(Day of Broken Glass) Burn

[Stryge (DELETED 7204)]

The bright beam of the tiny flashlight flickered slightly and then straightened out as Stryge d'Artois gripped it more tightly between his front teeth. These weren't ideal working conditions, but Stryge wanted to conserve the fuel in the portable generator, and he could hardly have taken his work out into the harsh light of day. Not without catching a sunburn from hell.

Stryge worked in silence, and alone. No one knew he was here. Even members of his own vampiric family rarely knew where it was Stryge got to in the course of his nightly wanderings, but they probably would have been surprised to discover the truth of where he had been going for the past month.

It was just over a month ago that Stryge had stumbled across the old deserted multiplex. He had been out tracking zombies in the Quarantine Zone. The walking corpses permeating that area were his preferred target for practice shooting, as their movements tended to be erratic, just like a live target's would be. Stryge hoped never to have to use his shooting skills on a real live target, but he had a feeling, deep inside, that one day he just might. The life of a vampire offered more, not less, opportunities for such violence. Humans didn't like vampires. Vampires didn't like humans finding out about vampires. And some vampires just seemed to dislike each other on general principal. In other words, all the sins of their past lives as mortals had been carried with them into undeath and then some. Vampires were nothing if not humans with their vices amplified.

So Stryge dealt out a permanent rest to the restless spirits of the Quarantine Zone, and, in the process, worked on his aim. But doing so had also lead him to further explore this part of town, formerly know to locals as Gambondale, in search of new prey, and in the course of those explorations, one of his discoveries had been this abandoned movie theatre. Like most of the buildings in the Quarantine Zone, the cinema was a shell of its former self; with the power shut off, wallpaper peeling from the walls, and a general scent of mildew and decay permeating the premises, it was not an inviting place to spend anymore time than one had to. It was also, of course, teeming with zombies. This had been Stryge's initial draw to explore the building further, and he had, over the course of two nights, effectively dispatched them all to whatever existed for zombies beyond death's door. As Stryge personally did not even believe such a prospect was possible for human beings, he didn't put much thought into it. Then again, Stryge had never been to the Shadow Zone.

The multiplex had two wings and a total of ten theatres. It was upon opening the door to Theatre number Ten that Stryge had made a rather unpleasant discovery. Based on the descriptions provided to him by his sire, Pi d'Artois, Stryge could only assume that the abomination which he was viewing was what was known as a "mooncalf." Perhaps other vampires were strong enough to take on such a creature, but Stryge knew a fledgling as freshly turned as himself would be ripped to pieces if he had the misfortune to venture within grabbing range of those hideous appendages. As luck would have it, the monstrosity was shambling about at the very end of the aisle near the front row of seats, and therefore Stryge was able to see it before it saw him. With haste he had closed the door to the theatre, and had spent the rest of that evening finding objects such as the now defunct popcorn machines with which to prop the door to Theatre 10 shut, hopefully permanently. Which at that point really should have been the end of Stryge's adventures in the multiplex. The Quarantine Zone certainly offered a plethora of other abandoned buildings for the shadow vampire to explore.

But the very next night he was back. To what end, he couldn't really say. At first it was perhaps just to see if there had been a stray zombie which he had missed. Perhaps even to see if the mooncalf had escaped its new prison. (It hadn't). However, the fact was that Stryge had always loved movies, and he quickly came to the realization as he spent yet another night tromping through the nooks and crannies of the cinema that this was the interest which was driving his curiosity. So he poked around behind the concession stand. He inspected invoices and bills in the manager's office. He found the room where the film cans were stored. The so-called "plague" had struck Gambondale around 2011, and so he was not surprised that the film cans were a time capsule of this particular year in cinematic history. Thor. The Artist. The last Harry Potter movie. Huh. Not a terrible year for movies, Stryge thought to himself.

The titles brought back memories of more than just the films themselves. 2011 had been such a different time for Stryge as well. Back when he was still Stuart Ryan Giger, young, rich, and living in Houston. Back before the tragedy which had compelled him to desire the taking of his own life. That desire had ultimately brought him here to Harper Rock. It had brought him to the attention of a vampire, Pi, who had decided that she wanted him to be a part of her family. He been young and stupid in 2011. But at least his hands had still been clean, back before Stuart had killed a man. It had taken becoming a vampire to somehow move Stryge past this ugly fact, and allow him to continue on with his life; a life that, presumably, would now last for a very long time.

On the fifth night, Stryge had inspected the projectors. On the sixth, he brought the portable generator, used some clever rewiring to hook up the projector to the genny, and with great expectations, flicked the projector on. His expectations were dashed as he discovered with surprise and dismay that the damn thing was no longer working. Testing out the projectors in the other eight theatres proved that time had not been kind to any of the machines. Some had wiring issues resulting from moisture getting in, others had damage from who knows what kind of goings on since the government locked Gambondale down. Stryge didn't even bother testing the projector in Theatre 10. No sense getting the mooncalf all worked up, and the irony if that had ended up being the only working machine in the whole multiplex might have been just too much for the Texan to bear.

Stryge did not return to the cinema or the Quarantine Zone on the following night. Instead, he spent his evening on the desktop computer which resided in the Canidae Den, poring over schematics and information about the workings and repair of movie projectors which he had found on the internet. The next time he returned to the movie theatre, he was armed with both knowledge and a toolkit, and he went about finding the projector with what appeared to be the least amount of needed repairs. It ended up being the one in Theatre 5, just to the left of the lobby. Stryge set to work. And he had continued to work nightly from that point on, only occasionally taking breaks to scour the city for necessary parts.

Stryge could not say to what purpose he had been driven to go to all of this trouble. It wasn't as if he couldn't have simply use a myriad of travel options, mystic portals among them, to arrive at one of the fully functional movie theatres in Harper Rock. Or, for that matter, simply stayed at home and watch Netflix. Perhaps it was his deep love for the magic of the movies, and how he could feel himself connecting to that magic and becoming a part of in the act of repairing this projector and once more throwing shadows upon that darkened screen. Perhaps it was just the act of fixing anything, an act of contrition masked as an act of creation, in contrast it seemed to all he had been doing since his turning, which amounted to nothing but acts of destruction. Whatever the reason, the hard work he had put in to the machine was about to reach its culmination. Tonight as Stryge tightened the final screw on the motor casing he had replaced, and closed the door to the compartment in which it was housed, he felt a sense of satisfaction so overwhelming, that he honestly couldn't recall when had last felt this good, or, in some ways, complete.

Over the course of the past month, Stryge had taken breaks from his repair work by sorting through the film cans that remained in the deserted multiplex for something worth watching. The damage and decay that the projectors had endured was in evidence ten fold on the fragile film stock, and most of the movies had been rendered unsalvageable. Most of what remained after that was not worth the effort he had put into this venture. Seriously, how many of those god awful Transformers movies were there? It was just Stryge was getting close to completing his repairs that he had stumbled across a film that showed some actual promise. The canister simply said Drive. It was a movie Stryge had heard of, but had never actually seen. He felt like this one was the right one to inaugurate his newly functional projector, even if it did star that guy from The Notebook in it. But after all, it wasn't like he was going to stumble across an intact copy of Casablanca laying around in this joint.

Drive was already spliced and loaded up onto the projector when Stryge took a deep breath (an involuntary reflex, of course, as he no longer needed to breathe) and flicked the switch. That incredibly hot white light that only a movie projector can create beamed through the tiny window and out onto the movie screen. Stryge had taken the precaution of replacing the bulb just to be sure. He gave a short "Whoop!" of success as pure brightness was quickly replaced by the title screens of the movie itself. Stryge had not bothered to splice any previews onto the film reel, and so he had to quickly make his way out of the projection booth and into the theatre proper in order to get situated for his first viewing, a sort of sedentary victory lap. Finding a seat toward the middle of the theatre that didn't look either shredded or moldy took some effort, but within a minute Stryge got himself situated. The bright lights which fell upon the movie screen revealed to Stryge for the first time all of the imperfections and tears that had formed there over the years, but the vampire was so elated by his success and the prospect of watching the movie that he didn't even care.

The film itself exceeded all expectations. Stryge found himself enraptured with the story of the misguided but noble stunt driver and his battle with underworld criminals, who were threatening a young mother and her son. In many ways it was classic cinema that hearkened all the way back to Stryge's childhood, right down to the very 80's synth driven soundtrack. As the doomed hero had his final confrontation with the mob boss, Stryge didn't even notice how sleepy he himself had become. Which was not at all surprising. Outside of the darkened theatre, the sun had rose over thirty minutes ago. In his delight, Stryge had completely lost track of the time. On the screen, the hero drove off into the sunset, a blood pouring from a mortal wound which he had suffered at the hands of his enemy. In the theatre, Stryge slept.

Stryge dreamt of dark clouds and storms. As he watched thunderheads form, he knew the storm was approaching, coming straight for him in fact. He knew this because he could hear the thunder. It was getting louder and louder. So loud that it woke him up. With a start, the vampire jerked back to consciousness in his seat. The theatre was now once more in complete darkness, the projector having eventually turned off when the gas from the generator ran out. Stryge worked hard to pull his mind out of the daytime induced torpor which had overtaken him, trying hard think straight and get his bearings. He knew instinctively that he needed to get home right away, to get back to the safety of his apartment in Sanctuary. He reached for his tome, and realized with growing unease that he had left it back in the projection room. Stupid! Even though as a vampire of the shadow path Stryge was naturally attuned to make his way back to the projection room through the darkness of the theatre without an undue amount of stumbling, he still cursed himself for how careless he had been.

And why was he still hearing thunder?

It was in that moment that the world exploded. A burning flash of light erupted before his eyes, and Stryge was thrown the length of the theatre, along with a wall of debris which the force of the blast had converted to deadly shrapnel. He was sure it was not the impact itself, but the earth shattering boom which accompanied it which knocked him out. Stryge could not say for how long he had lost consciousness, but when he finally roused himself, what rose unsteadily from the wreckage was a man in tatters. The black blood of a shadow vampire seeped from both ears and eyes. Based on the piercing pain and the banshee wail in his head, Stryge was convinced at least one eardrum was completely destroyed. His left arm hung limply at his side, dislocated, or broken, or both. The obsidian blood seeped from a thousand cuts and soaked what was left of Stryge's shirt, pants, and jacket, and one of his shoes was now missing completely. If he had been a human, he was sure he most likely would have been killed in the explosion. As it was, Stryge knew all of these wounds would heal eventually, though he wondered simultaneously how much time he had left. Unless the explosion had been the result of some freak occurrence, such as a leaky gas main, the vampire suspected that there were even worse surprises on their way.

The flames from a multitude of burning debris cast an eerie, flickering light through Theatre 5. Despite this, Stryge found himself thankful that there did not appear to be any immediate danger of the building burning down around his ears. The last thing he needed in his current state was to be exposed to the sun. He was also thankful, as he checked the leather holster nestled in the small of his back, to find that he still had the Fareye pistol, a gift from his sire. The precision workmanship of this weapon, he was convinced, was in no small part a contributing factor to his own deadly accuracy when firing it. Knowing that he still had the weapon reassured Stryge somewhat. Flipping open the latch on the holster, he pulled out the pistol and removed the safety. With gun in hand, he ventured towards what appeared to be the source of the blast, a clear patch of daylight that shone through multiple holes busted through multiple walls of the multiplex, like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Though Stryge had no optimism that the idiom would prove to be a positive one in this instance.

Stryge staggered as close as he could reasonably get to the gaping aperture which had replaced the entrance to the multiplex without risking exposure to the sun. As Stryge squinted out into the harsh light of day, he was somewhat taken aback to see that a woman, dressed all in black right down to the ski mask on her head, was running down the street which separated the movie theatre from an abandoned supermarket. She carried an automatic machine pistol of the 9mm variety, and some sort of supply pack. As she ran, she spoke breathlessly into a walkie talkie which she was carrying, "Bravo, this is Alpha. All targets confirmed, begin sweeps!"

At that moment, Stryge found himself acting out of sheer instinct more than anything else. He was hurt, very badly, and all of his instincts were telling him that this woman was somehow the source of all that pain. With no more of a thought in his addled brain than this, Stryge drew down on the woman and fired. "****!" The female explosives expert staggered as the first shot caught her in the leg. "Goddammit! Robert, I'm hit! I'm hit!" Another figure suddenly ran into view, a man, dressed the same as his female compatriot, right down to the matching ski masks. He did not carry a pack like she did, but his gun was noticeably larger, a high-powered rifle, possibly semi-automatic. "Shut the **** up, Alpha! Code names, remember?" He grabbed his companion by the arm and began hurrying her down the street. "Back there, in the movie theatre," Stryge could faintly hear the woman say as the distance between the cinema and his assailants continued to lengthen. The man said something even fainter in response, along the lines of "probably hurt badly...finish him off later." Even as they spoke, Stryge was steadying his aim, preparing shots which would end them both. That prospect was quickly banished, however, by the flaming beam which crashed down right in front of him, knocking Stryge backwards into what was left of the multiplex lobby.

Stryge groaned as pain coursed through his body. Whatever the vampire equivalent of adrenaline was that had gotten him this far was now quickly wearing off, and the effects of multiple severe wounds were catching up to him with a vengeance. From his prone position on the floor, Stryge's head lolled to the side, and he could see all the way down the length of the wing that housed Theatres 6 through 10. Debris from the explosion were strewn about everywhere, though it appeared this wing had not suffered the brunt of the blast the way that Theatre 5 had. However, as Stryge gazed down the hallway in a pain induced stupor, he did notice one thing. It was something which would have seemed at most a trifling detail to anyone other than himself. But to Stryge, it formed the basis of a rising panic to match anything caused by the explosion. Because the force of the blast and the debris had knocked over the various popcorn machines which he pushed to the end of the hallway. And the door to Theatre 10 was now wide open.

[Nerissa Clemming]

Nerissa grinned as the satisfying click of an unlocked door reached her ears. She opened the door and glanced inside, finding a box of computer parts on the floor. With a pleased expression she snatched the box and quickly made her way back to the front door of the warehouse. She stopped and peeked around the corner, then cursed to herself silently as she spied a guard standing at the door. I hate it when they make things difficult! She reached into her bag as quietly as she could and pulled out a noise maker, then threw it away from her and the door. She waited impatiently for it to activate, until a few seconds later a shrill shriek echoed down the hall, drawing the guard away. Nerissa darted to the door and ran out into the night, her large bag smacking her back with every step.

Once she was a safe distance from the warehouse she slowed down and strolled down the street, sticking to the shadows and avoiding every cop she saw. Before she came to Harper Rock, she avoided staying in the same town for long to avoid getting recognized by the locals as she conned and stole from them. The moment she felt that the authorities were on the lookout for her, she left and never looked back. Now, she was stuck in Harper Rock and had to be more careful about being spotted.

She finally had a home here, thanks to her sire, and for that she would always be grateful, but at first she struggled with staying under the police radar. She still remembered the first time an officer recognized her and shot her in the shoulder when she tried to run. She got barely got away, and the sharp pain was something she wouldn't forget, but the excitement that came after her wound healed so quickly was also fresh in her mind.

She reached the sewer lid and opened it with a scowl. She couldn't wait for the day she would be able to just leap over the Quarantine fence and avoid the disgusting sewers completely. With one last look around to make sure she wasn't watched she jumped down, letting the lid fall back down above her with a clang. She had taken this path so often she had memorized the way, so it didn't take her long to climb back out into the Quarantine Zone. She looked up at the sky and saw there was still a few hours left until sunrise, so she decided to go to the abandoned fire department.

A few months ago she ran into the building to avoid the sun's morning rays and spent the day there, sleeping under one of the tables. The next evening she left the building and continued home without another thought, until she recognized it as similar to the table her sire had in the apartment. The next evening she decided to check it out, and after a a bit of trial and error she learned how to use the tools there.

Now she walked through the door, and after quickly dispatching a zombie that had wandered in she dropped her bag onto the table and looked over the things she had obtained that night. Some of it she would sell, like the alcohol, perfume and documents, but the computer parts were what she was really after that night. She got to work on the sensor alarms, concentrating on making them the best quality she could so that she could get the most money she could.

As the sun rose she found herself getting tired, her vision blurring a bit. With a sigh she put down her tools, laid her custom-built rifle 'Catheryn' on the ground and curled up under the table to sleep, unaware of what was about to happen.

A loud explosion jarred her awake, causing her to hit her head on the underside of the table as she sat up. She crawled out and rubbed her head, her disheveled, purple streaked hair in her face. She brushed it back with one hand and picked up Catheryn with the other, then stayed low to the ground as she hurried to the door. She stopped when she heard gunfire and a couple people yelling. She opened the door and saw a pair of humans running down the road, one of them supporting the other, and both of them covered head to toe with black clothing. After closer inspection she noticed one of the humans was male and the other was female, and the female was limping badly. Nerissa had spent enough time on the road to know that that was never a good sign and stayed hidden until they had disappeared around the corner of a building, but not before hearing the male say "He's probably hurt badly. We'll go back and finish him off later once we get you patched up.".

Nerissa frowned at the male's comment, and after a second of debating she braced herself and ran out into the sun, not as gracefully as she would have liked due to the weariness trying to overcome her again. She stuck to the few shadows she could find to avoid the sun's full force as she traveled to the source of the smoke, her gun at the ready, then stopped with her mouth open in shock at the burning theater. She was standing across the street but she could feel the heat coming from the flames that were engulfing the building. She examined the rubble and almost didn't see the man laying in what was left of the lobby, his clothes torn and covered in what looked like black blood. Normally, Nerissa wouldn't risk her life for some stranger, but something was telling her to go help. She couldn't figure out what it was, but a sense of urgency pushed her on, so she listened and darted into the burning building towards the man.

She knelt down next to the man and shouted over the noise of the flames "Hey! Can you stand? W have to get out of here!" She slung her Catheryn over her shoulder to free her hands and tried to find an uninjured part of the man's body to help him up. She noticed the horror on his face as he stared at one of the theater's doors and was confused. What was it he was so scared of? She decided it was probably the shock of the building blowing up and concentrated on trying to find a safe way out of the building.

[Edenor]

He had stopped training for far too long and it was the only reason it brought him out of his home to go do something a little physical for once. After almost a month of just forging, gathering parts for himself in the catacombs and even his gun part running he was doing for another he decided to go out and test a few of the blades. Of course there had been diversions in between, like his new childe that he had ended up picking up. She was much like a stray, scared and alone and even if she tried to hide it he was no fool but most importantly she did try and hide it behind anger and false bravado. How could he not find that interesting and amusing enough to give her what she wanted? Other than that though there had been nothing but forging and gathering.

It wasn't that he didn't want to train, simply that he had found something that actually was rather calming to him and so had started to dedicate his time to it. It was much easier than even hunting was and he had gotten into the bad habit of feeding only once he was near ravenous and had no choice. It had started out that way that led him to the QZ. He had only been out searching for humans when he realized he had several weapons with him that had yet to be tested out, and as he didn't really advertise his weapons, were not really up for sale. He had found out on accident about his power to walk across water when he first came to the QZ several months before, he had been quite lost in the city and not really paying attention. By the time he realized he was in a fenced off area and that the only place not gated was across water was when he realized it and he had always done so since when he visited. He knew the sewers well enough but why go through things the hard way?

That was what had trapped him there that night to his misfortune. So caught up in testing the weapons, noting how well they worked as he smashed apart zombies, or cut them into pieces with the bladed weapons. Of course he only made mental notes, nothing in writing was ever a good thing to him and so if others asked if they somehow found him to buy his weapons he would divulge what he knew but otherwise? Screw them they could find out for themselves if they didn't think to ask. His favorite he ended up naming The Kneecapper. It was a heavy mace looking thing with somewhat sharp edges on the head so while it would cut into the bodies he used it on the full force of the attack was what followed when the rest of the head stopped being able to dig in deeper and normally ended up shattering bones. It was because of this that he gave it it's name, easy to swing across low and just take out one or both knees with no problems.

So lost in his testing he hadn't even realized the sun had come up and realized just how tired he was at that point. He ended up going to sit up on one of the counters on the ground floor of the Flats where he had been, his body leaning against the wall as he closed his eyes to sleep. It didn't last long though, he felt the building he was leaning against shaking and at first he simply dismissed it but then he heard the boom and felt another rumble. He knew that sound and it instantly set him on edge. Those he knew to so brazenly use explosives were those with absolute confidence in themselves. His own past was filled with him and others that were with him acting this way when they hunted down those that were their targets and he felt hate and anger welling up inside him as he thought that they had somehow found him and were coming for him again.

Had he known that he was right about them coming for him but so wrong about who it was and why he likely would have simply waited it all out, but instead as he let his anger boil over he could hear the counter he was on and the scattered chairs and debris shaking and slowly cracking the more he thought of them coming for his life he got up. His motions were slow and deliberate as he went to the door, pulling out his new favorite mace and bouncing it lightly over his right shoulder. pushing the door open while trying to keep sunlight from getting on him he took a moment to take in what he was seeing outside. Burning buildings and two different groups of people were in view, one rushing towards the burning building through the sunlight and it was obvious she was not human with the way she tried to avoid the sun and seemed a little singed and sluggish as she moved.

The others disappeared behind another set of buildings but he had been able to see they weren't in perfect shape but he couldn't really tell who was supporting who before they were lost from his sight. 'Well at least I'm not alone in this.' He thought as he watched the female disappear into the burning building. It was only then that he moved away from the door and into the building. Grabbing a small table he held it over his head as he stepped outside. It wasn't the best cover but it was better than nothing as he raced across to where he had seen the others disappear. The woman was a note for later, these others were likely the ones that woke him and angered him. He would not forgive them. He could feel his skin slowly darkening and he finally moved into an empty home, getting out of the sun and trying to figure out how best to proceed but as he carefully looked through the windows towards the outside he couldn't find the people he sought to kill for disturbing him.

He had no choice but to go find that woman he had seen, at least she might know what was going on and this time he didn't bother with the table. Instead he made a mad rush towards the collapsing and burning building, he felt his skin blistering but finally made it inside and growled out in just as much pain as anger now and called out, trying to see if she was still there and could hear him "I know you ran in here. What the hell is going on?" Of course she would have no reason to show herself or answer, he didnt even know who she was but at this point anything was better than the nothing he was working with.

[Aaron Hunter]

Have you ever been on one of those crazy long haul flights that take you half way around the globe? You know the sort of voyage, it’s the kind of journey that totally flips your world upside down, as if a giant eagle had grabbed you by your ankles and dangled a helpless you underneath its awesome wings as it soared across monumental mountain ranges? You arrive at your destination having possibly skipped a day of your life due to time differences of seven, eight, maybe even nine hours. Day may have become night in what seems like the blink of an eye, or an entire night might have totally vanished, leaving you with what appears to have been an endless dawn. You are left disorientated and dazed as the dreaded jet lag consumes your weary body. The medical term for the travellers’ curse is desynchronosis, because it literally leaves your whole body out of synch with reality for a short while. Your body’s circadian rhythms are altered as your mind tries to come to terms with the sleep disruption. Sufferers may feel sluggish, unable to perform simple mental tasks as they find their concentration levels waning. Headaches, irritability, digestion problems, and of course basic fatigue, all rank highly on the list of symptoms.

To the casual onlooker – the casual onlooker who just happens to be in a city surrounding by supernatural creatures – a newly fledged vampire could be mistaken for someone with extreme jet lag. A recently sired childe has had their entire existence churned up, like they’ve been thrown unceremoniously into a cement mixer and left to be shaken up like a vampiric cocktail. They find themselves sleeping during the day and being wide awake at night, and their ability to eat is clearly messed up beyond all recognition. Many appear to be agitated, harbouring an almost insatiable itch to strike out. How ironic that shift workers, who constantly tamper with their natural cycles, run an almost 25% higher risk of suffering a heart attack or stroke, in fact up to a 40% increased risk for constant night shift workers, whereas vampires, who live a permanent night shift, are immortal. Could it be that the incredible journey to the realm of the undead is nothing more than glorified jet lag?

There is, however, something akin to jet lag for the fully-fledged vampires, something that wrenches their undead souls almost clean out of their bodies. When a sleeping vampire is rudely awoken from their daily slumber, as they shelter from the harmful rays of the sun, it’s like someone has reached inside their skull through both eye-sockets and yanked out their pleasantly dreaming brain. It’s a guaranteed way to annoy the hell out of the most cool, calm and collected bloodsucker. Aaron Hunter did not take too kindly to having his dreams of redheads abruptly shattered.

Within the weird neighbourhood commonly known as the Quarantine Zone, there were several abandoned buildings, structures left to slowly decay as nature’s claw began to scratch its nails down the dusty stone and brickwork. One such derelict building was the old asylum. From the outside, it looked pretty creepy, an image enhanced by late night stories of deranged patients who murdered innocent staff members. It was always the night shift workers who were killed in the scary tales: the young nurse working late, or the janitor left alone to clean up. Quite clearly working night shifts really was bad for one’s health, even if only in the realms of spooky narratives after a few too many beers. The run down mental institute, despite its crumbling exterior, did have several plus points that often lead Aaron to spend his time whiling away an evening there. First of all, it was quiet, making the former hospital an ideal place to escape the crazy world of Harper Rock. Secondly, and of real importance to Aaron, there were padded cells within the sterile walls of the asylum, making it an incredibly quiet place, perfect for practising the drums without disturbing the neighbours.

Drumming not only allowed Aaron to express his creativity, but it give him an outlet to release pent up anger, a funnel to let off steam. Life as a vampire was not always a bed of roses, but often a prickly sack of thorns. The free-spirited musician had been bashing away on his kit, pounding out punk rock rhythms to clear his thoughts. He’d become so engrossed in his art that he had totally lost track of time, discovering dawn was on his doorstep. There were enough old mattresses lying around in nearby grubby wards, albeit with the odd spring missing here and there, for Aaron to bunk down and get some rest. He liked the comforts of home, and the guests that dropped by, but he also liked his skin without nasty sunburn, so a night sleeping rough was his only real option. Aaron had no idea just how rough that sleep would actually be.

At first, a stunned Aaron thought that the explosions that rocked the area were merely dreams; ear-splitting drum fills in his musically inspired slumber. It became increasingly apparent that this was no dream, but more of a nightmare. Springing to his feet in a less than enthusiastic manner, like a drunken giraffe, Aaron rubbed his bloodshot eyes and ran a hand through his shoulder-length dark hair. He felt like warmed up ****, and probably looked rather like it too. Aaron grumbled a few expletives under his breath as he wandered towards the entrance hall of the asylum, twiddling a drumstick between his right thumb and forefinger. It was crystal clear from the amount of light seeping in through cracks in the walls and ceiling that it was daytime, and that caution was imperative. Someone had better have a pretty ******* amazing explanation of what was going on, or they were going to get a drumstick shoved up their butthole.

A couple of shots rang out, like a backfiring old car exhaust, increasing Aaron’s level of alertness. Aaron could hear a couple of people shouting, unfamiliar voices both male and female, but now was not the time to investigate their origins. There was something far more imminent for Aaron to deal with, or should that be someone. Standing at the doorway of the abandoned asylum, her silhouetted figure dimly lit by the sunlight, was an athletic looking woman. A balaclava masked her face, and tight black clothing hugged her frame, but it wasn’t her physique that was grabbing Aaron’s attention, it was what she was wielding. Aaron dropped his eyes down briefly to peer at the slender foot-long wooden drumstick that he held loosely in his hand, before returning his gaze to the katana that glistened as the sun caught its cold steel blade. “Ok,” said Aaron as he tilted his head a little to the left, “I guess I need something a bit bigger.”

[Stryge (DELETED 7204)]

As Stryge reeled through the shock his body was enduring, he thought at first that the woman who had appeared before him was some sort of hallucination, a trick of the mind. He jerked noticeably as she came into sight, his gun arm tensing and starting to raise up. The black blood that covered his face had started to evaporate into smokey whispers, but even through this strange dark mist his expression was visible, a canvas of burning intensity. He stared at the woman , wild-eyed, but even through haze of of the trauma brought on by his injuries, Stryge could tell she was different from the others. For one thing, she was a vampire. Stryge could always smell his own.

She asked him if he could stand, and told him they needed to get out of there. At least, he thought that was what she said. The ringing in his ears was threatening to drive him batty. Stryge pulled himself to a sitting position, turning his head to the side absently, as if the whine in his head might be from some sort of tiny alarm clock in his ear canal, one that he could just shake out like errant water after a shower, and not, in fact, a symptom of massive damage to his inner eardrum from the explosion. And still Stryge's eyes had remained wide and staring this whole time. Any medical professional would have taken one look at him and instantly recognized a man with all the symptoms of being in a state of shock

And then a coughing fit took hold of him, and what came out of his mouth was more of the shadow blood,. It gave the appearance that he he had possibly started choking while drinking a can of motor oil. The coughing fit, as horrible as it was to watch, and as telling as it was of the damage to Stryge's inner workings, did at least seem to bring the vampire back to his senses a little. When the last of sputtering cough had finally passed, Stryge looked up at the female vampire and said with a bloody grin, "I've always depended on the kindness of strangers," in his best Blanche DuBois accent. Pulling his aching body up into a standing position that, judging from the increasingly heavy swaying, threatened to become a sitting position again momentarily, Stryge continued, "You're right, we need to get out of here. The whole place could go up and down the hall there's a-"

He stopped short as both of their attentions were grabbed by a third entrant into the disaster zone that the cinema had become. Stryge didn't see the man, another vampire, until after he had run in and begun shouting. He noted both of these newcomers looked a little singed. Christ, he thought, Hope they don't expect me to just run back into the sun with them. Don't think I'll make it in this condition.

His explosion addled brain distracted by this disturbing prospect, Stryge had momentarily forgotten about an even more disturbing reality. Meanwhile, something had appeared at the open doorway to Theatre 10. A clawed appendage snaked out, scrabbling in the rubbage from the explosion, heralding the tangled nightmare of teeth and body parts that would soon follow it into the hallway.

[Nerissa Clemming]

Nerissa watched fascinated at the evaporating blood, almost forgetting the danger they were in, but the coughing fit brought back her focus. She smirked at his comment and said "You're lucky I was in the area." She helped support him as he stood up and tried to keep him steady when he began to sway, then continued looking for a safe way out while he talked.

The shout from the entrance made her jump slightly. At first she was worried that the humans had returned, but then she realized the voice belonged to someone else. She peered through the smoke and saw what she thought was a man and waved him over. "Hey! Can you reach us? We're in the lobby and this guy is hurt pretty bad! We need to get out of here before the humans come back!" She turned to the injured man and was about to ask what his name was so she didn't have to keep saying 'this guy' when something caught her eye. She looked over at theater 10 and saw the clawed appendage emerging from the dark. She didn't need a light to know what it was. She glared at the man she was supporting. "Why didn't you say anything about a Mooncalf?!" She then shouted back at the man at the entrance "Okay, screw the humans, we have a freaking Mooncalf over here!"

She took Catheryn off of her shoulder and aimed it at the doorway. She was pretty confident with herself at the moment. Just last week she killed her first Mooncalf, and despite her exhaustion and the searing heat from the flames she thought she could take down this one. With any luck the explosion weakened it, making it easier to kill. She fired a few shots, the first few hitting the wall, but the last one made it through the door, resulting in an unearthly screech. She turned to the injured man and said "I'll keep it distracted, you get out of here!"

[Edenor]

He heard the responding answer to his call and looked around. Where he was at seemed mostly ok, lot of smoke but nothing really dangerous until he started looking for a way through. The obstacles themselves wouldn't have been so bad but having run through the sunlight and already being burned, the blisters still not having started healing at all yet he didn't feel like risking exposure to any kind of flames which would just make it worse. He was going to answer but then heard her call out about a Mooncalf and shortly afterwards the shots that rang out. He couldn't help frowning as the sound echoed for a moment followed by a screech that sent a slight shiver down his spine.

He now knew he was stuck with people in an emergency that might not think things through fully. Sure it was dangerous to approach a Mooncalf but with humans that were blowing up buildings? It seemed best to do anything but attract attention by using guns and letting them know that they were here and active. Hearing the womans words of distracting the creature he called out towards the both of them, "I can get to it easier from here, you help him. I got this." It truly was easier to stay away from the flames and approach the theater that the Mooncalf was in than trying to cross over and he would rather deal with such things his own way that might not draw so much attention. As soon as he saw the creature he pulled out his new favorite toy. This time though the head seemed to darken and leave a faint shadowy trail behind it as he focused his energies into the weapon. It wasn't too much stronger, he was still getting used to focusing the shadows as a part of his weapons, but it did give it a much sharper edge that made it cut through flesh like paper.

The creature was already obviously wounded and so he approached it openly, no need for his normal movements to circle around, he would rather keep its attention on him so as to give the others a chance to regroup. The first blow came with a sickening thud as the Kneecapper sank into the creatures body, a sickening sound of breaking and tearing flesh coupled with the things scream made him smile wickedly. He had always loved the sounds of real battle and even though it wouldn't last long it was still thrilling. He didn't get away unscathed though, even as he had sidestepped as a follow through he felt one of the things arms smash into his side. It made him grit his teeth to keep from calling out in pain as two of his ribs broke. At least it was distracted and he could keep it busy but it pissed him off and his eyes flashed dangerously as he grabbed the mace with both hands and went into a frenzy of smashing blows, not even bothering to defend himself as he bashed the monstrosity with his full strength repeatedly. It ended quickly, a few gashes in his body that were slowly closing, black blood almost looking like dark steam as it curled away from his body and disappeared. The Mooncalf itself was nothing but torn and battered flesh beaten into pulp and while it seemed to take only a moment when he looked back towards the entrance he realized that the entrance was even worse off than before with the fire spreading and now he was even more cutoff than he would have been before and felt himself much more tired than before, slow deep breaths filling his lungs if only for the act of trying to calm his body down.

[Aaron Hunter]

Apparently, according to sympathetic souls and inadequate individuals, size doesn’t matter. ********! It could be said in certain quarters that wielding 16” of wood in your hand was an open door to Internet or DVD infamy. If that were the case under all circumstances, then Aaron Hunter would surely have a long - no pun intended - and prosperous career ahead of him. However, when the wood in question was precision turned hickory with “5A” and “Zildjian” written along its slender length, then the circumstances were somewhat different. Greats such as Ginger Baker, Paul Cook, and Keith Moon regularly chose Avedis Zildjian drumsticks as their weapons of choice. Unfortunately, for a slightly anxious Aaron, the female standing rather menacingly at the entrance of the old asylum in the Quarantine Zone was clutching the handle of a glistening steel blade that looked like something that could have been forged by Hattori Hanzo. She was quite the urban ninja with her figure-hugging black attire, leather gloves gripping the bound katana handle tightly. Aaron, in an old pair of jeans and long sleeved sweater, felt a little underdressed for the occasion.

Of course, he did have an impressive arsenal of weaponry with him: a long sword that looked like it had been drawn from a medieval rock by Arthur Pendragon, and a couple of hand cannons that could transform a human head into a cherry pie filling, but the problem for Aaron was that they were back along a few murky corridors in the abandoned ward. Right now, the out-gunned drummer’s only friends were a glorified twig and his own ability. As a youth back in New York, Aaron would shoot a few hoops with his buddies at Travers Park, the local recreational area in his neighbourhood of Jackson Heights. He possessed a decent enough amount of skill with a basketball, and had a fairly impressive jump and hang time, but the scouts from the NBA were never going to be knocking on his door offering him a lucrative contract. Since his metamorphosis into a vampire, there had been an incredible increase in Aaron’s dexterity and hand-eye coordination, not to mention an unnatural development with his physical strength. It was as if the agile rocker had been pumping iron and consuming gallons of protein shakes under the personal tuition of Mr Universe. No amount of drumming, no matter how intense and aggressive, could build up such speed and power. These enhanced attributes were about to undergo a thorough workout, as the lady in black let out a high-pitched yell like a wailing banshee, and rushed towards Aaron, the katana blade raised high above her head like a mighty axe, ready to chop down the seemingly defenceless onlooker.

People often say that your life flashes before your eyes when you are faced with death. For the wannabe vigilante warrior, it was a wooden drumstick that flashed in front of her eyes, before it darted through the slit in her facemask and plunged deep into her orbital socket. The aqueous eyeball offered pathetic resistance as the tip of the makeshift dagger penetrated the optic canal, entering the superior orbital fissure in the skull, severing a handful of cranial nerves, and more importantly the ophthalmic artery. The cascade of crimson that spurted through the opening in the urban ninja’s balaclava was accompanied by a gut-wrenching scream as she collapsed in a bloody heap on the cold tiles of the asylum floor. Although the dead attacker, her body motionless on the ground as blood oozed from her head, showed a reasonable turn of pace when rushing towards Aaron, it was no where near the lightening fast feet of the killer vampire. Leaping sideways and using the off-white walls of the rundown hospital to propel himself up and over the shoulders of his assailant, Aaron had landed on her back and jabbed the musical instrument through her emerald green eye before she had time to react.

Aaron squatted down besides his victim, plucking the drumstick from her skull like a feather from a chicken prior to a good roasting. A strange squelching sound, akin to diving a dessertspoon into a trifle, amused the killer as the impaled eyeball popped out of the woman’s orbit. Aaron flicked his wrist, sending the squidgy sphere sliding off the end of the slim stick and into the nearby wall. It slammed onto the dusty wall like a ball of slime, slowly slopping off the flaky paintwork onto the floor. While he hovered on his haunches, Aaron tugged the black gloves from the hands of the woman, squeezing them over his own much bigger palms. He followed up by relieving the dead woman’s bloody head of the balaclava, slipping it over his own dark hair, feeling the sticky warmth of her fresh blood on his skin. Aaron had earlier heard voices from another building shouting for what sounded like help, and he was keen to investigate. However, it did mean braving the daylight, so Aaron was determined to cover up as much of his flesh as possible to try and minimize the harmful effects of sunburn.

Heading back to the derelict asylum ward, Aaron picked up his guns and sword, ensuring that he was far more prepared for whatever or whoever awaited him in the adjacent building. He gazed at the drumstick that had got him out of jail and smiled. “I guess size isn’t everything,” said Aaron as he began to chuckle, “it’s clearly what you do with it that counts!”

With a hearty laugh, Aaron raced towards the entrance hallway, ready to explore the cries for help and face the next challenge.

[Stryge (DELETED 7204)]

Stryge was lucky that these new arrivals seemed up to the task of taking on the mooncalf. He sure as **** wasn't, not in this condition. The woman had pulled out a respectable sized rifle and had nailed the creature with at least one high-powered shot. And then the man had gone rushing into the fray with some sort of club and beaten the goddamn thing to death. All this in spite of the obvious burns they were sporting. It was downright inspirational.

As the bearded man was in the process of pounding the mooncalf into nightmare mash, the fires from the explosion were getting hotter, spreading through the lobby, eating away at the musty carpet and four year old movie posters on the walls. Stryge turned to the woman, "We need a plan to get out of here, and it ain't gonna be the way you came in, not at this rate. All of the theatres have emergency exits in the back. Let's head down that hallway," Stryge pointed towards Theatre 10, where the bloodied male vampire had just finished beating the unlife out of the disfigured Mooncalf. "By the way, you have a good sharp knife on you? I've got an idea for keeping the sun off our backs." He had noticed when he had first started investigating the cinema that each theatre still had those old-fashioned draw curtains like the classic playhouses of old. The curtains were made out of some very heavy material like crushed velvet, but a sharp enough blade and a little supernatural vampire elbow grease could potentially be used to shear them down into some very convenient sun cloaks. It wouldn't be stylish, but it would get the job done.

Stryge had just started leading the woman in the intended direction down the hallway and away from the fires, when a fourth person came bursting through the flaming entrance to join the party. Stryge recognized the black balaclava he was wearing immediately. It was one of them. "Sonuvabitch!" he intoned as he swung his Fareye pistol up and in the direction of the interloper and fired off three shots in succession.

[Nerissa Clemming]

Nerissa was reloading her rifle when the guy at the door launched himself at the Mooncalf and watched in awe as he pummeled it with his mace. Impressive. The heat from the growing flames brought her back to the present, and she listened to what the man next to her was saying. With a grin she pulled out her dagger from her pants pocket and said "This should work well enough. I never leave home without something sharp on hand." She then turned her attention to the guy with the mace. "Hey, There's some exits this way. We should bail before the ceiling comes down on us."

She began to follow the injured man to the back of the theater when another person joined the party. At first she didn't recognize the man mostly due to the dark clothing, but then the injured man swore and shot at him. Instinctively Nerissa lifted her rifle and was about to shoot as well, but a wave of exhaustion washed over her, causing her to lower Catheryn and rub her eyes. Crap, this is really bad timing! She shook her head in an attempt to wake up more, then raised her rifle at the newcomer, firing a few shots with poor aim. She hoped at least one of her shots landed, the last thing they needed was those humans coming back to finish them off.