He watched as Alois, Herman, a distressed Isabella, Morrag, and 182 (as he preferred to be called) ruffled through the nondescript duffle bag and chose their various firearms, being careful to distribute plenty of spare ammunition, as though they knew what horrors awaited them in the cool, concealing mist.

In particular, Gabriel watched the clone carefully, his hand drifting absently to the simple revolver tucked into his belt. Brushing the pistol's grip with his fingertips, he mused how things had evolved in no less than three nights time. It was only that short time ago, that the clone had attacked Porter with a viciousness nearly unparalleled. The group had reached a concensus, albeit an uneasy one, to remove his constraints and allow him to move upon his own accord.

The logistics of carrying a captive with them everywhere were simply too complicated, and as far as any of them could recall, modern society tended to be suspicious of people bound up being led by non-uniformed persons. The option of simply disposing of him was brought up and fiercely rebuked by Gabriel, who still felt that the prisoner held some secret to his departed friend's death.

No. 182 would be left to his own devices, so long as he stayed in line.

The foursome faded into the fog gradually, before disappearing from Gabriel's sight entirely. He exchanged a solemn, stern look with Porter. The old dog looked nearly frightened, an emotion Gabriel wasn't sure he had ever seen from Porter. No doubt Porter was peering into a similiar visage.

The two nodded silently and stalked off towards opposite sides of the street. Stretched in a row, vacant and silent, sat a collection of tiny businesses. A florists shop, tiny boutique, and what would have otherwise been a quaint baker and butcher's shops stood forebodingly before him.

His heart felt like it was going to pound itself out of his chest at any moment! Several deep breaths. Relax. He cautiously stepped onto the tiny deck of the florist's shop and pulled his weapon from his belt. The wooden slats beneath his feet cried out as he moved, and he wondered if they would support his weight.

The tiny two story building was a hybrid of old-world fashion and modern day sensibility. The bottom story that presumably acted as the store was simple brick, although great chunks were missing and it in some spots the interior of the shop could be seen, like a great moth eaten sheet. Peering beyond the windows inexplicable filth revealed only a loose collection of planks, nailed firmly over the windowframe.

The structure's sole perceivable entrance was a smudged glass door common of shops of the such variety. A cheery sign, hung from the interior handle, exclaimed, "Nous Sommes Ouverts!", a statement which Gabriel doubted heavily. He opened the door and pushed, instantly meeting resistance. Shoving with his shoulder, he felt something give way and groan as the door pushed it backwards into the room.

Cracking the door only slightly, Gabriel thrust his pistol into the room's interior and followed it slowly. The room gradually became visible in the darkness, and resembled now more of a crypt for flora than an operating flower shop. Great, intricate bouquets of dead roses, tulips, dandelions, sunflowers, lillies, and many more lay dead and barren. Large heaps of grey, cold petals collected around the counters bases, like mass gravesites of some forgotten war. On the floor, next to the door lay a dusty wallsafe, someone had propped against the door. But for what?

Beyond the counters lay a glass display case upon which an old-fashioned cash register sat. Gabriel moved through the shop carefully, straining to see in the bleak slats of light that struggled through the cracks between the window's boards. Behind the cash register, a simple sheet seperated the store front and back office. Gabriel moved through...'

...something shuffled from the second floor directly above him....

Gabriel jerked sideways, colliding with a small writing desk and sending pencils and pens spilling across the floor. He stared up in horror as the ceiling creaked and cried with each shuffling footstep. Each step loosened a shower of dust from the ceiling.

A distant, hollow cry echoed through the shop. It was near, yet muffled, as though someone were screaming into a pillow. It faded into silence and the footsteps with it.

Gabriel could barely hear over his thumping heart, but calmed himself once more, wiping the sweat from his brow with one arm. He approached the narrow staircase near the back of the office that lead upstairs. Moving as quietly as possible, he made his way up and steeled his nerves.

He burst the door and instantly found himself emersed in total darkness. Panic set in and the Ventrue waved his pistol wildly, aiming into the abyss. The door behind him slammed shut and he stumbled forward, his eyes wide and useless. Arms outstretched he walked awkwardly towards what he knew had to be the end of the room, and eventually his fingers brushed something wooden.

Investigating by touch alone he realized it was a series of boards, much like those on the windows on the floor below. Terrified and certain that he was not alone, the Ventrue pried desperately at them. His Kindred strength was gone however, and he had to pull for what seemed like hours before the rotten wood splintered and snapped under his attempt.

A single shaft of light poured in, cutting through the darkness. In it Gabriel could see nothing but dust and an object he could barely make out. He sighed in relief, comforted by the restoration of sight. After a moment, he inspected the object closer and instantly slammed his back against the wall, stirring dust anew, great plumes spiralling into the air and dance in the light wickedly.

[i:717f6178d7]"Jesus Christ!"[/i:717f6178d7] he cried into the emptiness.

((oh what is it ????????


The silence was the worst...it was more unsettling than the child's somewhat demonic laughter that had reverberated around the deserted streets only to stop as sudden as it had started. What was more disturbing though was Ewan ...or rather the lack of knowledge of where he could be and what could have happened to him.

The small group stuck close together as it progressed down the street, their eyes alert and their hands tight on the weapons that they now possessed. The light mist had become heavier and its tendrils seemed to wrap around their feet as they took one cautious step after another.


[i:6fd02ae66c]" Morag .....I'm sorry for accusing you.......there's enough happening at the moment without us two at each others throats......so shall we just start over again ...."[/i:6fd02ae66c] her voice trailed off and she stopped midstep causing Alois to collide into her.

[i:6fd02ae66c]" This isn't no time for taking a rest Issy....what the hell"[/i:6fd02ae66c]

They all stopped and stared and watched as the scene before their eyes unravelled. Stood before them was a figure of a small girl, no more than ten years old, her body appeared solid but as the mist swirled around her it passed straight through and her body shimmered as a reflection does in a mirror.

A slender finger beckoned them to follow her and as they watched tears started to slide down her dirty cheeks.

[i:6fd02ae66c]" I think your right isabella....although your blood bag would come in handy if he hadn't done a runner on us...........what do you make of this"[/i:6fd02ae66c]

Isabella felt drawn to the somewhat bedraggled figure of the small child and she struggled to overcome the urge to be led on by the beckoning finger.

[i:6fd02ae66c]" Was it gabriel or porter that mentioned a cult? perhaps they have Ewan.....perhaps they need him for sacrifical reasons.....he's human and as pure as they come .....well as far as I know he is ........perhaps she can tell us or show us the answers.....she looks so sad and lonely ...she may know where Ewan is"[/i:6fd02ae66c]

Herman looked out at the encroaching mist, the twin barrelled twelve bore shotgun he had liberated from the bag of weapons along with the 14mm semi automatic pistol he had jammed in his right pocket while the left bulged with as much ammunition as it would take. They made him feel a little more secure. A little.

Was he mortal now? Was that it? Thanks a lot, hope you enjoyed the ride everybody off? Hell no.
“What ever that girl is she is less innocent than I am.” Herman growled. He would have felt doubly secure with a sword in his hand. A nice bit of castle forged steel and he could cut his way out of here mortal or not. Still if whatever had done this to him was lurking around here then they were going to learn what it was to cross him.
“By all the circles of Hell they will.” His growl was so filled with rage and spite that the others turned to look at him. “Aha, merely thinking allowed.” He smiled sweetly, his eyes still flashing.

His blood was up. It had been hundreds of years but the feeling came back as if it had been yesterday. He began to smile, oh the rage was still there, he could feel it burning an anger at the audacity of this power to challenge him. Sir Herman The Bane once more stalked the earth.
“Whatever is out there, it’s power must be beyond reckoning. I wonder if it is the same power Mages use. Would that explain our… mortality rich state. Were all kine for now.”

For the first time in life or unlife Herman wished he knew somthing of sorcery.

The house seemed to lurch forward as Porter slid closer. It’s jutting, ogre-like face opening, the few steps that rose to porch level, rolled like some lolling tongue that might corrode those that walked on it.

The now Mortal Gangrel stiffened himself, his hands gripping the shape of his shotgun, as though by letting go he would consign himself to an unending fall. He gritted his teeth, growling at himself for being foolish, and pushed on the door.

The door juddered at first, as though the taint, so evident in the streets around it, hadn’t quite overpowered the essence of the house. As though the very wood was trying to prevent a catastrophe by swelling and jamming the door. He gave it a sharp nudge, and it crept silently open. The suddenly cavernous blackness within taking his breath from him.

[i:37ab6df9e3]“Don’t be a coward, old man. Control yourself. Let’s just play this slow and steady.”[/i:37ab6df9e3] He whispered aloud, his voice disembodied, made him feel less alone.

He tried to breathe shallow, seeking to avoid the deep, rasping breaths that were travelling companions with fear, and swallowed several times, seeking to drown his apprehension with his own saliva. The sensations of being alive again weren’t as pleasurable as he’d hoped. His heart threatened him as he crept into the slowly retreating gloom, it’s lurching rhythm almost deafening in the quiet.

He scanned the room quickly as his eyes adjusted, a scant few scintilla of light giving just enough for him to recognise furniture. Something crashed in the next room. Steeling himself, his knuckles whitening, he stepped through the threshold to the second room.

A rocking chair groaned to his left, then rocked three times then stopped just as suddenly on it’s upward roll. He heard a low, keening. A moan that rose the hairs on his neck, his flesh literally crawled. Something brushed against his left arm, a cold and clammy thing. His finger found the trigger as the air around him became thick, loathsome, putrid.

The rocking chair started moving again.

[i:37ab6df9e3]“Jesus!”[/i:37ab6df9e3]

He turned on his heels, his face, tense with fear and revulsion meeting another that stared back at him. Lidless, baleful eyes. The stink of decay oozing from the face’s very pores.

The husk rolled its rotting head to the side, a terrible rictus grin crossing the death-blackened features, thick black slime ran from its lipless mouth as it choked and bubbled.

He stepped back, raising his shotgun....

[i:37ab6df9e3]“Christ! Dirty son of a...”[/i:37ab6df9e3]

It was gone.

His heart struggled against his ribcage, desperate to free itself of the horrors inflicted upon it. His feet shuffled as he went weak at the knees. His hands contorted, dropping the gun as he clawed at his chest.

[i:37ab6df9e3]Is this a heart attack?[/i:37ab6df9e3] He asked himself wordlessly. [i:37ab6df9e3]Christ, am I dying here?[/i:37ab6df9e3] He fell to his knees, instinct drawing his hands to seek his only means of protection. He pulled himself into a corner. Back against the wall, he held the gun limply. His eye closing slowly.

He jumped up. Looking around, nothing had changed.

[i:37ab6df9e3]“How long have I been out?”[/i:37ab6df9e3] Climbing to his feet, he headed out onto the street. Seeing nothing of the others, he started looking for Gabriel.

Gabriel peered in austere horror at the tiny figure that lay amidst the dust, it's crippled form only half revealed in the rectanglar column of light that poured through the portal where the board had once sat.

A little corpse lay curled into a fetal position, fleshless knees drawn up to it's chest. It's skin was brown and rotten, and clung loosely to it's bones in some spots, and not at all in others. Great sheets of flesh rolled off the miniature skull, revealing the dull, grey bone beneath. In some spots on the scalp, Gabriel could barely make out clumps of blonde, matted hair, long since having lost it's luster.

A tattered remenance of a dress was draped around the shoulders, torn and absent from the belly downward. The face was turned upwards, so that the hollow, searching eyesockets peered up at the scrambling Ventrue.

He gasped and turned instantly towards the window, clawing desperately at the remaining boards. The wood protested but quickly began to give way, cracking under his frantic blows. He pounded despite the thick, wide arches of blood that each strike smeared across the planks. He persisted as splinters embedded themselves into his skin, and did not stop until the boards were shattered, and light made it's way into the room. Only then did he turn, stepping aside to allow the room to be illuminated.

...but the body was gone.

As he gazed about the attic, he began to regret tearing the boards down. The tiny room that rose to a single point was plastered with odds and ends, so much so that the original wallpaper could not be seen. Knick knacks, polaroids, letters, and various curios hung like some type of demented museum display.

Naked children. The photographs were of naked children, each with the same look of shock captured on their delicate, little features. Not horror. Not fear. Only shock. They appeared to vary in ages, but all well below fifteen. Blonde, brunette, male, female, black, white...whomever had done this was not discriminating.

In some photographs, a single gloved hand could be seen, either holding the child, or pointing in some obscure direction.

Newspaper clippings were pinned near some of them like grotesque captions to a repulsive prize. In the corner, an undersized manequin sat. On it's smudged, yellow body it wore a shredded red raincoat.

Still in shock, Gabriel peered closer at the polaroids. Beneath each child sat the same crude floor, the same rough boards. His eyes instinctivly drifted from the photos to the very spot he had seen the tiny corpse, on that same crude floor.

His stomach twisted and nausea crept up his esophogas. His skin felt rubbery and clammy. A cold sweat covered his body. For the first time in two centuries, Gabriel vomitted.

182 walked blindly, the heavy fog surrounding his figure and obscuring his view.

But a heavy mist hung inside his skull as well. Who was he? Who was Graventhorp? Who was Porter? WHY did he even know these names?

[i:319f409da5]This is fuckin' idiotic, go back and beat the shit outta those morons, get some goddamn answers![/i:319f409da5]

Why were there voices in his head?

He still had a slight headache (which the voices didn't help with), remnant of whatever Gabriel (another unfamiliarly familar name) and the other kindred had done with his mind. He didn't remember much, just flashes and pain.

He had been "released", at least presumably. The thought that everyone else had lost their kindred gifts and disciplines, thus giving him a significant advantage over his "captors", did cross his mind. But what if he escaped? Ran off. What then?

No. The best course of action was to stay near those he seemed to be familiar with. He could at least get some answers. If they survived, that is.
He wanted to at least settle matters with Porter. He couldn't fight the feeling....the [i:319f409da5]knowledge[/i:319f409da5]...that he himself WAS Porter. Sort of. And yet there he had seen someone that not only called himself Porter, but that was the living picture of what Porter was supposed to look like. He thought.

It was all rather confusing.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden movement somewhere to his right. In a split second he had his gun out and was aiming with a knee on the ground. There was nothing there.

If there was something he had no doubt of was his intense training. He still was a machine tuned to kill.

He stood back up slowly, the gun forward, scanning. Trained eyes searching for shapes in the fog. Movement to his left. Another fast turn, gun cocked.

Nothing.

Was this part of being insane? Voices in his head? Confusing, contradicting memories? [i:319f409da5]Seeing things?[/i:319f409da5]

After a couple of minutes he began taking slow steps forward. He was not afraid per se, but he really disliked not knowing what was going on... he had been trained to create surprise, not dwell in it.

It came suddenly... without any preemptive sign whatsover. 182 found himself on the ground, a sharp pain in his chest and cheek as they struck the dampened ground, and his gun cluttering as it fell... a few feet away from him. That and an unimaginable weight on his back.

Before he could even grunt, a heavy wave of putrid stench washed over him... and an eerie giggle echoed, not even an inch from his left ear.

[i:319f409da5]Now[/i:319f409da5] he was scared.

Morag wasn't in the best of moods. Not only had her meal gone missing, when she'd dropped behind the group to entice him, but that damned woman had accused [b:3b96819535]her[/b:3b96819535] of being the cause of his disappearance! As if she'd stood there, bold as brass, with the purloined blood dribbling down her chin! If she was going to be blamed for something, she should at least have the benefit of the crime!!

However, for the Alekz's sake, she was willing to swallow pride and let it go... for now. Since they were facing something far stronger then each one seperately, even as Kindred, it just made sense to watch each others backs. But to be sure, she was carrying her own insurance for survival. In the pouch, belted around her hips, was the special ammunition she never left home without.

Having dipped into Gabriel's supplies for a normal gun and bullets, she'd also re-chambered her own magnetic gun with acid rounds. Then slipped it into it's special holster and readjusted both it and the battery pack for ease of reach. This was the only "luggage" she'd needed at the airport and it had gone with her in the "coffin". Everything else that didn't fit in the small bag had stayed behind.

[b:3b96819535]IF[/b:3b96819535] the regular shells proved ineffective, she'd switch to her own concoction, then see what these "spirits" made of it. Personally, she thought her silicon cased, chemical cartridges would do more damage. At the moment, she had the "loaner" weapon out and was scoping their parameter...

Of all the vampires in this godforsaken place, Morag was having the least problems adjusting back to being human. Until Porter had mentioned it, she hadn't even realized she was breathing again. Even when her Sire had embraced her, [b:3b96819535]so[/b:3b96819535] short a time ago, compared to the others, the Maven had managed to work out hard each day, keeping her body stretched and limber. You never knew when it was going to become a blessing in disguise. Like now.

And, because Thain had desired it of her, she had continued much of the training and skills that her Tzimisce mistress had imparted to her. Alekzandre had merely refined on all of them and corrected others. Hence, she automatically dropped into operative mode... and stayed there.

[i:3b96819535]"This whole thing stinks!"[/i:3b96819535] she muttered hotly, in annoyance, as she drew another bead on a vanishing target. The snickers that wafted back to her merely notched her temper higher. A glance out of the corner of her eye found Isabella pacing forward, seemingly enthralled by the pitiful vision enticing her into what surely had to be a set-up.

The little girl proceeded to lead them a merry chase, disappearing just before the group could reach her and then appearing in the distance. Always with a woeful look and a beckoning finger. It was just plain creepy in Morag's book. She wasn't comfortable with a quarry that was more the hunter, than the hunted.

By the Maven's reckoning they'd circled the town and were heading for what seemed to be the center of a cluster of buildings. It was a large gap of distance from where they'd last stood with O'Brien and the Gangrel. And she wasn't even sure if Alois and Herman had followed her and the other woman. With Issy on the move and the way these "things" came and went, she couldn't spare the time to make sure. She was going to have to assume, and act, as if they weren't there.

182 had been lost to the fog long ago and despite the fact that he'd have been her second choice of sustenance, should her beast raise it's head again, she wasn't about to go looking for him either. It was, however, a shock and surprise to see Ewan stumble out of the fog that had dogged their steps. Battered, disheveled, clothing hanging in shreds from his torso. He whimpered and his eyes begged Isabella for the solace he needed. Their erstwhile guide had evaporated into the mists that now surrounded them once more.

Just like the heroine in a B movie, Issy opened her arms and, like a slow motion scene, hurried forward to embrace him, as a mother would comfort a battered child. [i:3b96819535]"Oh shit!"[/i:3b96819535] Alekzandre's childe hissed to no one in particular, [i:3b96819535]"This is a come-on if I ever smelled one."[/i:3b96819535] But the Ventrue female was beyond hearing.

Bracing her feet wide, the former ghoul for Lady Cyrilynn Stratsborough, found the deep center inside herself and went statue still, gun out and aimed at the approaching male. The only thing that moved was her lips as she spoke in a low monotone, [i:3b96819535]"Don't... Stop... it's a trap... stay back..."[/i:3b96819535]. Her bullseye never wavered from that dirty and bloodied brow as Isabella Garrett welcomed her beloved home. The human's eyes widened when he caught sight of the Maven over his mistress's shoulder.

Seconds later, Morag fired her gun.

He made his way, on shaking legs, over to the plaster walled townhouse, hoping in part he’d meet the others. Particularly Gabriel.

The high arch of the townhouse doors were faintly lit with a flickering overhead lamp that flickered insistently, quickening as he pulled on the iron knocker, yanking the thick door open.

The door groaned, widening the hesitant crack his first pull offered. He strained, tucking the shotgun under his arm and slid through.

[i:f87934a0d7]“Anyone home?”[/i:f87934a0d7] He called out to the blackness. The screaming night replied with equal volume, but with a void of light instead of sound. He sighed, realising he was alone. Holding the gun outwards, as though warding off evil with some black powdered sigil, he headed for the stairs to the roof. Hoping he might be able to see something of his companions from a higher vantage point.

As he slowly scaled the height of the roof, sounds echoed into him from outside. Groans, growls and distorted laughter. He hurried his steps as the heavy door downstairs crashed open, launching himself through the roof access and taking a position from which he could see the hatch that led to the stairwell.

The growls faded, looking down from his watchtower, he saw a group of things not unlike the thing he’d encountered. Shifting across the street, half there, half somewhere else, they moved towards another building. Circling it’s walls like wolves around a deer carcass. One of them seemed to sniff the air before it was engulfed in flames.

Porter looked up.

Across the street, on a roof opposite him. A roof that sat precariously atop the building the husks circled. A girl no older than twelve threw crude fire bombs upon her pursuers.

The other husks screeched as their comrade became black dust and blew away in the wind. Their hatred aflame, they began tearing at the door the child’s haven lay beyond.

As the door finally gave, he saw the girl looking at him with pleading eyes.

He fired a warning shot across the right flanking husk. Sending it’s unprepared form hurtling onto the road. Screaming it seemed to become smoke as it’s companions attentions were drawn to him.

Gritting his teeth, he narrowed his eye and waited to face them.

Gabriel heaved in futile effort on all fours as his stomach continued to churn. A sticky red concoction of blood and bile lay congealing beneath him in the stale, hostile air of the attic. As the swells of nausea subsided, he weakly rolled back onto his heels and collected himself, wiping sticky clumps of blonde hair from his flushed cheeks.

He glanced once more at the abhorrant decor plastered across the walls like grotesque trophies and then complied as his stomach once more demanded he turn away. For nearly two centuries, the Ventrue had been witness to some of the most abominable acts of cruelty (and had partaken in more than a few), but had not had to contend with his own constitution.

He struggled to his feet and walked heavily towards the stairwell, opening the door without challenge. Below him, the stairs that had led him there sank into darkness. Only a single rectangle of light was visible at the stair's base, the result of the open doorway immediately to it's left. What little light fought through the store's interior, was neatly framed against the wall.

He took a careful step down the stairs, gripping the erroded handrail tightly. A silouhette appeared in the doorway below, like a black painting. Wirey and thin, it moved with a certain degree of grace, and appeared to scan it's surroundings for something.

[i:1153499b55]"Porter...?"[/i:1153499b55] Gabriel's question was aimed solely at himself, and as a result, the inquiry was barely audible on his lips. But the figure's head perked up, like a jungle cat stalking it's prey. He could see it's silouhette grow small as it approached the doorway.

Once it's disfigured form passed the threshold Gabriel instantly pointed his weapon and fired two rounds, briefly illuminated the dark stairwell. The mass below was a mixture of mutated muscle, twisted obscenely around a collection of bones. A set of uneven, hollow eyes peered back at him.

The Ventrue scrambled back into the attic, slamming the door behind him and bracing it crudely with the tiny mannequin, before dashing towards the window. He slipped between the clinging remnants of the slats and grabbed at the landing above the window.

The living Ventrue was momentarily shocked at the ordeal of having to contend with his own body weight, as before his undead muscles had simply performed without struggle. After a moment of wriggling, he hoisted himself onto the roof and peered about.

On the building next to him a tiny figure returned his gaze, straining to see him through the thick fog. There was the flicker of a lighter and then something in her hand illuminated. She cocked back and heaved the little ball towards him.

Gabriel rolled out of the way just before the incendiary object exploded over the roof, showering it in flames. He stared in horror at the little girl, who continued to peer back at him while lighting another ball.

[i:05b97ce3e5]" Ewan! thank god your alive"[/i:05b97ce3e5]

Isabella stepped towards him and opened her arms as you would to a child needing comfort and warmth. He looked like he had being to hell and back and although his eyes held a slightly glazed look Isabella did not question it.....god knows what he had being through.

If her senses had not being temporarily suspended by the evil that hung over the village......perhaps she would have heard Morag's words of warning.....and more than likely she would have heard the click of the gun as Morag's finger squeezed then released the trigger. The thick dank fog that had settled all around them made everything sound muffled and distant and what was the click of the gun she put down to a twig being broken underfoot by someone or something.

She would have certainly of heard the whine of the bullet as it cut through the air on its way to its target which would have enabled her to move herself and Ewan out of the way of danger.

But with her powers muted Isabella could do nothing......didn't hear the snick of the gun.....the whine of the bullet. All she felt was Ewan's body slump against her as the bullet hit home.

[i:05b97ce3e5]" Morag.....quickly he seems to have fainted"[/i:05b97ce3e5]

It never entered her thoughts that he had done anything else except faint.....why should she think that he had being shot? Not once did she look at the small dent on his head that seeped blood and if she did she would have put it down to the rigours of the past few hours.

Isabella knelt beside him as she took his wrist and felt for his pulse.

Morag had seen what Isabella couldn't... or wouldn't. Ewan's barely visible ankles were see thru, like that of a spectral entity and it was enough of an anomoly that the Maven wasn't taking any chances. Oddly enough, the former ghoul's face was so solid that, despite his failed attempt to fall away and let his mistress take the bullet in the back, he acquired another rent in his skin and [i:ae93aaa9f7]appeared[/i:ae93aaa9f7] to lose conciousness.

As soon as the man's body hit the dirt, the now-human assassin seated her gun and paced forward, intending to finish what she'd failed to do, should the haunt wake up and make another pass at them. But she came up short when a wall of fog drifted out of nowhere, effectively cutting off the scene before her like a white curtain. At the same time, a hand, claws attached and ready to rake, caught and twisted in her short hair, as a sixth sense warned her of impending danger from behind.

An eerie cackle had her swinging away from the now vanishing limb, as the weapon left her holster again in a blur of adrenline pushed speed, the bright blue *snap* of fear sparking nerves up and down her spine. Panic turning to anger, as she channeled the extraneous energy. There was the padding sound of retreating, bare feet. She stood sweating in the sudden, hazy silence and realized she'd somehow lost the Ventrue and her companion, now unsure of which direction would bring her to them.

Muffled moans, crescendoing shrieks, wavering howls leeked through her shroud of white but had no definitive direction. The thunder of a bomb and a weak flare had her immediate regard. Shrugging her shoulders as to Isabella's fate, she trotted as best she could, towards the area that now had her undivided attention. A major altercation was in progress and she needed to know what and who the combatants were. As well as which side was winning.

*******************************

The black lettering read "Gaston Molliere, ?.?.S" on the opaque window of the door that prefaced the building which had loomed out of the misty curtain. As if she'd stumbled onto her own Brigadoon. The groaning she'd heard, and followed, had lead her here and was now louder. It was also accompanied by the sound of a small buzz saw and that, in and of itself, had piqued her curiosity. Not even the other background racket drew her like this did, even if she could have found where it all eminated from in this infuriating fog!

The handle on the door was showing an uncharacteristic patina of shine in the aging panel and made a gentle *snick* as she opened it enough to glance into the gloomy interior. The cacophony of anguish grew more intense, as did the whine of whatever instrument of torture was being used. There was a small satisfaction that her entry would go unnoticed, as she slithered thru the narrow opening and quickly closed the gap.

A flickering light issued from a doorway to her left, along with the disquiet from within. A stairway opened upward on the right side of the room, to another level, and a receptionist's counter ran the length between the two openings. An empty pen cup lay forlornly on its side, propped in place by a layer of ancient dust. Papers were littered on the tattered carpet as if a long arm had swept them from the surface to their present obscurity.

A lone rickety chair, cracked leather adorning it, sat amidst a line of furniture bones on the right wall, reminders of other seats that once sported waiting customers. Doctor's certifications and other, soothing pictures were either skewed on the wall, or shredded and glassy remains scattered amongst other, unidentifiable debris.

A gargle of strangled breath caught her ear and she glided towards the illuminated alcove, hugging the shadows to the right of the lintel, then peering around it. A short, older, balding man, dressed in a white physician's frock was bent over the upper portion of a figure that lay stretched out on sagging, padded couch. A moveable tray of instruments stood at his elbow, each gleaming with the polish of the newly purchased. There was an acrid stink of burnt... enamel?... flesh?... in the air.

In the stuttering light of the overhead lamp, tubing ran from the wall to various other menacing apparatuses and a lone, thin one was held in the hand that wielded the droning device upon it's victim. A tiny porcelain sink, built in to the operating chair, sat empty of anything but more accumulated detritus. An agonized shriek rent the air and the calm surgeon tossed a small bloodied mass, into the waiting basin. The visible legs of the sufferer twitched in a parody of running, that got them nowhere at all.

Morag took one step into the room, silently reaching for her weapon. But just before her fingers could touch it, an incredibly strong pair of arms came from behind and locked around her hard enough to expel the air from her now-working lungs in a gasp of astonished irritation. Whoever the brute was, he'd certainly caught her unawares and, had she still been vampire, she would have heard him coming despite all the noise. The Maven was not happy with herself, for the inattention, and she knew she was going to pay a price for it.

Her exhalation was short, despite the overlay of sound already filling the chamber. Still, it was heard by its busy occupant. He swung around, intense satisfaction with his occupation yet suffusing his face and he studied her with small beady eyes. Beyond him, stretched backwards, head tilted back on a faded rest, with his jaw propped wide open, the subject lay with closed eyes, moaning softly. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his slack mouth. His arms lay limp and sprawled.

The driller's eyes lit up with unholy glee as he stepped towards her but Morrighan wasn't going to wait for him to squeeze in time to have a look at [b:ae93aaa9f7]her[/b:ae93aaa9f7] teeth. She'd always hated dentists and had seen the side benefit of being vampire as not having to ever lay eyes on another one again!! And this one was no exception. She kicked back and upwards, aiming for the crotch, intending to lose the bully boy on her back. Only to find her foot swishing through air and the arms squeezing tighter.

She was running short of breathing space and black spots spun before her as her vision began to grey. Her second enemy struck at her face. Her instictive retreat slammed her and her guard into the wall behind them. She felt a slight give, as if she were sinking into a pillow, but the phenomenon was lost in the shrieking agony as the rotary tool chased after her, leaving a deep, crimson gouge from her collarbone to just between the V of her breasts. The spots now became whirling voids that raced to consume her. Her scream of rage and pain reverberated through the building.

***********************

At the touch of Isabella's fingers encircling his wrist, Ewan's eyes snapped open, revealing a hellish gleam in their depths. His mouth opened wide and, with a show of sharp teeth, he lunged in the direction of her hovering throat. They snapped harshly on empty air as she scrambled backwards in a quick rush of self preservation. A low grating rumble issued from the servant's lips as he began stalking towards her.

He lunged towards her, his gait slow and staggering,his eyes glowering menacingly at her. Isabella simply watched ...not wanting to believe what she was seeing, sheer disbelief stopped her from fleeing, her Ewan ...what had he become.....indeed was it him .....what ....

His hands grabbed her and she instinctively pushed him away but it was too late.....he stumbled forward yet again and she wasn't quick enough to escape the brush of his teeth against her cheek and as she felt pain for the first time in years she felt the adrenalin begin to pump through her body.

Fight or flee it whispered to her incessantly .....fight or flee.

Isabella's body seemed to have the jumpstart that it needed and without looking back she ran headlong into the thick swirling mist, beyond it she could just make out the buildings of the town and hopefully she could seek some sort of shelter until she could find the others or work out what the was going on.

The door opened easily, no effort required which immediately set her on edge....the whole town had looked like it had being deserted for years ....surely age and decay and lack of use would make it hard to open. She looked back into the street....in or out......not much of a decision really. The dust that had settled on the shelves moved like a grey cloud as she shut the door and a gust of damp air entered the bookshop. Many of the shelves were empty ...looters perhaps she though as she walked towards the back of the shop...only then did she notice that she held the small pistol so tightly that her fingers had cramped up and were hurting like hell.

She sat at the back of the shop on a small pair of ladders....the gouge on her cheek was quite deep and she had cleaned it as best as she could using her own spittle and a clean bit of her shirt.As she massaged life back into her fingers she sat and watched and wondered what to do next....she had seen it walking in the street, one minute as clear as day the next shrouded in grey mist, the next second the mist would clear and it would be gone.....

[i:54f5776465]"Wait! Stop!"[/i:54f5776465] Gabriel rolled aside, his words lost in the micro-vacuum caused by the next incendiary colliding with the roof's rusty tiling. Sure that he had nearly cheated death once more, he held his hands in front of him as if anticipating some great force.

The tiny figure on the opposite roof, barely visible between his fingers, gave paused. Her eyes were cold and lifeless behind great, greasy shalks of hair.

[i:54f5776465]"Who are you?"[/i:54f5776465] she demanded, another bottle already firmly in her hand. Gabriel didn't know what it was filled with, but it sure as hell didn't smell like fuel.

[i:54f5776465]"I...I'm not one of them. I'm human for Christ's sake!!"[/i:54f5776465] he lied through his teeth. But for all intents and purposes he was...at least he thought he was!

[i:54f5776465]"Gabriel!"[/i:54f5776465] far to his right, obscurred by the impossibly thick myst which had settled in from seemingly nowhere, Porter's glistening eye peered intently.

The girl seemed alarmed and Gabriel followed her gaze to the street. The shuffling collection between seemed spurred on by the smell of fresh meat and moved as frantically as their decaying bodies would allow.

[i:54f5776465]"Please!"[/i:54f5776465] Gabriel cried, [i:54f5776465]"I have to get off this roof!"[/i:54f5776465] Behind him, the slats over the window he had escaped from gave way under the pressure of something horrific.

The youth appeared unsure of what to do for a moment, and Gabriel had just decided to take his chances with the firebombs before she relented.

[i:54f5776465]"Come on! Hurry!"[/i:54f5776465] she motioned for him to jump. The gap between the two structures was a good ten feet, and the alleyway below was now a mass of writhing, groaning creatures.

Gabriel stood and was instantly planted back on his rear. He looked down at the putrid mix of brown and red that covered the gritty roof surface. Was EVERYTHING in this goddamned town covered in rust??

He stood, being careful to maintain his balance this time, and looked doubtfully at the gap before him. He wasn't sure if a human could clear that much of a...

...from behind him a sound emenated from the freshly opened window. A guttural growl stretched out in the open air. Gabriel could easily detect the wet resonance that sounded as though someone were trying to talk through a mouthful of water...

...he launched his body through the air over the alleyway.

The fetid atmosphere over the alley was thick and rancid and for a brief horrifying instant, the slim figure in between the two buildings was in danger of losing his lunch midair. His movements were slow and arduous, as though he were trapped in some sort of conscious nightmare.

Begrudgingly his limbs complied and reached out towards the approaching rooftop. He caught the flakey ledge of the building and held on desperately as the bulk of his writhing, frantic body dangled precariously over the mass of slithering, groaning figures below.

He felt chilled beads of sweat, not blood, form upon his brow and pulled weakly against the wall, hauling himself up and onto relative safety. He lay there, heaving in great gulps of the putrid air and staring at his tattered, bloody fingernails. Below, in the dank alley the creatures groaned in...what? Disappointment? Anger? Hunger?

[i:a79eb7a035]"Gabriel! Gabriel are you alright lad?"[/i:a79eb7a035] Once again summoning his willpower he sat up and stared out into the dusty street where Porter stood.

[i:a79eb7a035]"Yeah...yeah I'm fine."[/i:a79eb7a035] he peered back down at the creatures and then to the stocky figure, [i:a79eb7a035]"Get yourself clear! See if you can find a way up here!"[/i:a79eb7a035]

His friend nodded and disappeared back into the fog. At least he was temporarily out of sight from those...things.

[i:a79eb7a035]"You shouldn't have come here."[/i:a79eb7a035] her voice was young, but hardened around the edges. Gabriel had heard similar from Cainites who were embraced at a young age. Doomed to be a perpetual child.

[i:a79eb7a035]"I'm beginning to agree with you."[/i:a79eb7a035] he rasped, shakily placing his elbows atop his knees.

[i:a79eb7a035]"No...I mean you [b:a79eb7a035]really[/b:a79eb7a035] should not be here."[/i:a79eb7a035] her crystalline eyes hid something terrifying, the horror of something more awful than he could comprehend at this point, [i:a79eb7a035]"This place is cursed. This place is cursed, but it was starving. Now...now it has..."[/i:a79eb7a035]


[i:a79eb7a035]"...aaaaaggggg..."[/i:a79eb7a035] the face, a crudely strewn together mass of flesh and pulp, appeared from over the ledge and began to clammer up and over the side.

Gabriel tore the pistol from his belt and levelled the glimmering barrel at the creature's brainpan. For a minute, his finger, slick with fresh blood, could not find the trigger. An instant later a startling [i:a79eb7a035]crack[/i:a79eb7a035] filled the empty air and the thing tumbled back over the side into the waiting arms of his compatriots.

There was the wretched sounds of skins and muscle being torn apart, and a sloppy wet sound accompanied by a chorus of slurping and chewing. The little girl looked at him gravely.

[i:a79eb7a035]"Now they have food."[/i:a79eb7a035]

Porter scrambled through the spillings of an alley-held refuse bin. The bin itself blocked most of the alley’s meager width with it’s heavy plastic bulk. Kicking his feet into collapsing bags of rubbish, he tried not to retch as the scents of rotting food, and other things more foul, rose to meet him. Pressing on, he fell with little, if any, skill. Cursing as he nursed a bruised hip and felt his chest tighten again.

[i:0e6ee3b447]“Not here, christ on a bike! Not here!” [/i:0e6ee3b447] As if answering him, the pain subsided some, holding back its assault. For the time being.

He could hear the howls of hellish glee, the moans and giggles of bloodlust, as the husks tore their fallen to shreds. Gobbets of flesh cast among them like jackals battling over the spoils of the hunt. The sound came at him, circling the building, gradually nearing the short narrow he’d found brief refuge in.

There was a door here too. But the lock resisted his mortal strength. Gritting his teeth and pushing his luck, he shot the lock off and kicked at the door. Slamming it pointlessly behind him as he ran inside.

It wasn’t long before the first husk traced the shot.

The stairs that led to the roof were shrouded with shadow and seventies-lite bead curtains. He hurtled up them, his heart threatening him with every lungful, every exaggerated step.

[i:0e6ee3b447]“Gabriel!? Where the hell are you when I need you?” [/i:0e6ee3b447] He growled.

The rooftop was empty. In the mist he’d thought the alleyway encircled the building his friend and the girl were in. Panic rapidly returning, he spun on his heels.

The rooftop to his right gave him some relief. Gabriel smiled weakly and waved him over. His friends expression darkened further as he looked through the former Gangrel. At the stairwell behind him.