Ave Dominus Nox [TERRITORY IMPACT]

[Mkvenner]

It was not long after Ven had made the call that Dominique reentered the chapel. he was oh so very glad of this fact, as being with Kamikaze in the best of times was a rather unsettling experience. And this, given that she could have had anything in that bag of hers, was unlikely to be considered one of the best of times. In his fairly extensive of things that came in bags that size, it was probably going to be one of the worst of times for someone, if not he himself, in the very near future. Having someone else there to bear witness at the very least was reassuring, especially when that person was the club’s Sergeant At Arms.

Distracted as he was by the… well, by the Kamikaze of it all, it was almost in a daze that he realised that Dom had both greeted him and asked what was happening. He assumed that she was a little confused to have been called back by him so soon after the close of their meeting, but… well. It had to be done. Now, to find a way to communicate that to her without seeming too worried by it. As the club’s president, he had to project at least an aura of calm and composure in situations like this, especially when the situation at hand was one of the club’s newest prospects and whatever the hell she’d found from wherever the hell she’d found it.

“Um…” he muttered, before clearing his throat, “Evening again Dom. Er… that, mostly. I’m not entirely sure what to do with… that.”

He paused.

“The bag, I mean. Granted, not too sure what to do with Kamikaze most of the time either,” he chuckled, “But this time, it’s the bag. Mostly what might be in the bag. Because…”

He let the thought trail off. He didn’t need to finish it, it was obvious where the thought was headed, brake lines cut and out of control.

It was at that moment that Kamikaze decided the drop the bag down onto the table with a thud that made him wince. He’d always liked that table, been proud of how long it had taken to get it just right. And now it had a dent in it. A large one too, if he was any judge, from the apparent weight of whatever she had stashed away and the effort she had needed to go to to get it on the table in the first place.

As worried as Ven had been before, now he began to get very worried.

And then it happened.

Produced from the bag, reminding him bizarrely of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, came a minigun. A minigun that was as near as dammit as big as the woman herself. And several belts of ammunition. Thankfully, the two were kept very separate, at least for the moment, but Ven still did not let himself breathe a sigh of relief. The night was still comparatively young and he knew what Kamikaze was like. Still, it was a good sign, for a given value of ‘good’, that whoever had been irresponsible enough to sell her the weapon had been responsible enough to not show her how to load the damn thing.

Due to all this worrying and thinking that he was doing, he barely even noticed what she was saying, let alone that she’d said anything at all. Not that it really made any difference either way, to be honest - whatever she said was mostly incomprehensible at the best of times. He sincerely doubted that her current level of excitement would help that in any way whatsoever. So, as he always did, he nodded and smiled.

“It’s, uh… very nice?” he chanced, “What do you think, Dom? Isn’t it… nice?”

His eyes kept darting from the war machine on the table to the war machine almost dancing from foot to foot with what could only be described, at least to his mind, as rabid glee. He wasn’t too sure what he preferred - normal (relatively), calm Kamikaze or this hopping harpy, almost bursting with joy. Like a cat that brought a dead bird to your back door and then looked for affection, only this particular bird had an ungodly fire rate and could chew through armoured anything in a handful of seconds.

The fact that she was making guns with her fingers and yelling ‘bang’ really didn’t help, either.

It didn’t get any better for his state of mind when she hauled the thing off the table, after seemingly genuinely worried that the ammo belts were alive and needed to be trapped in their bag, and began to hug it to her like someone might cradle a child. He raised a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger. Literally nothing in over forty years of existence had prepared him for anything remotely like Kamikaze. And now she was speaking again.

In keeping with the trend, he had no idea what she was talking about other than that she didn’t think that she was a gun, but that she was more than one person. As far as this went, this was a normal day for Kamikaze. Perhaps things were starting to return to normal… no. No, not even slightly. She was trying to think of names for the gun, that was all it could be. Even by her standards, nothing else made sense. And that was saying something. She quickly reverted back to her earlier strangeness and began to stroke the gun like an owner might praise their dog when their ball was returned.

“So… yeah,” he said after a minute’s wondering, “So, Reverened, eh? That’s a… nice name, right, Dom? A nice, nice name.”

He was saying ‘nice’ a lot. He’d need to work on that.

Thankfully, from deep within his pocket he felt his phone vibrate. He fished it out, grateful for the distraction and for the moment to think that it afforded him. It was Jameson, and he was asking if John could ask his enthralled Triad member about locations for HQ buildings or stash houses. That part was easy, but he also wanted something from a guy called Midas. Who the **** was Midas? Still, at least he could deal with something while he tried to work out what to do with Kamikaze and her new friend.

He sent a quick ‘okay’ to Jameson before punching out John, Jameson’s looking for some intel from your Chinese friend. You two should talk.. He dropped it onto the table then, after a moment, picked it back up and reopened his conversation with Jameson - Also, who the **** is Midas? -V. Now he let the phone rest.

He was turning back to Kamikaze when the rumbling disturbed him yet again - two more messages. He looked between Dom and Kamikaze.

“Would you mind… I dunno, doing… something? About and or with all this, love? Just while I take care of this? Cheers.”

And then he retreated quickly from the scene of his utter and complete bewilderment.

The first text was another from Jameson - he’d found what he thought to be a cash house. Which was nice. The club could always do with some more money and this way, he chuckled at the thought, he’d be able to pay the Bricks he’d hired to petrol bomb Triad businesses with Triad money. There was a pleasing symmetry to that.

The second was from Wilson. He’d also found some property listings that he thought Ven would be interested in. This one needed a more satisfactory response.

Nice work. he texted Bring what you’ve found by the bar tomorrow night and we’ll go over them over a whiskey or three. Sound like a plan? -V.

[Mordechai]

Mordechai sat silently in the basement office of midKnight armaments. His massive bulk ensconced in the glove like fit of his custom chair as it quietly spun, propelled by one mammoth NewRock, as the other dragged quietly in its wake. Around him was the custom built semi circular desk, built of mahogany, the desk resembled the bridge of the Enterprise. Five led screens faced to the center. Each hooked to a state of the art computer, none with keyboard or mouse. Yet even missing these obvious means of data input, all five screens flickered in the darkness. Row after row of code flowed over two screens, the other three flickering from site to site faster than a human would be able to absorb the information displayed on them. None of this matter to the man in the chair, his eyes were closed as he spun apparently seeing nothing.

The meeting last night had been interesting, although he had not added much to the conversation, all had been loaded into his memory, all had been processed, and once more, he had a mission. Mordechai knew that most likely those he had met in the Night Lords thought he was just another big oaf, knowing nothing but to fight. Many had assumed this before, they were wrong. Mordechai was a master hacker. The computers on his desk were at that moment being run through a remote desktop application. They were being remotely run by his mind. Three of them, the three flashing websites were finding and collating any information publicly notated on the triads and their operation in Harper Rock, while the other two, had a special job. One was systematically running trace patterns on the information he had found. back tracking through proxies, anonymous re-dialers, and all the other security systems that the gang had thought made the computer aspect of their businesses safe. As each home system was found and identified, the fifth and final computer slipped in keyloggers, Trojans, and just plain old slow moving viruses that burrowed deep within the triads software and began to systematically corrupt and delete integral registry and system programs. piece by piece stripping them of their databases and capabilities.

All of this only occupied a small portion of the brobdingnagian vampire's mental capacity. As all of that was happening, Mordechai was mentally running through his inventories of the store and his personal armory. He was a hacker indeed, but the size and muscle was not just camouflage for the brain, Mordechai was a killer in much more than name. They would need guns, he had already began delivering numerous nice weapons to Ven, loads of ammo were next. Stockpiles of Barnes-X and powder were laid out as his bench ready to be processed, and a low fire was banked in the forge, quantities of prefolded blanks stacked and ready to be transformed into deadly works of art. Mordie knew that most of the members would already be brepared. They would have their own custom weaponry. Spares though, Everyone should have spares... Those he could and would supply.

A smile crossed his lips, it was good to have a mission again. Damn good

[Jameson Dade]

Day 3: 7 PM to 11 PM

He was doing pure recon. Easy right? Wrong. For one, the easiest way to map out the security for the warehouse he'd found the day before would have been to find out where the CCTV feed for the building was being stored and then hack into it. From there, one could basically use the enemy's eyes against them, like taming Hugnin and Munin away from the influence of Odin. Except Jameson wasn't all that great at hacking, and even if he were, with a classy operation like the Triads were trying to run, they probably stored all of that information on a private server, on site. So the 'easiest' way through the security was out.

At least. That was what Jameson thought as he prepped for the night. He wasn't there to steal anything. The fact of the matter was that he didn't have a big enough bag to cart out all the cash by himself, and he wasn't about to cost the Night Lords some potential cash by trying to swing it solo. So his role was only to break in, get a good look around, find out where the mulah was being held and get out. He wouldn't need knockout bombs, or smoke bombs. He wasn't going to need any of his traditional gadgets, which meant he was free to employ the use of a power he normally kept on reserve. He was standing in his kitchen when he decided to shift. There was no popping of bones, no Landis-eque tearing of flesh, or open wounds where fur grew. One second he was Jameson and the next he was a stoat. Long body. Fuzzy. He had charcoal black eyes, with a pink nose, and whiskers that were wider than he was. Also he was only a few inches tall unless he stood up on his hind legs.

He looked perpetually bitchface too.

He glanced down by chance and noted that he was white. *******. ****. He was trying not to draw attention, not stand out like a sore thumb! The last time he'd turned into an animal, it had been spring, and he'd been brown. This meant he had to make a few modifications to his plan. So he raced from the slippery tiles of his kitchen towards the bathroom. Of course, all of his effort would be for naught, if the Triads turned out to have some vampires on their roster. Vampires could tell who he was regardless of how he looked. But John and Jane had said they didn't think there were any. And Jameson was too committed to back down. If he got caught, he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

It didn't take long for him to scale the sink. He was thankful he'd recently bought black leather polish, so he yanked on the stop for the sink so it would hold, then he set his tiny paws on the lid for the polish, which just happened to come from a tube. He jumped on one end, and the thick fluid spurted out of one end, into the sink. His sink's knobs were paddle shaped, so he pushed one to let water flow into the basin. The polish thinned a little bit. He made an effort to hold his nose and jumped in. He remained in the water for a good minute, little bubbles rising before he broke the surface and raced out onto the counter. He shut the water off and shook off, splattering the walls and useless mirror.

A glance down told him that his fur had taken on a grey, greasy, slightly clumpy appearance. It wasn't much, but it wasn't pure white, so he figured it would work for his purposes. He dropped to the ground and raced his way towards the living room, so he could skitter up onto the couch, his little claws digging into the fabric at the front. He'd designed himself a miniature stoat-shaped helmet with a camera on it. Well. Not stoat-shaped, so much as he'd cut some slits for his ears. Originally the helmet had been meant for a Ken doll. Seconds later, he was strapping it on and racing off the couch. It was at that moment Bucket decided to take note of him and seemed to think he was some sort of new toy. ShitShitShit. Echoed in his head as he darted towards the door. His apartment wasn't exactly on the expensive end, and there was a decent gap between floor and door. He managed to just barely wiggle under it as his dog caught up to him, and he fled from the sound of annoyed barking.

It took him close to an hour to get to the warehouse. He reflected on the stupidity of turning into a tiny rodent before having gotten on location several times during that trip. Like when he ducked behind a fat man on the bus so as not to be noticed, and nearly got crushed. Or when he had to run five blocks, which normally would have taken seconds, and instead took fifteen grueling, exhausting minutes. He wasn't supposed to even have to breathe, being dead and all, but tell him that when he was panting, standing right outside of his target location.

He sat back on his haunches to get a good view of the security cameras behind protective glass just outside of the warehouse's only entrance. He'd already been around all of the sides, and the others were welded shut, probably to reduce risk of uncertainty. There were also spotlights, and two men out front, who looked like they meant business. They were dressed as security, the variety that might have worked at any warehouse, but they didn't look like guards. For one, they both had gun bulges under their jackets, and they had the look of men who had served time either in prison or in the army. Funny how the two could be interchangeable in certain cases.

Whatever he saw, his little camera saw, and then he was scampering inside. There was a large metal door that was used to gain entry, and he was able to wiggle his way through a space where it didn't quite line up right with the wall. When he got in, he noticed the place was like a skeleton, all steel girders and electrical blood vessels that brought life to the building. The only light came from rows of dangling power lines with light bulbs attached to the ends. They were all, save for a few, working, and cast an even glow over row after row of goods stacked in crates and on enormous metal racks. There were dozens of men seemingly at every corner, and he noticed several more of those security cameras behind protective glass.

Right. So they probably weren't going to be able to sneak in to get what they wanted. But. That was fine. Jameson had already been anticipating that. He just needed to find out where the vault was. Presumably, whoever ran the gang was holding onto the cash in some sort of safe until it could be converted to something a little more legal. Maybe in small quantities, through careful deposit in tiny increments across multiple accounts. Maybe it was pumped through one of several legal businesses, where it changed hands so much, it was impossible to implicate anyone for a crime by the time it got back to a real bank. Not Jameson's area of expertise. He didn't really get how organized crime worked beyond the basics. He figured Midas would handle the business fronts. In fact, he was practically sure of it.

So he began down towards one of the rows of crates. The warehouse was one large open space, except for an office on the far side, which was pretty standards construction in Harper Rock. Jameson had seen it a hundred times, when he was trying to liberate a few goods for himself. He figured if the money was anywhere, it'd be in that office. The extra cameras around the door, and hastily added number pad on the door acted as potential proof of that. He had to wait around for a good twenty minutes before someone poking around inside stepped out, and then it was a matter of timing to get in before the door slammed shut and crushed him.

From the office, one could see most of the rest of the warehouse, and the windows had been replaced with some sort of mesh that he assumed was a poor man's version of bullet-proof glass. There was a large desk, and bookshelves along the walls. There was one man stationed in the room who looked a lot less like a security guard than even the men at the front. Jameson assumed there would always be someone with eyes on the safe. That meant another waiting game. So he tucked himself into the bottom shelf of one book case so he wouldn't draw too much attention to himself. It took another hour for the guy who had departed the office to get back. He had crumbs on his shirt, so he'd probably been out eating dinner.

At least, Jameson thought that until he saw the man pulling bundles of cash out of his jacket by the stack. Maybe he'd been doing more than eating. Whatever the case, the man only paused briefly before hitting what Jameson assumed was a button on the underside of his desk. Suddenly, the bookcases on the wall perpendicular to the one Jameson was crouched against began to roll open. It took a minute for the mechanized device to complete its movement, revealing a large wall-mounted safe that was probably five feet in length by three feet in height. The safe had two levels of security, a place for a thumbprint and another number pad like the one from the office door. He watched the number pad to get an idea of the code, and then he was scurrying up the side of the bookshelf he had been hiding in, which was thankfully close to the only vent in the room. The grate was loosely screwed in, and it was pretty easy to open it up and make his escape. It took him another few minutes to get outside, but only because he first got distracted by a rat that tried to pin him, and then because he got lost.

By the time he was breathing in fresh air again, he was thankful the whole experience was over, and he was going to have some information to hand over to the rest of the motor club. It took him ages to get back home, and by that point, he was exhausted. But lesson learned. He needed stop being so ******* impulsive. Except he probably wasn't going to change. He needed a fix, and he needed it badly. He was beginning to feel that need clawing away at his guts. Some people described it as an itch, but for Jameson it was more. It was like someone had set fire between his skin and bones, and the only thing that could douse it was the meth or the blood, or whatever he was addicted to at the moment. It had been hours since he'd let himself indulge, and he was getting anxious.

So he didn't even bother to get a shower when he got in, and let the enchantment that gave him the face of a rodent fall away. His skin was smeared with polish, and his clothes were ruined. His hair was gross with it, but he didn't care. He tossed the minihelmet with the camera onto the couch, and then he went in search of oblivion.

[Dominique]

It took a lot to get Dominique to stir once she found her spot and settled in. A whole lot in fact. Maybe too much for her own good. Perhaps the situation at hand was proof. She was the proverbial long fuse that took forever to burn but when she finally did she exploded. Like the lioness within she was calm sitting in her seat and enjoyed that it took no time at all for her to get comfortable. She had no intention in moving and it was not going to happen until she was damn good and ready.

However, when the bag became the focal point yet again and Ven was sending off some subtle vibes her *** should be ready things changed quickly. As expected her body popped to attention sliding forward so she could sit up and even stand up if the need be. It would not be ideal to miss the opportunity to react and having her *** owned by what what she had yet to see.

Kamikaze hoisted the massive bag up and surprisingly dropped it on the table with little effort. The rumble of the weight within landing on the surface was all it took for her to rise to her feet. Her eyes drifted slowly to Ven cautiously as if the shift of her focus could perhaps be counted against her. It was easy to see that there was always an exception to every set rule and Kamikaze herself was likely in possession of each one. The petite female handled the process of the unveiling like a pro. Her hands were skilled before the This gave Dominique every reason to swallow slowly in anticipation as she looked again between the bag, the new prospect that brought it in and finally to Mkvenner.

“Ahh, yes.”

An quick inhale of air tickled her nose and without thinking she lifted HOPE to brush across the tip and chase away the annoyance. HOPE and LESS took their time sliding into the front pockets of her jeans. Each hooked into place leaving the permanent inked front and back halves of the shark on her thumbs to stick out. Each tapped slowly to a beat in her head.

“That.”

A slight nod of her dark head followed then tilted slightly as if the change in the angle she was viewing it would reveal more than she currently saw. The sound of the impact on the table was hard and lacked the padding of flesh that would come with a body. Not to say that Kamikaze seemed the type to forgo carrying around bodies in bags because another glance to her direction left Dom thinking despite the whole look of disarming innocence going on there was some much more to her that screamed warning.

While she evened out her minimal weight to balance on both feet evenly Ven commented on not knowing what to do with Kamikaze. She smirked and was instantly thinking of one of those massive stickers that she slapped on some of the shipments heading out of her shop. ‘Handle with care.’ Maybe even a bold ‘WARNING!’ applied as well. She chuckled but left her thoughts unspoken. Ven would just have to figure out certain things on his own.

While the sounds of hands at work went to her ears her eyes looked at his shoes planted on the floor then slowly upward. She was pretty sure he could handle the one with the mystery bag and then some. He ran the club for a reason. As for herself...that was pretty easy. The shadow was a firm believer in the old adage ‘never underestimate what you don’t understand.’ Kamikaze fit right in with it. Doc taught her that was a solid if not golden rule to take seriously. More than once in fact. She needed to catch up with him now that she thought about it. He had been way too damn quiet lately.

The proof of the adage and it’s current application came to view just as she turned her attention back to the bag. Then and there a weapon of mass destruction was revealed that had her eyes widen so much that she felt the stretching of the lids that fit tightly around them.

Nice?

Dominique heard him comment but she was kind of waiting for more to be said on his part. Knives with no less than one hundred uses were nice. Concealable weapons that could penetrate not just one but two bodies were even better. This petite body in front of them sporting what looked like a beast all of its own in the impressive mass had her glance at Mkvenner then to the ammo belts. It looked like she had found the holy grail of firepower and hell help anyone who tried to take it from her solid embrace.

“Reverend works.”

Dominique was certain a room full of bodies would rise if Kamakazi strolled in with it covering her chest ready for business. A rather fitting name in fact. She was feeling rather inspired to continue standing until the beast was tucked away the more that she thought about it. She had come across weapons that were surely impressive but this was clearly one of a kind. Mkvenner’s cell phone came into play and while it did Dominique noted that in the future anytime someone started shooting their finger guns that she would be sure to not make the mistake of taking it as lightly as she had in the past.

The fact Dominique felt a certain itch to feel it in her hands was to be expected. She had an affection of sorts for weapons. It went deep enough that it started with their design and the materials used in their creation. The craftsmanship was key. Each was a work of art in her eyes and could be credited to the master behind it. She eyed Kamikaze and wondered if this was her doing. Just as she was about to ask that very question she was quickly delegated to do something with Kamikaze and recently named ‘Reverend’. She felt the muscles in her neck flex as she did a double take to barely catch Ven’s abrupt exit from the room.

Do what exactly?

Dominique pondered the thought as she returned her focus to Kamikaze and the prize of power in her hands. She cleared her throat lightly and pulled her hands slowly from her front pockets. For the moment she was not so sure it was a good idea to make any fast moves. Who knew if the Reverend didn’t have the power over Kamikazi to respond like those in possession of the One Ring Tolkien wrote about. She was feeling a sense of awe just looking at it the more she let her attention fix on it. Figuring that as the room stayed quiet it was time to take up her job to get down to what Ven expected her to do.

“Tried it out yet?” Dominique was more than happy to see just what the Reverend could do in Kamikazi’s hands. “Outside perhaps?” She quickly added hoping that the prospect would understand. Surely there was something that could use some holes or with the looks of the gun...blown to bits.

[John Doe]

The crack of the rifle is made into a thwip sound by the silencer just moments after the truck emerges hauling drugs, guns and money from the warehouse in Redwood. Laying prone on the roof of the shops to the north John watched as the night became incendiary. The blast was instantaneous and probably quite lucky. Just enough spark to ignite the air inside and outside of the factory. It’s not quite a mushroom cloud kicked off by the explosion, but just as deadly.The aluminum siding of the building is blown in and there is a rush of flames which erupt from inside as the gas within ignites in the sudden rush of air.

“**** yeah…” John whispers to the night almost reverently. The way the sky lit up, the intensity of the blaze, the screams from inside the factory, all of it was so… beautiful. John had always loved fireworks. The small flowers in the sky with only a few seconds lifespan, eyes upturned as the boom hit after the dancing sparks trailed downward, it was captivating to him. He’d seen a zombie movie where the walking dead had been in awe of “sky flowers” that the humans set off as a diversion when they went out scavenging. John figured he would probably make a good zombie.

Like sky flowers? Check
Wander aimlessly and without purpose? Check
Like biting people? Check

Yep, he’d make a good zombie.Right now though he needed to zombie his *** out of there before the cops and everyone else showed up. People were already funneling out of nearby buildings into the street, he could hear them.

He rolled onto his back and quickly started breaking the rifle down to sock it away into the case that was resting beside him. He had crafted the weapon himself and if it wasn’t the best rifle he had laid eyes on in his short life, if was definitely close to it. He had used parts found at the dock after these Thong-Foo Tripod gangsters or whatever they called themselves had been attacked by the Exiled Brotherhood. The Brotherhood was a gang of vampires like the Night Lords. John wondered idly to himself as the last part of the gun was placed in it’s spot in the case if the vampire Jane had sired was still alive. For all he knew they may be one of the gangsters that had attacked the Triad at the docks. Jane had told him she had been a gang leader when she was alive, why wouldn’t she stick with what she knew?

Scooting to the far side of the building, staying low but moving quickly he clambered down the fire escape. He didn’t try to be sneaky here, the creaking of the old metal of the ladders descending toward the ground would have given him away even if he had. Upon reaching the ground he was off, walking to the west toward the gangland slums.

He smiled as the sirens began to wail and he pulled out the pre-paid phone he’d pocketed earlier in favor of his own hacked webphone and dialed 911.

“Hello? Hello? Yeah there’s been an explosion at this old building near Lancaster’s Pub! Send the fire department, police and ambulances! I think there were people inside! I think it was the Lionelli Family” As the voice in his ear began to speak, began to ask questions, John hung up the phone and shut it off, pulled out the battery and tossed the disassembled device down a storm drain as he continued on his way toward the slums.

He had business there tonight.

[Jameson Dade]

A Dame, a Dick, and a Chinese Dish: Part 1

Jameson:
He'd just gotten in after a long evening of tailing a car all around Redwood, and even though he was dead, he could practically feel the creaking in his bones. Maybe it was like that whole phantom limb thing. Even though his joints and bones were in the best condition they were likely to ever be in, he couldn't stop himself from thinking of them in human terms. Stay out too long and a shoulder he'd dislocated once a long time ago began to act up. He'd broken his leg when he was younger, falling from the very top of a skating half-pipe, and he could still feel where it had cracked whenever he went out into the freezing weather.

He had just enough time to sprawl on the couch, and was about to reach for his pipe when a message splashed across his screen, and his phone lit up. He grunted, and pushed fingers through his hair so he could drop his gaze to his phone after having drawn it from his pocket. Part of him wanted to ignore it, so he could medicate himself for the evening. Well. Early morning. But he had to take the motor club seriously. He'd made promises and...stuff. And unlike his promise to stay clean, he was going to actually keep them. So he hurriedly shot back a reply, saying he'd meet John and/or Jane at the desired location. He then grabbed his jacket and set off. Time to question a pet Triad.

Jane Doe:
The city was littered with abandoned buildings. Monoliths which has once housed the white collar executives of young and hopeful businesses brought low by depressions, recessions and lawsuits of one kind or another. Liability in the business world was all too often an easy way of saying “Fucked over”.

This building was a den of vice, sin iniquity before it closed. A casino in it’s earlier days it had fallen silent. Prey to criminal backdrop and subterfuge. Their strong arm tactics as damaging to Harper Rock as anything ever seen in the great gambling capital of Las Vegas. It just wasn’t as highly publicized. The health department has been through and taken their pound of flesh first, called in by a pissed off customer who upon inspection would have looked remarkably like a two-bit thug with a laundry list of charges both small and large against him which included racketeering. He was a small fish, just large enough to be hook worthy and had been brought in on the charges in the hopes he would break silence on his bosses. He hadn’t. Upon his eventual release he had been welcomed back into the Triad’s folds and promoted to a position of honor.

The casino had then faced a slough of complaints about cheating at the tables and had weathered them quite well. They would have survived if the evidence of the owner’s involvement with a group of flesh traders hadn’t come to light, again an anonymous tip and this one backed by pictures with arrived at the police department via a remailer service. He had of course been indicted, tried, convicted and without his financial backing the place had gone under.

The Provincial attorney though, a savvy man who had seen these scams before refused to allow the building to go back up for sale, condemning it through his own connections and stumping the Triad on their venture. The blow had hurt them little, even though they lost out on the revenue they had hoped to gain by the shady take-over.

Tonight it was an unholy place not for the activities going on within though they were far from legal, it was unholy because it was the meeting spot of two of the undead. Vampires. Two vampires and one thrall to be exactly. Pai Mei stood next to a woman who could have in her younger days made the runways of any fashion show she had deigned to walk. Of course life had other plans in the form of an abusive household and a shattered world culminating in her joining the ranks of the Damned.

She looked over to the former Triad member standing next to her. “You just remember that John told you to answer anything this man asked and you’ll be fine darling.” She flashed him a fanged smile. “You don’t want him upset with you any more than he already is do you?”

“No ma’am”.

“Good,” she said, looking at her watch. “He should be here soon.”

Jameson:
He recognized the place as soon as he got there, though he hadn't realized from just reading the address. His hands were stuffed into his jacket pockets. He wore a hoodie underneath that, and his prospect cut over it, which should have been enough layers of thermal protection to save him from the nippiness in the air. The place was a casino, pronounced co-see-no, by his father, when the man would go there to blow a weekend's hard earned money. Of course, all of that had been years ago, when Jameson was still living at home, before the older Mr. Dade had gone off to prison and left Mrs. Dade so fucked up, she could barely function. Not that Jameson was much better. But at least he knew when to quit, when to put down the pipe. His mother had never quite mastered that.

Usually the Dade patriarch lost a ton of cash to the casino. 'Easy come, easy go!' he would say, which was usually about the time Jameson complained he was hungry.

It was funny, in some sick kind of way, that both Jay and the casino had died. And yet, even though they were corpses, they were still useful in their own ways. Jameson kept going, and the boarded up den of iniquity had become a refuge for criminals (a different type of criminal), and likely the homeless. He strolled right in like he'd been raised there. There were hints of what it had been. Tables where he'd once seen men playing cards. There was a bar, with nothing to drink. What remained of the furniture had been either smashed or knocked over. The walls were covered in spray paint, and probably some other things Jameson didn't want to get close enough to investigate. It was trashed.

So Jameson didn't bother to reminisce, instead choosing to make his way towards Jane and what he assumed was the thrall. "Evening lady and gent." he said as his hands drew out of his pockets so his arms could slide through the holes in his vest properly. He reached into a pocket so he could pull a pack of cigarettes from it. They were new, and one of the few ways he managed to go through prolonged periods without enjoying something more addictive than nicotine. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked. Though he began to pack the cigarettes immediately, slamming the unopened package against one palm firmly, repeatedly. Thack-thack-thack-thack! He glanced between Jane and a guy who looked some kind of Asian.

"You and your brother doing alright?" He asked conversationally. He'd had a thrall for most of his time as a vampire. First there had been Dr. Ozymandias, who had been his psychologist. Then he'd decided to let the guy 'go', so he could get someone with a little bit more clout in Harper Rock. He tended to treat thralls like they were furniture.

Jane Doe:
She smiled sensing the other vampire enter. Jane had always had an easy time fitting in when she was given the opportunity when she was alive. Her looks had allowed for a good first impression as she was easy on the eyes and her quiet demeanor always made her come across as shy. Really it had simply been a matter of not wanting others in her life because of how bad it had been and the fear her step-father would think she had told on him for everything he had done. She had learned early on that he would not tolerate verbal diarrhea when it came to what went on under “his roof” Not when it could land him 20 years in prison. “I’m doing better now that I’m seeing a friendly face. John is still out. I think he had some things he wanted to do before he got back to the apartment. “How is your night going though?” The smoking question seemed rhetorical but she waved her hand at the cigarettes he was packing and gave a small smile.

“Pai Mei, don’t be rude, say hello.”

The gangster looked up to the vampire. There was definitely fear in his eyes. John had been very clear on what awaited him if he failed to answer everything to the best of his knowledge and promised him only a quick death if he did answer them. This wasn’t new to Pai Mei and he didn’t fear death as most did. What he was afraid of was that he had literally no choice. Even if he wanted to remain silent he had to do what he was told. His body responded even when he willed it not to. He didn’t have to be polite about it though. This *****… he thinks to himself. This ***** I will kill when I get free. I’ll cut her ******* head off. Then this ********* in front of me, then that *********** that did this to me. This ****’s gotta wear off sometime then I’ll ******* kill these pricks.”

All he says is “Hello”.

[John Doe]

A Dame, a Dick, and a Chinese Dish: Part 2

Jameson:
He finished packing his cigarettes, and pulled the top open by peeling away a layer of paper and plastic. Soon one of the cancer sticks was sliding into his hand, and he was lighting it up, a palm held over the flame of a lighter, until the tip of the cig was gleaming in the relative darkness. There was a pause. Moment of silence. Reverence. And then he exhaled smoke. The pack and lighter were replaced before he answered. “Yeah? Good on him. What’ve you been doing with yourself?” He asked before the conversation could progress much further, and then he answered her with a grunt. He wouldn’t have said the night was going great, but he didn’t believe in complaining to people. Besides, he’d gotten what he was going after. He’d found the location of one of the Triad buildings.

And then he eyed Jane again, as if to ask if that was really the guy’s name or if they’d just made that up. He thought better of asking. “Nice to meetcha, Moo Goo Gai Pan.” He said, by way of introduction, which probably didn’t endear him to the man, but talking to someone without free will was like playing poker with toddlers. Another plume of smoke drifted its way towards the ceiling, and the vampire bounced on the balls of his feet. Not a nervous habit. He was hungry, and he needed to eat, and when he didn’t get to ‘feast’ on his food of choice, he got antsy. Just the way he was wired.

But he decided that wasn’t necessarily something he needed to project. He visibly stopped himself and instead reached for his wallet to pull free a card so he could begin to clean out from underneath his dirty nails. They were longish, and there was dirt, grime, and paint caked there. His hands were covered in paint as well. “So Pae Mei…” He used the man’s real name this time, trailing off as a hand lifted between them. Newly cleaned fingernails traced over one cheek lazily, three of them at least. Pacification was a spell like any other. Vampires had access to certain magics, and Allurists were all about the connections between people.

The Asian dude seemed a little on edge. So Jameson gave him a little shot of something to help keep him docile. For some of his kind, it was legit magic. Like they cast an actual spell, and suddenly there were people lusting after them, or trying to please them, or...whatever. For others, it was a little bit more complex. Like some deep charm that ingratiated everyone to an Allurist. Like. By existing, that Allurist was somehow doing people a favor. For Jameson it was a lot more organic than that. For one, he could only ever do it with physical contact. For another, it was like getting a nice shot of heroin to the brain. Dulled the edges. Made things a little fuzzy. At least, that was how it had been described to him by Grey.

“I need to know a few things. Think you can help me with that?”

Jane Doe:
The gangster nodded his head. “I must help.” Obviously nonplussed by the thought of giving information over in any way shape or form but left with no option, the gangster acquieced. The look in his eyes was murderous though. He seemed restrained by invisible chains but the look seemed to fade, at least where Dade was concerned. He didn’t turn his eyes to Jane but no doubt she would have received the full dose of animosity he had been displaying earlier.

“Good boy,” Jane said to Pai Mei as he settled down. “I got tickets for the Prima Dawna show coming up!” Her eyes sparkle in the darkness with barely contained excitement. She loved the band. “I made John get me V.I.P. passes for us.” A small smile lingered but seemed soured by some thought within her mind. She didn’t mention it though, instead motioning over to Pai Mei. “What does Moo Goo Gai Pan know that you need darling?”

She made her way over to a dusty lounge chair and frowned, deciding to remain standing after all. Turning from the disappointing resting spot she folded her arms under her breasts, hip cocked to the side and waited, relaxing while the interrogation ensued.

Jameson:
He waited to reply to the gangster, very much after the manner of a father who was speaking to the mother of a child, conferring with a co-adult prior to letting offspring explain their actions. He didn’t say as much, but that was very much the way Jameson treated the situation. “Is that a band? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them. You’ll have to send me some songs later or something.” He said, his lips peeling away from teeth so he could chuckle. His teeth were ivory instead of tar stained, though when he spoke, it was very clear his lungs hadn’t quite gotten the memo that he was a vampire, and therefor was meant to be the illusion of perfect health. Maybe it related back to the defect which made it so he could get high. He got to ride the waves, but he also got the shitty lungs, and fucked up veins, and early death. Redeath? Whatever.

“Or I could try sneaking in with you. I can be pretty damn persuasive when I want to be.” But then the topic turned to more serious matters. Like why they had met to begin with, and so Jameson plucked the cigarette from between his lips. It had burned down almost to nothing, so he wet his fingers with his tongue and put out the end. Then he tossed the used up thing to one side. “So I just need to know two things. First off. I need to know any buildings associated with the Triads. I don’t care if you stopped there once to take a ****, on a way to do something else. If it is related to the gang in any way, I need to know an address or a general description.” His hands began to pat at his chest as he looked for something. Seconds later, he was tugging out a sketch pad - small - just a little bit bigger than his hand, and a pencil.

“Second, I need to know the description for anyone higher up on the food chain you might know, who is valuable to the operation.” Though he doubted the gangster would have much information on the second topic. That was how organized crime worked in the modern day. The only way to protect the people at the top was to make sure nobody knew who anyone else was. Keep a bunch of different components separate but working together.

And then he glanced back towards Jane. “You might wanna take him to Midas...er. Wilson later too. I know that guy has to know the right kind of questions to ask.”

Jane Doe:
The gangster furrowed his brow in concentration as if battling the desire to speak even as words began to spill from his mouth. Names, locations, guard details and even rough guesses on inventory begin to spew forth.

Jane makes a little gesture with her hand as if bored. She’s heard all of this before, when John asked the guy a million questions about…

Oh ****…

“I think John is going to hit one of their places in the slums, or close to there!”

She knew he had been insistent on getting names and information about a deal going down tonight but she had figured it was his OCD or whatever the hell was wired wrong in her poor brother’s head making him ask. Sometimes John asked the stupidest questions just because it drove him crazy not to know things. Other times there was an insanity behind his queries. Seemed like that may be the case this time. She wasn’t mad that he was going after people, she was mad that the blood spilled wouldn’t fill her belly, and she was a little insulted he hadn’t asked her to go along with him.

“When he gets back I’ll have him introduce Moo Goo here to… Midas?”

Jameson:
He jotted down the information as it came out of the other man’s mouth, not missing a single word, as he transcribed all the intel down onto the page, which was already half taken up by a drawing of some sort of demon with a baby’s face. Or maybe it was a doll. The rest of it was just sprawling, inky darkness, and its insides were reflective. Not like a mirror, but more opalescent, like some kind of black mother of pearl. At least, that was the intention. Actually portraying that with nothing but graphite was kinda hard. Maybe he would add it to the mural in his bedroom someday. He was quiet as the wrote it all down, scratching away at the page.

He didn’t even pause when Jane spoke, making sure he got down every last bit before he finally glanced up to her. “Yeah. Midas. Like uhhhh. Well he turns our criminal stuff legit, you know? Like a guy taking a big hunk of lead and making it gold. One second you have twenty to life in a jail, the next, you have a lot of money and a big smile.” It wasn’t exactly the best thought out nickname, but that was Jameson. He was 100% impulse and instinct. He did what felt right and ran with it. Another look back to Moo Goo, to make sure he had everything he was going to get, and then he snapped his sketch book shut, replaced it in his jacket. He would check out all the buildings himself over the next few days. Turn over some maps with security when he got to the next MC meeting.

“**** yeah. Too bad I’m not there. He’s gonna torch it, ain’t he? I’d love to get a front row seat to that.” Alas, it was what it was, and they all had their part to play.

Jane Doe:
She had no idea what John was planning to be honest. He had a list of names, there was a drug deal going down and it was between the crew of the guy who had slapped her ***. “Yeah.”

John was a meek guy by nature. He stayed to himself, said very little unless you got him on a phone, then he seemed to have no filter or off switch and he pretty much went through life doing very much of nothing. He didn’t have a lot of hobbies. He didn’t have a lot of interest in going out and getting high, drunk or laid. He had basically been literally the most boring kid ever. Add that to the trauma of his upbringing and then this?

Well, it ended up that John was quiet but it wasn’t a lot of nothing he had been doing. It had been thinking, obsessing, plotting, dreaming. John had no criminal record because John had never been in the position to gain one. Now he was freed from the fucked up constraints of a fucked up family and he was… well, he was fucked up. And dangerous. Very.

“He’s going to kill them all and torch it…”

Jameson:
“I’ll have to mark that one off the list then.” He noted with a low chuckle. He wasn’t callous, and he wasn’t blase when it came to the suffering of others. He was worse. He was an addict. Which meant that he was probably one of the most selfish creatures on the face of the planet. At the moment he was talking to Jane, he would have happily slit his own mother’s throat if it meant he got to retreat to his little den and smoke away his worries. And he actually liked his mom, so that said a lot about the position of a bunch of people he didn’t even know. He lifted a hand to wipe at one nostril, like he felt as if it were about to begin running. Maybe he was coming down with something. Was that something vampires did?

And so he took a step back, away from the duo, though Jane had relocated. his hands once more dragged through the arm holes in his vest and his fingers crept into his jacket pockets. “Hate to pop in, and pop out, but I have some business to catch up on.” Lie. Not even a good lie. But he wasn’t trying to be rude, and hopefully Jane would see that. If not. Well. He could make it up to her later. He sharply bowed, which would have been more effective if his hands hadn’t been tucked away. “I must bid you adieu, m’lady.” He said with a roguish grin and then he was walking backwards towards the door. He shot Jane a wink and then briefly eyed the thrall. Something told him the gangster wasn’t going to survive much longer. Call it street intuition.

Then he was retreating from the building, the direction he’d come from.

Jane Doe:
Jane watched the retreating form, gifting his back with a little smile at the bow. She was enough of a romantic at heart that the gesture reminded her of a time when men weren’t all just slavering brutes trying to get up a woman’s skirt. Well, really they were back then but at least they had style about it and social graces. She had never considered that being a vampire would impact this one way or another but she had never seen so many men bow, or kiss her hand or open doors for her as she had since becoming one. Maybe there was some hope for people yet. They just had to be made into blood drinking monsters to learn manners.

She almost giggled at the thought but curtailed it and turned to the thrall with a serious expression. “We’re done here. Do whatever task your master set you to, dog.”

The gangster didn’t receive the same smile Dade had as he scurries off into the night.

[Mordechai]

Three nights. Three long days and nights. For the last seventy two hours the humming of cooling fans, the flickering of led screens, and the thump, scrape of NewRocks propelling a chair through and endless nonstop whirling with a steadiness to rival the earths rotation, were the only sights and sounds in the killers basement hide- a- way/ office. For seventy two hours Mordechai had searched, found, followed, hacked, hidden, and destroyed Triad records, communications, and orders. The killer had left no digital stone unturned in his searching, but he had attacked no two systems in the same way. Now the coup de grace. He had slipped below the layers of the public tread paths of the internet, and made contact with the core group of an underground anarchist organization. A few slipped comments here in there had easily persuaded these pinnacles of honesty and integrity to join him in a small task, next Monday. Ven had called a meeting for the weekend. He had set his slow growing virus in place, and made the numerous small hacks that continually sabotaged the daily grind of the triads electronic empire, but Monday. Monday the true fruits of his endeavors would be realized. He had spent every stitch of energy and every waking moment leading to that point. On Monday, at eight am, his trojans would awaken, his Viruses would come up to speed, and the anarchist's hackers would descend on the internal servers that controlled all of the triads security and communications, with a sustained high level denial of service attack. It seems someone had told them that this server was vital to the upcoming G-8 attacks.... And they had sworn to shut it down for at least the next ten days. A slow smile slid across the terse lips as he considered what a little misinformation could accomplish.

Everything was now in motion for the electronic attack, now onto the meat and potatoes, of preparing for the part he was sure most thought was the only task he could perform. Rising from the chair Mordechai crossed the room placing his hand on a hidden scanner as the laser of a retinal scanner crisscrossed over his eye. A few moments passed as the scans were checked, rechecked, and cross checked against the images recorded in memory, then there was a slow hissss, as of a gently opened two-liter of Pepsi, that ended with a pop. The hermetic seal broken the massive high cobalt bolts withdrew and the door to his personal safe swung open. Mordechai stepped inside the spacious room. There were many banks that if they knew of its existence, would covet the size, security, and filtering of Mordechai's treasure. The killers two- toned eyes swept over the Accuracy International Arctic Warfare Magnum sitting in its place of honor under the L.E,D, spotlight along the side wall. Chambered in .338 Lapua Manum and topped with Schmidt & Bender PM II scope the rifle had two claims to fame. One of its brothers had made the two longest shots in recorded military history, over 2,707 yards. The second was unique to this rifle. Mordechai had laid atop of Alpha Towers, and let it reach out and touch someone, there by altering history as the mayoral candidate sponsored by the sirens was implicated in the shot, and the election thrown far beyond any chance she had in becoming Mayor.

[Kamikaze]

Smiling wide, as her eyes stared at the minigun, Kamikaze's attention broke with the movement and shift of the other two. Eyes wide, she realized, staring at the table, the bag, then Dominique as she asked her questions, that she did not ask the proprietor how to load the death machine. This would need to be quickly remedied. Looking to the two, she quickly checked for her phone, then found it, a bit more cracked than originally, though it was in working condition. A quick search of the internet, she was seeking how to load and operate the device that she had recently purchased. It looked easy enough. Point, pull trigger, release when target is dead. The firing was considerably easier than loading and reloading.

Pages of weapon statistics and history, and nothing much was there to go by, as to reload, until she found a small video clip posted on the internet. It was a man of some weapons club speaking of the proper safety requirements when operating such a device. Skipping ahead, through the boring crap, Kamikaze stopped when he was at the loading of the ammunition. Eyes trained on the phone, her concentration broke a moment, as she realized that Dominique had asked her questions.

No try. Just buy. Big plans, big gun. Field test? Yes? Reverend feed. Breathe vengeance.

Standing with the weapon held in both hands, Kamikaze ventured to set the gun back onto the table, causing a rattling of ammunition and other debris within the bags. A manic glee turned soft, as she watched Dom and then the weapon, before releasing the gun, starting to collect the ammunition and organize it. Quite a bit of the ammunition had come loose from the belts, as she had ridden to the bar, so she did the wisest thing, and attempted to collect the stray rounds and slide them back in place.

Demons reload Reverend? Reverend sings to angels.

Pausing, Kamikaze remembered that she had been late to the meeting, and had completely missed out on what was earlier discussed. As her excitement for the weapon was overpowered by her sense of curiosity, Kamikaze continued to reunite the belts with the ammunition, fingers dancing with delight as her mind filled with violent images of events to come. If Dominique truly wished to witness the destruction this machine could unleash, then that was on her. Kamikaze only hoped that the woman's conscience did not grow heavy. The woman had just the place for testing this thing out. Well, two actually. The Shadow smiled, fitting the last of the loose rounds into the belts, before slipping the ammunition into the duffelbag, then the minigun. With a zip, Reverend was packed tight, ready to wreck at a moment's notice, once he was loaded.

Reverend preach. Angels in shadows? ... Angels long dead? ... Ooh, big news.. yes? Shadows missed.. Shadow Realm hindered, time altered... We informed?

It wasn't as if Kamikaze truly needed to be informed, as to where she was needed, and to what end she was needed, but sometimes information was actually nice to have, just to make sure she would ferry the right souls to the underworld. Ven had said something about news... she thought.. Something like that... Her memory and her hearing weren't to be trusted, though this was why she asked the questions, just to be safe. With the war machine away, she was just a little bit safer to be around, as safe as it was to be around a ticking time bomb with a glitchy timer. She took a seat, just to be safe, on the ground, and folded her hands to her lap, ready to partake of the information if there was anything she really needed to know. If much of the info was unneeded, then that was fine. All she needed was to know times, dates, and who to expect to meet up with, if anybody. She was used to working in a group, taking out bounties and masquerade violators in the past, assisting vampires into the Shadow Realm, especially the Broussards, and she missed the thrill of combat, especially within the compound.

Reverend ready.. Kamikaze ready.. Big news, big boom, big smile?

The poor souls that dealt with Kamikaze truly had the patience of saints, especially when some attempted to understand her. She had tried to help, to make her intentions clear, her words as thought out as possible, though it still never truly panned out. Experience with others not understanding her, she did not seem to mind, or was it that she didn't notice? It was hard to figure out at times, or perhaps she didn't really care. Violence was violence, an outlet for her to unleash her anxieties, her anger, her joy, her happiness. The Night Lords were the triggermen now, with Kamikaze's safety at the ready to be flipped.

[John Doe]

The dude John was after reminded him of the ********. Everything Pai Mei had told him smacked of ********. He thought he was a bad ***. He was the Alpha Dog. The guy that gave the orders, the guy that okay'd the ********. He had told the sorry *** bitched that had messed with John's sister that the club was theirs. They could pick them out a ***** and that ***** would be cool with going upstairs with them. She'd suck n **** and anything else they wanted her to do because this was their club. They were in control.


Except the girl they'd chosen was John's thrall, sister, a vampire,. Whichever one of the three John would kill for. She provided his blood, she was his lifeline, she was his, period. The grimly little sorcerers, withes, whatever the hell they wanted to think of themselves as (he thought of them as bitches) were about to learn that you looked before you leaped. You didn't go after a girl because she was alone at the bar. Like that meant she was out cruising for their dicks. Hell, they'd be lucky if she was out cruising for their wallets or blood. Disillusionment was coming up.

He strode into the "abandoned building" without a problem. The gangsters within were talking business, no guards out front. Sloppy. As the enforcers on the side of the boss did a double take john crouched, kneeling and bringing the rifle up in his arms. Calmly he squeezed the trigger snuffing out the life of the first before swinging the rifle 15 degrees to the right and firing a single shot center mass of the second guard. Instantly he was up and moving, gun trained on the pair of men who were discussing a deal over a few lines of powder.

"Take what you want and go dog," the first one, not the one John was after statered in with. He never completed the thought before the trigger was pulled again and his head disappeared in a red mist.

The rifle scope centered again on the man before John.

"You ran the warehouse right? You were in charge of Pai Mei?"

"Pai Mei?" The man looked confused and shocked at the way things were suddenly going.

"Pai mei ***********! Him and his posse fucked with my sister! They were gonna rape her! Are you in charge of Pai Mei or not?" John's voice was a roar in the silence, it left the other man speechless with its intensity. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to find the words that might save his life. The name sparked a memory, a younger man, barely old enough to be inducted. He was a driver, had potential to learn to be a Cognitive... yeah, that was the guy! "Yeah, yeah, Pai Mei! I know him, dude if you want to know where he is I can tell..."

THWIP!

The silencer made a roar into a mew as the rifle again jolted in John's hands. The gangsters head snapped back with the impact as more red mist mingled with that of his compatriot's. "No, It's fine. I figure I got what I came for." The bullet would match the one fired at the gas regulator at the Warehouse and John knew the Mkvenner wanted to make a statement.

That was fair. John could do that.

He broke the rifle down again and then turned to the bodies.

The cops, maybe the next day, maybe days later, (who knew? this was the slums) would find the bodies arranged nicely to make an "L" shape. Their blood painted a message. "We at Foucault Castle Triad bitches! Get some!" The four point crown of the Lionelli painted in blood next to the message. Both corpses had dual puncture wounds to the throat just to drive home to point to those in the know about the crime family that claimed three of the northern districts.

John walked away with blood smeared gloves in his pocket. He was done for the night.