[i:c63371f079]Less than an hourafter the bodies of "Honey" and "Moonshine" are cordoned by the Police; four hours until sunrise.

"Um, we could have a problem, Ma'am."

"What do you mean Sarah? I am quite busy."

"Well, two more bodies have been discovered... And they are Kindred."

"Bloody hellfire... Are you at the scene?"

"Sort of... The bodies are beside All Saints Church.. I can't actually get in. I can't be spotted by the Inspector, he'll wonder why I cant..."

"Fuck. This is bad. Find out what you can on them. I'll send someone to you. Stay alert, Sarah, this is serious."

"Who are you going to send? What can we do?"[/i:c63371f079], the Toreador is becoming agitated - she can sense the same precursor to fear in her Primogens voice.

[i:c63371f079]"I'll send Mr.Grey. He owes me a favour... Find otu what you can, then get somewhere secluded, he'll find you."

"Alright... Ok... Mr. Grey..."[/i:c63371f079], Sarah begins to ask another question, but the other end of the line goes silent. She sighs emptily and pockets the mobile.

[i:c63371f079]Right, Sarah... Where to begin?[/i:c63371f079]

She espies a PC crouching under the Police tape, leaving the Churchs grounds. She walks to him, empowering her credentials - she knows she is capable of a decent amount of persuasion, but Police Officers are often strong willed individuals, especially about their work. Still, she does have a right to know.

[i:c63371f079]"Officer?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"I'm Sarah Hall, the Profiler..."[/i:c63371f079], she flashes him an ID card.

[i:c63371f079]"Ah, yeah. What can I do for you Miss?"

"Have there been any photographs of the bodies as yet?"

"Hmmm, I saw the photographer around somewhere, so I expect so, yeah."

"Ok... Do you know when the Coroner will arrive?"

"I think shes already here, Miss."[/i:c63371f079], he turns and looks over to the crime scene.
[i:c63371f079]"Yeah, shes over there with the D.I."

"Ok, thank you Officer."

"Want me to get her for you, Miss?"[/i:c63371f079], the Officer replies, and Sarah regrets using her blood-powers, knowing she was alreay entitled to the information she has gleamed. His over-zealousness to help could be costly.

Quickly she stops him, [i:c63371f079]"No, no. That will be all Officer."[/i:c63371f079], she rewards him with a dismissive smile and walks away. A plan is hatching in her mind. If she can find out the appearance of the "deceased", she can find adequate replacements, and Mr.Grey can commandeer the Coroners ambulance, a body-swap can take place, and the Masquerade will remain intact. She hopes.

She walks around the several vehicles and clusters of Officers performing the menial security tasks, looking out for the Police photographer; she doesn't know who it will be this time of night, they change so frequently - probably can't stomach it, normally being nothing more than glorified media graduates, and not specialist Police Officers.

A shred of luck is with her, she spots the photographer, a man she has met before, and worked her seductive charms on often to obtain pictures for her private collection.

[i:c63371f079]"Hey! Hey Tim!"[/i:c63371f079], she quickens her pace, hurrying over to Tim Woodrow, the Police Photographer, who is little more than a Media graduate, however, this one has a stomach for gore, in fact, though none of his colleagues know it, he has an obsession, a wicked obsession, with death, but that, my friends, is another story.

Tim Woodrow looks round at the sound of his name being called. He then sees Sarah hot-stepping towards him, and his pulse quickens. Against his own will, she has previously cooked him up into an emulation almost as strong as love. The emotions, unfortunately for those who still feel them, do no dissapear as quickly as with those who stir them.

[i:c63371f079]"Hey Sarah... Wondered when i'd see you again."[/i:c63371f079], he says smiling.

[i:c63371f079]"Yeah long time no see. Listen, I ain't got long, I got a pile of paperwork as big as you-know-what..."[/i:c63371f079], she winks at him, stirring up the false memory she implanted of numerous oral-sex sessions within him; massaging his male ego.

[i:c63371f079]"Have you got time to print me a couple of the cadaver shots? I need them to work with..."

"Course, anything for you..."[/i:c63371f079]

He opens his satchel, and pulls out the digital camera, along with the portable printer.

[i:c63371f079]"So..."[/i:c63371f079], he speaks as he works. [i:c63371f079]"You reckon I can take you out sometime?"[/i:c63371f079]

She favours him with a winning smile.

[i:c63371f079]"I'd say yeah... Except i'm kinda with someone..."[/i:c63371f079], she forces a blush and turns away, mimicing embaressment.

[i:c63371f079]"Ah fuck. Well, you know, a mans gotta try..."

"I'm flattered Tim... But you know me.. I always wanted commitment..."[/i:c63371f079]

He sighs, the sound of the expensive light-weight printer drones in duet.

[i:c63371f079]"Yeah, I guess..."[/i:c63371f079]

He places the first of the print-outs in her hand.

[i:c63371f079]"The murderer is one sick-puppy, ain't her?"

"Damn right... I tell you, Tim, I am tripped out on this case... I never seen anything like it before..."[/i:c63371f079], she lies.

[i:c63371f079]"Me neither..."[/i:c63371f079], as does he.

The second photo prints out, and he gives it to her.

[i:c63371f079]"Thanks a lot Tim... I owe you... But I have to make some serious tracks..."

"Thats cool. I'm on a deadline myself... Look, call me up sometime, ok?"

"Yeah... Give me a few weeks to dump this guy first, ok?"[/i:c63371f079]

They laugh, and part their ways. Tim Woodrow intends to go home and masturbate over images of dead-bodies, whilst Sarah Hall scurries to a nearby park to meet the shadowy Mr.Grey - a local creature of myth.

She sits on a bench, scanning the surroundings for the infamous Nosferatu; the cool night air helps the haunted atmosphere instigated by a light mist, creeping purposefull over the dew-infested grass. She turns her head to the right, and sighs instinctually, mulling over the nights events. But before the thought can be concluded, she utters a slight yelp - someone, Mr.Grey we must presume, is sitting beside her.

[i:c63371f079]"Jesus.... You terrified me..."[/i:c63371f079]

She finds it difficult to meet the gaze of the man beside her, he [i:c63371f079]seems[/i:c63371f079] perfectly normal looking... Except that she can't quite focus. His features seem to shift from one thing to another.

[i:c63371f079]"That was my intention, dear. One does not earn a title such as mine by being pleasant."

"Um, right..."[/i:c63371f079]

His obtuse manner nerves her; she knows the stories about this particular servant of the Cammarilla. Cunning and dangerous in equal parts - he, or it if you prefer, for there is a strong asexual nature regarding the Nosferatu, is renound, even amongst his own Clan.

[i:c63371f079]"What seems to be the troule, my lovely young thing?"

"Erm, well, that Police cordon over there... There are two bodies... And they are Vampires. I smelt it in the air as soon as I arrived... And they have been dumped in the Church grounds..."[/i:c63371f079]

She hands the two photographs to the Nosferatu.

[i:c63371f079]"Ah, poor, poor Eleanoar. She has lost two beautiful allies, it seems. For she will surely not let them continue to exist once they are freed from the paralysis we intend to liberate them from..."

"Who is Eleanoar?"

"Eleanoar is the rather charismatic Brujah that leads these two unfortunate beings... May I ask, as time is short, what plan you have concocted?"

"Well... I thought that maybe you could somehow take possession of the bodies enroute to the Coroners... I will attempt to find two mortal look-a-likes to replace them with...."

"A fine plan, little Lady. Yes, fine, if not predictable. Of course I shall assist you in this. I suggest we rendevouz outside the Coroners in approximately one hour... I, of course, will not be able to kill the actual Coroner, so you will need to use your own wiles on her once she awakens from the sleep I lay her to... I am sure you are quite capable. For now, I shall leave you. Do not be late, my dear, time is essential..."[/i:c63371f079]

She opens her mouth to reply, but the Nosferatu has gone. Not dissapeared exactly... faded... dissolved... escaped. She can't quite explain how.. But it matters not, she is feeling more confident now - the Nosferatu's own rubbing off on her.

We have a choice now, my friends. Do we follow the adventures of the young, but not stupid, Toreador, or those of the intriguing Mr.Grey? I must vote for Miss Hall - she is far more a central character in this tale; the Nosferatu may yet crop up again, but we can rest assured he is experienced and professional, and will indubitably not fail on his own mission. The task set before Miss Hall is more central, however. This is because we cannot predict her future - she is not set upon a pedestal of victory and experience; this story will either give her a name, or be her end, of that I can assure you. So let us follow her, for now.

She walks down the empty path, in the direction of the local Bus terminal, about the only place at this hour she will find mortals still around - its well past the closing time of even the late licensed clubs. She examines the photos as she walks, thinking.

[i:c63371f079]One blonde, one brunnetter. Clothing isn't important, they'll have to give up their clothes once we re-awaken them. The piercings will be difficult... I'll have to make them before the mortals are killed... As long as there are two reasonable matches, I can take care of blood and DNA matches later... Just a physical match will do...[/i:c63371f079]

She puts the photos in her pocket, and as she does, her mobile rings. She takes it, and answers.

[i:c63371f079]"Hello?"

"Sarah? Its me."

"Ah, hello Ma'am."

"Whats news?"

"Mr.Grey is currently taking care of apprehending the bodies, I am in search of two replacements... I'm gonna meet him at the Coroners in about three-quarters of an hour..."

"Fine... Fine. Any luck in finding suitable replacements?"

"Not yet, i'm just coming up to the Bus station - about the only place i'll find mortals at this hour... I figure I really only need girls that match hair colur, eye colour, general physique and so on..."

"I presume you will deal with other extenuating loose ends?"

"Of course, Ma'am..."[/i:c63371f079]

Miss Hall skipped across the road, avoiding a bus swerving out of the terminal.

[i:c63371f079]"Well good luck Sarah. I am sure you are aware of the magnitude of this situation, and trust it is in capable hands. I do not need to emphasize enough just what will happen, should you fail."[/i:c63371f079]

Sarah does not answer immediately, she is contemplating the various humilitions and grieviances that will follow her remaining unlife should she allow such a royal fuck-up to occur.

[i:c63371f079]"I will not fail, My Lady."

"Good."[/i:c63371f079]

With that, the Primogen hangs up, as does her subject, whose worry has doubled in the past minute. She enters the bus shelter, scanning for humans. Fortunately for her, there are a fair few around, and it smells like they are the dregs of some party, too drunk to sleep, and too tired to not give into the temptation of "resting their eyes" in a comfortable plastic bus-terminal chair.

Sarah Hall walks down aisle after aisle, her nerves twanging against her soul with each footstep. Each drunken teen is simply not close enough to what she needs.

It wouldn't be wise for Sarah to despair yet, though, for such sentiment may discourage the powers that grant her small mercy. Out of her line-of-sight, two young women walk, hand in hand, one blonde and blue eyed, the other jet black (not natural of course) with cat-like green eyes.

Something like a vibration flows through the Toreadors body, she twists, an urge to look behind her is undeniable - and there she sees her salvation; the two girls described. She knows she has no time to waste, the Coroners is ten minutes walk - and even though she has more than twenty minutes to spare, better to be early than late.

She musters every ounce of blood she can spare, with the sole intention of having these women - already high on a cocktail of Mushrooms and Marujana - obey her for the next thirty minutes. Striding elegantly, with an aura of intent and determination, she approaches the girls, meeting the blonde - the one she recognises as the more dominant - with a surly gaze.

[i:c63371f079]"There is something the two of you [b:c63371f079]must[/b:c63371f079] see... You must come with me, it is something beyond excellence..."[/i:c63371f079]

The command works, barely. Though the girls would desire to obey such an instruction were the Toreador to entwine it with regular Toreador grace, their light-headed drug induced state of semi-euphoria tips them over the edge. The suggestion sounds simply [i:c63371f079]great[/i:c63371f079] to them, what would be the sense in [i:c63371f079]not[/i:c63371f079] going with this regal looking woman?

[i:c63371f079]Fifteen minutes later, outside the Coroners Ward

"You girls wait here, I have to go get your surprise..."

"Ok Miss... We wait... here."[/i:c63371f079], the brunette replies, her speech slurred and slow. Miss Hall slips down the alleyway, having sensed some presence there. She has also smelt petrol fumes, indicating a vehicle has recently shut down close by, presumably in the neighbouring garage.

[i:c63371f079]"Are you here, Grey?"

"It's Mr.Grey, my sweet little thing. And yes, I am here. I see you brought two adequate replacements. Lead them inside - through this door - I have shut down the security system temporarily; however a security guard will pass through the laboratory in approximately twenty minutes. So again, we must hurry."[/i:c63371f079]

Sarah walks half-way down the alleyway and beckons the girls, who come willingly enough, stil semi stoned, and still under her spell. She leads them inside, hoping the odd surroundings do not push them from their mild slumber too soon.

She walks into a cubicle, and converses with Grey quietly.

[i:c63371f079]"We're going to have to give the brunette piercings before death... Two in the nose will suffice, the photo's aren't specific about the ears, and hers are already studded...."

"I shall leave that in your hands, my dear. I will awaken our good friends and instruct them succinctly. I trust you can handle these mortals."[/i:c63371f079]

With that, he fades again, and moves next door, to awaken the two kindred so foully bested.

And here, we will once again part our intrepid characters, suffice to say, the bodies are successfully exchanged, and poor Miss Honey and Moonshine are taken back to await interview with the Toreador Primogen. For the moment we can do nothing but assume all will be well, and that the Masquerade is upheld; apart from the deaths of two innocent-enough young women, the night has been quite successful all round, wouldn't you agree?

[i:c4cf12819e]Panopticon HQ, East London

The following morning; April 3 2003[/i:c4cf12819e]

Little more than silence is present in the halls of John Matthison's department. Of his five immediate sub-ordinates, only one is on site; Ensign Harris, and he is awaiting his squads return from active service - their mission, to eliminate a certain Giovanni.

Matthison, meanwhile, is slunk over his desk, sleeping. Not for long, however. A red light begins to flash behind him - it is surrounded by various other lightbulbs, all dramatic red, of course. Beneath it is a small placard reading [i:c4cf12819e]Front Desk[/i:c4cf12819e]. After five pulses, a buzzing sound joins in accompaniment. Two of these are sufficient to waken Executive Administrator from his slumber. He groggily looks up, realises he is at his workplace, notices the red illumination flickering reflexions about the room, and turns his head.

Understanding dawns, and he picks up a telephone on his desk, and dials two digits. There is no dialtone, the other end is picked up immediately.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Mr Matthison Sir?"

"Ugh.. Yeah, it's me..."[/i:c4cf12819e], he clears his throat.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Yes, it's me. Whats the problem, Agent?"

"We've got a Code Amber, Sir. It's Agent Darius..."

"Isn't an Ensign on duty to deal with it?"[/i:c4cf12819e], his temper permeates through his calm voice - such events are what Ensigns exist for.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Only Harris Sir, and he's on Strategic advice. Everyone else is on field duty this morning Sir..."

"Bloody hell... Ok, I'll be there in five. Get the relief on back-up."

"Already done Sir."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Matthison hangs up the phone, cursing his staff shortage. Why does it have to be [i:c4cf12819e]his[/i:c4cf12819e] department with such a security problem. All he will be of use for is paperwork. He just hopes Darius is only in primary stages, and not too late for remission.

He stands to leave, then thinks again. Better to have the Technicians on alert, they will indubitably be required. He takes the phone again, and dials another combination of digits.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Matthison here, let me speak to the senior Technician please."

"Yes Sir, right away."[/i:c4cf12819e]

The line goes dead for a minute, and Matthison silently thanks the gods that the infernal hold-music from the upstairs shopping centre does not effect the phone lines down here.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Sergeant Thompson speaking, Sir, what can we help you with?"

"Prep up Orange Room, Sergeant. We have a code-amber."[/i:c4cf12819e]

A moment of silence. Matthison hears an intake of breath, and fully sympathises.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Yes Sir. Do you have the interrogation subjects ID?"

"No, I'll deliver it personally after I have seen us down to Yellow, though."

"Very well Sir."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Matthison hangs up the phone again, and takes his side-arm from the coat rack, buckling the leather strap around his shoulder. He hasn't used the Beretta in over six years of Administration, and only chose to retain it over the now standard issue Ruger out of fond memory. He slips his jacket on and leaves his office, heading for the entrance-way, where an Agent entering the premise has failed one, or more, of the numerous security tests.

He reaches the security office, slides his ID card through lock-panel, and enters. Inside, the Agent on duty stands and offers a salute.

[i:c4cf12819e]"At ease, Agent....?"

"Agent Green, Sir."

"Ok, at ease and give me a status report Agent Darius."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Agent Green takes his seat and presses some keys on the computer before him. Presently, a sheet of paper slides out smoothly from a printer. He picks it up and recites the details thereon.

[i:c4cf12819e]"At precisely 0900 hours Agent Darius entered the outer perimeter, having cleared the upper security. He then proceeded out of the elevator and up to the main gate. His ID card passed, and he was admitted to the examination room."[/i:c4cf12819e]

At this point Agent Green and Executive Administrator Matthison look up through the one-way mirror, and see Agent Darius sitting worriedly in the Examination room.

[i:c4cf12819e]"He took all tests as required, and the results were as follows:

Optical: Pass
Palm Print: Pass
Blood Test: Negative
Speech Test: Pass
Nano-Chip: Pass

Due to procedure, I opened up the B.A.P, and the results were a pass. The specific results from the Science Department won't be ready for another ten minutes."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Matthison looks at the digital clock beside the computer monitor - 09:12.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Ok, what about the relief?"

"They are on there way Sir. Coming over from Sector-6."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Matthison nods and steps forwards, and picks up a microphone.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Agent Darius, this is Executive Administrator Matthison. Attention!"[/i:c4cf12819e]

Promptly, Agent Darius springs to his feet, at a perfect state of readiness.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Now listen Son. There seems to be a Sanguine infection in your system, at present we're at code-amber, and as you well understand, this is all protocol. The Science Department will have specific results shortly, so in the meantime, you are going to be accompanied down to Orange Room. Do you understand?"[/i:c4cf12819e]

The Agents answer was amplified through the speakers inside the small Security Office, he understood.

[i:c4cf12819e]"I want you to continue with Protocol 6A. In a few moments Beta Squad will arrive to accompany you; there I will be waiting, and the required interview will take place."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Matthison puts the microphone down, and can well see the pain in Darius' eyes as he begins removing his small-arms and civilian possessions.

[i:c4cf12819e]"This is not what I need this morning."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Agent Green does not reply, rightly assuming the Executive Administrator is talking to himself.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Send Beta Squad directly to Orange Room, Green. I want this done with ASAP."

"Sir."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Matthison leaves the room and walks along the silent grey corridors, in the direction of the Technical Department. Half way there, his pager buzzes, and he steps over to one of the phone booths flanking the corridor, depressing the required digit.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Matthison."

"John? It's Giles. I have the results from your code-amber."

"Ok Giles, tell it straight..."

"It's a Stage 1 infection. Indeterminable race; but with an hour in Orange Room and a week under observation, he should be fine again. Though obviously he will need to be relocated abroad."

"Yes, I'm fully aware of procedure thank-you. Set up a recovery room, he's going straight in."

"Sure, John."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Matthison hangs up, sighing. Though a necessary part, anything to do with Orange Room is undesirable. He cannot, however, fault its success rate.

He opens a door and enters thr room, and is greeted by a congregation of plain clothesed men and women; four of the former, two of the latter. They all stand, but do not salute - these are Technicians, non-military (though of course, Panopticon is not technically a Military Organization itself) personel.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Ladies, Gentlemen. Sit please."[/i:c4cf12819e], they do so.
[i:c4cf12819e]"As you are aware, this is a code-amber, and we have the task of cleaning out Agent Darius system of all infection, both Physical and Mental. Due to the hurried process, I am unsure if all of you have previous Orange Room experience...."[/i:c4cf12819e]

A murmur of affirmation is uttered, and Matthison continues slightly heartened.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Very well. Let us get this over with."[/i:c4cf12819e]

He takes a seat beneath the glass window; one-way of course, and looks into the Room. Within it is a secure chair, much like a Dentists, except any Orthopede who worked in this room would be of unsound mind; the chair is fitted with strong leather belts to secure the patient, along with various unsavoury looking electrical fixtures.

Beside the Dentists chair is a metal stool, which sits in front of a bare metal table. Other than the large mirror on the south wall and a single door, there is no other decoration or object. This door opens, and Agent Darius walks in, completely naked, terror clearly evident by his demeanour. The compliments of Beta Squad file in after him, encircling the room. In the adjacent study, Matthison rises, and exits, only to reappear a moment later in Orange Room.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Thank you Beta Squad, that will be all. Please return to relief duty - will the Picquet of the day remain, however."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Of the eleven agents in the room, nine leave. Agent Darius sits himself obediently in the Chair, and Agent Hill shuts the door behind his comrades, then stands to a brisk attention to one side, taking care not to consciously witness anything.

Matthison walks up to the Chair, noticing and respecting Agent Darius' resolve to the inevitable - the man has already begun strapping himself into the clandestine seat. Matthison double checks the buckles, then goes about securing the Agents wrists and neck, loathing each leathery squeak and each death-toll of the buckles fastening.

As he finishes, the door opens, and one of the Technicians walks in, wheeling some medical device before him. He is followed by two more, one pushing a trolley containing a computer, the other with a clip-board, which she passes to Matthison.

The Technicians go about setting the equipment up, pushing needles and probes into various parts of Darius frightened body. MEanwhile, Matthison reads through the notes.

[i:c4cf12819e][b:c4cf12819e]Subject:[/b:c4cf12819e] Darius, William James
[b:c4cf12819e]D.O.B:[/b:c4cf12819e] 15/04/1978
[b:c4cf12819e]Blood Type:[/b:c4cf12819e] AB-
[b:c4cf12819e]Agent, 1st Class; Delta Squad[/b:c4cf12819e]

[b:c4cf12819e][u:c4cf12819e]Ensign's Notes[/u:c4cf12819e][/b:c4cf12819e]

Agent Darius shows Grade 1 Loyalty and Commitment. His Psych. Evaluations prove predictable, with slight chances for late-stage A.H.S, depending on development. He shows adequate ability; and makes an excellent Agent. Will grow into a perfect Sergeant, but not Officer material.

[b:c4cf12819e]Initial Phobia Response:[/b:c4cf12819e] 6HT-FTT[/i:c4cf12819e]

He nods, passes the clip-board back to a Technician; it is in fact Sergeant Thompson with whom he spoke earlier, but let us not concern ourselves with such frivolties. He then sits down on the stool, looking at Agent Darius from his left side.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Now, William, whilst my colleagues go about their work, I want you to detail any odd meetings you have had recently. If nothing strikes you as peculiar, then mention anything outside of the regular - including anyone you came in contact with on mission."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Agent Darius sighs, closes his eyes, and begins the story he had hoped he would never have to tell; he knew he had been foolish - but honesty now would save him, this he knew.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Alright, I've just finished my rest-days. I've been seeing this girl on-off for a couple of months; she shops upstairs, and we got talking when I was doing my cover work. Anyway, we have been meeting up after work every now and again... But I finished it about a fortnight ago; anyway..."[/i:c4cf12819e]

His voice is becoming slurred as the cocktail of chemicals promoting truth-telling begin to take effect.

[i:c4cf12819e]"...She called in on me unexpectedly, I made it clear I wasn't after commitment, we had a shouting-match... Then my memory is pretty hazy... Thats about the only event I can think of..."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Matthison has heard what he needs, he nods to one of the Technicians who consequently induces a high dosage of tranquilizer. Agent Darius eyes close. He drifts into a forced sleep.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Alright, begin the Phobia."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Matthison stands and steps away. A Technician programs the computer to disturb the sleeping Agents sleep with aspects of his particulat phobia; known as "6HT-FTT" to those without clearance into what that precisely means. The agents themselves are not aware of what their fears are classified as, so as to prevent any misuse of information.

The sleeping man will now undergo twenty minutes of very vivid nightmares that will heighten his adrenalin, push his heart-rate to dangerous levels, cause him to soil himself; in effect, placing him ona physical knife-edge - and from this high, he will be awoken, and short-living posion will be pumped into his veins, establishing a torrent of pain that will seer through his body, testing his nervous system to its limit.

As soon as the chemicals causing the agony subside - and it will be a clear and obvious severance - he will be filled with euphoria inducing substances, lifting him from the plateau of torment.

Why, I hear you question, should a man be put through such see-saw emotion? The answer is complicated; but in short it is this: Agent Darius has been identified as possessing contaminated blood. Contaminated by a Vampire - what Cainities would call a blood-bond, or perhaps Ghouling - it is necessary for the subject to associate the Absolute Negative (the title given to the level of pain and fear induced) with the relationship he, or she, believes caused the infection.

Moreover, Vampire blood is something of an enigma, even to the Science Division at [b:c4cf12819e]Panopticon[/b:c4cf12819e]; it does not seem to willingly follow emprical laws. A contaminated victim cannot simply be drained of blood, and refilled with cloned, and thus pure, blood; the psychological effects - compliance, lust, ignorance of duty, and so on - still remain. Contaminated blood, whilst de-oxygentated and dead, slowly reproduces when in contact with regular mortal blood, and when regularly re-inforced with similar samples, accelerates into infecting every tissue cell in the subject - not creating a Vampire, but a slave, a puppet.

For absolutely un-scientific reasons, three instigations of dead-blood will [i:c4cf12819e]always[/i:c4cf12819e] cause the subject to act in absolute obediance with the donor. Neither quantity nor quality matter, just three separate instigations, separated by approximately twenty four hours in introduction.

The horrors of Orange Room have proved 100% successful in removing the Psychological dependency of an infected host, and its blood can easily be removed and replaced with cloned, pure replacement.

Whilst the nightmare visions, and agony, are running through the subjects system and consciousness, the Administrator present (in this case, Executive Administrator Matthison) speaks, his voice the only other sound present; and he, or she, lists commands, strengthening the association between Absolute Negative and the subjects cause of infection.

Once the agony subsides, as mentioned, euphoria inducing drugs are introduced, and a monotone recording is played, repeating the codes of honour relating to [b:c4cf12819e]Panopticon[/b:c4cf12819e] - not with the purpose of re-inforcement, but with relaxing. All Agents naturally develop a sense of security and safety when within the Organizations confines; and the codes become synonymous with their Mothers soothing voice.

Once the subject is stable once more, electronic information is sent directly to his consciousness, in effect, forcing images and sounds to be digested, totally out of his control. This broadcast will be a mix of fantasy and nightmare. Falling in love with a rat, playing Football with the subjects Mothers head, an orgasm of blood; the chaos will increase steadily, and as it does, the body will begin to react - thrashing, struggling, trying to break its bondage. And it will do so. The moment of freedom is vital - the subject must feel it [i:c4cf12819e]can[/i:c4cf12819e] escape the perverse world imposed by the Technicians; that is the reason for the archaic straps. Once they are broken - and this is the stage Agent Darius is approaching now - an electrical surge will be sent through the various wires and cables attached to the subjects body, and he will be paralysed once more.

At this point, the subjects sub-conscious will cease its stuggle, it will cave in, rendering any hope futile. The body and mind will be at the mercy of those in charge - and the subconsious will be fully aware that it is the Organization carrying out these atrocities, and that is crucial. Once this despise is present - recognised by certain brain-waves recorded by the psycho-computer present, a chemical mixture is induced which blocks the relevant receptors, effectively breaking the links between the rational mind and the subconscious. The rational part will then be fed yet more perversities; but in such a way so it recognises the meaning - there will always be a theme, personal to the subject, that will bring to its attention whatever the cause of its infection was; and at [i:c4cf12819e]this[/i:c4cf12819e] point, the hatred will once more be released, but now diverted by the rationals control, and focused on the 'true enemy'.

And the torture will be almost complete; from Absolute Negative to euphoria, and back down to chaos - and from there a forced focus of emotion; and then the subject becomes clear what, exactly, caused its contamination - the initial deduction is often wrong (though in Darius' case, his suppositions of the odd girlfriend were correct, she was a control-freak Toreador Psychological Profiler with a deepening obsession with the good-looking Agent) - but the psychological clarity so forced opens up the vast avenues of memory, where the turth is so often hidden from view - and this information is recalled, and eventually passed on to the relevant parties, and swift revenge taken on those who would, albeit inadvertantly, cause harm to [b:c4cf12819e]Panopticon's[/b:c4cf12819e] Agents.

The horror of the ordeal does not seem so great, one might think - but from a personal level, the screams, the madness evident in the subjects eyes, the limited knowledge of Absolute Negative; these things lend to a terror that is well respected, and rightfully so. Though [b:c4cf12819e]Panopticon[/b:c4cf12819e] cannot truly know that what they deem Absolute Negative is indeed the ultimate horror, there are few, undead or otherwise, as able to open up the neural pathways that lead to a creatures deepest fears and pains.

A subject, whether part of the Organization (and thus subject for its own safety), or not (most often to torture Vampires for information), will truly believe that its skin is being torn from it inch by inch, or that the great multi-armed beast chasing it is really [i:c4cf12819e]just[/i:c4cf12819e] behind, or that the infinite chasm down which they fall is actually devouring them, a mile at a time.

And now, let us rejoin the overseers and patient...

[i:c4cf12819e]"Ok, wake him up."[/i:c4cf12819e]

The Technicians do so, using a painless electrical surge to force Darius into a sedate consciousness.

[i:c4cf12819e]"William? Can you hear me? Blink twice if you can..."[/i:c4cf12819e]

For the subject will not be physically strong enough to utter, nor move for some days to come.

Agent Darius blinks twice, slowly.

[i:c4cf12819e]"Good. The tests have been successful. You are going to the labs now, you'll be out of operation for a week or so; and after that you'll be on light-duty for a month...."[/i:c4cf12819e]

Matthison stands, and puts a hand companionably on Darius' shoulder.

[i:c4cf12819e]"You held yourself with dignity, Son."[/i:c4cf12819e], he lies. [i:c4cf12819e]"Now, go back to sleep, you've done well".[/i:c4cf12819e]

He leaves, knowing the Technicians will be able to finish the job well enough; and he despises protocol - why should an administrator be forced to oversee such horror? Why not an Ensign, or even one of the Technological Officers? He knew his anger was ill-founded; he found it difficult enough to stomach with his experience, and whilst not arrogant, he was sure of his own abilities - and rightfully so - not much scares John Matthison, and he knew it. He thinks, realising this, that perhaps, after all, forcing a mere Ensign, or non-military Officer to take responsibility for such occurences might not be quite fair.

((holy crappomolie Eury! you're a friggin machine! take a break brotha! lol i have to finish my part of the story too!

((lol very well. Tonight I shall rest. At least rest enough to get hammered on vodka-coke for 50p :D
Sometimes even I love student benefits

((Could still use a couple of NPC writers to aid and abet; with space for primary characters in a short while (Vamps)... PM if you are willing and able.

((should be posting the second bit of the field mission at some point today...but for now, back to class :P

[i:dcb028a345]Lancaster House, West London

April 6 2003; 22:30[/i:dcb028a345]

This is a beautiful house, its owners have varied over the centuries it has stood; Counts, Barons, Dukes; and now it is owned by an attractive young woman, known to her Estate Agents as "Ms Sascha Granger". Though adopting "Ms" as a pro-noun is quite acceptable in modern London society; she has in fact born more titles than most of her acquaintances combined - Ms Granger is formerly Countess Du Basle, she is formerly Baroness Fernandez, she is formerly Duchess Kensington; titles she had gained with Marriage, and lost with supposed death.

Of course it is now quite obvious that the resident of Lancaster House is quite extraordanairy - and let us quell the suspese as to the true nature of Ms Granger; she is a Toreador, indeed, she is [i:dcb028a345]The[/i:dcb028a345] Toreador in West London, the Primogen of that fair diocese. And, as much as she would delight in showing us around her formidable estate, she is currently busy with two young ladies we have met previously - one Miss Honey, and one Miss Moonshine.

[i:dcb028a345]"Ladies, I see you are well recovered."[/i:dcb028a345]

Ms Granger speaks from behind her desk as the two Neonates are led into her study by a servile butler.

[i:dcb028a345]"Please, sit down."[/i:dcb028a345], she gestures toward two fine looking chairs, and the young Toreadors, of no political allegiance, take them.

[i:dcb028a345]"Now, after having you saved - and the Masquerade along with it - I believe the two of you owe me life-boons."[/i:dcb028a345], she smiles, and with aristocratic ignorance, completely dispels the memory of Sarah Hall's endeavours in the matter. The two women look at each other somewhat nervously, then Honey replies.

[i:dcb028a345]"We are eternally grateful for what you did, Madam...."

"...Granger. I am Ms Granger, the Toreador Primogen of this borough; and you two owe me your allegiance, along with your unlives."[/i:dcb028a345]

The size of what has happened finally settles on the pair, having no knowledge as to their situation for the past few days of respite and recovery from near-death.

[i:dcb028a345]"We offer you our service, Madam... But, we beg for vengenance on the one who nearly claimed us..."

"I expected as much, and of course, in a way, I will grant you revenge - but on my terms."[/i:dcb028a345]

Ms Granger stands, and circles the desk; she stands between the two young women of the rose.

[i:dcb028a345]"But before we delve into business, I wish to hear your tales; you intrigue me."[/i:dcb028a345]

The Primogen leans back, resting against the antique desk; she presses a button, and promptly a butler enters; three glasses of 'African' are requested, and quickly brought forth, and the three women drink.

[i:dcb028a345]"Ok..."[/i:dcb028a345], Honey begins; and tells the tale of her creation, and that of her Sister - Moonshine - also. The Primogen listens, but without much interest; the story is one so common to her ears; a lust filled Vampire creating whilst under the belief of viewing "perfection"; Granger realises she knows, or knew, these Toreador's Sire, and had him put to death some years passed - out of the eyes of the Cammarilla, of course.

[i:dcb028a345]"An interesting unlife you have led, Ladies. And now on to the matter at hand."[/i:dcb028a345]

She returns to her seat, resuming a business-like position.

[i:dcb028a345]"After our discussion here, you are going to meet with a colleague of mine, who will aid you in remembering all you can of your attempted-murderer; but for now, I wish for you to share all you can with me...."[/i:dcb028a345]

She pauses, sipping some of her vitae, and then looks to Miss Honey, silently proposing that not sharing right away would be a mistake. Honey crosses her equine legs and recalls what she must.

[i:dcb028a345]"Alright... Well, he was a mortal... As embaressing as it is. Big-E - that's our.. I mean was our Misstress... wanted him to feed from, and sent Moon and I to seduce him... We often did her dirty work, she ain't the prettiest picture. Anyway, he seemed normal enough - very willing to help, bought us drinks without question, all that... He musta been six foot, well built. Not exactly attractive... But not ugly... I dunno, hard to explain... He was kinda average... I mean like [b:dcb028a345]really[/b:dcb028a345] average lookin'. Nothing special about him either way... Anyway, we were headed back to our place, small talking, and then it happened. And he was quick... Very quick. He cut our spines with scary speed and power... Not something I've found in Kine, and then he paralysed us... And the events after that, I reckon you know better than us..."[/i:dcb028a345]

Ms Granger nods, thinking over the limited information. Vampires defeated by mortals - and she did not doubt it was mortal that bested these, for no self-respecting Cainite would lie about this - was not an unheard of thing; it was rare, truly, but it happened. Though two at the same time? And the Police had labelled the 'murders' carried out by "The Fiddler", that horrific murderer. She knew she possessed the only living eye-witnesses to this sadist, a sadist she was developing a fascination for.

[i:dcb028a345]"I do not disbelieve that it was a human that attempted to end you. However, I want it caught alive - and not out of civic duty or pity for the Kine. This human knows about us, and must be caught before more damage is done. You will meet with an assistant of mine in a few hours, and he will learn all that can be learnt from the two of you. After that, I will decide how best to capture this thing..."[/i:dcb028a345]

She stands, and so do her new-found Clan sisters, already becoming aware of the protocol in mixing with undead as old and powerful as the one they share the room with.

[i:dcb028a345]"Well, I must be about my business. You will be summoned when required, Ladies. Until then, feel free to abuse my hospitality."[/i:dcb028a345]

Honey and Moonshine bow slightly, somewhat anxious to leave the presence of this woman, and exit. Ms Granger sits herself again, and swivels in her chair, looking out of the large window behind her desk. She lulls into deep thought, considering what, exactly, this [i:dcb028a345]thing[/i:dcb028a345] could truly be.

[i:dcb028a345]A Werewolf, most likely, refraining from its true shape.[/i:dcb028a345], she thinks. [i:dcb028a345]Or perhaps a hunter - though quite unconventional... If not quite unstable.[/i:dcb028a345]

In some respects, she is quite correct in both guesses - the thing we know as "Jake" or "Z-17" has been created for the hunting and slaying of Vampires, and is not entirely mortal, like the Garou; and yet it is neither. In time, more truth of what "Z-17" is, at a base level, will be revealed. I can make it know that five members of "Z-Division", those numbering from fifteen to twenty, are not like their clones; they possess a fundamental difference which will be shown in time.

((bah, lack of motivation to continue right now. will try and continue soon enough. probably over easter. brain too bored.

((I don't, though he is on my intended reading list, once I finish my fucking philosophy dirges. I didn't know about the Sandman, though, it is quite possible the band's song whom I stole the name from (Demons & Wizards) based the song on this Fiddler's Green. The song is about an actual Fiddler on a Green who witnesses a murder or something, it mentions dreams and has a very "twisted" theme in its narrative lyrics. Actually, its quite possible now I think of it; the tick-tock rhythm and the swirling guitars all add to a dreamy sleepy sound. So, yeah, I think its quite possible considering Hansi is a major fantasy reader, and Jon Schaeefer is one of the best graphic artists in the US (he does anonymous cartoons for some comics, apparently)

http://www.darklyrics.com/lyrics/demonswizards/demonswizards.html#4 these are the lyrics if u wanna check em out to verify ;)

The surrounding trees shook, the rustle of their naked branches drowned out by the shattering of glass. Fire belched from the windows, and as Samuels slipped his finger over the trigger he could faintly make out the sound of profanities being screamed.

Holding his breath, Samuels kept his sight steady on the front door, awaiting the massive figure of Dekker to emerge. Fate, as it seemed, was not obliging and as the sound of falling glass gave way to the dry crackle of fire within, Dekker did not erupt from the door.

His earpiece sprang to life, picking up a frantic conversation between the other team members.

[i:5987502e30]"Ares! He's gone out back! Out back!"[/i:5987502e30] Even as the frenzied information reached Samuel's now adreniline filled brain, he could make out Dekker's form in the woods behind the shack, his massive girth propelling him foward through the underbrush.

The stark contrast of Samuel's muscular form instantly launching itself down the face of the hill and shooting past the shack was barely noticed by the other fleeing inhabitants of the building. As he punctured the treeline and flew silently through the trees he wondered where a back-door exit had come from...the recon reports showed no way in or out of the building aside from the front entrance and the windows. Dekker couldn't fit through the windows on his best of days!

The snap and rumble of breaking wood and crunching leaves echoed all around him, but he zeroed in on it's source and proceeded towards it. Although he possessed the obvious advantage of speed, Dekker had quite a headstart, and was still several hundred yards in front of him. He seemed to be heading Northwest, and if Samuels continued his foward path, eventually he would intercept him.

((i know it must suck to have waited such a long time to receive something so short, but i'm trying to get my writing style back :/

((no worries bro, no excuse needed. Besides, I aint in half the turmoil you are, and I am currently needing a break to regain my writers fingers ;)