of Chicago.

 

He has the support of Nicolai, the Tremere Primogen. This makes him a viable and powerful contender. 

2:40 AM            Used Car Lot 

Marshall Barry can't help but smile to himself as he drives away from his new business ally. He'd never tried anything like that in his life. All he'd done is think about how Pablo goes about his business affairs. Marshall may not have Presence or Dominate, but those are just aides anyway.

 

Reverend Thomas dominated the head librarian into doing exactly what he'd always wanted to do anyway. Katarina didn't use any powers at all, she actually broke the Masquerade and offered her supernatural services in exchange for the services of that lady at the electricity company. They found mortals who they could negotiate with and offered them something they wanted. Pablo intentionally chose Superior Construction because it was run by a couple of crooks. All he had to do was convince them that they could make more money going legitimate under his direction than they could running their con, and it's been smooth sailing ever since.

 

On the opposite scale, Marshall had stormed into a retail/gas outlet and beat the crap out of some skinny dude who had been living in this shithole of a town for so long he didn't care anymore about his own safety. And that had put Marshall in a position where he'd had to kill forty-three cops. Then everybody else has had to cover for him, to the point where we're now going to frame somebody else for it, and cause major mayhem.

 

It never had to happen. Marshall had never been into these kinds of political games before. But this is the game. This is the Contest of Will. Marshall was determined when he woke up today that the old dog could learn a new trick or three. And he had. There had been a close call when she had asked him about how he knew about her and all that.

 

He totally lied about calling around to find out about her. He basically just rode around in his stolen car to find someone who was still working and when he saw her in there, at a real estate office he knew he had to go in there and try it out. He improvised most of his answers. It hadn't been so hard, really. It was clear that she was some kind of hard luck case, being in there late at night. Or a criminal. Or both. Turned out to be kind of both. Yeah, he found himself a tough ol' lady in the middle of the night, and now he's gonna be able to establish Gary as a base of operations for the Hell's Angels.

 

He never had to use a power, raise his voice, or, threaten anybody with harm. He looks at his own reflection in the rear-view mirror. "Looks like you're more charming then you thought, you old devil." He chuckles. He knows the truth. It's the smell of big money that is charming to Brenda, and that's just fine with Marshall.

 

He pulls into the used car lot and parks the car. Maybe he'll actually come in here and buy it sometime soon, but it wouldn't do to steal it. He's caused enough trouble without having to explain this as well to mortal authorities.

 

He gets out of the car. They'll know it was hot wired but they'll just chock it up to a teenage joyride. Vampires have no fingerprints, so there's really no evidence. He gets out of the car and scans around one more time for a hidden camera. He chose this lot because he'd looked everywhere for one and couldn't find one. He's certain he hasn't been recorded. Now it's just an easy walk back to The Hotel.

 

He makes sure to grab the valise and starts to casually walk out of the lot, when a limousine quickly pulls into it. The window rolls down. The Ventrue Joseph Peterson stares intently at Marshall. "Get in."

 

It's not a request. Normally, when someone uses a tone like that, Marshall immediately punches the person in the face. But he can't. He owes Peterson a major debt. And while he hates politics, he knows he has to play the game or risk blowing it for not just himself, but everyone at The Hotel.

 

He gets in.

 

Peterson smiles at him smugly from across the way. Another man, tall, thin, with wire-rimmed glasses sits next to him, also with that same smugness. 

 

"Nice suit. Did you get that at a garage sale?" Peterson asks.

 

"I stole it." Marshall says simply. Peterson can't help but laugh at Marshall's honesty.

 

"It doesn't suit you." He grins at his own pun.

 

"Who's this?" Marshall points at the other man.


"My name is Alan Sovereign. Also of clan Ventrue. Mr. Peterson told us about the service you've performed for us, severely weakening Modius' last remaining base of power. Not that we feel threatened by him mind you. Still, he is an enemy."

 

"I thought we were gonna keep what I did between us Mr. Peterson."

 

"There is a lot going on right now, as you damn well know. There are a lot of candidates for Prince, but none of them are going to win. It's going to be me. And do you know why?"

 

Marshall is caught off guard. He didn't realize that Peterson is after the throne. He merely shrugs his shoulders.

 

"Because when you control the media, you control the Masquerade. And the Masquerade, is everything. Everything! And who controls the media in this region?"  

 

"You do, Mr. Peterson."

 

"That's right. I have to say, I do like your tone of voice. You are showing the proper level of respect."

 

"I know what you did for me, Mr. Peterson. I appreciate it. I look forward to repaying the debt I owe you."

 

"Yes, that's what we are here to discuss." Alan Sovereign says, his eyes gleaming in an almost hostile fashion.

 

"What do you need me to do?" This is a moment that Marshall had been dreading, but there is nothing for it but to take his medicine. He does legitimately owe this man. And an immortal living among other immortals had damn well pay his debts or be forever marked and black listed by the entire community. Marshall tried to stay out of the politics as best he could. But choosing not to associate with other Kindred a ton, and being black listed are two totally different things.

 

"As you know, I have successfully framed the entire episode on the Sin City Disciples. As a result of this, I can tell you without any lack of reserve that the FBI are about to hit the Disciples. And they are going to hit them hard."

 

Marshall nods his head. "Well, that's good. I mean, they're scum anyway. If they go down, they'll take the fall for me."

 

"Exactly. We know there is a Brujah here who controls them, however. And if he gets wind of this he will do what he can to stop it. And we don't want that, do we?"

 

"No, Mr. Peterson." Marshall thinks about his encounter with Juggler. He didn't like the man. He was a whiner, a complainer. Probably a bully and a punk when it came right down to it.

 

"We want the Sin City Disciples pushed aside, swept away. That will make room for the Bloods to move in and take over their territory, which we do want. This is another thing the Brujah will try and prevent."

 

This is not good news. How can Marshall make Gary a big home for his people if another gang is going to move in.

 

"Mr. Peterson, if I might interrupt for a moment, here."

 

"I think, instead, you should continue to listen."

 

Marshall opened his mouth, but decides he needs to shut it. He can probably beat the living daylights out of both these Kindred at the same time. But apparently the Ventrue are really powerful in Chicago, and he needs to repay this debt the right way. No getting out of it.

 

"We want you to ensure the success of the FBI operation as well as the Bloods operation. In short, we want you to help ensure that the Sin City Disciples are a distant memory."

 

"I mean, I can do all of that. That's no issue. I just want to add a few things, here."

 

"Very well, go ahead."

 

"Well, first of all, you should know that the Brujah is an ally of Modius. I mean, he was in Modius' house when I was introduced. Juggler, right? That's his name."

 

The two Ventrue gaze at each other. Sovereign smirks. "Very good. That's right."

 

"Thing is, Modius is suspicious that Juggler ordered his people to kill those cops, and undercut him. I think if I can make that stick, I can drive a wedge between Modius and Juggler, see what I mean?"

 

"A cunning idea. Very good. Go on." Sovereign leans forward, now actually interested in what Marshall has to say for the first time. "Also, you don't need the Bloods."

 

"Is that true? And why is that?" Alan Sovereign's eyes are cold like a lizard's as he speaks. He makes Marshall uneasy. And next to him, Joseph Peterson slowly takes in the Gangrel's words and ideas, but has yet to comment on a single one of them.

 

"Because I'm a Hell's Angel. With one phone call, I can get a better class of people over here then you'll get with the Disciples or the Bloods."

 

"A Hell's Angel? Really?" Sovereign betrays no hint of either approval or disgust. Instead his tone is merely steady.

 

"It's true. I saw him in his true colors the first time we met. During his uncontrollable rampage and slaughter. I hardly think we can call you a better class of people."

 

"I did what I thought I had to do. But my point is-"

 

"It is good to know you have forces in reserve. And for now, that is where they shall remain. In reserve. The Bloods are moving into Gary. Soon. Do you understand what I am saying?"

 

Marshall fully understood. Apparently, the Bloods are controlled by Clan Ventrue. Marshall sees all of his plans unravel before his very eyes. His very bad temper begins to flare, but the two Ventrue across the seat from him don't even flinch.

 

He cools himself down. He has to remember his debt.

 

"I get it, Mr. Peterson. I'll do what you say. "

 

"Excellent. I am glad we have come to this agreement." Peterson speaks slowly, and with dark intention. "Here is a special phone. Do not make a call out of it, but keep it on your person at all times, turned on. We will alert you of when to distract this...Juggler, so that he doesn't interfere with the preliminary FBI sweep. Do go ahead and plant the seeds for Modius to continue to suspect Juggler."

 

"Actually," Alan Sovereign adds. "See if you can make Juggler believe that Modius is the one who has called the FBI on his people." He and Peterson gaze at each other, and they both laugh. Peterson slaps his knee. "Now, see, if you get that done, then you'll really be on your way, Gangrel. Yes, you will. Now, get out. And tell no one about this conversation."

 

"Yes, sir Mr. Peterson."

 

The limousine door opens. Marshall steps out. He doesn't have to tell anyone. By the time he wakes up tomorrow night, everyone in The Hotel will know what he has to do.

 

Marshall walks through the streets of Gary, feeling smaller than he has in a long time. 

Alan Sovereign is a member of clan Ventrue. What his role is in the big picture? Hard to say. 

Joseph Peterson has revealed himself as a candidate for Prince of Chicago. 

3:02 AM      Logan Square, Chicago   

Salihah, Evelyn, and Katarina watch from across the street as the TMZ news crew rushes into the house, which they have been told by an anonymous caller has been unlocked for them to get the footage they need. Yes, you can always count on TMZ to be first on a news story, especially in a major city like Chicago.

 

"A brilliant stroke to call them in." Salihah grins at Evelyn. "I do not know what this is, this TMZ." Katarina whispers. "Nor do I. But clearly they have big cameras." Salihah shrugs. "They're a major gossip television program. They're national. Wallace is absolute toast." Evelyn has victory in her tone, and the others nod at her, understanding.

 

"So now all you have to hope for is that the next one who replaces him is better for your brother, I guess." Katarina stands up, using her dark ink to enshroud her in the darkness of the shadows. Evelyn nearly jumps out of her skin.

 

"What the! You guys are the Sabbat?" Her eyes are wide.

 

"No, we are not." Katarina says with disdain. She walks away. Salihah grins and follows her. Evelyn takes one last look through a window as the TMZ crew busts in on poor Wallace and his wife, and the three prostitutes getting it on. She can't help but laugh at their reactions. Then she rushes off back towards the car.

 

"You in Chicago or Gary?" Salihah asks as they pull out of the parking spot.

 

"Yeah, Gary." Evelyn says. "You can drop me by the...uh...just inside the town limits."

 

"Very well." Katarina realizes how the girl almost slipped, and likely almost gave away not just her haven, but Juggler's as well. She would like to have had that information.

 

"So," Salihah says cleverly. You can either introduce us to someone in Chicago on another night. Or you can just owe us each a medium boon for what we did." Katarina narrows her eyes, what is Salihah up to now?

 

"Oh. Well, maybe I'll just owe you then." Evelyn shrugs. Salihah smirks. She knew the girl would pick that option. Fifteen minutes later, they drop her off. "Ta Ta! Oh and remember, don't mention me to any of the other Kindred in Gary. Especially not the Prince, please!"

 

"Sure." Salihah winks at her, and drives off.

 

"So, you have changed gears without discussing it with me." Katarina says coldly. Salihah smiles.

 

"Well, as we were talking, I was thinking. The girl is only three weeks old. She can't possibly know any heavy hitters in Chicago. She'd likely introduce us to some flea bitten Caitiff, which would likely be useless information and defeat the whole point. And, it would require us wasting another evening with her. But, now we both can cash in on the Prestation one. No cash, but we get points. And besides, now we've got Juggler over the barrel, don't we? Cause his stupid green daughter owes us both medium boons and she doesn't even know how deep in shit that means she is."

 

Katarina is silent as she thinks it all over. "Yes. Well played. I only wish you had told me before you made the switch over. If we are partners doing something together."

 

"Yes. Okay. Sorry about that." Salihah tries to hide her annoyance. She made the right move and instead of being congratulated she is being harassed by the princess. She had thought the two of them could be great friends, but she has begun to realize they couldn't be more different. Still, the operation got pulled off without a hitch. They had gained much in their alliance. Not friendship though.

 

"Friends," Salihah remembers her sire's teachings, "Are for the weak. For friends are the ones who will betray you the most, and the hardest. An enemy cannot betray you, for you will never give your enemy the benefit of the doubt. Pawns cannot betray you if you play the game properly. Therefore, divide all between those two categories. Enemies and Pawns."

 

"But Sire, what category shall I put you in?" Salihah asked, with eyes wide open. "You are not my enemy or my pawn. You are my master."

 

"Indeed. And when you are ready, I will set you free upon the world, to feast upon it far from my sight. Only then will you never become stifled by being required to be my pawn, which would only cause you to have to choose to become my enemy. For now, you are my disciple and I am your master. But such things are only temporary. Remember that. Mark it well."

 

She had marked it well. The lesson had allowed her to keep her rule over her temple firm. There had been much peril in it, and when Mr. Confetti's invitation came, she saw it as the clearest way to do exactly what her sire had warned her he would do to her. She set herself free to feast upon the world, away from her own childer, who would likely begin to feud amongst themselves for control of the temple. She did not fear for them, for they were merely pawns in her world. And Katarina?"

 

She had hoped to create a new category here, amongst true peers for the first time in her un-life. She had hoped that her Sire's perspective had been limited. Pawns or Enemies. Is that really all there was in the world? And if that were so, what would that make Mr. Confetti, a man who could rob her of her very identity in only a few moments?

 

She threw it out of her mind and sped Pablo's car towards The Hotel. Beside her, Katarina had been silently contemplating the entire events of the evening, using her vast intellectual prowess to recall all of it, and see if she had been manipulated by Salihah.

 

By the time they had returned her analysis was done. She could not find anything truly out of the ordinary. Part of her thought that maybe she had gone paranoid. That the Anarch Movement's fire attack at Prince Modius' mansion was still having a residual effect on her and that she was taking it out on Salihah for no reason. The plan had been a good one, it was executed well, and they would both be equally rewarded for it.

 

But she decides as she enters The Hotel that she will not get so close to the Follower of Set as she had originally thought she might. Just in case.  

 

3:15 AM       Tolleston Cemetery

Pablo paces back and forth. "Will you stop that? Stop that!"

 

Michael has been feasting on the sweet, red ichor of Davey's blood and frankly, Pablo is more hungry than annoyed. He looks at his watch. This time more annoyed than hungry.

 

He had left a voice message on everybody's phone and sent a text message too. There had been no answer whatsoever. The girls had taken his car into Chicago, and of course, he's never going to allow himself to be in this position again. With a car, he could dump the body into the trunk, drive it on over to Salihah's waste management facility, and turn the body into mulch before anybody would even notice the fool had gone missing.

 

And somebody would notice. Normally, a guy like this getting killed is not a big deal. But he's clearly a member of Juggler's gang, and that could have some ramifications for poor Michael, if Juggler has a temper and is the vindictive sort. From all indications of what Juggler was like in the basement of Modius' mansion, he is exactly that sort of man.

 

"Okay, so, Michael, you're a Malkavian, right?"

 

Michael stares at him blankly.

 

"Okay, well, you know how to obfuscate right?"

 

Michael stares at him blankly.

 

"You can turn invisible right?"

 

Michael does! Pablo can still see him because of his Auspex, but he can tell that Michael is now using Obfuscate. "Great. Terrific, now you can pick that body up and we can just take a run across town to the dump site." He gazes at his watch. He had waited here too long. He figured someone would swing by with a car or even Marshall's chopper would have been fine. Mortimer could have easily masked the group in Obfuscate and they could have gotten the corpse out of here even by walking. Salihah might have managed that too, but if she was back from Chicago, it would be irrelevant as they'd have Pablo's car, and its handy trunk. 

 

This whole evening has been a total disaster, Pablo reflects. Well, not a total disaster. He still has Modius' contract. As long as all of his enemies don't whack him first, that is. He'd have to get the house built fast, and the money collected even faster after that.

 

"Michael, pick that body up off the ground please."

 

Michael stares at the corpse and points at it. "Bad man!"

 

"Yeah, him. Pick him up."

 

Michael picks Davey's corpse up off the ground. Now it too is invisible. But, of course, it is missing something very important. Pablo takes off his vest and wraps the damn head with it. "Okay, let's go. Let's go!"

 

He takes off at a jog. Michael follows him. "We got the bad man. We got the bad man. We super heroes!"

 

"Yeah, we sure are." Pablo, in his Night Fist costume and Michael trailing right behind him dressed as Superman is kind of funny. But, with only a few hours of daylight left and Pablo having no familiarity at all with the shortest way to get to Salihah's transfer station, and how exactly to dump or destroy the body once there, makes for a not so funny predicament.

 

They get to the gate of the cemetery. Pablo rushes through it. Michael stops, and sits down right inside the gate. Pablo looks back and hurries back. "Michael! Michael come on. Please, come on we have to hurry."

 

"No!"

 

"Michael, we have to do this. We have to. Please."

 

"No!"

 

"Oh damn it! You know what? Fine!" Pablo takes off, leaves Michael behind. He turns on the Celerity, his specialty. Few in the entire world are faster, except of course the ultra powerful Methuselahs that stalk the night and even more dangerous creatures of the world. Some werewolves could probably beat him in a foot race. But even then it would be a close thing. He had to use up some of his blood pool. He wished he had taken a bite out of Davey. Oh well.

 

There is a white van and Marshall's chopper in the parking lot in the back of The Hotel. Not his car, but good enough if he can get a set of keys. 

 

He rushes inside and is surprised to find Jeeps not at his post. First time ever. "Of course." Pablo says, near frenzy now. He rushes up the stairs and finds a gathering on the fourth floor. Mr. Confetti, Jeeps, and Reverend Thomas. 

 

Katarina and Salihah had not yet returned from Chicago and Marshall Barry is currently inside the Ventrue limousine. 

 

"What's going on?"

 

"I just returned myself." Reverend Thomas says. "But apparently Mortimer's computer has been sabotaged. It exploded when he turned it on."


Pablo's mouth gapes open. "Oh God. Is he-"

 

Mr. Confetti gazes at Pablo sharply. "He'll be fine. He's resting. Why are you carrying a blood-filled shirt? You are dripping on the carpet."

 

Pablo looks down at the head-filled vest. "Sorry, I-"

 

"Is that somebody's head in there?" Reverend Thomas asks.

 

"Look, I need a vehicle. Is that white van in the parking lot yours?"

 

"What white van?" Mr. Confetti asks, alarmed. Jeeps is quick to answer. "It belongs to Mr. Smith, sir. He arrived in it." Mr. Confetti is physically relieved, and shrugs. "Well, there's your answer. He is badly hurt though, so I doubt he is planning another excursion."

 

Pablo rushes into Mortimer's suite. Reverend Thomas follows him in. Jeeps has already done a masterful job cleaning away the damage. But the lack of the large monitor and the large, blackened burned areas on the top of the desk are clear indications of the horrible deed done here. 

 

Mortimer is in his bedroom, and they peek in. Pablo immediately feels terrible. Mortimer had always looked bad -- he's a bird-monster Nosferatu. But he is horribly burned in the face, arm, and all over his body. "Looks like he had a very close call." Reverend Thomas says. "Better leave him to rest."

 

Pablo grimaces. "I need his van. It's not an option." He walks in, finds the key on the table, and heads out. Reverend Thomas walks out with him. "Need assistance?"

 

"Yeah, I do actually. Thanks."


Reverend Thomas gets into the passenger seat. "What is the situation?"

 

"Michael killed a gang member. I need to dispose of the body before Juggler finds out, or before we have another police investigation on our hands."

 

"Indeed. We don't need another member of our group badly in debt to that Ventrue. I will assist you. What is your plan?"

 

"We put the body in this van and then we drive it over to Salihah's facility and dispose of it there. We should have enough time for it."

 

"It seems like an easy enough chore with both of us doing it." Reverend Thomas agrees.

 

Pablo pulls into the cemetery and drives along the dirt path. Reverend Thomas opens his mouth in wonderment. "The corpse is here?"

 

"Yes, it's here."

 

Reverend Thomas almost chokes, and stifles a laugh.

 

"What? What's so funny."

 

"Nothing, Pablo. Or should I call you The Night Fist while you wear that silly-"

 

"It's not so silly when someone shoots me."

 

"Learn Fortitude."

 

"This way actually protects the Masquerade as well. People don't seem to get that."

 

"Hmmph." Reverend Thomas replies. They get to the spot. Michael runs around a tree, sings a song.

 

"Michael!" Pablo yells. "Where is it?"

 

Michael looks at him like he has three heads. "What?"

 

"The corpse. The body."

 

Michael stares at him blankly.

 

"Where is the bad man?"

 

Michael points to a freshly dug out grave, a shovel sticks out of the dirt next to it.

 

Pablo stares at the open mound, blinks. He and Reverend Thomas look in. Six feet deep, there is an open coffin. The bones of some long dead person lie in it, and on top of them, the corpse of Davey.

 

"Uh, so you just dug this grave open to hide the body in? I mean, that's uh, a good idea Michael." Pablo is at a loss for words. "But why did you keep it open?"

 

Michael seems very agitated. "Because you took the head with you!"

 

Reverend Thomas can't take it anymore. He falls to one knee, laughs. Pablo just stands there, feeling very idiotic.

 

Reverend Thomas taunts him. "Yes, you are in a cemetery Pablo. This is where the corpses are all buried. Throw that head in there and cover it up. I'll stay here with Michael and laugh at you while you do."

 

"Why did you take the head with you?" Michael asks Pablo, truly mystified.

 

"Because." Pablo says, as he grabs the shovel. "I'm retarded." 

 

THE TURN IS OVER! 

 

Day 5 has now officially concluded! 

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