The Cost of Existence Chapter 1: The Cost of Living, a white wolf fanfic

Hey, hey, hey! Check out the new formating! I hope this looks as good once I upload it as it looks to me. A great big huge on my knees and kissing his feet (and don't worry, it's impossible to swell his ego any more then it already is) thanks to Tremere. For being so kind as to offer his services in helping me transform my Microsoft Word documents into well formatted HTML documents. Anything that looks good is because of him, anything that is still a problem is probably because I downloaded his amazing work back onto my crummy computer. As always questions/comments/rants/and stories about that giant worm that lives in your brain may be sent to me at [email protected]. Feel free to write, I love feedback. Now, I wrote this story a while ago but have not felt comfortable uploading it untl recently. (and I'd love to hear where you still think it needs work) But finally Anne Arbor (my beloved Black Hand commander) is going to get a story dedicated all to herself, and a pretty big story at that. If you like it keep an eye out, as I promise that the sequel will be up any century now. But don't feel like you have to hold back, this is a complete story in and of itself. So, please read, review, and enjoy....as Anne discovers...

The Cost of Living: A Tale of Detroit

Michael Cooler paced back and forth at an abandoned bus stop in Windsor. As archbishop of Windsor (though many still thought of him as a mere bishop) Cooler held vast power and influence amongst the Sabbat, it could even be said that in the Windsor/Grosse Pointe/Harper Woods/Detroit area he was the Cainite in charge. Thus he was unused to the feelings of trepidation he now felt. Michael shook his black hair out of his eyes and straightened his black leather jacket for the eighth time that hour. He glanced up at the Black Hand warriors who stood nearby, they all seemed to be eyeing him carefully. Cooler forced himself to relax and stop pacing around. He slowly looked up to the top of a nearby light pole, perched on top of it was Anne Arbor, commander of the area's Black Hand forces. The young woman wore her usual black leather body suit, and heavy black cloak. Her long black hair spun lazily in the wind as she used her higher vantage point to watch for the approaching bus.

Anne scanned the mountain road, still no sign. Sighing she held back up her newspaper and scanned the next few lines of the story she was reading. She realized that few Sabbat bothered with reading mortal news reports, but she found it helped to remind her of who she was. Or used to be. She glanced up again, still no sign. She wished the bus would arrive soon, since the sooner it arrived the sooner....well, no use getting all worked up over it.... Yet, she reminded herself with a slight grin. She turned the page over from foreign events and turned to domestic. "Park Stalker Strikes Again!" was the headline that greeted her. Anne read about how the sick bastard had cut up another young girl. This time in Forest Lake Park. Anne scowled in disgust at the description of the vile rapist-murderer. She hoped that they would soon capture the madman. She glanced up, and paused, a gleam of headlights moving along the winding road. She let the paper slip from her grasp and sail away on the wind.

"They come," she called in her soft voice.

Cooler began walking in a quick circle as he triple checked things in his mind. Black Hand? Check. Battle reports? Check. Proper accommodations? Check. Food if they were hungry? Cooler paused in dread. He spun towards a dark crouched figure that sat on one of the benches nearby.

"Piss Boy!" Cooler bellowed. The crouched figure immediately leaped to his feet and scurried over to Cooler.

"Tell me what you desire and it shall be done master," whined the Pander.

"Go, and locate some food for our guests, quickly!" Cooler watched as the pathetic messenger dashed off to locate some easy targets. Cooler then spun about and continued to pace. Anne slid easily down the post and moved to stand near him.

"You should relax Archbishop, I suspect that if they wished you harm they would have notified me."

Cooler glanced at the dark figure next to him, he scowled at her but did again stop pacing. Anne suddenly turned her head at the sound of approaching motorcycles, coming from the opposite direction as the guests! The Black Hand warriors immediately dropped into pre-chosen battle spots and readied their weapons. Cooler narrowed his eyes and peered into the distance, then cursed.

"It's the Knights," he muttered. Sure enough a band of twelve bikers arrived, ten of them carried shields and swords, and wore white doublets with a red cross emblazoned on them. The man they followed also rode with them, Knight Bishop Christopher St. Johns. St. Johns raised his gauntleted hand in salute to Cooler as he dismounted. St. Johns was dressed much like a classic knight, armor and all. He smiled and bowed in greeting to Anne, however her eyes were glued to the last rider. Cal Jericho, templar and thorn in Cooler's side. Cal easily swung off of his Harley and smiled at Cooler. Jericho was dressed in his usual garb, black trenchcoat, boots, black clothes, and mirrorshades. He flipped his ponytail over his shoulder as he approached Cooler.

"Damn it must be hard for you to find messengers!" Jericho growled, "It's almost like you didn't want me to know we were about to be graced by some Sabbat luminaries."

Cooler scowled, "I opted not to inform you because you were not requested to be here, neither were you," he said turning towards St. Johns.

"But my friend," said St. Johns smoothly, "I felt it was imperative that I and the New Sabbat be here to greet our distinguished guests." Cooler frowned at the mention of the group. The New Sabbat were really little more then a large coalition of lesser and younger packs. But their unification under St. Johns had helped elevate the ambitious and dangerous Cainite into a position of authority Cooler felt he still had yet to earn. "Besides," continuued St. Johns, "after I told him of the meeting Jericho insisted that I accompany him." Cooler narrowed his eyes. He would need to find out who had been foolish enough to leak the information of this meeting...

"Sorry to ruin your fun and games boys," said Anne stepping in between the others, "But you weren't invited, thus you're not wanted. I'll give you exactly twenty seconds to leave before I order my men to tear you apart." She glared daggers at both St. Johns and Jericho. After all in a way she felt this visit was really to check up on her, and she would be damned if she was going to let Jericho run in half-cocked and ruin it. Jericho glanced at the ten Black Hand warriors who had circled in about him and the Knights.

"I don't know Anne, seems to me like the odds are pretty even here," he remarked.

Anne stared back into his shades, "fifteen seconds," behind her she heard the bus making its final approach. Cooler backed away slowly from the soon to be bloodbath, he was no coward, he also was no fool.

"Don't you think we should let the arriving leaders decide who they want to see?" asked St. Johns, attempting to defuse the tension between Anne and Jericho.

"Ten seconds."

"I'll be damned if I'm backing off to a slip of a girl and her Black Hand goat rapists," snarled Jericho.

"Five," Anne slowly pulled back part of her coat revealing the blade therein.

There was a screeching from the brakes of the bus as it pulled into the abandoned station. Anne and Jericho continued to eye one another as the doors swung open. St. Johns and Cooler quickly approached and offered their greetings to the trio disembarking. The first appeared as an older man, he dressed in a fine suit of blue and wore a white shirt and black tie. His face was handsome, but not overly so, his blue eyes and strong chin suggested physical and intellectual strength. Behind him stepped out a young man, appearing to be in his early twenties. His face was flawless, and his features perfectly formed. Only his eyes betrayed his true nature, for they were dark and touched with a note of age. Finally a middle aged man dressed in the red uniform of a Cardinal of the Inquisition. His gray eyes contained a quiet menace to them, and his cheeks were rough with a days growth of gray beard.

Cooler and St. Johns bowed before the three figures. Cooler nodded to each in turn, "Archdeacon Beriayl, Dominion Flint, Cardinal."

The grim guests nodded, The Cardinal turned back towards the bus driver and motioned to him, the driver nodded and called to the back of the bus. In moments more figures stormed out, three were Black Hand, another two appeared to be ghouls carrying luggage. Finally the back of the bus swung open and disgorged two massive war ghouls. Cooler glanced up at the monstrous beasts and his eyes widened in awe. Each of the creatures stood near ten feet in height, and were almost as wide. Numerous massive tentacles hung from their bodies, all ending in bone spurs, blades, or clubs.

"I see you are amused by my pets," said Archdeacon Beriayl as he walked over and rubbed his hand affectionately over one of the brutes. It rumbled an odd tone, almost seeming to be purring. Meanwhile Flint had walked over to regard Jericho and the Knights.

"Who are these fools who intrude upon our meeting?" he asked Anne.

"I'm Cal Jericho," growled the templar.

"Oh, Mr. Jericho," Flint turned to look up into the templar's shades, "I had heard so much about you from Anne, I'm sorry to say I expected more." Jericho looked down at Flint, who was the head of all Black Hand operations in Michigan.

"More? Uh what did she say exactly," Jericho asked, feeling suddenly flustered by the young looking beast before him.

"Well," Flint patted Anne on the shoulder, "let's just say that she had me overestimating your natural cunning, after all you were never invited to be here." At this Anne lowered her head in shame, Jericho merely grinned,

"Maybe, but I've found it serves me well to appear at places I'm not told to be."

"In some cases," said Flint, "however in this case I think you have come very close to final death," Jericho tensed slightly, and his hand drifted towards his blade,

"Fair enough, but I'll warn you, I plan on taking at least half of your men with me." Flint smiled at Jericho's bravado. He then calmly reached into Anne's coat and drew forth her sabre,

"What make you think I'd need my men to snuff an insignificant worm like you," Flint said, he ran the blade along his palm and left a thin trail of blood on it. Jericho recoiled as there was a sudden hiss, the blade began to sizzle as the blood ate away at it, in moments the blade had dissolved down to the hilt. "A warning to you Jericho, play your game wiser," Flint said as he dropped the smoking hilt to the ground.

"Thanks," Jericho said quietly, still staring at the lump of metal.

"Just a moment templar," Flint interrupted before Jericho could withdraw, "I still haven't decided if I will kill you or not.....But I think I owe Anne for her blade, therefore." He turned towards Anne and motioned at Jericho, "Choose." Anne looked up slowly and eyed Jericho. He still stood defiantly, ready to spring to battle if she pronounced him worthless. She glanced back at Flint and realized he was deadly serious about her choosing Jericho's fate.

"Jericho is over active, and headstrong," she said, "but, I think he is a necessary part of the Sabbat forces. Besides his death would cause problems from his sponsors in Mexico." Flint nodded at her decision and waved off Jericho. The templar slowly withdrew back to the parked bikes. Meanwhile Beriayl had been listening to St. Johns go on about his "New Sabbat" and discuss his achievements as its leader.

"I am sure you are pleased with yourself," Beriayl said to the beaming St. Johns, "However I didn't ask for you to be here, so go away." Even as he spoke the massive war ghouls lurked in closely to St. Johns. The would be bishop quickly bowed his way out of the way of Beriayl and his ghouls. St. Johns then withdrew, taking his Knights with him as they leaped aboard their bikes. Cooler escorted the trio of visitors over to a collection of limos and vans to transport them and their ghouls into Windsor. "Good, I wish to be immediately taken to my rooms, I am tired from the journey," Beriayl proclaimed. He and his creatures and luggage were loaded up. The Cardinal bowed slightly to Cooler,

"I have matters to think over, I believe I shall walk to my room," he said.

"Is that wise sir?" asked Cooler. But The Cardinal had already turned and begun walking.

"Do not concern yourself for his well being," Beriayl said, "he is not a true Cardinal, it is only his name, besides he shall be more then capable of dealing with himself." Cooler turned to Flint,
"Would you like to ride in my car lord?" Flint shook his head,

"I shall ride with my men," he then moved to where the Hand was loading up their men. Cooler shrugged and ordered the convoy to head out. As the last vehicles pulled over the hill there was silence at the station once more. Until.

"Master? Master I brought some blood......Master?"

Hank leaned against a tree watching the couples in the park, he had been there since noon. He had watched the crowds gather, and now watched them disperse as night fell. He smiled as he watched the last of the crowds leave, now there were only the chance encounters with people, now there was silence, now there was dark. Now he could hunt. He reached into his dark blue windbreaker and felt for the tools he had left there. The mask, the gun, the knife. He began to walk through the park, slowly, keeping an eye out for her. He knew she would be here, she was every night. His Leanne, his muse, his victim.

He spotted her after an hour of pacing up and down the length of the park, her long black hair, her innocent features. But something was wrong, she was with another man. That wasn't part of the plan, she had to be alone. Luckily he knew how to solve this problem. He felt into his coat, felt the smooth wood handle of his gun, felt how heavy it was, how reliable. He walked up on them, kept his eyes averted, lest they become frightened and run. It was important when you hunt deer not to look them in the eye, so it was with his prey tonight. As he passed he gripped the gun more firmly, as the man went by he pulled it out and turned. The gun was loud, it jerked his arm, he smelled the tang of smoke. He fired twice more, better safe then sorry, you always had to be sure when hunting.

She screamed and ran from him. But that was just fine, the chase was part of the hunt. He pulled on the mask and put away the gun. She ran. He pursued. She didn't run as fast this time, he guessed she wanted him to catch her. He grabbed her long flowing black hair, it curled in his grasp, he pulled. She fell to the ground and he dropped onto her back. She was screaming again, he hushed her but she wouldn't be quiet! He pulled on her hair and slammed her head down on the sidewalk. She screamed more. So he did it again, and again. Soon she stopped screaming, so he did what had to be done. First he claimed his prize, a few thrusts and then the gasp of relief, and the warm afterglow. Then he claimed his trophy, pulling out the knife and cutting her soft skin. She groaned in agony, still alive. He thrust into her again, but now with steel instead of flesh. Again and again and again. Soon she was quiet, and he was the victor. He pulled the knife out, then he pulled out. It was over. He put the knife away and quickly dashed off the path into the darkness of the park. He had spent hours upon hours learning the terrain, he easily made it back to his bicycle. Then he returned home, the hunter victorious again.

"God damn it all to hell!" growled Mazzo as he sat on a bench near the crime scene. Detective Mazzo was becoming sick and angry as hell about his inability to catch the Park Stalker. Another pair of kids dead. The male by gunshot wounds to the back, one to the head at close range after he had already fallen. The woman had been beaten, raped, mutilated, and then killed by multiple stab wounds to the throat and chest. Mazzo watched as his boys checked for extra evidence, but he didn't expect to find any.

"What's the word Mazzo," asked a deep baritone voice full of command. Mazzo turned to see Octavian walking slowly up the path. Mazzo growled in further annoyance, Octavian and his strange investigations were the last thing Mazzo needed.

"Another pair of kids dead, it looks like the same M.O. as the other park murders." He said as Octavian walked up and sat down next to him on the bench.

"That brings the total up to, what now, thirteen?" he asked, Mazzo nodded.

"The only real connection appears to be that the women killed are all young, and have long straight black hair, also he seems to enjoy making off with their ears." Mazzo's voice was thick with disgust as he described the murders.

Octavian nodded,"I think I'll take a look around if you don't mind,"

"Would it matter if I did?"

"No." Octavian stood up and walked over to the location of the first body, he looked down at it and shook his head. The second corpse proved more interesting to him. Judging by her appearance she probably got a good look at the killer. Octavian pulled off one of his gloves and kneeled by the body, he brushed her hair softly and closed his eyes....

....Running through the park, running faster, trying to get away! Run, but something jerked on her hair, she was thrown down. A great force pushed her into the ground as she screamed for help. The pulling of the hair, the flash of pain as her face met the sidewalk, darkness.....pain! Eyes flare open and mouth screams as ear is held dripping blood above her, the grinning skull leering, the knife rising, the knife. The knife....

....Octavian's eyes fluttered back open. He shook his head in disgust, another victim, another failure to be able to identify the killer. Octavian whipped out a cigarette and his lighter. He placed it in his mouth and sucked in the acrid smoke. He shook his head again as he stood up. There was going to be hell to pay for this.

Anne ran her hands loosely through her long dark hair, and spun around to inspect herself in the mirror before her. She was wearing a long cotton nightgown, it was soft yet coarse in its construction. Devoid of frills or other elegance it draped softly across her slim form. She had carefully scrubbed herself clean of the grit of the city, and hadn't bothered to apply any make-up, thus she appeared even paler then normal, which only highlighted the darkness of her lips and eyes. Anne concentrated lightly and caused a swell of blood to rise to the surface of her skin, flushing it with warmth and bringing a slight reddish blush to her cheeks. Satisfied with her appearance Anne exited the bathroom and returned to the hotel suite that Cooler had arranged for Flint. The massive bed had sat untouched, instead a pile of furs and a bundle of clothes lay upon the floor. Flint's preferred sleeping arrangement. His weapons lay out upon the floor next to the bed, each had been cleaned and sharpened with meticulous care. The weapons rested upon a goose down filled blanket, that Anne suspected was more comfortable then Flint's "bed". The room was dark, Flint was no fan of electricity, and was only lit by candles scattered around it. The windows had already been covered in plastic and concealed by heavy curtains. Only the balcony hadn't been thus guarded, and the elegant glass doors leading on to it sat wide open, letting a soft breeze blow into the room.

Flint himself stood upon the balcony, holding a small worn wineskin and a cup hand-carved from wood (in truth little more then a bowl). Anne had seen Flint carve it nearly fifteen years ago, when she still served at his side. She walked slowly over to the pile of furs and sank down softly upon it. She was certain her passage had been silent but Flint turned suddenly to face her.

"Anne, it is a brief joy in my life to see you again, it has been far too long since I sent you here." Flint tilted the wineskin and allowed more blood to dribble forth from it into the wooden bowel. "I am also pleased that the reports of your foolishness, and bizarre actions were....overplayed." Anne bowed slightly to his words as he drank from his cup.

"I always seek to obey my master's lessons," she said as she bowed again. Flint smiled at her and walked in off the balcony, he turned and shut the doors behind him.

"It was a wise choice you made concerning Jericho," Flint said as he pulled the heavy drapes over the glass doors. Anne nodded slightly,

"I must admit that his death was tempting, but he is too skilled to throw away like that," she replied. Flint turned and placed down his cup and wineskin.

"It was a wise choice," he repeated, "If you had been so stupid as to ask for his death I would have had to kill you as well." The comment made so casually startled Anne and she gazed up at the figure before her. "And your death, would have brought me little joy." He said as he gazed into her dark eyes, "I see that you have remained as enchanting as ever," he said as he ran a hand down the side of her face. She smiled and closed her eyes at the sensation. "Ah, my beautiful, deadly childe," sighed Flint, "I had almost forgotten, I owe you a new blade after my, demonstration." He turned and waved his hand before the exquisite collection of weapons nearby, "here, take your pick."
Anne opened her eyes and turned to regard the row of swords and daggers before her. She smiled as she regarded each in turn, "But master, your obsession with all these straight heavy blades, I'm afraid they don't mesh well with my style."

"How right you are," he replied shaking his head, "you still insist upon those ridiculous sabre's, but perhaps I have something..." He stood and moved across the room in one fluid motion. Anne followed his movements as he reached into another bag he had brought with him, "perhaps this is more to your taste," he said as he pulled a sabre from inside. Anne's eyes widened at the sight of the weapon, it appeared flawless. "Damascene steel," said Flint as he slowly walked it towards her, swinging it lightly through the air. "Crafted by Phillihpe DaBere, swordsmaster of Paris and the Royal Art of The Sword Academy there." He easily proffered Anne the perfectly formed hilt, she smiled and gazed wide eyed in glee at the gift, she grasped the hilt and it slid easily into her hand. "I sent him all the specifications on your height, weight, hand shape, fighting style, everything," Flint said as he watched Anne slip into a fencing stance and easily start the blade flashing through the shadows of the room.

Finally she spun around and embraced Flint, "oh thank you sire! It is the best gift I have ever received!" she gushed in her enthusiasm. Flint smiled at her youthful exuberance.

"It never ceases to amaze me," he said gripping her arms and looking down at her bright face, "how excited you become over simple things. Look at you," he said as he brushed her cheek, "attempting to still appear human, still alive and breathing." Anne stepped back from his touch and turned away from him.

"And why shouldn't I," she asked, "Aren't we still......human?"

"Only in the poorest sense of the word," came Flint's cold reply, his figure wavered as he called back his true form and face. The young smooth face of youth was replaced by a grim and scarred face of a man. His shining skin blackened and became as dark as shadows. The short lustrous mane of hair lengthened, dropping to his shoulders, still blonde but appearing worn and abused. Only the eyes remained the same, dark and full of knowledge of thousands of deaths seen and performed over the centuries. "We are immortal now, creatures of the night, the leopards amongst jackals." Anne turned to face him again, she ran her hand along the dark rough skin of his face.

"Must I too throw away that which makes me human, my dreams, my idealism," she asked.

"No my childe, keep those, for they make you what you are. But remember first and foremost, you are the hunter of the humans, not their protector. That is a lesson our brothers in Alamut have yet to grasp." So saying he took her up into his arms again, "But for at least tonight, I think I shall allow you your mirage of mortality." His fangs slid slowly from his mouth, "If you shall allow me to remain the hunter." Anne arced her neck towards him and closed her eyes. She felt him enter her in that most intimate of ways, she felt the warmth and love for him fill her, her own mouth opened as she leaned in towards his throat as well....

Steven waved off Jilean and her discussion about re-zoning some of the housing near to her hospital lair. The Malkavian primogen nodded and backed away quickly. Steven walked over to where Octavian stood in the corner of the large meeting room. "What news have you?" Steven queried.

"Two more dead from the murderer in the parks, still no leads as to his identity," Octavian said as he pulled his smoking cigarette from his mouth. Steven nodded at the news,

"This kine is beginning to vex me," he confided, "I think his actions are striking too close to much of the prime feeding grounds of some important kindred. I'd hate to see them suddenly caught and accused of being a serial killer. Or worse arrested and placed in a cell, it could raise problems when morning arrived." Octavian nodded in agreement to Steven's words.

"So you want me to keep poking around at the sites," he said.

"No," Steven replied with a hint of steel to his voice, "I want you to deal with this problem quickly, I want it dealt with, I want to wake up tomorrow night and have no one even concerned about these murders. Understood?" Octavian bowed stiffly and turned away. He quickly left the room to return to his patrols. Steven turned back to the room and tapped Jilean's shoulder, "I believe you wished to discuss zoning rights?" he asked with a smile.

The Sabbat war council had been convened at the request of Archdeacon Beriayl, the Sabbat leadership of Windsor slowly drifted into the auditorium, and began to bicker over seating. Rich Varda and The Marauders had arrived late. "Damn it to hell, " growled the Brujah pack ductus as he glanced around the quickly filling room, "everyone fights for their seats harder once most of them are full!"

"Perhaps I could go get Louie," suggested Lolita, pack priest of The Marauders. Rich turned to look at the demented woman,

"You just leave that fucking chainsaw back in the van, O.K.."

"Louie wouldn't like to be spoken of in that tone," Lolita complained in a whine as she followed Rich towards the front of the room. Rich cast his gaze up and down the assembly, finally spotting Cooler and his attendants seated in the front,

"There's our spot," said Rich pointing to a section near to Cooler, a spot occupied by two other packs. All twenty Marauders quickly headed over, "Fuck off," was the only argument Rich offered. One of the packs quickly picked up their stuff and left, the others didn't. Rich growled loudly as he exploded forward and grabbed the opposing ductus by his coat. With a grunt Rich hurled him over three rows to land painfully amongst some Nosferatu. Rich was slammed back by a spike of bone entering his chest, courtesy of a Tzimisce on the other pack. However two of Rich's men grabbed on and wrenched the spike out of Rich, one of them then struck it with his elbow and broke it off. While the second grappled the Tzimisce the first jammed the broken spike into the struggling fiend's eye. After another three minutes of fighting the Marauders had their seats.

Anne caught the battle as she slipped in a side door with the other Black Hand agents of the city. She shook her head in disgust at the pointless bloodshed. She and her men went to a section they had previously announced would be theirs. No one sat in it. In fact, due to fear of The Hand, few even sat near it, despite the crowded conditions.

"Greetings Anne," said Erin as she approached. Anne looked up at Erin and her pack. The Osirins were possibly the most dangerous single pack in Windsor and Detroit. Composed of Assamites and Setites they were a lethal combination of stealth, firepower, and "special" skills. They were also renowned for their talent in silent kills, and assassination. Erin, pack ductus and a Setite, shaved her head bald. Her eyes had a slight yellowish tint to them and seemed almost slitted, like a snakes. She was wearing a green leather bodysuit with a scale pattern, over which she wore a black ankle-length raincoat. Behind her, dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and black slacks, stood Fer-Sep, Erin's sire. He was Egyptian in ancestry, and kept his head shaved as well. Also with the group was Laurie, the Osirins' priest, she was an absent-minded woman wearing worn and dusty clothes. Three pens were stuck in her wild brown hair, and her left wrist was covered in dozens of notes and reminders. The pack's three other members had apparently not opted to attend.

Erin looked Anne up and down carefully, "It appears as though you have a new blade," she said softly.

Anne nodded and half drew the blade, "My sire brought it as a gift for me," she said as she turned it slowly around. Erin eyed it appreciatively,

"It is a truly marvelous weapon," she whispered. There was a thump as a figure slammed into the bench behind them, both women turned to see who the intruder was. Anne was unsurprised to see Cal Jericho sitting behind them. He smiled down at the pair,

"Evening ladies, Erin you look as snaky as ever," he said with a flash of his teeth. Erin turned away from him with a shake of her head. Cal glanced over at Anne and paused, "there's something different about you, "he peered closely at her face. "Huh, it looks like someone's been sucking on your blood, I think you're even paler then normal," he slapped a fist in his palm at his discovery. Anne spun away from him sharply, embarrassed that he had noticed her condition, and offended to hear her relationship with her sire so crudely stated. "That's it isn't it," leered Jericho as he leaned in towards her, "you've been letting someone suckle at your sweet little neck!" Anne spun back around and glared at him with her green eyes,

"You would do well to shut up, now!" she hissed in barely restrained anger. Jericho shrugged and leaned back, Erin glanced over at Anne,

"Relax child, you shouldn't allow the enemy through the gates of your emotions," she whispered to Anne. Anne nodded and forced herself to calm down. Even as she did so there was a brief beating of drums as Archdeacon Beriayl and Dominion Flint (now appearing as an older distinguished man with a long gray beard) made their way onto the stage. Michael Cooler quickly stood and ordered silence in the chamber. There was a slow and gradual decrease in volume that eventually quieted the room to a dull murmur.

"My children, let us pray," said Beriayl as he stood behind the podium on the stage. There were grunts of annoyance from some of the more anxious Sabbat, but overall the gathering quieted to true silence to hear the Archdeacon's words. "When Paul entered into Athens he saw an altar dedicated TO AN UNKNOWN GOD. It is this god whom you do not know that I proclaim. The God who made you and I, the lord of blood and night. He doesn't live in temples built by his children. He gives all of us life and breath and everything else. We are his children." The room had grown truly silent as Beriayl's words echoed from the walls, filling the chamber with the force of his words. "Since we are Caine's children, we should not think that Caine is like something made from gold or silver or stone - an image created by man. He is thus also not the representation created by his older childer. They claim to know his will, they claim if we do not obey they shall destroy us. Yet Caine cursed these children and cast them from his city. They are not to be trusted. Caine has set a day he shall return and cleanse the world of his foul children, and return to us the glory of his teachings! Therefore it is our duty, nay our quest! To work to prepare the world for HIS coming!"

The room was rocked by the chorus of supporting yells, behind Beriayl his war ghouls bellowed, lending their deep voices to the tumult. Anne noticed that Flint seemed unimpressed by the display, and sat quietly waiting off to the side. Beriayl slammed his hand down upon the podium, "thus I call to you, and you, AND YOU!" He cast his finger about the crowd before him, "Who will strike forth, who shall smite the wicked, who shall bleed for Caine?" The room shook as dozens of packs leaped to their feet and screamed how they would fight and die for the cause. Anne too stood, reaffirming her own belief in the cause of the Sabbat. "My brothers," said Beriayl in a quiet voice that was filled with warmth and camaraderie. "I am heartened to see that here, in Detroit, we still have Cainites who know what they have to do. For the reason I come here, is to arrange the execution of the chief tool of Caine's cursed childer here in Detroit. I am here to organize the death of Prince Steven himself!" The room filled with a thunderous cheer that rattled the windows, Cooler himself seemed caught up in the spell of duty that Beriayl had woven. Finally as the roar subsided Beriayl spoke, "now my brothers, listen to the plan that our respected Black Hand Dominion Flint has devised." Flint finally stood up and walked over to the podium.

Officer Melissa Guthrie walked slowly through the park. She was wearing a black wig and was dressed in civilian clothing, the better to lure in the Park Stalker. She glanced over at the parked cars just visible at the edge of the park as she walked deeper into it. She had been worried to take this assignment, however she would never have forgiven herself in another innocent kid had gotten killed because she was too scared to do her job. She walked down the path, secure in the knowledge that there was a concealed officer in almost every clump of trees in the park. Melissa softly began to whistle a tune as she walked.

Whistling? Why was the prey so comfortable? She knew she was in danger, why appear relaxed? Hank paused in his own walk and glanced around carefully. There, in the bushes, a man hidden and watching. Hank frowned and cut off the path towards a secluded spot he knew of. Sure enough there was another man concealed here. He had a radio and would occasionally speak into it. Hunters hunting the hunter. Hank smiled and began to do what a hunter did, observe the prey....

Jane Doe, Sabbat bishop of Windsor, walked back into her sprawling estate on the outskirts of town. Behind her came a small collection of sycophants and bodyguards. Also visible was the crouched form of Piss Boy, who had already been given orders to deliver by Cooler and Beriayl. However Piss Boy held loyalty to the Sabbat second, behind loyalty to his mistress. Jane motioned to her following to wait, as she drifted up a dark winding staircase into her private rooms. Immediately three young serving ghouls slipped forward to tend to their mistress. Jane allowed them to remove her elegant gown piece by piece. Jane stood there thinking. She was concerned over the planned death of Steven, after all, she had her own plans for his fate. These plans failed to involve killing him. She flung her arms out in annoyance, and in so doing smashed her fist into the face of one of her attendants. The young girl was hurled back to slam into a pillar, there she lay, stunned and broken.

Jane sat down before a small armoire and opened it, to reveal a selection of clothes, as well as a large selection of grooming supplies. One of the remaining attendants pulled out a silver handled brush and began to run it through Jane's thick and long red hair. The hair passed down to Jane's ankles and thus needed constant attention to remain in good array. The second ghoul pulled out a sheer burgundy silk nightgown and held it up for her lady's inspection. The ghoul concentrated slightly, and then her flesh crawled and shifted over her body. Her hair suddenly began to grow and turn red, her face became paler and sharper of angle, her limbs became delicate and perfectly formed. She soon became a poor imitation of Jane's own unearthly form. Jane looked up and down the ghoul, using her in lieu of a mirror. Finally she nodded, and the ghouls moved to dress her. Jane's mind had been rocketing with thought, plots, and counter plots. Now as she felt the smooth silk gliding over her skin she grinned slightly as a plan formed in her mind. She stood slowly and turned about, only now spotting the downed ghoul on the floor. She shook her head slowly as she walked back out, perhaps she should put back in their tongues so they could tell her when that happened.

Jane stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the foyer, she motioned down at Piss Boy and curled her finger, motioning him to join her. In moments the jumpy Pander had scrambled up the stairs to bow at her feet. "What is it my mistress wishes of me?" he asked while gazing in awe at her perfectly sculpted bare foot.

"You have been given orders to take to The Marauders," said Jane in her hauntingly melodic voice, "I wish them....changed slightly."

Mazzo looked up from his desk as Lieutenant Leo Johnson and his squad came in. "In early aren't you Leo?" asked Mazzo

"No, just out late," was the reply as Lt. Johnson sunk into a bench near the back of the station.
"We must have spent around fifteen hours in that damn park, and we get to try again tonight,"
Mazzo shook his head, "I don't know what you think, but I got a feeling this plan's not worth the paper it was written on,"

Leo looked over at the surly detective, "I'm sure that Captain Franklin would love to know your opinion of his plan, after all your brilliant mind has already formed dozens of better methods,"

"Ahhh, quit, you're making me blush," said Mazzo, "but seriously, this plan, it don't take the killers actions into full consideration. All you have to do is look at his choices in victims," Mazzo pulled a few folders out of his desk and opened them for Leo. The elder black man leaned in to look at them,

"The murder scenes, what about them,"

"They're on the sidewalks," stressed Mazzo, "see each of them was killed on the paths, but nobody ever sees him before, after, or during his attacks!"

"So?"

"So! So think about it, the guys not just randomly wandering and picking attacks, he plans each and every one of them carefully. This guy is made of ice, he's cool, and he's not gonna fall for Guthrie in a wig."

Leo looked over the reports, "That's an interesting hypothesis, but I still have my orders, speaking of which," Leo glanced at his watch, "If I want to get any sleep I better get to it now, see you around Mazzo."

"Sure Johnson," Mazzo replied as Leo slowly stood up and walked away. Mazzo picked up one of the files and looked at it. "Yeah you plan it out, really carefully too, like an assassin or a hunter......"

The Marauders had spent all of last night gathering their war gear, now they were sitting in the top of a parking garage putting it all together. "Man did you see the way that Flint guy talked?" said Rich as he strapped a holster to his leg. "He just got up and BAM! There's the plan, all of it, all laid out simple like!" Rich grabbed a automatic out of the back of his van and checked the ammo clip, "and did you see how he never got worked up, I mean y'know even when the guys started to ask some really stupid questions? I swear, the guy never even changed expression when Turbo told him to go fuck a fence!"

"Turbo sure changed expression when Anne went and broke his neck," pointed out Lolita as she oiled up Louie and polished his blade. Rich paused in his recollection and smiled to himself.

"Yeah that was fucking hilarious! One sec, there's Turbo 'yo Flint go fuck a fence'" Rich said in his best Turbo impression. Lolita paused in her work to watch Rich strike the same pose Turbo had been using.

"Naw, naw," growled Grunge, the pack's tracker and stalker. "Turbo said it more like one word, like 'yo Flint go fuckafence!' like that." Rich broke into laughter at the impression.

"Oh man, did you have that down perfect, that was fucking great!"

"Do it again, do it again," cheered Lolita while clapping her hands together.

"Yo Flint go fuckafence" Lolita fell backwards into the van and kicked her legs in laughter, Rich and the others guffawed as Grunge stood up to strike Turbo's pose.

"Oh jeez," gasped Rich, "and after that, when Flint just looked at him...."

"Yeah that was spooky," burst in Shotgun Joe, "I mean, Flint just kept staring at him, like he expected Turbo to actually have an argument or reason for saying what he did."

"Yeah, you'd think go fuck a fence would be enough," snickered Rich.

"Do it again," squealed Lolita.

"Yo Flint go fuckafence" Again Lolita was consumed by laughter, Rich wiped some of the blood tears starting to stream down his face,

"nd then, and then, when he asked Turbo if that was all," Rich gasped

"Plus he said it so serious," added Joe.

"Yo Flint go fuckafence"

Lolita began emitting a high pitched whine, due to lack of air in her lungs.

"Then, then when Turbo grabbed his crotch," laughed Rich, "and told him he'd ask Flint's bitch if that was all tonight!" Joe pointed at Rich, now remembering the event.

"That was fucking crazy man!"

"Yo Flint go fuckafence and gimme your bitch!" Lolita shook her head from side to side, still shaking with laughter. Grunge had grabbed his crotch and was slowly waving it back and forth.

"Damn, and all a sudden Anne was on him!" Rich added, "shit, but I didn't even see Flint make the motion to tell her to do it!"

"SNAP!" agreed Joe while making a neck breaking motion with his hands.

"Yo Flint go fuckafence and gime...ahhh!" Grunge waved his hands about and collapsed backwards. Lolita rolled out of the van, holding her gut in both hands.

"Oh wait, wait, cause then she said that the only bitch she saw was him, and kicked him right in the jimmy!" said Joe, shaking with mirth.

"Damn, I'm a bitch," said Grunge, still imitating Turbo.

"Jeez," said Rich as he slowly regained control of himself, "It was like she took it personal."

Turbo, formerly a member of Evil Inc. a respectable pack in service to the New Sabbat, now sat without his pack in an alley in Downtown Detroit with a set of shovelheads. Turbo turned to look at his "back-up" and winced in pain as he felt some of his neck cartilage give way. He growled as he grabbed his still damaged neck and tightened the support he was wearing. "Fucking cocksucker, bitch cunt!" he hissed.

"What was that?" a voice directly behind him asked. Turbo spun around to see Anne step from the shadows, behind her trailed the figures of The Osirins. Turbo cleared his throat and straightened his posture.

"I was just thinking about how speaking out of line got me this shit-ass job," he said, "and about the filthy gutter whore who broke my neck!" He grew out his fangs and claws, as he crouched, ready for her assault. Anne just stood there staring at him. Turbo glowered and stood back to his full height, "fucking chicken shit bitch cum guzzling girl!" He spat out.

"You talking to me?" said a voice from behind Anne. A small slip of a girl, dressed in black leather and stockings stepped out. An apparent picture of innocence, her long blonde hair even had ribbons in it. However Baby Jenks (as she was known) was also known to be one of the most violent and antagonistic of the Sabbat in the area. The tiny terror glowered at Turbo, then glanced up at Anne, "can I gouge his eyes out and stomp on them, please," she battered her eyes and clutched her hands in a pleading motion. Anne glanced down and smiled slightly,

"No child, we were just checking in to make sure Mr. Turbo here was still going to lead his force into that club over there to create a distraction." She glanced up at Turbo, "you are going to complete your mission and save your pathetic life, aren't you?" He scowled at her, the two sat there for a few seconds, glaring into one another's eyes. Finally Turbo turned away to look back at the club.

"Yes,"

Anne nodded in approval, "In that case we have places to be, come," she and The Osirins turned and slipped out of the alley, leaving Turbo to consider how to survive the coming battle.

Anne and The Osirins dashed smoothly and silently over the roofs of Detroit, appearing as no more then shadows in the night. Finally they flowed to a stop on a elegant mansion's roof, overlooking Grand Circus Park. "the prince will be meeting an elder in that mansion," said Anne as she pointed out the ominous structure. "When he departs you shall strike, I will be stationed here in order to call in the reserves should things go badly."

"What are the reserves," asked Ker-sep as he scanned the mansion.

"There is a pack that will drive up and park their van near the mansion, The Hellions I think, they will leap out and offer supportive fire to any attempt you make to leave the battle. Also, if I spot that things are going badly I will radio in a squad of Black Hand who will be waiting nearby, then I will come down to help you." Ker-sep nodded at the plan and glanced over at Erin. She smiled,

"There will be good hunting tonight!" was her whispered reply.

Steven looked up as Eric, his seneschal, cleared his throat. "Milord, it is time for your arranged visit with Doshaine." Steven nodded and stood up,

"Notify Octavian, I shall want extra security so close to the park," he ordered. After all, even if Doshaine was crazy enough to want to live near a gathering spot for werewolves, didn't mean Steven was. Steven walked down to his limo, The Honor Guard slipped in easily around him. The four elite ghoul defenders were all dressed in black, and were heavily armed. Steven never went anywhere without them. The group climbed into the waiting limo, as Steven was about to order the driver to go he spotted a figure quickly jogging towards the car and waving it's hands. Steven motioned to one of The Guard, and a window was rolled down. The figure was James Fitzgerald, a Ventrue of the city.

"My prince," said James bowing slightly, "I have matters to speak of with you," Steven paused in considerment,

"I am currently late for an engagement, however join us, you may speak on the way," James climbed into the limo and sat down as the driver pulled it smoothly onto the street.

Carnellia walked through the crowds of excited kine as they thrashed away to the latest dance craze. Though she appeared young, and dressed in a flashy white outfit. Carnellia was one of the more dangerous leaders of organized crime in Detroit. She also was a powerful force in the local Brujah clan. She walked up the flashing light covered stairs to the second floor of The Pulse, a club she owned. Carnellia sighed when she spotted the large gathering of anarchs there tonight. As she was trying to circle the anarchs to reach the more reserved Brujah she was accosted by Francis and Evelynn. Francis had his hair spiked up into tall purple points. He completed the look with little red glasses and a set of leather clothes. Evelynn wore clothing that seemed more fit for a Nosferatu, as torn and dirty as it was. Her hair was done up in neon orange dreadlocks.

"Yo, Carnellia, how's it hanging, the party's rocking and you look shocking," howled Francis.

"No shit," screamed Evelynn, "The Pulse is pounding tonight!" Carnellia grinned weakly at Francis, the anarch was a rather annoying person she had no interest in hanging out with, much less his Toreador girlfriend.

"Hello Evelynn, so have you decided to join up with Belle and the other anarchs yet?" Carnellia sweetly asked. Knowing full well that the Toreador had no real intention of abandoning her rich and powerful sire for Francis.

"Well, I, um," Evelynn stammered as Francis turned his attention towards her. Carnellia quickly moved around them, she easily spotted Brandon talking to someone in a dark corner and moved towards the respectable Brujah. She had devised a plan that insulted the Toreador, while also increasing her power by helping out her clubs. Carnellia was sure that if she could convince Brandon, then he would help convince Jaynie, the head of the clan.

"Brandon, how's it going, I was wondering if..." Carnellia's voice trailed off as she saw to whom Brandon was speaking, Doc. The thin and eerie looking Brujah elder was probably the most powerful Brujah in the city. Yet for some reason he never played at politics and chose to support the anarchs. Doc tipped his ridiculous black Stetson to her.

"Why hello darlin', what sundry and devilish deed drags you forth tonight?"

"Hello Doc," said Carnellia trying to act pleased to see him. This would make negotiations harder.

La Belle Dame Sans Moris' writhed down on the dance floor with some of her friends and anarch teammates. The young French Canadian had torn off her sock cap and was whirling her hair wildly about while the beat of the music pulsed through her. Suddenly the doors smashed open as two bouncers were hurled into the club. Many of the dancers failed to notice, but Belle had honed her senses through a lifetime and unlifetime of fighting for survival. Thus she immediately swung around to watch the massive group of armed thugs enter the club. The leader wore black leather and a neckbrace, he pulled two assault rifles out from under his trenchcoat. Belle's eyes widened in shock, "de la tere," she cursed in French as she dived towards cover.

"Camarilla dogs all die tonight!" howled Turbo as he braced himself and began to spray rounds into the dancing crowd. Screams of anguish and surprise quickly echoed through the massive room as dozens of juicebags fell before the spray of the mighty guns. Even as they ran out of ammo Turbo waved to the shovelheads, "go get im boys, kill any of the suckers that look funny to ya!" The now blood hungry and maddened recruits rushed into the torn sea of humanity. The shovelheads were armed with pistols and pipes, and they soon began tearing apart anyone who came near them. Turbo quickly began to re-load his guns.

Belle glanced at some of her friends who were crouched behind the table with her, "how many of you have weapons? Fusils? Pistol's?" Only one of them had brought a gun, and he had only brought one. Belle frowned as she puled out her twin pistols and handed one revolver to another anarch, "I shall expect it back mon ami." So saying Belle called on her preternatural speed and zipped around the edge of the table. She popped three rounds into the first Sabbat, and grabbed the pistol he dropped. She spun about and tossed it back towards her friends. The wild Sabbat immediately charged the young woman. The closest one swung a lead pipe at her face, but Belle simply grabbed it and tore it from his grasp. His eyes widened in surprise as he realized she also now had her gun to his face.

Turbo turned towards the resistance and easily spotted the most talented of the fighters. He raised his assault rifles and quickly sprayed two blazing streams of rounds at her. Oh sure it tore apart the shovelhead, but that's what shovelheads are for. The small girl received a steady stream of bullets into her chest and went down with a brief scream of pain. Turbo almost laughed at the way her allies attempted to rush out to help her, he easily mowed bullets into them as they came out of cover.

Carnellia had been shocked by the assault, but now she was pissed. "Damn, if only I had been armed," she growled. In a white blur she dashed over to Francis and tore the pistol from his grip. Even as he started to protest Carnellia was heading over towards the balcony. Doc was sitting behind a post watching the struggle below. Carnellia saw some anarchs make a quick attack, but when their leader went down the others got real stupid. Doc shook his head in disgust.

"Kids." He turned and started down the stairs. Carnellia glanced at his retreating back,

"What the hell are you planning on doing?"

He paused to grin at her as he lit his cigarette, "I'm going to talk with them."

Turbo jammed his last set of clips into his rifles and brought them back up. The little teenage hero was fighting off a hungry shovelhead, her friends position was being overrun by the others. Turbo suddenly stopped as he spotted a man descending the stairs from the upper level. The thin sickly looking man had a cigarette stuck between his teeth. He wore a black suit, and underneath it a silk vest and white shirt. On his head he actually wore a black cowboy hat.

"Well howdy partner," laughed Turbo, "y'all ready ta surrender?" The man smiled and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, his other hand dropped to his coat and unbuttoned the front. The black material swung out to his sides to reveal a holster and two pistols underneath. "God damn boy," laughed Turbo, "when did I travel back in time to Dodge City, this is what we use to kill people now!" So saying he whipped up his rifles and sprayed bullets towards the odd figure. The thin man however moved with blinding speed. Turbo sweeped his guns after him as the man blitzed around the side of the room in a blur. Before he realized it Turbo had swept the weapon through his own shovelheads. He cursed as four of them dropped to the ground.

"So, you ready to dance now," said a quiet voice full of menace. Turbo dropped his rifles and turned towards the gunman, he opened his trenchcoat to reveal his only remaining weapon to be a pair of machetes.

"As you can see, I'm not really ready for a high noon shoot-out, but," Turbo glanced towards a revolver laying on the floor. "If you'd give me a second I could..." The gunshot rang out before anyone had seen Doc draw. Turbo staggered back with a gaping hole in his forehead, Doc slammed his hand along the gun, fanning the hammer. Turbo rocketed back from the multiple impacts and collapsed in a pool of blood.

Belle was helped to her feet by Doc while Carnellia and the other Brujah charged down the stairs and tore apart the shovelheads. "Merci, " Belle said as she staggered to a chair. Doc followed her along, keeping a steadying hand on her arm. Belle sat down and began to patch up the holes in her legs and chest.

"Rest here," said Doc, "cleaning up this mess and maintaining the Masquerade will take some time." He turned and headed back into the carnage. Belle looked around the shattered club, now where were her guns?

Steven listened with half an ear as James discussed a wish for expanding his feeding territory another block to the north. Steven considered the offer, north of James' territory was a section of the city usually held by the Toreador. James was too intelligent to seek to antagonize a Toreador by himself. But James' sire was Teresa Monterro, a belligerent and snotty Ventrue from Europe. She was an ally of his and he would hate to see her become upset over him thwarting her childe's maneuverings for her. But insulting the Toreador.... The car took a sudden turn into a wall of ivy, James jumped, and even the Honor Guard stiffened. Steven was too in control to allow any slip of surprise on his part to show. The limo pulled around the immense front lawn, filled with old trees and a massive fountain to pull to a stop before the towering oak front doors.

"I shall consider your request and have an answer for you when I am finished here," said Steven as his driver opened his door. Steven stepped out to see that Octavian was already there, along with eight deputies and ghouls.

"Secure the perimeter," ordered Octavian as he fell into step behind Steven. Two deputies followed Octavian up the steps, the others began to circle around the house and take up watchful positions. Steven walked up to the doors as one of The Honor Guard pulled the bell pull. There was a moment of waiting, and then the door was opened by a young blonde female in a black chauffeur's uniform.

"The master is pleased that you have chosen to grace his humble domain," said the young woman as she bowed and stepped back to allow Steven and his escort entrance.

Cal Jericho watched the set of Camarilla pukes as they hung around a parking lot and fiddled with their bikes. Cal had been performing a sweep of the area in order to spot any Camarilla who might be close enough to lend aid to Steven when the prince was assaulted. These guys fit the bill. Cal could have called in for back-up. But....he had been aching for a fight ever since that prick Flint had scared him off two nights ago. Jericho easily leaped off the rooftop and dropped to the asphalt of the parking lot. The five Camarilla looked up as he started to approach them. Jericho quickly scanned over them, two were ghouls, two were probably Brujah. The last he wagered was a Gangrel. Jericho sighed in annoyance, you always had to be careful fighting the fucking Gangrel.
"Hey boys, when was the last time you payed your pussy club for men membership dues?" Jericho said as he stalked up towards the group. The five of them looked at each other in surprise. The largest of the Brujah reached down to his bike and pulled a hatchet off of it.

"Pal, I don't know who you think you are, but you're gonna regret being born real soon," so saying he moved to intercept Jericho. The templar grinned, and there was a blur of motion. The other kindred jumped in surprise as their pal suddenly dropped to the ground headless. Jericho now held a gleaming broadsword in his right hand, his left held the hatchet, snatched from the Brujah's grasp before he fell.

"Fuck!" yelled one of the ghouls as he turned and ran for it. A whizzing thud quickly followed as Jericho lobbed the hatchet to embed in the back of the ghoul's head.

"I guess those two have paid up," said Jericho as he grinned widely. The Gangrel snarled as his hands transformed into gleaming talons, he sprang towards Jericho and erupted into a blur of slashes. Jericho let himself slip into the heightened super speed reactions that he had honed over the years. He quickly parried each claw slash with his blade, soon the Gangrel's forearms were tattered and bloody strips of flesh. The Gangrel's pace slowed slightly and Jericho easily upped the tempo as he began to attack back. From the corner of his eye he saw the Brujah pulling out a shotgun, and the ghoul two Colt Anaconda's. Jericho laughed and leaped upwards. The Gangrel was left swinging at nothing as Jericho twisted himself in mid air.

He landed behind the ghoul and shoved his blade through his back. Jericho then released the blade as he grabbed the ghoul's guns and began firing them at the Brujah. The shotgun roared as the enraged biker blasted rounds at Jericho. Most of them tore apart the ghouls body, those that did get through didn't hit anything important. Jericho concentrated his fire to the Brujah's face, and in moments the large biker staggered back in blinded pain. The Gangrel howled as he leaped over the bikes towards Jericho. Cal grabbed his blade and slid it out of the ghoul's back. The body dropped to the ground as Jericho fell to a knee and whipped his sword in an overhand arc above him. The Gangrel's throat was sliced in half, and he dropped to the ground with a bloody plop. Jericho quickly stood up, intent on finishing the Gangrel.

But with a roar the Brujah leaped forward in a blinding rush of speed. He wrapped his powerful arms around Jericho's chest, pinning the templar's arms to his side. Jericho lashed back with his head, the impact crunched the Brujah's nose, and cracked some of his bones. In the same instant Jericho shoved his elbows upward while dropping down. The combined motions easily slid him out of the bear hug. Free again, Jericho spun around on his knees and slashed his blade through the Brujah's knees. Bereft of his legs the warrior dropped to the ground, where Jericho quickly decapitated him. He stood up and watched as the Gangrel dashed away down the street. Jericho smiled and grabbed the keys off the Brujah's body. In moments he tore down the sidewalk on the motorcycle, his blade held out to the side as he rushed towards the Gangrel's back. To the Gangrel's credit, he did dodge the first pass.

Officer Guthrie hunched her shoulders as she felt a chill wind blow about her. She cursed as she glanced up ahead of her, great, the path was leading into the dark clump of trees near the lake, not the most pleasant spot in this weather. She muttered under her breath as she approached the trees. At least Officer Zigmond was up there. Guthrie wondered if maybe she could bum some coffee off him.

Hank watched as the young woman approached. Really! Walking in this weather and not expecting him to see the trap. He had stealthily come up behind the man positioned in the trees here and dealt with him. Now Hank stood in the officer's coat and hat. He waited in the same place the officer had been. He had eight more minutes until they would check in at this point again. He knew because he had been timing them. The young woman entered into the dark patch of trees. "Hey Zigmond," she whispered, "hey, you got any coffee or something?" Hank grunted in affirmation and made as if he was coming out to hand some to her. Under the coat he gripped the handle of the knife firmly.

Steven walked into the receiving hall and proceeded to the pair of chairs seated near the fire. He looked down at them and smiled, one was arranged so that it sat facing the fire, meaning that whoever sat in the second chair would be an ominous shadowy outline, while the other person would be forced to constantly suppress the natural kindred fear of fire. "Please, take whichever chair pleases you," said a haunting voice from above. Steven glanced up to see Doshaine's dark cloaked form standing on the balcony above him. The albino elder grinned down at him as Steven took the seat with its back to the flame. "I trust you are comfortable," Doshaine asked.

"Quite, won't you come join me?" Steven motioned to the other chair.

"No," Doshaine held a hand before his face, "being close to the fire offends my eyes so, I shall speak to you from here." Steven marveled at Doshaine's cunning. He had distracted Steven into thinking that the chair placement was the trick, and had allowed Steven to believe that he had fooled Doshaine into a weak position. However the Toreador had never intended to leave the balcony, and now Steven was stuck in his chair craning up to stare at Doshaine.

Octavian stood in the entryway watching the elders play their games. First point to Doshaine he mused, of course Steven has a freebie point waiting in the car. He smiled and glanced over to Danae, Doshaine's ghoul bodyguard, and The Honor Guard. The five deadly killers were staring at one another, attempting to suggest they were the most deadly. Octavian smiled wider, now that's a fight I'd pay to see he thought.

Inside of Steven's limo James waited for the prince to reemerge from Doshaine's dwelling. He idly popped open the computer inside the car and started it. He smiled when he easily breached the password. But frowned when he realized no information was on it. "Steven doesn't know how to use them," said the driver as he relaxed in the front seat. James smiled and pulled out a wad of cash as he leaned forward to speak to the driver.

"What does he know how to use?"

Erin slid up behind the guard standing at the front gate, nearby Tach, an Assamite, was moving simultaneously behind the guard who was keeping an eye on this one. Baby Jenks was on the last one in the chain. Erin continued to count silently in her head. Seven, six, five. She pulled out one of her katars and brought it up behind the guards head. Three, two, one! She grabbed the guards mouth and slashed his throat with her poisoned blade. He started in surprise, and then died. Erin slowly lowered him to the ground and glanced inside the compound. Two figures made the all clear gesture. Erin lightly leaped over the high iron gate and dashed silently through the front lawn, as she ran she drew out a second katar, and stopped behind a tree. She watched the guard continue his slow pacing around the house. The guard suddenly realized he couldn't hear his foot steps anymore, but by then it was too late. Silent as a shadow Tach came sprinting up on him and decapitated him in a smooth running dash. The body dropped silently to the ground.

Erin spun around the tree and continued her crouched dash forward. She dropped to her belly and quickly slithered up to the edge of the fountain. She raised her hand above the edge slightly and counted down on her fingers. When she reached zero she sprang up and hurled her twin knives into the back of the guard sitting on the far side of the pool gazing towards the mansion. His watching of the men on the roof now gone Both of them suddenly found themselves assaulted by silent killers. Erin jumped into the fountain and walked over to where the guard's body was floating in the pool. She leaned down and retrieved her knives, as his gushing blood turned the reflected pool light from white to a sick reddish cast.

The driver was starting to describe how Steven would spend time at the docks watching the waves when the door was suddenly opened and a gleaming knife was sunk into his side. He managed a brief gurgle before dying. James gasped in fear even as the sun roof was slid open and a pair of hands descended into the car for him. James managed to scream for a split second.

Anne nodded in approval of the grim efficiency of The Osirins. They had already cleaned up the corpses, and now the visible guards were all propped up bodies, or actual pack members. The trap would be sprung as Steven left the mansion and entered his limo. Inside both Erin and Fer-sep would be waiting, and their combined assault would make quick work of even one as old as Steven. Anne smiled, pleased that the plan was going so well, then in the corner of her eye she spotted a flash of movement. Anne turned to look down into the park, there was a man, with a knife, and a woman! Anne growled in the back of her throat, that sick Park Stalker was at it right now, and here she sat! Anne glanced at the perfectly waiting ambush, and back towards the park. Duty and loyalty waged a silent battle with humanity and a sense of justice.

Guthrie staggered back in pain as the knife slammed into her gut, she screamed and reached for the on switch to her comm. set. The large man grabbed her hair and dragged her to him as he plunged the knife into her again. Melissa screamed in pain and dropped to her knees, gasping out blood as she finally managed to flip her radio on. The man was left holding the black wig. "Bitch," he snarled as he kicked her in the side of the head. He then turned and dashed off into the night, following the pre-planned route to safety and his bicycle.

Melissa Guthrie lay spitting out blood as the police force dashed in, desperately trying to close the net and also get to Guthrie quickly. Lt. Johnson jumped out of his car that he had driven up into the park. He ran forward and dropped by Melissa. "Guthrie? Guthrie, are you all right" she spat out some blood,

"Yeah, I love getting stabbed," she weakly joked. Johnson turned around to yell at the other officers,

"Get on the radio, we have officers down, repeat two officers down!"

Steven finally stood up, "I believe that we have discussed the matters you held important, I shall take my leave now." Steven had long ago realized that sometimes you had to excuse yourself from Doshaine's presence. Since the man tended to wander in conversation, and had little concept of timetables or schedules.

"Goodnight, goodnight," said Doshaine, "parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight, till it be morrow." He bowed slightly as Steven turned and walked back towards his guards. Octavian and the others dropped in easily around Steven as Danae escorted them back to the front doors. She opened them and bowed to the prince as he and his men left. Steven turned to Octavian as they walked down the front steps.

"Any luck concerning the Park Stalker?"

"None as of yet, but if the cops don't nab him soon, I will." Steven nodded. They walked towards the waiting limo, Steven already forming an answer for James.

Anne was little more then a blur as she dashed down the street, she hooked around and dropped into the park. Trees whipped past her head, as her lithe form leaped and rushed through the dark paths of the park. Anne finally came up to a stop, directly by a bicycle that was unobtrusively chained to a small oak tree. She paused and listened to the approaching footsteps of the Park Stalker. She grinned and stepped back into the shadows, seeming to fade from view. Tonight he would learn not to prey upon the weak. Tonight he would meet a true hunter.

Erin gripped her blades tightly as prince Steven approached the door to the limo. Suddenly he stopped and glanced over the top of the car. Erin glanced at Fer-sep, he looked back and shrugged. Erin looked back, only to see Steven turning and dashing back towards the mansion. "What the hell?" Fer-sep growled as the perfect plan fell apart.

Rich Varda accelerated and drove his van directly through the massive iron gates of the mansion. "Wheeee!" declared Lolita as the gates were smashed wide open. Behind the van came the other four vehicles of The Marauders assault. Rich grinned as he spotted the limo sitting in the front drive. He accelerated more.

Erin spun around to regard the van bearing down on the limo. She quickly reached up and opened the sun roof. Fer-sep yelled as he kicked open the driver's door. With a massive crash the van impacted the limousine, Erin leaped upwards and slammed directly into the windshield of the van. She sat on it in dazed shock and looked inside the van at Rich Varda.

"Erin! What the hell are you doing here," he asked in a surprised tone. Erin opened her mouth to respond when a burst from a shotgun ripped into her side, she was blown sideways off the van's hood to smash into the gravel of the driveway. Rich pulled out two automatics and leaned over Lolita to start pumping rounds towards the collection of guards who were shooting at him from the doorway of the mansion. Lolita glanced into the back of the van,

"C'mon you chicken shits, let's rock!" she howled to the five pack members who sat there. With a yell they pulled open the side door and began to return fire.

Octavian watched as the Sabbat managed to ruin a deadly ambush. "Looks like they called in their reserves too soon," he commented as The Honor Guard began to fire their shotguns at the Sabbat in the van. Danae had dashed deeper into the house, but now she returned, with a rifle and a small box. She crouched behind the door and opened the box, to reveal the grenades therein. Octavian smiled as Danae pulled a pin and with a blur of speed leaned around the doorjamb and perfectly lobbed it into the side doors of the van. There was a brief scream from one of the Sabbat, then the grenade erupted.

Hank walked up to his bicycle and unlocked the chain. "Isn't it odd that a murderer fears thieves?" said a quiet voice behind him. Hank whirled around to peer into the darkness. He pulled out his knife and gun as he cast his gaze over the dark trees before him.

"Who's there?"

"Death."

Hank spun around to look the other way, his brow now beading with sweat as he looked around. At a minor sound he spun back the other way, then back again. He spun in a circle, desperately attempting to see that which was hunting him.

"Show yourself!" He lashed out with his knife as he suddenly leaped forward. Finding nothing he backed quickly away again. He looked around. Nothing. Hank shook his head and turned to grab his bike, even as he did so the bush he had just slashed exploded outwards, a figure in black lashed towards him and knocked him to the ground. Hank quickly raised his gun and blasted the entire cylinder into the chest of his attacker. The shadow merely laughed as it came closer. Hank raised his knife as he peered at the face of this perfect hunter. She raised a gleaming sword above her head as she stepped towards him. He finally saw her pale features, her flashing green eyes, the bared fangs.

"Leanne?" The figure stopped for a moment, seeming confused at the name.

"My name is Anne," she said quietly. She looked at the blade and lowered it slowly. She sank slowly to her knees, and issued a soft sob. "I am not death, I am a human being." Hank got to his feet carefully as he heard the sounds of the approaching officers, they must have heard the gun. He moved towards his bike, and was suddenly stopped as the woman sprang to her feet and grabbed him around the neck.

"Just because I'm human, doesn't mean I'm going to let you get away, in fact it make it more important to stop you."

Hank spun to lash out with his knife, only to have her slap him across the face. He staggered back and felt at the sticky wetness left behind. His fingers came back, stained with...blood? Suddenly Hank dropped to the ground, his muscles seeming to give out on him. The shadowy Leanne turned and slipped back into the bushes as the police officers came to him. Hank had to laugh to himself as they dragged him to his feet. Leanne had hunted him....the hunter had become, the hunted.

Rich blinked his eyes and looked around. How the hell had he ended up outside of the van? He glanced back to the heavily damaged vehicle and it's blown out windows. He looked at the torn apart seats, and felt the agony of his own shredded back. "Oh, that explains it," he muttered as he staggered to his feet. No sooner had he stood then a rifle round tore through his face, he jerked back and collapsed in a bloody pile. Rich cursed his luck as he began crawling towards the cover of the fountain while trying to patch up his multiple injuries.

Erin pulled a TEC-9 out from under her raincoat. She had actually jumped into the fountain and now lay down in the water. She flicked the weapon over to full auto and propped herself up on one elbow as she sighted the gun towards the ghoul gunmen in the doorway. Suddenly a hand slapped onto the masonry near her, she glanced over as Rich tried to pull himself into the fountain.
"You're lucky I don't pump these bullets into you," she whispered into his face as she helped pull him over the lip of the fountain.

"What the hell's the problem?"

Erin stared at him in shock, "you ruined the ambush," she replied in her usual quiet hiss.

"I was told we were the ambush,"

"What?" In her surprise Erin lifted her head too high, the sharp crack of a bullet on marble quickly made her drop down again. She blindly lifted her gun over the edge and sprayed the entire clip towards the doorway. Rich had now finished putting himself back together and pulled two mini Uzis out from under his jacket.

"Well, I guess now we make the best of a bad situation."

"And keep on keeping on," said Grunge as he too jumped into the fountain.

"Hey Grunge," said Rich pointing, "you lost your arm."

"Don't I know it, but I couldn't find it in the dark. Do either of you have a flashlight?" Erin shook her head in annoyance as she slapped a fresh clip into her submachine gun. Rich just laughed at Grunge's plight

"Why don't you go sniff it out, with the frequency you bathe it oughta be easy." Grunge was about to reply when there was a splash from behind them. All three turned to regard the grenade laying in the water.

"That's coming out of your paycheck," said Doshaine as he watched an explosion rip apart a huge hunk of his fountain.

Water poured out of the hole, but the three Sabbat who were inside didn't appear to have much fight left in them. Danae looked back at her master, who stood quietly gazing out a window at the fight.

"Master, perhaps you should withdraw..."

Doshaine glanced towards her and the argument died in her throat. Steven stood further back from the windows, his eyes clenched as he sent out a massive call for aid. His mental intrusions touched the minds of dozens of ghoul and kindred guards and warriors. Steven finally opened his eyes again.
"Help is on the way, we have only to hold off this assault till then."

"Too bad we're running low on ammo," pointed out Danae.

Anne cursed herself for a fool as she dashed towards the battle yelling into her walkie-talkie for the support to come up. She dashed through the open gate as The Hellions poured out of their van to help. Anne drew her blade as she rushed into the fray.

One of The Honor Guard hissed as a thrown knife slapped into his chest, Octavian followed the line of the toss to a young woman in black who was leading a batch of fresh Sabbat towards them. Octavian grinned, too bad that during the night this garden is full of shadows. "Time to make our presence felt," he said to his deputies as the shadows of the yard billowed up around the attackers. Dozens of tentacles lashed out and began to attack the fresh grunts. Octavian drew his blade and charged into the cloud, confident in his ability to deal death amongst this pack. He steadily approached the first two, he beheaded one and had his tentacles rip the shotgun away from the second. As he decapitated the unarmed Sabbat he used the shotgun point blank into the face of a third.

The girl apparently was well trained for she heard his approach and turned to face him. Octavian, not much caring about fair play at the moment, charged in while also having two tentacles lash out for her arms. The shadow tendrils did their work and Octavian slashed his blade deep into her side. She howled in pain, but twisted her arms to bring two pipes out from the sleeves of her coat into her hands.

"What do you hope to do with pipes," asked Octavian as he raised his blade for another swing. The girl didn't reply, she simply angled the clubs at him and pushed two studs on the handles. Octavian was suddenly pierced by two metal needles that had been hidden in the metal bars. He hissed in pain as he tore at the needles, the bitch had coated them with some nasty acid or contact poison. By the time he dug the spikes out the girl had freed herself from his shadowy tendrils. Octavian raised his blade as she attacked, he quickly realized she was far faster then him, however he had a reach advantage. Thus she was having trouble scoring a disabling attack. Octavian sweeped his blade in a quick brutal pattern as he advanced on her. Her smaller stature, and lesser strength forced her to retreat before him. Octavian grinned when he saw she was backing towards a tree, only a few more steps and he would have her.

Anne had been slowly healing her injuries while testing the skill of the swordsman she faced. She was more talented and skilled with a blade, however the darkness and his overwhelming strength made things difficult. Anne realized she was being driven somewhere, and thus decided to take action. Anne pretended to block one of his blows, however she allowed the force to spin her around behind her attacker. Before he even began to turn Anne had lashed out with four brutal cuts that tore into his legs and arms. She danced back, hoping that this had disabled him.

Octavian staggered from the blows, but spun around to face the girl again. She was good, real good. If it wasn't for the fact that he was as tough as some rocks he might have been out of the fight. Even so many important muscles had been severed and now he would be even slower for her next attack. Octavian scowled, time to take things to the next level! He raised his arms and sucked in the cloud around him, he forced the darkness to slither about his body, guarding and strengthening him. Soon Octavian stood transformed. He now appeared a twisted creature, more shadow then man. Red flashing eyes stared out of his shadowy face. His arms appeared coated in shadow, and tendrils of darkness swept around his body, ready for his bidding.

Anne felt a wave of cold wash over her body as the creature advanced a step. She glanced around for support, but saw that the others were now battling an influx of Camarilla who were just arriving at the battle scene. Her green eyes narrowed, she realized that Flint would know that she had abandoned her position. Anne howled as she ran directly towards the shadow beast. The two blades met in a skittering of flashing sparks. Anne felt her muscles slowly draining of strength before the cold of the unearthly creature. Whenever she slashed into it she was never sure if she was connecting with flesh, or only shadow. As if to add to her problems the whirling tentacles of shadow lashed and grabbed at her, attempting to suck her into the darkness that was their origin.

Octavian grunted in pain, damn she was fast! He lashed out with mighty strokes, hoping to wear her out quickly. But for every minor nick he managed to land on her, she seemed to land a dozen or more. Even in his ultimate battle form Octavian was in trouble. He howled and commanded her own shadow to lash up around her face, she cried out in pain as the darkness swept up over her. Octavian took her momentary pause to land a mighty blow to her midsection. He felt his sturdy blade shear through leather, flesh, and bone. The slim woman was left with a gash that almost had cut her in half! Octavian grunted as he twisted his blade out of her body. But turned as he heard the sudden loud roar of a motorcycle.

Cal Jericho slashed through the Camarilla line. "Everybody get out, who's looking to get out!" he bellowed as he severed the arm of a ghoul who hadn't dived for cover quickly enough. Cal slid his bike to a stop near The Osirins as they leaped into one of The Marauder's vehicles. "Boy did you screw this up!" he called. Where the hell is Anne, I thought she was in charge of this cluster fuck?" Fer-sep paused to point back towards the mansion.

"Last I saw her she was holding off the sheriff from butchering us all in the dark."

"No shit," Cal spun his bike towards the mansion and opened the throttle all the way. He easily spotted the dark mass of Octavian, and on the ground nearby was the small crumpled shape of Anne. Jericho drew a shotgun from off his back. He fired two shots into the group at the door, and then pumped one round into Octavian. Jericho was shocked when the mighty sheriff actually staggered then toppled backwards. "Shit, she almost had him," said Jericho in surprise as he scooped up Anne. He stopped when he noticed her sword laying on the ground. The Camarilla were almost on him, but Jericho paused to nab the fine blade before gunning his bike back towards the exit. "Rock and roll!" he howled as he fired his shotgun towards the Camarilla who were trying to block off the gate.

Steven walked over and helped Octavian to his feet. "Are you well," he asked the weak seeming Lasombra.

"I've been better, that girl came close to ending my career."

"Yes, but if not for her rescuer you would have finished her off," Steven replied. Octavian nodded, though he was unsure about the final conclusion of the fight. He had needed a rest, and had seen how quickly her wounds had started to close.

"My lord," came Danae's voice, worried at approaching Steven.

"Yes?"

"My master wishes to know when you shall reimburse him for the damages to his lawn."

Anne slowly opened her eyes. She was laying on a hard surface, padded only slightly by some rough object. She realized that she had also been stripped out of her armor, and was dressed in a one piece nightgown. 'Must be Flint's room' she thought to herself. She sat up weakly as she heard a door open. She turned to see Cal Jericho storm boldly into the room. Anne blushed and quickly dragged some of the furs up to cover herself.

"Oh, I'm hurt," said Jericho at her modesty, "and after all I did to help you."

"Help me," she asked, confused.

"The templar was the one to pull you off the battlefield," said the commanding voice of Flint. Anne turned to watch him walk in from the balcony, "he also saved you from total discredit when he described your duel with Octavian." Anne nodded as she recalled the fight.

"But, why was I out so long, I seem to recall healing from his sword swing."

"That would be me and some of the boys," said Jericho. "Y'see when you came to, you seemed to want to go back, and when restraining you became a problem, well," Jericho shrugged.

"You drugged me!" Anne growled in anger. She quickly leaped to her feet, and only then realized she was without her sword. Her eyes grew wide in sudden fear at having lost her master's gift, but then with a flourish Jericho held it forth.

"Looking for this?" Anne purposely walked across the room to take it, but even as she reached for it Jericho whipped it back behind him. "Don't I even get a thank you?"

"Thank you," Anne said quietly, and again made a grab for the sword. Again Jericho deftly twisted it away.

"How about, thank you for saving my life?"

"Thank you for saving my life, now, give me back my sword."

"How about a kiss?"

Anne glared at him, and then stopped trying to grab back her blade. "All right," she said as she bit her tongue and smeared a thin layer of blood onto her lips. French or regular? Jericho jerked back in annoyance.

"Fine, here's your dippy sword, don't say I never gave you nothing." He turned and bowed to Flint and then walked out of the room. Anne clutched the sword thankfully to her chest.

"What happened," asked Flint.

Anne opened her eyes in mild fear, "what do you mean?"

"My plan failed because someone told The Marauders to attack, I can understand how that went crazy. I can understand why you rushed in with the reserves and started a large skirmish. What I don't understand is why you didn't see The Marauders coming and intercept them."

Anne swallowed nervously and turned to her sire. "I didn't see them coming because I," she stopped, at a loss for what sort of lie to tell. "Because, they..." Anne finally lifted her eyes to meet Flint's "because I left my post."

Flint's eyes flared red as his elderly form melted away to reveal his true countenance "Why?"

"I, saw a serial killer at work, and I went to stop him."

Flint's hand was a blur as he lashed out. Anne gasped in pain as she was sent crashing into a wall. Even before she landed he was upon her. His fists moved like lightning, faster even then Anne could follow. Her head was snapped from side to side as he pummeled her. He suddenly stopped, only to grab her gown and use it to hurl her across the room. Anne smashed into another wall. She tried to raise her hands to beg forgiveness, but this only seemed to enrage Flint further. The blows rained down on her, shattering bones, battering flesh. Finally it ended. Anne lay sprawled in the corner sobbing softly. Flint stood over her, watching her weak movements.

Flint blinked slowly and the red faded from his eyes. "Mea culpa," he said quietly, "mea maxima culpa." (Through my fault, Through my most grievous fault) Flint slowly sank down and cradled Anne's head in his lap. She sighed as she felt his strong hands hold her so protectively. "I am sorry my childe, you are not to blame." Flint stroked her hair with his hand, "keep your human feelings close, I never wish you to become as cold and hard as I. Stay fresh, stay young, forever." Flint allowed her to drift into a tired rest on his lap as he looked out upon the stars through his open window. He glanced over at a small crucifix laying amongst his belongings. A crucifix he had carried with him for centuries. He reached out and picked up the heavy and old piece of metal, his eyes looked long at the worn and suffering figure upon it.

"Libera me Domine de morte acterna...." (Save me Lord from everlasting death)

Epilogue:

Hank watched as the two dark figures approached his cell. None of the guards seemed to even notice their approach. The male waved his hand, and the bars to the cell swung easily open. Jilean, head of the Malakavians of Detroit happily pointed to her newfound treasure. The dark master grinned.

"He could prove useful, I shall change him, you shall teach him"
So saying the shadowy figure swept in towards Hank. Hank didn't scream, even though he knew what they were. He was going to be a hunter. The best hunter in the world...

To be continued