The air stank of death. But for reasons beyond him, Jonas Cale was undisturbed by the stench as he led hundreds of cows to their death in the “Washington-Darvis Meat Products’ Abattoir.”

He would watch with apparent disinterest as the heavy-set beasts were brought to him, then with equal neutrality he delivered the fatal blow with the bolt gun. Severing the beasts’ tentative grasps on reality with each perfect shot.

He didn’t remember much about how he came to be working in the killing yard. Truthfully, he remembered nothing from before Sara found him on the pebble-dashed shore of Lake Michigan. All he knew, it was hard not to notice after all, was that he and Sara were Vampires.

She’d called him a Castoff, or something similar, calling herself a Toreador. And a few months of her continued hospitality nurtured a growing mutual attraction between them both.

Of course, she didn’t approve of her “rough-cut diamond” working in such a foul environment. But even she had to agree with Doyle Fincher, the company’s “ghost” owner, that Jonas had killing down to a fine art.

Jonas didn’t mind the appraisal, in fact he welcomed it, joking that maybe Castoff’s weren’t such a waste of space after all.

So the two Kindred, as she called their kind, grew closer over the subsequent months. Jonas working long nightshifts to pay his own way, and Sara dragging him along to the various social gatherings and get-togethers the Kindred seemed to revel in.

------------------------------

[i:a0097647b9]“Awww c’mon Sassy.”[/i:a0097647b9] She hated his pet name for her, even though he said it so endearingly. [i:a0097647b9]“We can go another night. It’s too nice out to be stuck in Elysium tonight. Besides, I’ve got nothing to wear.”[/i:a0097647b9] He grinned cheekily, mocking her all too familiar excuse. His twinkling green eyes and imperiously white smile warmed her to him, even though she was desperate to go. She groaned into submission as his hand caressed hers.

[i:a0097647b9]“Okay. But just for tonight. Okay? I want you to meet Chivelle before he leaves for Europe.”[/i:a0097647b9] He agreed, kissing her suddenly, prompting her hand to flick the room light off.

So. He met with her friend, Chivelle. And although unimpressed, he feigned interest at the right times. But as soon as the ordeal was over, he returned to the Abattoir....

------------------------------

Hong, an Eastern fellow who looked about 60, was arguing with his butcher-buddy, Trent. Trent, who looked to be in his late 40’s, ran a calloused hand through his thinning patch of grey hair and sighed loudly.

[i:a0097647b9]“I’m telling you man. That’s what it was called.....”[/i:a0097647b9]

Jonas had just pulled on his protective robes, catching the tail end of the friendly but heated debate.

[i:a0097647b9]“No. No. No.”[/i:a0097647b9] Hong protested.

[i:a0097647b9]“I’m sure it was the Jupiter.”[/i:a0097647b9] His sun-wrinkled eyes blinkered confidently.

[i:a0097647b9]“Naw! That was Lost in Space! The ship in Forbidden Planet that Morbius arrived in was the....”[/i:a0097647b9]

------------------------------

[i:a0097647b9]“Bellerophon.”[/i:a0097647b9]

The reaction was instantaneous, though in his head it was only after a sequence was completed that he appeared to react.

The word triggered a cascade of programmed commands. Deep-set memories were brought to the surface. Psychological wiring was bypassed, giving rise to new pathways and circuits of thought. New, previously unseen, avenues of thinking were laid before him.

The two figures glared at him, strangely.

[i:a0097647b9]“You okay, Jonas? You look a lot pale.”[/i:a0097647b9] The second figure placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. It was a friendly gesture, but it inspired a horrifying response.

[i:a0097647b9]Initiate emergency response.

1) Erase any and all ties to Jonas Cale identity.

2) Acquire sufficient transportation.

3) Acquire weaponry.

4) Retreat to safe house.

5) Assess and Adapt.[/i:a0097647b9]

The action was all but invisible. Hong’s face cracked as “Jonas” brought his elbow forward with explosive force. Hong fell backwards with a muffled cry, silenced by the crackle of electricity that arced, however briefly, through the temple of his friend, Trent. Hong could only beg through blood bubbles as his wounds slicked over his face. His words unheard by his once friend, now attacker.

He made one last plea for reason before the boltgun was slammed into his neck, bursting his trachea, and any hopes his terrified mind may have had of survival.

“Jonas” stood back, seemingly satisfied with his actions, before he turned to the lines of cattle and killer. The sounds of the animals, the various droning machinery and the cacophony of industrial din, had masked the deaths perfectly.

He stepped clear of his cage and made his way to the parking lot.

((hurrah!!! i say! Hurrah!

Alekz glanced across the empty, night shaded lot. He studied the various cars and bikes that littered the tarmac, before settling on an almost new F650 CS BMW motorbike. He’d hotwired enough vehicles in his time, enough to make the absence of a key a minor concern. Within minutes of his killings, within moments of the factory alarm ringing, the bike and it’s vicious passenger were speeding into the calcitrant heart of Chicago.

------------------------------

Sara had heard the news, Fincher had made the call as soon as he himself had heard. She paced the floor of Jonas’ apartment, her stilettoed heels clicking on the wooden flooring. She heard the door opening and immediately ran to see if he’d arrived.

The door creaked open, a throaty chuckle of a sound as though the hinge were a cruel-humoured hellion in on some private joke. Before Sara’s voice could vibrate from her throat, a fist shot into the room, breaking her nose and sending her catapulting to the floor. She could only yelp at the sudden extreme pain. Her feet kicking up at the shadow-masked intruder.

She burned blood, healing the broken bone in her nose and fuelling her undead senses, making the shadows melt away as though candles flickered among them. Jonas’ face peered down at her.

[i:27b371f00b]“Jonas? What....?”[/i:27b371f00b]

The muzzle flash of a gun, and the instant hot agony that followed were her answer. Now incapacitated, she could only watch with growing terror, disbelief and horror as Jonas set about her undoing.

[i:27b371f00b]“Jonas please! I heard about the Abattoir! What’s going on? Why are you doing this!? PLease Jonas!”[/i:27b371f00b]

The acrid stench of gasoline made her retch. Jonas’ face was still, emotionless, mechanical.

[i:27b371f00b]“I’m not Jonas.”[/i:27b371f00b]

He turned as she gasped to speak, her mouth gaping as the lit match fell in balletic spirals from his fingers.

The growl of a motorcycle engine preceded the violent cough of the apartment bursting aflame. Sara’s screams drowned in the sound of burning timber.

The motorbike loped wolfishly along Lake Shore Drive, police, fire and paramedic sirens reverberating in it’s wake. The John Hancock Centre, rose vedette-like, towering over the streets ahead.

Alekz made his way from the underground parking area to the, currently basement level, elevator.

He stepped in pushing the button that would instruct the elevator to carry it’s burden to the 99th floor. The elevator silently shifted into gear, it’s powerful, smooth mechanics took him upwards without any discernible motion. He checked his wristwatch, or rather Jonas’ and seemed to grimace. Sunrise was well on it’s way.

The stereotypical ping rang out as the floor came within footfall. Alekz stepped into the hallway.

[i:c4fa2bf599]“Ah, Mr Thain. A pleasure to finally meet you. Your room is just as requested. Everything is as specified in your employer’s correspondence. If you need anything, just call this number. Well, I think that is everything. Good evening to you, Mr. Thain. And good night.”[/i:c4fa2bf599]

Alekz stepped back, momentarily caught off guard by the fast talking, bespectacled, overweight woman. Her cheerful disposition, and Negroid face was, he assumed, supposed to be comforting. But comfort was a concept he had no grasp of. Instead he merely nodded, faking a smile as he took her business card. He watched her enter the waiting lift, and paused a millisecond before turning the door handle, letting the door swing open gracefully.

The apartment sat bathed in low light. Apart from the expected luxury furnishings, the rooms therein were pretty much bare. There was no decoration, no signs that the apartment had ever been lived in. Alekz closed the door behind him and began to inspect the rooms, beginning with what clothing and equipment he’d been assigned.

Several suits hung still in their polythene sheaths. A wide variety of casual sweaters, trousers and shirts hung alongside them. The walk in wardrobe was full of these items, and the far wall of such was stacked neatly with the boxes of six pairs of shoes, from shoes akin to those worn by businessmen, to a high quality training shoe.

Alekz rifled through the collection, before selecting an expertly pressed suit and laying it on the bed.

He showered, taking careful note to scrub his skin and hair free of the stench of cattle-death, and finally got dressed. The suit hung from him, almost impossibly well. He opened a case hidden by the hanging suits and racked clothes, pulling out the pistol and ammunition within. The pistol was still in it’s factory oils. He unwrapped it, freeing it from the oiled cloth that protected it. Wiping it dry with another cloth, he turned it in his hand.

He twitched as a strange feeling of familiarity and warmth shivered up his back. The M-Series pistol gleamed black. Lifting one of the clips, he slammed it home, turning the inert tool into a weapon in one fell click.

The feelings of similarity and contentment continued to travel along his spine. Then Jonas spoke up.

[i:c4fa2bf599]“Who the hell are you!? What have you done to me!? I’ll kill you for this you sick bastard! Give me back my life!”[/i:c4fa2bf599]

Alekz grunted as if in response to the aggrieved personality’s outburst.

-----------------------

Jonas stood up. Walked around the apartment that he stood in, and checked himself in the mirror. The face that looked back at him wouldn’t smile or frown no matter how hard he tried. He looked at the pistol that he held, recognising the template of the weapon his reflection had used on Sara. He swallowed the surge of revulsion all too late as blood vomited itself onto the apartment floor. Punching the glass he fell into a heap sobbing as the mirror broke into slow falling shards that struck and surrounded him.

[i:970ac0e3ec]“Bastard! I’ll kill you!”[/i:970ac0e3ec]

[i:970ac0e3ec]“No you won’t.”[/i:970ac0e3ec] The second voice was empty. Hollow. Devoid of feeling. It merely stated facts.

[i:970ac0e3ec]“I am you.”[/i:970ac0e3ec]

Jonas’ mind reeled. Alekz’ seemed to shudder as though being rebooted.

-------------------------

A teacup on a lace doily. The teacup spills revealing the leaves. The leaves, however, are in fact stringy clots of cold blood.

A hand raises the cup to a mouth, swallowing the contents grimly.

[i:970ac0e3ec]“When did these visions start? What colour is the moon in your world? Why oh why, do balloons love the sky? Tell me about your mother.”[/i:970ac0e3ec]

The hand descends, revealing a fanged maw. The speaker is a man, bearded, bespectacled and ruddishly cheeked. He looks strangely jovial and distinctly Edwardian in attire.

An image flashes across the monitor. That of a heaving, obscenely female form. It bellows and squats, it’s face flustered with the efforts of labour. A worm-like, pink lump is cradled by gloved hands. The female-mother starts to choke as a second pair of hands suffocate her exhausted face. She dies, without much of a fuss.

The baby is moved along. The scene fast forwards, resembling a conveyor belt of hopes and dreams and memories never realised or conceived.

The conveyor belt stops. A new image fades in, then fills the screen. That of a gun.

[i:970ac0e3ec]“Interesting. Ve-e-ery interesting. Now tell me. What do you think the gun means?”

“The gun means to shoot you. It is a gun. Not a metaphor.”[/i:970ac0e3ec]

The gun fires and the first speaker’s face explodes.

-------------------------

Alekz stands up in the apartment. He turns as the door he closed swings open. The portly, cheerful woman that welcomed him in the hallway stands there looking maternal.

[i:970ac0e3ec]“My, my. What to do with you. What to do.”[/i:970ac0e3ec]

[i:3832944d2e]"It's the emotional formatting, sir. He's rejecting it."

"What do you mean rejecting it? Can he do that?"[/i:3832944d2e]

[i:3832944d2e]"Well whether he can do it is moot sir. He [b:3832944d2e]is[/b:3832944d2e] rejecting it."[/i:3832944d2e]

[i:3832944d2e]"Wait. He's waking up. Hler, maximum Obfuscation, if you will?"[/i:3832944d2e]

------------------------

Alekz squinted at the words of the old woman.

[i:3832944d2e]“Who are you? What are you?”[/i:3832944d2e]

[i:3832944d2e]“That’s up to you, little Alekz. You created this image for me in your own mind. As for what I am. I’m what you might call a defensive program. You see, you’re going quite mad, little Alekz. And I’m trying to stop you.”[/i:3832944d2e]

Alekz wasn’t convinced.

[i:3832944d2e]“If I created your image. Who wrote you? And why have I never seen you, or felt your presence before?”[/i:3832944d2e]

The woman smiled fondly.

[i:3832944d2e]“Because there wasn’t a need for you to, until now.”[/i:3832944d2e]

------------------------

Hler strained with the effort. The illusion had, so far, been maintained without flaw. She gritted her elongated fangs as a bead of blood-sweat pooled on her brow. Jarl frowned, his immaculately suited visage becoming less and less transparent as Hler’s blood burned.

------------------------

Alekz shook his head, rubbing his fevered eyes as the figure began to shimmer into view. A suited male, powerfully built but whose features were indistinct. He turned his attentions to the woman, her jovial expression seeming to melt away. The hag replacing it with horrible insistency.

------------------------

[i:3832944d2e]“I can’t maintain this much longer. He’s seeing through the veil. Jarl? Do something!”[/i:3832944d2e]

She panted desperately, collapsing with relief as Jarl’s technician administered another dose of the hallucinogenic anaesthetic.

------------------------

The hallucination ended as abruptly as it had begun. The woman disappeared as unconsciousness enveloped him. The eidolon that had phased through his apartment wall had gone as well. Alekz ran fingers through his hair, the action seeming to aid in his concentration.

He turned to the mirror again, feeling his very cells shrink as though expecting another materialisation of the Jonas personality.

He sat on the bed, a name unrolling in his head. The decyphering of said name, the focus of his efforts.

[i:3832944d2e]"Jarl."[/i:3832944d2e]

If this gets much more interesting, I'm going to go into overload on the circuits myself!! :twisted:

When's the next posting? ::taps foot impatiently::

They had broken him.

Weeks of continual bombardment, repetitive imagery and raised questions left his mind battered and weak.

[i:a773654fda]“Is he ready?”[/i:a773654fda]

The stone-like face of the Ventrue, Jarl Gunnarson looked upon the withered form that was his own Childe, with an expression that was both pity and contempt. He twirled the finely trimmed angles of his beard as he watched the various collection of Tremere technicians and Ventrue supervisors wire Alekz up to the [i:a773654fda]White Room[/i:a773654fda]. Hler and Gerard paced the tiled floor behind their Ventrue colleague, the Nosferatu ancient muttering under her breath.

[i:a773654fda]“It didn’t stick before. Why would it stick this time?”[/i:a773654fda] Gerard, though adorned in the neo-cabalistic gown and adornments of a surgeon, had to nod in agreement. His magnifying glass monocle twinkling in the sharp lighting as he adjusted the [i:a773654fda]White Room’s[/i:a773654fda] calibration.

[i:a773654fda]“The old bag is right, Jarl. We’ve got no reason, no irrefutable evidence to support the notion that you’re beloved Childe will absorb the new programming. We’ve tried twice already, and still he resists. Let’s just dispose of him and be done with it. The other operatives have performed adequately enough.”[/i:a773654fda]

Hler, though none too pleased at being referred to as a “bag”, affirmed her Tremere colleague’s rant with a particularly well timed sloughing of her left cheek.

Jarl cast his gaze towards both. An uncharacteristic flare of rage swirling under the blue of his irises. He spoke evenly however. And it was his lack of passion nor empathy that unnerved his two compatriots more.

[i:a773654fda]“Alekz is my Childe by blood alone. I will not have him referred to as such again. He is an instrument. A product and possession of our collective efforts. He is nothing more than the Taanhauser group’s creation. And we shall endeavour to repair our damaged tool until I see fit to decide otherwise.” [/i:a773654fda]

Gerard muttered under his breath, Hler chewed at a loose flap of skin that crept over her lip and pulled the vast cloak, she wore to hide her repugnance, around herself with a whoosh.

[i:a773654fda]If only Lucinda were here[/i:a773654fda]. Gerard’s thoughts betrayed him as Jarl’s mind swept the room.

[i:a773654fda]“Lucinda? Are your loyalties adrift, Gerard? Enough with your casting aspersions. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that Lasombra witch, Reannag. Whatever she did, caused a cascade reaction. Maybe she said something that bypassed his central command, or maybe she bewitched him. I don’t know.”[/i:a773654fda]

[i:a773654fda]“Our operative, Basilisk, said the Tremere have her. What they’re doing with her...”[/i:a773654fda]

Jarl slammed his fist on the [i:a773654fda]White Room’s[/i:a773654fda] polished surface. The monitoring window shivered a little from the impact.

[i:a773654fda]“Jarl! Enough! That thing wasn’t cheap! And we won’t do anything with it if you punch a hole through it!”[/i:a773654fda] Hler hissed sharply.

Gerard shook his head, tutting angrily as he slid under the coffin-like frame of the machine they called the White Room.

It was an archaic looking device to be sure. Approximately seven foot long, by three wide. Dozens of cylindrical tubing fed into the main chamber, wiring following their angles, intertwining along the copper pipes like miniature snakes. The whole thing belched steam, looking more like something Jules Verne or H.G. Wells might have come up with, than an object of super-technology.

The [i:a773654fda]White Room[/i:a773654fda] did one thing. It re-wrote minds. Using a combination of sensory deprivation, sensory overload and subliminal commands, it rebuilt a mind to an exact specification.

A trio of technicians slid the restraining platform that held the barely conscious, Alekz. Pushing it into the main chamber before stepping back as Gerard made some last minute adjustments.

[i:a773654fda]“Now what?”[/i:a773654fda] Jarl straightened his tie.

[i:a773654fda]“Now. We wait.”[/i:a773654fda]

((damn man, this is some of the best writing I've seen you produce in some time. Kudos!

((thanks man! :D I've been thinking this shit up for weeks :D

[i:459dc3cfa8][b:459dc3cfa8]ooc:[/b:459dc3cfa8] Sublime writing! a delightful, captivating and very interesting story to read, 10 out of 10! :) [/i:459dc3cfa8]

((oh a witch am I now! Ive been called all the name under the sun...but a witch...never....anyway its halloween soon and I have stuff to do.
::climbs onto her broomstick and cackles insanely as she flies above the city::

((Hey! You torrie harlot! :P
It's me he's calling a witch not you! lololol

A kaleidoscope of imagery flooded his mind as the trinity of screens rotated in front of his eyes. He tried to focus on them, but as his eyes found something akin to purchase among the images, his concentration was shattered as the unceasing motion overwhelmed him. He felt the pressure building along the ridge of his brow as undead nerves and muscles weakened with the strain, an already fractured mind buckling under the barrage. Then just as suddenly as the images had assailed him, they stopped. The container that held him was suddenly a void of sound. Stripped of light. There was nothing to stimulate his mind now. Nothing remained except himself, and whatever hell his subconscious had brought in with it.

It started with a tremor along his spine. Stripped of all his faculties, said tremor became a writhing. Something terrible and obscene making it’s ascent to his face. His imagination, now freed of any restraint gave birth to all manner of horrors. Some crept like disembodied hands, caressing his skin with cold flesh. Others draped over his face like the distended labia of some primordial mother figure giving birth to him. And others brought him pain, psychic and memorial, his body remembering beatings and a childhood of controlled and regimental abuse.

The torment was inescapable. He screamed as only a terrified child can. Desperately clawing invisibly at the “coffin” that held him in briny clamminess. Then at the centre of it all he saw the thing he’d been conditioned to believe could save him.

Grendel stood cold. Motionless. It had no interest in the outcome of the trapped boy’s strugglings. It would only act. Could only act if the frenzying boy invited it in.

And so he did. With palsied, shivering, terror struck arms. Alekz asked Grendel to help.

-------------------

The White Room opened with a slow, deliberate hiss. The blood-starved frame of Alekz/Grendel was carried unceremoniously to a ward to recover. Jarl looked pleased as Gerard’s face beamed.

[i:e2602b56b1]“Well?”[/i:e2602b56b1] He raised one eyebrow mockingly.

[i:e2602b56b1]“He’s taken to it. You were right to start from scratch. A fresh install was just the ticket.”[/i:e2602b56b1] Gerard wiped bloodsweat from his forehead as the baggy-faced Hler shuffled out of the room muttering.

[i:e2602b56b1]“We’ll see, Tremere. We’ll see.”[/i:e2602b56b1]

Jarl shrugged off his Nosferatu colleague’s wariness.

[i:e2602b56b1]“Smoke and mirrors eh, Gerard? We’ll give him a day to recuperate before we install the Jonas Identity. After the last disaster we’d be best to do things properly. His mind wasn’t exactly clean when we tried it before. With a little luck...”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Jarl. Give him twenty four hours. If Grendel is still in ascendance, we’ll test him against Tynan.”[/i:e2602b56b1]

Jarl was reluctant. But he understood the Tremere’s hesitance. He sighed deeply before placing a hand on Gerard’s shoulder. A friendly pat on the back broke the atmosphere that had filled the lab since Grendel’s arrival.

The arena was approximately one hundred feet in diameter. A large circle embedded into the lower level of the Facility. The arena floor was as you might have thought, dusty, earthen and barren. In every respect it resembled a gladiatorial arena of old.

Jarl sat accompanied by his Magi and hag cohorts. A number of technicians made the arena ready for the coming battle.

From the far and unseen end of a tunnel that led directly to the arena itself, a bellowing roar could be heard. Something was either in tremendous pain or explosive rage or both. Jarl smiled darkly to Gerard who mouthed the identity of the sound to a rather perplexed Hler.

[i:17e58d440a]“Tynan.”[/i:17e58d440a] The Tremere’s knowing wink was followed by an [i:17e58d440a]ahhh[/i:17e58d440a], from the lop-sided and crumbling lips of the ancient shadow-skulker.

The tremors that echoed along the tunnel resembled footfalls. How big was this Tynan, Hler thought.

The answer was big.

Tynan stepped, no lumbered into view. At over ten feet in height, and looking more like a walking tank, he paused to bear his ludicrous fangs at the spectators. Then his head lowered bull-like to face his opponent.

Alekz stood looking positively waif-like compared to the behemoth he faced.

The arena began to descend, removing any chance of escape or retribution by either party. The three onlookers began to murmur excitedly as a technician attended to the two combatants.

Tynan was unchained. His mighty fists encircled the chains that had held him, drawing them closer as though readying a whip or a flail. He snorted sending a glob of slime hurtling into the face of the clearly already fearful technician. The technician almost protested. Almost, because as he stuttered, Tynan pulled his head from his shoulders, tossing the corpse away like a toy that had suddenly lost favour.

Alekz raised the sword to the fore. It’s deathly point looking to ward the brute off.

Both stood now, naked from the waist up. Poised to do battle.

Suddenly Gerard shouted from the overhanging balcony. His words directed at the massive beast that trailed the chains in its impossible grip.

[i:17e58d440a]“Go get him tiger!”[/i:17e58d440a] He sat back as Jarl hissed disapprovingly.

[i:17e58d440a]“Yeah well.”[/i:17e58d440a] Gerard looked almost boyish as he leaned back into his seat. Sheepishly.

[i:17e58d440a]Kick his scrawny arse.[/i:17e58d440a] He thought as Tynan grunted in agreement.