Mercy....


In the end that's all it came down to. Through all the agendas and schemes, all the payoffs and murder. The fear, the nausea, and the remorse all faded with the lull of time and money. But that one iron cast law that didn't disappear or change was mercy. To exercise mercy unto your enemies was the sign of balance, of clear purpose. Your actions, no longer driven by anger or hatred, were of pure will alone. Mercy.
And William knew he was being merciful as he cupped his gloved hand over the quivering chef's mouth. From behind his cumber bunt he slipped out a simple blade and slid it fluidly across the nude man's throat. The man attempted to thrash as shock gained control of his body, and within the confines of the large pantry, it was a threatening move. Any noise could draw the uninvited attention of the guards, or worse, his commendable host.
The chef was of similar height and build as William, which was not unusual, he had after all, played a wide variety of roles over his distinguished career What was fortunate was the gentleman was European, so William's skin and features would not seem unusual. As he slipped into the chef's white uniform that he had removed prior to slitting the poor man's throat, he almost felt the urge to sigh. Moving swiftly and familiarly, he grabbed several towels from the shelf and stuffed them beneath the door to impede the progress of the ever widening pool of blood that threatened to spill out from the pantry floor.
He moved back into the kitchen, examining his surroundings once more. It had been easy enough to dispatch of a stray guard and steal his uniform. Once entering the house of the mountain compound, it had taken little time to map out the relatively easy patrol routes of most of the guards. His target, Admiral Francis Demonte, was seated in the oriental decor of his living room.
An elder gentlemen with a mane of white hair to match William's own, Francis Demonte was a retired British Naval Officer. Unlike William however, his face bore his age poorly, and signaled his ever quickening decline in health. After his retirement from the service, Francis had apparently taken a liking to his frequent trips to the Orient, and wasted no time in pooling his money into a mountain compound.
He had become intimate with several key political figures in the area, and had evidently had some sway over their behavior. Whether by example or other means, he had increased their funding into nature preservation. A good thing for Mother Nature, a bad thing for the Ventrue. The Ventrue had tried their normal corporate tactics but to no avail, the man was unmovable. They eventually had resorted to assassination, but all their attempts failed. The agents never returned.
As Sir William worked quickly to finish the meal that the previous employee had begun, he kept his mind squarely on the rewards of tonight's assignment. Working as a specialized Archon for Justicar Lucinde certainly had it's perks. The Inner Council had learned long ago that William would not work for mere recognition or praise alone. Let the Neonates scramble for Elder's admiration, he had been at it for centuries now.
Skillfully, he moved the fish off of the grill at the perfect moment, the aroma of the finely prepared dish filling the entire kitchen. Placing onto the presentation platter, he arranged all the trimmings just so. The parsley and potatoes were in the same order as the genuine chef always placed them, so as not to arouse suspicion.
A shout in native Japanese shrieked out. William turned to the source of the voice. Peering in from the hallway was the round face of one of the bodyguards. Although he leaned in, the shining barrel of his submachine gun protruded just slightly into the kitchen. William nodded and responded appropriately, his Japanese flawless even to the trained ear. The moment the guard disappeared from the doorway, William produced a small vial from his pocket. Gracefully, he emptied the contents over the fish and disposed of it discreetly.
The poison would be odorless and tasteless, and the silent assassin would be long gone before the symptoms set in. Once digested, the target would have mere minutes to live. He swept the plate up and began his walk towards the main living room.
The home was set up in the style of traditional Japanese decor, paper walls held up by light wooden frames gave it a spacious, cheery atmosphere that was only impeded by the occasional silhouette of an armed guard. Banzai trees and various foliage were placed throughout the maze of wooden floors and sliding doors. The Admiral had obviously gone through great lengths to acquire several key pieces of artwork, each of which the counterfeit chef recognized.
Finally he entered the living room, a large room with two opened walls that presumably overlooked the mountains during the day. As it were, even with the placid glow of the torchlight, all was covered in the oily stain of night. In the center of the room, seated upon a pillow, sat the object of William's toils.
The Admiral sat rigidly in a long silk kamono, a pipe perched between his broad lips. As William approached, dish in hand, he glanced around and noted that there were several guards in the room. Not an inkling of fear entered Williams dead heart nor mind. Generations of subterfuge and espionage had all but eliminated his fear factor. Sadly, all excitement or romanticism that had been related to his work had been drained over the years, eventually leaving it dry and unchallenging.
Failure was no longer part of reality. Each mission was completed with the same flawless effiency that was expected of him. He set the plate down in the front of the old man and removed the lid, pillars of steam arising from the seafood dish. William took a step backwards and awaited the victims response. Demonte's face lit up as he plunged his fork deep into a piece of the tender meat, tearing it free and bringing it towards his face.
Even William could not help keeping a keen eye on the old man as he prepared to seal his fate. Suddenly the old man halted, sniffing the fish for a moment. His face grew cold and dark, the brow growing thick with anger. He rose to his feet, overturning the low table and spilling the contents of the dish on the floor.
"ASSASSIN!!!" he shouted, pointing towards William, "KILL HIM!!!" William responded, reaching the chef's frock and whipping out two silenced Beretta Model 92's. Spinning backwards towards the main entrance so as not be surrounded, the nimble agent fired three shots into the heads of the bodyguards, who all collapsed to the floor.
The room cleared aside from his target, William turned towards the entrance and dropped to one knee, positioning both pistols as to face the entryway. Two more guards burst into view and were subsequently mowed down in a barrage of silent pistol-fire. The house now unguarded, William turned to the old man, who stood motionless, his face drawn into a mask of rage.
"I'm impressed." William said blandly, slipping one of the pistols back into it's holster. "You obviously have a very adept nose."
The frail figure shook and trembled, jerking back and forth. From beneath the billowing layers of silk, fur sprouted from Demonte's skin, eventually covering his entire body. His muscles doubled, tripled, and then quadrupled in size until he burst free of the dainty clothing. He shot up, threatening to scrape the ceiling above with his massive maw. Slavering froth fell from his mouth, which was now lined with dreadfully large canines. The large gray beast lumbered towards William, bloodlust burning in his eyes.

"Hmmm....unexpected."

((EXCELLENT!!

"DIE LEECH!!!" the werewolf bellowed, his guttural roar filling the room and straining the limits of William's ears. Pistol light flashed as William emptied the remainders of his clips towards the beast. The bullets failed to pierce the creature's thick fur and shot off in several directions, only one managing to strike the beast in an unprotected area directly beneath his right eye.

The Garou howled in agony and lunged at his opponent. The Ventrue agent threw himself aside, rolling along the floor and leaping to his feet. Turning for any type of temporary escape, he dove through the thick paper wall, emerging in the hallway. Racing down the narrow space, he could hear the shred of paper and splinter of wood behind him as his foe tore through the wall completely, leaping down the hallway after him.

He slipped into the kitchen, bounding over the utensal crammed island that dominated the room. As he landed he crouched low, taking momentary cover behind the counter. On the opposite side of the room, he heard the explosion as his previous prey burst through the door showering the room with wood bits the like. The padded soles of the creatures paws echoed on the floor as he stalked the room, separated from his enemy by only a few tentative steps.

No doubt it was only a matter of moments before he caught William's scent and leapt over the counter to tear him to ribbons. Admiral Demonte huffed for a moment before leaping towards the pantry, which stood only feet in front of William on his right hand side. In full crynos form, the good Admiral was a terrifying sight, gray hair bristling like tiny daggers down the length of his back.

Temporarily drawn to the tang of blood leaking from the pantry, the Garou overlooked William, which gave him the perfect oppurtunity. Gathering his strength, he swept a large kitchen knife off the steel island top and leapt forward. Grasping the creatures thick mane of fur in one hand, he plunged the thick blade into the sinewy meat of his back, burying it to the handle. It entered just between the first and second rib of the beast, sending torrents of blood cascading down the once white culinary frock of William.

Yowling once more, the creature expressed it's pain. That would have been acceptable by William, had the cry not immediately been back up by an arching claw that raked the Ventrue's abdomen. As the creature reached at the awkwardly placed knife, always grasping just an inch away, William careened through the back door.

He found himself in the center of a normally cheery garden. The assassin threw himself aside, just in time to watch the Garou emerge from the doorway, blood seeping from his jaws. Just as the two beady black eyes fell upon William, his fingertips fell across the handle of a spade that hung neatly on the tool rack attached to the back of the house. Holding the spade close, William dove to his stomach, the rich soil covering him in filth. The Garou leapt once more high over his head and landed behind him. William bolted to his feet and leapt onto the creatures back, burying one of his arms into the thick of the beasts neck so as not to be shaken off. The creatures shrieked in anger, but was silenced as the spade was implanted deep into it's skull, slicing the frontal lobe in twain.

The mighty creature collapsed, William releasing it's back and rolling onto the soft ground. The fur began to lighten, until it was not visable at all. The hulking figure shrunk, revealing a somewhat thin man beneath. The naked man crawled through the garden for several moments, the spade clumsily protruding from his head. As he reached the edge of the plotline, William emerged from the shadows, a shovel gripped between his hand.

The blunt edge of the tool came down hard on the man's neck, tearing the skin and shattering bone. William, in the depths of the garden, began his bloody and painstaking task, repeatedly striking the neck of the man until his head was severed completely.

As he left the compound, stripping himself of the bloody garments, fiery words of anger flashed in his mind. Words he would certainly be sure to relay to the Ventrue Elders who had sent him into battle blind and ignorant as to his foe. Perhaps mercy wasn't so admirable a quality after all...

The large room was nearly pitch black, save for the small halo of light that William stood in. A single chair was provided and stern, perfect for the occasion. Although nothing was visable outside the circle, even to William's proficient eyesight, the hollow drip from a raised drainpipe gave the room's depth and relative dimensions away.

The floor was cement and basic, slate gray yet not stained. Presumably the warehouse had been created with Inner Circle meetings in mind. A solitary chair had been placed in the center of the circle, wooden and simple. William chose to stand.

"We have complied with your request..." came the tinny voice from the shadows. The loud speaker's distortion function effectively cloaked the voice of the Elder clan leader. Even if the room was illuminated, no doubt he or she was hiding behind a window of single sided glass within a cigar smoke filled room. "Now you will comply with ours. Why have you called us here?"

William stepped forward, towards the direction of the voice, the amplifier clicked adaubly as the Inner Council member released the transmitter button. Out of spite more than necessity, William smoothed back his gray hair, which hung freely from his ears. Crisping the lines of his charcoal gray suit, he dropped the heavy black duffel back which he had slung over his shoulder.

"It took me longer to contact you than normal..." he stated evenly. The hard lines of his face, etched eternally by a life of servitude, seemed to diminish somewhat as he spoke. "I had to go through several contacts apparently. Why have you made yourself so hard to reach?"

To any normal Lick, arranging a meeting with the Prince was nigh impossible, a private session with a seat on the Inner Council was immaginable. But again....William was hardly a normal Lick. They owed him, he knew and they knew it. But even so, a single Council Member was all he was able to round up. But it would suffice for the matter at hand.

"Our affairs or decisions are neither for you to know nor question. If not for your acceptable performance record, we would have denied your request completely. Now answer...why have you called us here?" Third person, cute. William growled, his temper threatening to surface.

"I think you know why I'm here...." William said, moving a bit closer to the light's edge. "The Garou...an obvious set up. No Ventrue stake-out is that sloppy to miss such an obvious fact."

"We will not stand for your accusations whelp!" the voice was aggressive yet confined. He knew he was wrong...typical Ventrue. William nodded, a smile strewn across his face. Slowly, he turned and knelt down the black bag that lay beside the chair. Placing it on the wooden seat, he unzipped it and produced a round object.

"So you don't deny it? Well neither did he." he hoisted the dismembered head into the empty air, displaying to the room. The severing was clean, and the blood long since dried. The look of horror hung upon the deceased vampire's face as he was paraded to the Elder.

"...." William laughed, breaking the silence like a brick through glass. The assassin had returned from his assignment only to find an Archon waiting in his hotel room. The results were now on display for all to see. Cocking his arm back, William heaved the freeze dried head into the darkness, listening as it let out several sickening thuds before coming to a stop.

"I am no longer at your disposal." he said, gathering his bag and slinging around his shoulder once more. "Do not attempt to contact me further."

"William!!" the voice bellowed, "WE HAVE NOT RELEASED YOU FROM YOUR DUTIES, YOU WILL SERVE US....."

Whirling around, William jerked his Baretta from his jacket and aimed towards the source of the voice. The silencer being removed, the pistol lit up the room with both light and the familiar popping sounds of firearms. The amplifier squeeled momentarily as it was struck, and then hummed it's last sound.

The now independant Ventrue Enforcer stepped from the light, his keen ears picking up the barely audible tantrum of an Elder. Smiling and stepping back into the night, he shut the tin door to the warehouse. As the door swung shut, the amplifier spewed forth sparks, temporarily lighting the wall. The cold brick wall was barren, except for a window sized mirror, glistening in the darkness....

((Excellent - nuff said!

(( Yep man , some excellent work :) ))