(Side Story: Exposed!) Aliens

[Stonehouse]

“I say we take off, nuke the site from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.”
~ Corporal Hicks – Aliens ~

“You’ve got to be ******* kidding me!” exclaimed a heated Grant Stonehouse. “Have you seen the headlines? It says that there are vampires, ******* vampires, living in Harper Rock! Is this a joke?”

The English businessman wafted around a copy of a local newspaper, The City Herald, as if he were trying to swat the world’s biggest wasp, such was the level of animation in his usual calm persona. He knew that the story was no joke, he knew that vampires really were living in Harper Rock; he knew this because he was one of them. The suited entrepreneur slammed the crumpled broadsheet down on the reception desk of his fourth, and newest, business venture, the self-titled financial advice company, Stonehouse, and gazed intently at the middle-aged woman who was feeling the full force of his verbal outburst.

“I’m sorry for the foul language,” he continued, “please accept my apologies. I’m just stunned by what I’m reading!”

The stocky blonde, wielding a duster and an array of cleaning products, smiled politely back at her boss.

“I have read it, yes,” replied Ruby Cornelius, the recently hired janitor, “and I’m as shocked as you are, sir. I kind of cursed a lot myself, so there’s no need to apologize.”

The female employee paused, exchanging the dirty duster for a clean cloth.

“It’s the talk of the city, sir,” she added, “it’s the only topic that anyone is discussing. The TV, the internet, the radio, the whole place has gone vampire crazy!”

A worried look descended upon her normally cheery face like a dark cloud brewing before a thunderstorm.

“Do you think that we should be scared?” she asked softly “I’m not sure that my two kids are gonna sleep easy at night thinking that there are monsters from a horror movie roaming the neighbourhood. Hell, I don’t know if I’m gonna sleep easy!”

Ruby was no genius, no intellectual philosopher, but her words were truly profound. Were any of Harper Rock’s human population going to sleep easily anymore? In fact, would the much smaller, until recently hidden, vampire community of the city be able to rest anymore, knowing that the humans were now fully aware of their existence? This was a monumental moment, one that needed an almost infinite amount of thought and contemplation.

“I’m sure that there’s nothing to be scared of,” said Stonehouse, a reassuring tone to his voice masking his true feelings. “I’m sure that there aren’t even any vampires, and that it’s all some kind of elaborate hoax. It’ll probably be a stunt to get on TV and promote a new movie or book, or some kind of viral internet scam.”

Stonehouse offered a comforting smile to his concerned employee, but inside he was reeling with anger and frustration. Of course this wasn’t a prank; it was real. Someone had unearthed the truth, and the lid had been blown clean off the vampire cookie jar. The general population had every right to be fearful of the unknown.

“There’s already enough to be scared of at the moment,” said Ruby, “like all those terrorists you hear about on the news, those religious crazies, and the stuff going on between the police and the black community. Donald Trump’s gonna have a field day with vampires!”

A pensive expression crept across the chiselled features of Stonehouse’s face. Yet again, his employee, hired for her janitorial talents rather than her wisdom, had raised another hard-hitting point. The world was in a bit of a mess at the moment. There had been a spate of terror attacks by fundamentalists across Europe and the Middle East, a seemingly endless run of mass shootings and gun crime, and a general fear of immigrants, religious fanatics, and anyone that “wasn’t like you”. US presidential candidate, Donald Trump, had already talked about building a wall between the US and Mexico to stop the flood of migrants from crossing the border, and was now suggesting that all visitors from France and Germany should face “extreme vetting” because their respective countries had apparently been “compromised by terrorism”. If the politician seemed happy enough to stop the French, the US’s oldest allies, from entering the county, what the hell was he going to do about murderous vampires? How big a wall would he want erecting between the US and Canada?

Stonehouse’s own country, the UK, was also currently going through a period of at best, unease, and at worst, utter turmoil. The recent decision to leave the EU was not only a catastrophic financial decision, certainly in the mind of the well-educated businessman, but an indication that people were becoming more insular, and less willing to integrate. There was a dark undercurrent of racism, a nasty weed growing in the otherwise beautiful English rose garden.

Were the good, wholesome people of the world actually ready for vampires? Would Stonehouse and his fellow undead brothers and sisters be greeted by open-minded citizens with equally open arms, or by angry mobs, akin to medieval peasants armed with pitchforks, baying for blood? The thought of having the windows of his business premises bombarded with bricks, and vile graffiti slogans getting plastered across the walls sent shivers down the businessman’s spine.

Stonehouse had lost his faith when, as a teenager, his mother was tragically killed, but he knew exactly how churches around the globe would react to this most unholy of revelations. The dead returning to life, blood-drinking immortals; it was surely a biblical sign of the end of days. The city would be littered with priests and nuns, not to mention every fanatical nutcase under the sun.

Then there were the scientists. For years, Stonehouse had worked for a medical company known as Elixir, a corporation spending millions, nay billions, on research into degenerative diseases. How much would such a company be willing to pay to unlock the secrets of regeneration and ultimately, immortality? Visions from the movie, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, flooded into Stonehouse’s mind, with the lovable alien hooked up to machinery in a temporary laboratory, surrounded by government officials. Maybe the entire city would be locked down, like one, gigantic quarantine zone? Stonehouse’s sci-fi influenced brain flipped to Aliens, as he recalled the dialogue involving Ripley and Corporal Hicks about nuking the space colony to eradicate the threat posed by the alien creatures. Is that effectively what vampires were, dangerous creatures, infesting the human colony? Aliens?

There were so many questions that demanded an answer, one of the leading ones being how did this breech of secrecy happen, how had the so-called “Masquerade” that had managed to keep vampires hidden in a shroud of secrecy actually fallen? In fairness, it was easy for anyone with half a brain - and there were sadly many of those inhabiting Harper Rock - to figure it out, to work out how the rug had suddenly been pulled from under the vampires’ feet.

For months, an uneasy tension had slowly been creeping across the city like a choking smog, tightening its grip around the neck of the vampire underworld. The backstreets were littered with gangs and factions, turning some areas of the city into virtual no-go zones that resembled Central American ghettos. It wasn’t quite all-out open warfare, but it was heading in that direction. Weapons were being dished out like candy at a kid’s birthday party, and vigilante thugs roamed the dark alleys dishing out their own form of justice. That kind of behaviour was bound to start drawing unnecessary attention from the cops and the local authorities.

Add to that the reckless behaviour of seemingly rogue vampires who were clumsy and careless, often being spotted feeding or using their powers in front of humans. One incident on its own, like a solo violinist playing a basic melody, would probably go unnoticed, and two or three similar scenarios, like a duet of cellists, or a trumpeter and trombonist trading tunes, would still likely slip under the radar. However, stick them all together, throwing in additional musicians, and suddenly there was an orchestra blasting out a symphony. Pretty much everyone had a camera phone nowadays, so it really was only a matter of time before someone was captured on film performing a vampire concerto.

There was another possibility: sabotage. Stonehouse had recently uncovered some bizarre underground activities that were seemingly being funded by the Hebigumo Foundation. Would it be in their interest to throw vampires under the metaphorical bus, allowing their own shady practices to go on undetected while the bloodsuckers faced the heat? Thoughts were going around in circles like a broken record, clogging up Stonehouse’s mind. He needed to discuss the matter with someone, and one name instantly sprang to mind.

“I tell you what,” said Stonehouse, “why don’t you finish early tonight. The place is spotless as ever, so you should head home to those kids of yours, tell them a bedtime story or something.”

The manager smiled at his employee, letting her know that she could skip off a little earlier than usual. He had things to do, people to call… mass hysteria to avert.

[Levi DAmico]

Thursday mornings ran rather routinely at the Levitan Headquarters. It was the shift change that was noticed first, the changing of the guard that saw the brawn get switched out for the brains at the crack of dawn. Not entirely of course, because you still needed to secure a premise and organisation quite like this, but it was generally accepted that attacks in broad daylight were less likely. Besides that, their boss had been busy with his own line of sophisticated security. Events in November had taught the Italian a very specific lesson: that even if you hide a large part of your identity, it doesn’t mean it can’t and won’t be targeted. In Cosa Nostra, Levi was considered a high-risk target, and with high risks came higher rewards. The Italian expected opposition then, trained for it, prepared for it, and had his base of operations armed to deflect the ill-designed attacks of competing Mafia soldiers. What he hadn’t been expecting was for random supernaturally-gifted strangers to blow up his building based purely on the fact that they didn’t like Vampires. A lot of Levi’s men had been killed that day, a lot of questions remained unanswered, and a lot of eyes were drawn to the Italian. Still, he’d learnt a lesson about being prepared for anything – even those things that you didn’t think could actually exist.

Thursday mornings, therefore, were treated just like any other day and since Levi generally had no place else to be, he was there for when the changing of the guards occurred. Sabotage was always on his mind and even if his minions had no real clue what that look in those umber eyes actually meant, they were at least aware of their boss’ presence. He oversaw every fine detail, was reported to by his most trusted lieutenants, and the organisation’s rules had been tightened, with security checks made at regular intervals to give Levi a semblance of comfort. Incidentally, Levi’s new management technique had proven highly profitable. Far from feeling like they were under the lense, the worker bees felt challenged, inspired, and respected. Of course the Italian could be a ******** a lot of the times, and a dictator more times than that, but when he gave orders, he did so because he expected his soldiers capable of carrying them out. The Levitan Empire ran with a strict vision – that if the business profits, then everyone profits. It galvanised the forces, and upon seeing their boss take an invested interest in their duties and performance, gave them the sense that they were succeeding together.

When times were good like this, it was easy to ignore to smaller problems, or those issues that had been hidden extremely well. His men weren’t aware of it, but there was a massive divide between the Family and Levi’s collective. It was normal to have what they called legitimate businesses, cloaking the more shady operations that the Mafia were known for, but few people seemed to realise that to Levi, the Levitan Empire was more than a money-making machine for the Patriarca. Relations between the don and Levi weren’t great to say the least, with both sides appreciating that distance fostered… well, not affection, but it certainly did well to prevent animosity and bloodshed. Both William and Levi knew that they were better off being as many miles away from each other as possible, and while six feet divided by soil was probably the best arrangement, it wouldn’t look good for father and son to be visibly at each other’s throat. Funnily enough, Gino had spotted the benefit in keeping the two apart, and with his influence, he could pretty much guarantee that the pair of dragons wouldn’t have to be stuck in a city together much less the same room. With trouble from Family members mostly accounted for then, Levi had the opportunity to focus more of his time on other avenues of profit.

For two years, Levi had tried to deny what was done to him, what he had become in the process, and the consequences of having his mortality stripped from him. It hadn’t been easy to keep his business, livelihood, and relations afloat when there were a seemingly unending number of obstacles rising like rogue waves on a still, black night. The first problem Levi had encountered was that itching, choking hunger that drove him to the throats of mortals. The next problem was the sudden and inexplicable narcolepsy that occurred whenever the sun rose. Add to that the type of sire that believed in throwing one in at the deep end of the pool in order to teach them to swim after having chopped off a leg or two, insubordinate supernatural abilities, as well as an extremely short ******* temper and you could easily see how the first years of his life as a Vampiro weren’t exactly pleasant ones. Being what he was had become more of a burden than an actual gift, but that was because Levi had chosen to cling to his former life and not accept the change for what it was. He denied himself the ability to truly become immersed in this world because he wanted to hold onto 30 years’ worth of planning, hard work, and sacrifice. Levi didn’t know who he could be if he wasn’t himself.

In the end, Levi had managed to overcome the tribulations of his Vampiric birth. The years of toddlerhood were retreating and he found himself less and less dependent on others. It was actually easier to pretend that he was Human the longer he was not one. He had found relics of a bygone and mysterious era that enchanted him with profound capabilities and pretty much stabilised his existence. He no longer needed to feed – though the aching hunger persisted – and he wasn’t subjected to the tormenting sleep that stole away half of his life. CC, his sire, had fallen into obscurity and no longer had any desire to remove limbs from his body either. Ignoring the fact that certain members of his new community were absolute twat-waffles, Levi had found that he had a more invested interest in understanding and monopolising this world too. The ironic part of this whole story was that in the moment Levi began to care about actively doing his part for the Masquerade and those it protected, the whole veil had been ripped clear from the eyes.

His kind were exposed now, as open and vulnerable as a fawn in short grass. Levi couldn’t pin-point any singular cause that had shattered the glass ceiling held precariously above them all, but it was clear that individuals and groups alike had been chipping away at it for a long time. In dire times, it might seem like a waste of time to sit around pointing fingers at one another, but it didn’t seem like there was much else to do. There had been a time when the Masquerade had failed once and it had caused the pitch-fork wielding hunters to march upon their enemies and slaughter them. They’d called it a holocaust – Levi wasn’t going to laugh at the irony given his own ancestry – but it was all forgotten about two hundred years later when the Vampires emerged from the Shadow Realm and found themselves thought of as only folk lore. In essence, it could be said that the world had given them a second chance, but whether through purpose or betrayal, the Vampire’s Masquerade had fallen once again. It was in the news now, being broadcasted to the big wide world beyond some tiny spit of land in the frozen reaches of nowhere. It wasn’t likely that, should events repeat themselves again, that Vampires should be so lucky to find themselves fading from the minds of mortals entirely. Still, it wasn’t so apparent what could be done.

There was no doubt in his mind that getting the public on their side would be beneficial; whether that was possible or not remained to be seen. Levi had managed to build his own reputation and maintain it, sure, but he was no PR genius. That was not something he could personally lend his hand to, though he could throw a lot of money at the problem and hope it would be fixed. Still, the solution had its own flaws and Levi was in no business to calculate how much it would cost to begin a media campaign for the good of Vampire kind. Besides that, he really was a selfish ******** and couldn’t see the benefits in sacrificing himself for complete strangers. No person on this planet could claim they weren’t selfish either. Altruism is a myth, as its very definition proves, because even those acts you do out of love are basically to fuel your own ends. You protect your family because you love your family, and it’s that wish to maintain the good feeling we get from familial love which negates altruism. You protected your family because having your family around makes you feel good – you selfish ********.

Effectively, what Levi needed was to share the burden. He could try to protect himself, serve his own ends, and see how long that would last, or he could take advantage of those around him, share, and create a larger community of exchange. The Italian might not have been a great fan of people on a social level, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of seeing their value and working with them. The Levitan Empire stood as a testament to his team-working ethos and he was sure he could extend that influence to bring a force of Vampiri together. The point would be, primarily, about survival. Times were uncertain enough in the global sense without a whole underworld of dangerous, supernatural creatures being discovered. Mankind had a tendency of treating any unknown force with hostility and disdain – better to kill it first than let it kill you. Levi doubted that the fall of the Masquerade would offer anything different, so it was better to be prepared. He could scarcely think of a single Vampire that deserved to be saved on a personal level, but, this wasn’t about morality or his opinions. Their lives were at stake, they were at risk of extinction, and something had to be done about it.

Rather than waste any more time debating the subject, Levi got to work on outlining a business plan that could galvanise the Vampiri populace in the same way the Mafia had taken individuals off the street and made them a Family. What made Cosa Nostra strong was a list of unflappable laws and a respect for their importance. It wasn’t a convoluted process of variables, it was a simple as your ABCs – if you fucked up, you got punished and if you did well, you got rewarded. At the end of the day, people need routine, structure, rules, and regulations to help them thrive. It was no mystery that some of the simplest ideas of all time were undoubtedly some of the best. The community was floundering and needed a directive, they needed a goal and a concrete set of procedures that would create an outcome. People were faithless these days, you couldn’t buy somebody on a promise any more, you had to make a case for why stepping on that landmine would not be a good idea. Tell someone not to press a button, they will press it. Explain to them the intricacies involves in how that button would send an electric current straight through their nervous system and fry them, and they might be less inclined to press that ******* button. People wanted to make informed choices, and Levi just so happened to be in the business of packaging solid advice.

It took him most of the morning and some of the afternoon to put together a sound structure – same as designing another business model, really. Granted, he hadn’t spent the entirety of the time focused on it, but, he’d definitely sunk in a good handful of hours perfecting ****. He was just proofreading the document in front of him when he heard the distinctly angry footsteps of his second in command. Levi unconsciously counted the hurried steps in line with the man’s heart beat as the sounds closed in on his office door. Not one for ceremony – because why bother with being anything but an inconsiderate prick – Shiro let himself in by damn near kicking the door off its hinges, marched to the Italian’s desk and slammed a newspaper down in front of him. Umber eyes passed over the headline Vampires exist! before making their way up the furious-looking features of the Japanese man. Ordinarily, Levi had mixed feelings when Shiro marched into his office like that and thrashed about like he was re-enacting his namesake, but this wasn’t one of those times. Levi’s opinion was certain – he was not going to look forward to the ensuing conversation.

“I don’t remember starting this game of fetch,” Levi muttered in a flat tone. “But good job, I guess. Well done, boy.”

“Cut the crap,” Shiro seethed. “I mean it this time, Levi. This is serious.”

“What is?”

“The **** going on in the news.”

Levi made the effort to give the newspaper a second glance, paused for what seemed like an appropriate amount of time to avoid getting his head chewed off for “not taking it seriously”, but still put on a weary expression when he replied. “I really don’t get your point.”

Surprisingly, Shiro had managed to keep his jaws shut and the Italian found his face remarkably unchewed. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be the end of it. Levi definitely perceived the twitching of one obsidian eye before the man turned, walked, and then slammed the office door shut. Daniel might have figured he was fucked in that lion’s den, but he had no idea what it was like to be trapped in a Shark den. Levi lifted the newspaper off his keyboard, closed the lid of his laptop, and set it aside as Shiro advanced on him yet again. The offending fold of paper and ink was sat on the desk between them like a big fat elephant, and just like a big fat elephant in the room, nobody wanted to actually make eye-contact with it.

“Don’t you have anything you might want to say about what’s been going on?” Shiro challenged.

“About what? The LSD business being clearly in ******* profit?”

He could tell by the sour look on Shiro’s face, however, that he wasn’t convinced by such a short explanation, and since Levi didn’t feel like he had the time – or the willpower – to play pretend any longer, he figured he would just shoot straight from the hip.

“And if it’s not mass hysteria, you’re actually suggesting it’s Vampiri, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t use that label exactly, but, there’s definitely something going on in this city. You can’t tell me that after being here for 2 years that you think everything here is normal. I won’t accept it.”

“Normal’s kinda subjective, Shiro. I think a grown man having a collection of comic books, movies, and music as big as yours isn’t exactly normal.”

“Stop deflecting.”

Damn it if he didn’t have a point. “Alright, fine. Have it your way. Weird ****’s happening. It’s been splashed all over the papers and that for about a week now. What’s it got to do with me?”

“Well, weird ****’s been happening around you for about two years, Levi.”

The Italian frowned, but couldn’t say anything. Shiro had been pointing the finger at him for a long time and now that it had been spelt out to him in print, over the radio and the television, he couldn’t just dismiss that possibility that maybe his boss was… one of them. Shiro had never exactly been the superstitious kind – too proud, too distrusting, and too intelligent to believe in Gods and Monsters. Equally then, when the evidence is staring you directly in the face, it’s difficult to deny that maybe it’s true. Scientists give their opinion on what’s fact when they perform their experiments, so there was no real difference between scientific deduction and adding up the almost overwhelming evidence that pointed to the fact that something was off about the Italian. Shiro didn’t want to jump to the label “Vampire”, but if the media and the world were looking to accept that maybe such a mythical creature existed, then surely other things had a possibility of existing too. The Japanese man didn’t know what to think, but he wasn’t going to be satisfied with Levi avoiding the subject again. He was going to get his answers even if he had to snatch them from a dragon’s jaw.

“This would be a lot easier if you’d just come out and say it,” Shiro growled. “You know I won’t relent until I get what I want and you know that I can tell when you’re trying to sell me a lie. So let’s save each other a lot of time and just… be honest here.”

Again, Shiro might have had a point – one Levi had even told himself just a handful of seconds before he’d ignored his own advice. Even if it was futile, the Italian didn’t like the idea of just giving up on a secret that he could literally be crucified for. Smart people do not volunteer their neck to the executioner – end of story. But what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t continue to deny what he was because soon enough the whole world will be packing tiny mirrors, ready to detect who’s Human and who is most definitely not. Wasn’t he just talking about a coalition of individuals to help save each other’s necks too? Shiro wasn’t one of them, sure, but Shiro wasn’t some average Joe either. He was smart, mature, tactical – he could be trusted with this information and if not, well, Levi could just kill him and that would be the end of it. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“You want honesty? I honestly couldn’t tell you what the **** I am anymore. If you wanna call it Vampirism, go right the **** ahead though. Ain’t nobody gonna call you crazy now.”

They say that the truth will set you free, but neither man felt remotely unburdened in that moment. Levi couldn’t summon the effort to put on his poker face, too stubborn to do anything but glare at his companion as he watched the surprise melt into disbelief, mix with confusion, mingle with regret, and ultimately settle on disappointment. Shiro should have been proud that he’d managed to wrestle the truth out of the otherwise laconic Italian, but instead he felt frustrated and saddened by how long it had taken for Levi to trust him with this. And even so, the truth was only given when there was no alternative, so there was no victory to be had here. Shiro might not have been aware of any Masquerade that the Vampire population had had, but it didn’t take too much thought to realise that these Vampires were completely out of options for secrecy. The world knew they existed and it would only be a matter of time before a list of names was generated.

“I really wish that you’d just told me from the start.”

Levi all but choked on the derisive snort that came punching out of him. “Why the **** would I?”

Shiro rolled his eyes, making the same disgusted noise that teenagers make when you tell them to clean their room or eat vegetables.

“Tell me you wouldn’t think I’d lost it, Shiro.”

“I’d have demanded proof, sure, but I think you could have easily provided it.”

“And what then?”

“I could have helped you. Like I always do.”

Levi arched a brow at that, at how casual this whole scene was, by how different it was from his assumptions. Because he had thought about telling Shiro, about hearing the man’s opinion or his advice on certain affairs or incidents, but never thought for a second that it wouldn’t complicate matters. Levi would never pin-point exactly how things would be complicated, just knew that it wasn’t worth discovering because he didn’t actually want to find out.

“Why does that seem so farfetched?” Shiro asked.

“Because… this whole thing is nuts.”

Shiro smirked softly. “That tends to be part of the package when it comes to you.”

Something like amusement trickled into Levi’s expressions, extinguishing some of that discomfort, but he didn’t have any retort.

“I mean, well… this is most certainly an extreme side of nuts, but, it still seems oddly normal.”

“You’re taking this way too well,” Levi accused.

“I suppose so.”

“Gino didn’t take it as well as you’re taking it.”

Shiro arched a brow at that one. “Gino knows?”

“Yep. And as soon as he put the pieces together, he told me we were doomed too. That this secrecy thing wouldn’t last long. I’m starting to think we should rename him Mystic Valachi or something on account of his psychic predictions.”

“Are you suggesting he’s manipulating things?” Shiro asked, sounding more perplexed than actually surprised.

“It’s Gino. Of course he is. Stopping him is a whole different matter, though.”

“Well, I guess you could just… kill him now. It’s not like you’re bound to the same rules as the rest of us.”

Levi arched a brow briefly, mulling it over. Would it be the best move, to just take out a man as influential as Gino? There was a reason that guy had lived so long with such a terrifying reputation and it certainly wasn’t because he was stupid. Gino had always described life and business as a kind of chess game, where an accomplished player was not only looking at their moves steps ahead of time, but were predicting their opponent’s too. When you’re bound to the same rules, your moves are predictable, and maybe Shiro was right about how the rules had changed now. While Levi didn’t trust Gino, barely liked him, and found his connections questionable, Levi found it difficult to imagine offing the ********. He’d referred to Gino as his uncle for the longest time and that was because Gino had been the guy to take care of him, teach him, and challenge him from an early age when nobody else was bothered. There was certainly a degree of sentimentality lingering in the Italian’s outlook, but more than that, it was about retaining a tutor. Twenty years on and Gino was still teaching Levi a thing or two about how to rule the world…

“Forget about him for now,” Levi warned. “I’ll figure out a way to deal with him permanently enough. Whether he’s orchestrated this **** or not, I’ve still gotta deal with the fall out and that’s gotta be my main priority right now. There won’t even be a business if I’m dead.”

Shiro sighed. “Fair enough. I’m assuming you’ve already got at least a dozen plans.”

“I’ve been lax, lately. More like half a dozen. Plan A seems to be mostly secure. The only obstacle is getting the numbers together for this kind of operation.”

While Levi trailed off into thought, he realised that it was oddly quiet for a change. After a moment or two of mulling things over with himself, umber eyes lifted to the face of doubt contorting his companion’s features.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just seems like you’ve got it all under control and don’t need help from anyone.”

Levi frowned. “What, like you, you mean.”

“I don’t see why you can’t consider my contribution now.”

“Like, other than the fact that you have the potential to become a snack?”

“So you do eat people?” Shiro asked, seemingly becoming whiter than normal.

“Not me personally, but then I’ve always been special.”

While Levi had been smirking himself, he didn’t wholly appreciate the laugh that ruptured from Shiro’s jaws.

“Look, if I need you, I will let you know,” Levi grumbled.

“Fine.”

And while that conversation was never likely to die on anything positive because Shiro would continue to assert his expertise and how much Levi needed him to make anything a success, and Levi would eventually get tired of the man’s arrogance and throw something at his head, Levi wasn’t exactly too happy for their conversation to be interrupted. When his phone rang, it vibrated across his desk as loudly as a trumpeting elephant, bringing more attention to itself than the newspaper had ever managed. Levi felt Shiro’s eyes narrow as he picked up the phone, addressed the screen and then turned in his chair to answer the call. Ordinarily he might shoo the shark out of the room to take this kind of phone call, but, the cat was well and truly free from the bag now.

“Ciao,” Levi managed – as curt and controlled as ever. “How’s it going?”

[Stonehouse]

“I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”
~ Albert Einstein ~

Stonehouse was already hurriedly scrolling through his phone’s contact list while he closed the front door of the building, the perfume of his employee, Ruby Cornelius, lingering by the exist following her recent departure. The cleaner was a hard worker, dedicated and eager to make a good impression. It was highly likely that Stonehouse wouldn’t choose to feed from her, as hiring new staff was such a time consuming process. Besides, interviewing wasn’t high up on the entrepreneur’s to-do list at the moment. There were far more pressing matters.

“Here we go,” muttered the businessman, as the desired name came into view on his screen. “Let’s give Mr Grumpymitts a call.”

The unfortunately nicknamed character, Mr Grumpymitts, had crossed paths with Stonehouse during his recent excursion into the subterranean bunker that was masquerading as a construction site for a new building belonging to the mysterious Hebigumo Foundation. Originally, Stonehouse had intended to loot the place, but had unearthed far more than he’d bargained for when exploring deep underground. Secrets had been revealed, information that was extracted and subsequently assimilated by Stonehouse and two other explorers: a woman named Pru, who had since remained silent; and Mr Grumpymitts himself, a fellow businessman called Levi D’Amico, with whom Stonehouse had remained in contact.

Stonehouse and D’Amico shared not only a passion for business and fine suits, but also for gathering knowledge and power. The casual onlooker may have suggested that they were two peas from the same pod, although it was unlikely that a pod existed with room enough for both of their egos. Nevertheless, despite a rather unusual and uneasy start to their relationship, the pair had developed what could be described as, at worst, an understanding, and at best, a fledgling friendship. There was a mutual trust, probably based on nothing more than a gut feeling, but that was enough for Stonehouse. He trusted few people, very few people, but the straight-talking Italian seemed to fit the bill.

The call was answered with the kind of promptness that Stonehouse appreciated. A pleasant Mediterranean accent greeted Stonehouse’s ear as Levi asked the customary “how’s it going?” question.

“Hi, mate,” replied Stonehouse, “I’d say that things were going well, but I’m not exactly sure that they are. I take it that you’ve seen the newspapers and heard the TV reports?”

Stonehouse didn’t wait for a response from Levi. Of course he would have read the papers and been glued to the TV bulletins just like everyone else would have been. Levi had his finger on the city’s pulse; he’d probably already be swirling around ideas inside his head like a fine vintage of Bordeaux in a crystal cut glass.

“I think that we should meet up, A.S.A.P,” added Stonehouse, “and discuss the unfolding situation. What are your plans?”

How the amazing situation, the revelation that vampires actually existed, would unfold was anyone’s guess, but Stonehouse wasn’t prepared to be unprepared. What if a major shitstorm kicked off, and the humans declared all out war on their vampire cousins? There were tales of an attempt to totally exterminate vampires, like vermin in the sewers, around two hundred years ago, some kind of holocaust to wipe the bloodsuckers out, to eradicate them before they took control of society. The last thing that Stonehouse needed was World War bloody III taking place on the streets of Harper Rock. Based on sheer numbers alone, the vampire community would almost certainly be subjected to an almighty thrashing that could either completely eliminate them, or at least send them back to the equivalent of the social Stone Age.

There had been a spate of terrorist attacks across the city only a few months back, instigated by humans trying to cause chaos within the vampire community. Perhaps their numbers had swelled, and they would seize this opportunity to drive a stake into the heart of the previously hidden vampire society? Maybe they were responsible for the veil of secrecy collapsing in the first place? Was it likely that vampires would just stand there, allowing their way of life to be trampled on by an angry mob of marauding humans? No, not at all!

Stonehouse had already encountered vampiric vigilante gangs, and the thought of mass, bloody conflict on the city streets gripped him with dread. Granted, the gang of ten thugs who had accosted him were nothing more than a disorganized bunch of fuckwits who couldn’t arrange the proverbial piss up in a brewery, but they still had enough firepower to turn the streets of Harper Rock into a Syrian ghetto. A dedicated group of vampires, in fear for their immortal lives, could cause some serious damage if they were backed into a corner.

Then there was the mysterious Hebigumo Foundation. For some reason, Stonehouse’s train of thought couldn’t help returning to the station of suspicion. Were they behind this coup?

There was much to be discussed. Formulating a response to the vampire outing was the only plan that should be on the agenda.

[Levi DAmico]

If it had been anyone else on the other end of that line, Levi might have ignored the call to focus on a more immediate problem – such as Shiro condemning him to monster status. That was his life lately though, dealing with the **** that bobbed to the surface rather than being able to investigate the source and put a stop to it entirely. Sometimes, one can be so busy wading in the mud of the present that they can’t do anything about the future, and can’t even go back to deal with the underlying cause. Levi felt stuck, wedged, not merely because he was trapped in a place with no way of marching forward, but because his vision was obscured too and he just couldn’t see a way out of it. That couldn’t sit well with his ego, and it had made the traditionally grumpy Italian into a Hulk-sized ********. Still, when he saw the Englishman’s name flash up on the screen of his phone, he finally saw a way out of the ****-slide. This wasn’t an opportunity he had been expecting, and when Grant seemed to just take the sentiments right from out of the Italian’s brain as though they’d been travelling on the same thought train all this time, he knew he had to clutch hold of this chance with both hands – and maybe even his teeth.

“It’s better we talk about this face to face,” Levi stated, his accent becoming more Bostonian the longer he distanced himself from his native tongue. “Do you know this place on Coastside called Silks? I can be there in a half hour.”

That wasn’t entirely true because he could probably be there within five minutes if he left at that moment. It was one quick tap of his home-bound tome and a step into a Fadeportal, or a short celerity-inspired trip to the named establishment. Even by mortal standards, the Levitan Headquarters was around twenty minutes’ drive from Silks – give or take traffic conditions and Levi’s assertiveness to make his driver mount the curb if he had to. Given that Shiro was still glaring at him through the back of the leather chair, however, Levi figured it would probably be best to give himself a few moments to quarrel with the shark about why he wasn’t going to be accompanying the Italian on this excursion. As for the location, well, Levi knew that the aptly named establishment could accommodate their kind of conversation without the threat of unfriendly lips wagging. Plus, Levi knew the owner – much to his dismay sometimes – so the arrogant and often loutish Vampiro held no qualms whatsoever in sending Grant an invitation to the strip joint.

Frankly, Levi didn’t want to hear any arguments about the meeting location. The Englishman had stated the urgency of their endeavour, so it was unlikely that they would stop and quibble about these details at any rate. Just to be sure, though, Levi allowed no room for negation about either the time or the place, and made a quick reference to goodbye in Italian before hanging up the phone. Besides that, Levi just said what he was doing, so Grant still had the option to show or not. Levi wasn’t bothered as he was more concerned about turning around to gauge the reaction of his second in command, but knew he had to turn to face the music sooner rather than later. As it happened, Shiro was in fact doing a remarkable impression of a distressed puffer fish rather than a menacing shark. The Japanese man had sat himself in his usual position – the consultation chair as Levi had deemed it given how it both looked and acted like a patient’s lounge chair in a psychologist’s office. The issue with that description stemmed from the fact that Levi actually gave no shits about other people’s personal problems, and since he rarely got paid to listen to the ********, he should have tossed that chair –idiot occupying it included – right out the ******* window.

Chair flipping expunged and each man watched the other for what felt like eons; especially so to Levi whose supposedly immortal body gave the impression that it was withering with the lost moments. No one budged and no one bothered to say a thing. The air was so thick with frustration and disappointment that it had glued them to the spot. Levi expected Shiro to open his mouth and say something. The man might go on a rampage for a little while, call Levi all the names under the sun, explain how Levi was worthless without his help, and how things could be different now if Levi just accepted his advice, but it always ended the same. Shiro always gave up in the end, submitted, relented, because Shiro knew his place and knew that he couldn’t get anywhere throwing fire at a dragon. Umber eyes watched the shark sitting rigidly opposite his desk, watched as those dark eyes held steady in their concerted stare, and then it became painfully obvious: Shiro was backing down without a fight. Some primal part of Levi’s brain felt satisfied with that – almost as much as he felt generally disenchanted by it. The line of tension that was drawing them both taut snapped when the Italian sighed to himself.

“You know you’re not coming, right?”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that out for myself,” Shiro grimaced back.

“Good,” Levi said, rising from his throne-like chair. He paused for a moment before slipping into a jacket to match the rest of his professional ensemble. “Ya know, it really is just better if you stay as far away from this **** as possible.”

Shiro’s brow wrinkled enough to make him no longer look like a teenager, but there was still something small, something underdeveloped showing in those obsidian orbs as he stared up at the Italian. It almost looked like hope.

“We’ll talk about things later,” Levi added, heading for the door. “I’ve just… gotta deal with something first. It can’t wait.” He stopped and turned, watching obsidian eyes leering at him from his position in the doorway. “You staying here?”

“I guess.”

“Ok. Arrivederci, Squalo.”

“Sure. Sayonara, Ryū.”

It’s said that when God closes a door, he opens a window. Levi believed about half of that phrase because it was his belief that God was generally an asshole. The implication of the phrase is that, although things don’t always go according to plan, that doesn’t mean God won’t have some other way to fulfil our desires. Some might argue that God shouldn’t close the ******* door in the first place, never mind the question about why you’d think a window was an acceptable alternate route to, say, another door. Such a question might even have caused the phrase to be revised in some instances, where it is said that when God closes one door, he opens another. In Levi’s stubborn mind, if the deity was going to open anything, he’d be more likely to open a cat flap than even a window – ensuring that the future is as difficult as it possibly could be. The irony of the fact that God was basically a prison warden or dungeon master, closing humanity within a labyrinth and forcing doors to open and close to his will as some kind of experiment, hadn’t escaped the Mafioso. Though, that was probably a representative of Levi’s way of thinking more than anything else. The Gods in his life, those who had the ability to give and take by choice, had always made living feel like some kind of a game, a trial. At the heart of it all was mankind’s perceptions; mankind perceived that the door was in fact closed, and while Levi thought that a door was invariably shut, he would sometimes discover that opportunity could still come slipping through the cracks.

There was another saying too: that God helps those who help themselves. Levi in particular was all about helping himself, but he rarely thought that God was on his side. The Italian was a spurned believer; he conceded that a higher power probably existed, but he didn’t believe in perfection or altruism. It was difficult for him to imagine a being that persisted with no personal agenda, so Levi was always questioning the great plan, the psalms, the teachings. They said that made him minim, a heretic, which in Levi’s eyes highlighted the fucked up nature of their religion. If you’re to punish a man for asking questions, then your philosophy is built upon a nest of lies you can’t or don’t want to unravel. The Mafia were the same way, they expected faith and blind allegiance. Asking too many questions led to people being put down in one way or another, and Levi supposed the idea came to them in much the same way it had come to the holy men. After all, if a disciple asked a question that a chosen man of God could not answer, it would highlight a weakness; maybe the strength of this chosen one’s relationship with God, or even the perfection of God himself. It was easier, therefore, to deny the choice to question and apply a blanket statement: God works in mysterious ways and it is not ours to question why.

It was often as unfortunate as it was beneficial that Levi was always curious, questioning, thinking. As he approached the entrance of Silks, he was questioning his own thought processes – why did he really think that this would be the most appropriate place for a serious discussion with newly found company. Suffice it to say, Levi didn’t know the Englishman very well, he just appreciated the few traits that he could see. Their interactions were brief, and if not for Grant’s endless charm, you could say it was strictly professional, cold and business-like. The fact of the matter was, they were probably a lot alike, which unnerved the Italian as much as it pacified him because when you know how much of a dick you are, it can become something like foresight. You’ll know what you can trust and what you can’t from a basic feeling, and Levi supposed that the reason he and the Englishman seemed to communicate and operate with efficiency and ease was likely because they could anticipate each other fairly well. The pair trusted nobody and that was their safeguard from each other. There was no expectation that they deserved respect and trust from the other, negating that childish spat that resulted when somebody thought their boots were bigger than they actually were. Levi was fed up of having those kinds of conversations with people, it was a waste of time more than anything else. It distracted from getting at the heart of an issue because people were too busy claiming that their word was law.

Actually entering Silks made the questions and doubts swirl stronger, whipping up a maelstrom that began in Levi’s head and tailed into his core. The first problem was actually subsection C within plan A, which was named Cinnamon Cherrywhip. As enigmatic as any stripper can be, CC took the crown for being as versatile and sharp as a switch-blade, and as predictable and erratic as the drug-addict waving said switch-blade in your face. All in all, Levi didn’t particularly like her, but she had shown a fair degree of intellect, wit, and a respect for privacy that Levi could appreciate. Plus, it had become fairly obvious to him that in a world filled with psychopaths and narcissists, you had to sometimes accept the allies that came your way rather than pick and choose. CC had given Levi a rough introduction into the Vampiri world by stabbing him in the kidney, choking him, and driving a dagger straight into his skull. And then, by some kind of graceful miracle or rotten curse, Levi had discovered his immunity to death, pulled that blade from his grey matter and dragged his sorry *** around Harper Rock, alone. It was luck that he happened upon CC the second time, and it was confirmed to him that he was most definitely cursed when, after a short battle, CC had managed to kill him again. That week in the Shadow Realm had not quelled his anger or his vengeance, and Levi spent far too much time trying to weasel his way into her good books in order to betray her, only to later discover that he actually didn’t give that much of a ****.

At the time, his whole world had contracted into a pin-prick of matter and CC, his unfortunate sire, had been at its centre. She was the reason he was cursed, why his life was completely fucked, and if he was doomed to immortality, then he was committed to spend it ruining hers. Only, in her effort to be the perfect mentor, to become that person that she had never had herself, CC had managed to open Levi’s eyes to the wider persona of being a Vampire. It suddenly wasn’t all about blood and suffering, and while Levi could never return to being the man that he had been, he realised that he could actually be better. It was somewhat ceremonial then, to begin another chapter of his life in the realm of the woman who’d ripped the pages from his life and demanded he rewrite the entire book. While Levi didn’t expect he would see CC herself tonight, he let the thought linger that if she were to show, he could at least consider involving her in this great plan of his. Mostly, he wanted for Grant to be a part of that, the filter, the screening process that would distil his stupid sense of sentimentality from making the right decision. After all, Levi had it in his head that while survival was a subject that everyone could appreciate, it wasn’t something that everyone could have.

[Stonehouse]

“Now I’m sure you’re all aware of the extremely grave potential for cultural shock and social disorientation contained in this present situation, if the facts were prematurely and suddenly made public without adequate preparation and conditioning.”
~ Dr Floyd – 2001: A Space Odyssey ~

What’s in a name? It was a great question, posed most famously by Juliet Capulet as she gazed forlornly out from her balcony in Verona during Act II, Scene II of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. When Levi suggested that the meeting venue should be a place called Silks in the Coastside district of the city, Stonehouse’s immediate reaction was one of both childish amusement and mild confusion. Unless he was mistaken, the normally smartly dressed Italian had not suggested an exclusive boutique where the discerning gentleman about town could acquire a designer label silk tie to accompany the finest of tailored suits, but a lap dancing bar. Had the sophisticated Mr Grumpymitts given the wrong name by mistake, or was this most urgent of conferences on a matter of the upmost importance going to be held in the somewhat shady surroundings of a strip joint? Stonehouse smiled and raised both eyebrows as he hung up the phone. Perhaps the distraction of scantily clad women would help to alleviate the tension of the imminent assembly? In all fairness, Harper Rock was awash with tits and asses, so a few more probably wouldn’t make a difference.

The Englishman gathered a couple of weapons, equipment even more essential than usual given the current situation, and stashed them inside his jacket. The positioning of one’s firearms was of particular importance when frequenting a “gentleman’s club” to prevent the legendary phrase “is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me” being uttered by Foxy Roxy or Vikki Von Vixen. Technically speaking, the answer would be a resounding “yes” on both counts.

Exiting his apartment, Stonehouse made a beeline towards the nearest transit station. The temptation to simply teleport to the general vicinity of the exotic dancing emporium was niggling at the businessman like a loose tooth, but Stonehouse had decided to keep all power usage to a bare minimum until the full extent of the fallout of humans learning the truth was understood. It was a time to be cautious, for Stonehouse to not expose himself or hand out any giveaway signals that he was a vampire. For now at least, the once flamboyant character wanted to be seen as a regular guy; a nobody just going about his everyday business without attracting any undue attention to himself.

Jumping onto a carriage that was barely a third full, Stonehouse easily found a seat. He noted how most other commuters had their heads buried deeply in the pages of the newspapers like ostriches, reading the extravagant stories about vampires while they listened to music on their smartphones via headsets that ranged from the size of a hearing aid to industrial ear defenders usually worn by road workers handling pneumatic drills.

A lively couple seated a few rows in front of him were gesticulating furiously as they discussed the latest headlines. The young girl, with her bleached blonde hair tied into pigtails attempting the Harley Quinn look but failing miserably, seemed to be pro-vamp. She suggested to her unimpressed boyfriend that vampires were cool, like real life superheroes. The adolescent male, adorned in customary black clothing and sporting a splattering of green highlights in his hair that made him look like a radioactive pigeon had taken a **** on his head, seemed to disagree with his partner’s sentiments. His view was that vampires were nothing more than overgrown rats, parasites that had been feeding on the good folk of Harper Rock. Stonehouse took mental notes of the conversation, curious to discover the opinions of other humans.

As he stared out of the grubby train window into the blackness, no reflection being cast to gaze back at him, Stonehouse’s mind drifted a little, soothed by the gentle rumbling of the carriage along the tracks. The sci-fi fan’s thoughts were filled with the opening scenes of Stanley Kubrick’s cinematic masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey. A group of primitive apes is driven from its home by a more aggressive party of primates, causing the frightened animals to huddle together in fear, afraid of the uncertain future. A mysterious black monolith appears, causing excitement and hysteria among the displaced tribe of apes. In the aftermath of the inexplicable event, one of the apes discovers that an old bone makes an excellent weapon, capable of smashing up other bones. Simultaneously, the proto-humans learn to hunt upright and to kill using weapons. In an act of remorseless revenge, the club-wielding apes return to their home from where they had recently been exiled, and batter to death the leader of the opposing gang, displacing the invaders in the process.

The movie is effectively a story of evolution, citing intelligence as the key division between animals and humans, and asking the question: what is the next dissection? Stonehouse couldn’t help but equate the potential situation in Harper Rock to that of the apes fighting for territory. Would vampires assume the role of the original group of aggressive apes, sending the humans packing in terror, and would the humans retaliate like a lynch mob, armed with guns rather than clubs fashioned from femurs? Were vampires the magical monolith, appearing from nowhere, causing panic on the streets? The powerful black slab was clearly created by a higher level of intelligent life, and was that what vampires effectively were: the next rung up on the evolutionary ladder? Was humanity ready for the shocking truth that it was no longer the top dog, the apex predator? Were the general public really prepared to accept this mind-blowing revelation? It made Darth Vader’s dramatic announcement that he was Luke Skywalker’s father seem as mundane as brushing one’s teeth or wiping one’s arse.

The jolting of the train cab as it reached the next station dragged Stonehouse back into reality like a lasso around the neck of an unbroken colt. Now was not the time for daydreams, but then again, he wasn’t really daydreaming. It was more a case of formulating a plan based on a huge number of what-if scenarios. All eventualities needed to be explored. There was no telling what was going to happen in the next few days. A vampiric version of Stingray had been launched into the highly murky and troubled waters of Harper Rock, and Stonehouse needed to stand by for action, because literally anything could happen in the next half hour.

Stonehouse skipped away from the transit station with a real purposeful spring in his step. He was intrigued to hear the view of his Italian counterpart on the whole debacle. The smart businessman wouldn’t have to wait long, as Silks came into view across the street.

Entering the reasonably maintained establishment, the tall Englishman was greeted by a burly looking doorman who looked liked he could be a stunt double on the next instalment of The Expendables movies. A pleasant smile and a nod of the head were sent, first class, in the direction of the sturdy bouncer. It was always a wise move to get into the good books of the security men, even though Stonehouse knew that he could swat him away like a dazed fly on a hot summer’s day if push came to shove.

An attractive young lady with impeccable make-up and blonde hair, no doubt attributes that were a prerequisite for working in such a venue, offered to take Stonehouse’s jacket as she lead him through from the entrance hall into a dimly lit room furnished with elaborate sofas and lampshades, and painted in wonderful shades of red and purple. He refused her offer, politely of course, and scanned the horizon, not paying any attention whatsoever to the hostess’s impeccable recital of the house rules.

“Yes, yes,” said Stonehouse, bored of her monotone voice, “I have to abide by the law of MC Hammer, right? You can’t touch this.”

He cast a cheeky wink at the woman, slapping his own chest and arse to indicate the anatomical no-go regions. Once Stonehouse had finished his improvised impression of a gorilla, he turned his attention to a corner booth that resembled a Parisian tart’s boudoir. Cutting through the jungle of leggy ladies in lingerie with his machete-like eyes, Stonehouse had spotted Levi.

“Ah,” announced Stonehouse to the attractive hostess, “it looks like my friend has already made himself at home, so I’ll go over and say hello. Oh, and by the way, I love what you’ve done to your hair.”

The charmer sent a bonus smile across to the blonde, before making his way towards his fellow vampire. Looking around the sultry chambers as he walked towards the Italian, Stonehouse wondered if a strip bar was actually the ideal place to hold such a soiree as in many ways it catered for one of the basic urges and necessities of mankind: sex. Humans were hardwired to reproduce; it was a primeval instinct to further the species.

They also needed to feed to survive, but what an exquisite twist that vampires indulged in human blood to sustain their own immortal existence. But humans weren’t just configured to survive, to build and grow, they also had an inherent desire to destroy, to kill. Just like the apes, the evolutionary precursors to mankind, in the sci-fi classic, humans seemed to have an inbuilt ability for conflict. They would fight each other in bloody, horrific wars that could ultimately lead to utter annihilation. Given half a chance, the crazy fools would probably eliminate themselves through their own arrogant stupidity.

As Stonehouse drew up to Levi’s discreet corner booth, a hand out-stretched to greet his friend, he pondered how vampires should approach humans in peace when the entire species seemed to be hardwired… to self-destruct?

[Levi DAmico]

The Italian had probably been sat down in the corner booth – away from the main stage, but right opposite the bar – for about ten minutes before Grant had arrived. That gave him just enough time to collect his thoughts and compose a list of the problems as he saw it – both existential and theorised. He also had enough time to categorise the list of items in terms of threat level, with those at the top needing to be taken care of as a priority starting now. Within that list, Gino Valachi sat high on a pedestal, but Levi was in two minds about sharing that kind of information with the Englishman. Doing so meant revealing so much of himself that it made him feel vulnerable. Levi didn’t like to feel vulnerable. Grant came across as a detail-orientated kind of man, one that probably needed to know the very particulars of a plan before he could agree to it. Grant didn’t look like the type of man who moved on faith alone, even if sometimes you kinda just had to take a risk. This gave Levi the option of saying nothing and risk whatever chaos Gino could unleash; saying just enough to get a plan in motion and risk losing out on the full potential of his comrades; or spilling his guts and risk letting the whole world know that he was a member of an international crime organisation.

Though, was that technically true any longer? With William D’Amico in charge of the Patriarca, and with Levi having actually died, he could consider his contract with Cosa Nostra unofficially terminated. He still had to pay his fees – a small cost for freedom – but he no longer took orders or contributed in anything the Patriarca were involved in. Levi had his own operations set up in Harper Rock, fairly legitimate businesses that housed shady dealings, operations, and characters. As time went by and Levi’s immersion into the supernatural world continued, Levi moved closer to considering the merge of his businesses with even darker characters. With the Masquerade purged, there was no way he could keep up the farce indefinitely. Shiro knew now, so it really was just a matter of having a sit down with the Japanese man to discuss the next steps forward, to decide how to break it to the team that their boss was one of those blood-sucking freaks they’d been talking about. Levi didn’t want to have that conversation, it wasn’t a meeting he wanted to chair for once. There was a very big part of him that wanted to delegate the task to Shiro – who was apparently better at speaking to minions – but knew that it wouldn’t go down well. It was such a massive piece of news and Levi had to be there. The captain always goes down with the ship.

The one thing that Levi had actually wanted to talk about was the possibility that the Hebigumo Foundation were involved in the failing Masquerade, with their ultimate mission being to destroy Vampires and enslave Humanity themselves. Levi, Grant, and Prudence had stumbled onto the Foundation’s scheme in Swansdale just a month or two ago, and what they had learned had given Levi plenty of reason to suspect the Foundation’s involvement in current events. Given that the Englishman had called him, Levi was pretty confident that they had both come to the same conclusion and knew that something had to be done about it. The Foundation’s motives were unsettling to say the least, and if their efforts had not been thwarted by fate, then the chances that Levi and Grant would have even been having this conversation to begin with were astronomically slim. That wasn’t to say that the trio’s efforts were worth nothing, however. What they had learned that night could easily be incorporated into a plan of attack against this formidable enemy. That was why Levi could put the issue of Gino Valachi to bed for a while, and give himself enough time to fully mull over his options. They had bigger fish, snakes, and spiders to fry.

When Grant approached the Italian’s tucked-away table, Levi stood and greeted him with a curt nod and an agreeable handshake before inviting the man to sit down. It was still very much business as usual in the stubborn Mafioso’s mind; he was so used to dealings going down in such establishments that he invariably attributed his past experiences into present actions. Beyond the scope of expecting CC to show her face and for there to be a certain degree of discretion in these walls, the choice of venue was also apt for keeping prying ears and eyes distracted from the things going on in the shadows. After all, most men would easily find themselves engrossed in the abundance of gyrating flesh, and as the glitter and colourful lights made that flesh swell in their minds like a hypnotic trance, they would quickly become a drooling mess. Meanwhile, a lone woman who wasn’t walking around in her underwear or straddling a pole would have stood out like a sore thumb. Any arrogant or elitist Vampire – and there were a great many of them – who sought to stalk the pair would likely find themselves uncomfortable in such an establishment too, allowing the trained and expert eyes of the Italian to pin-point them. And, as an added bonus, the esteemed heir of the Yamaguchi-gumi and consiglieri of all the world’s major crime organisations, Shirosame Hiroumi, would not be seen dead at Silks.

“Hope you don’t mind the locale,” Levi murmured, sounding somewhat friendly despite the gravelly nature of his voice and the coarseness of his accent. “But, you’d be surprised how discreet a place like this can be.” There was a pause then, as if Levi was deciding whether or not he should bother with small-talk or explaining himself any further. Umber eyes watched the Englishman sitting opposite him as though he was weighing up the man’s value, but still couldn’t decide whether the count was positive or negative. Inevitably, the laconic Italian settled upon just being straight-up, cutting to the chase. “So you wanted to talk plans, right?”

[Stonehouse]

“But they’ll give it a lobotomy or do experiments on it or something.”
~ Elliot – E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial ~

Stonehouse had been to enough sales conferences to write a best-selling book on presentation skills, dinned at so many fine restaurants under the guise of a business lunch that he could be a critic for the Michelin Guide, and spouted an entire dictionary’s worth of small talk, otherwise known as ********, during his time working for his former employer, Elixir. The Englishman could have been awarded an honorary degree in linguistics from the University of Chit-Chat, Wafflesville in Talkcrapistan, while working for the medical corporation.

Despite his ability to pad out a conversation with enough flannel to wipe the dust from the moon, the tall businessman genuinely appreciated someone who didn’t beat around the bush, and got straight to the point. Levi D’Amico was that kind of person.

Following an initial polite handshake, indicating a mutual respect and a budding friendship, Levi cut straight to the chase. It was like serving up a lean steak, rare, with all the unnecessary fat trimmed away. There was no time for messing around with an entrée, or even a glass of something fizzy, it was a case of just diving straight into the main course.

“I’m delighted with your choice of venue,” said Stonehouse, a smile of acceptance etched across the smooth skin of his face, “although it does make me feel quite… peckish.”

The strip bar was filled with a veritable smorgasbord of fleshy treats, but a blood buffet was sadly off the menu for today. Business would have to come before pleasure, so a self-imposed diet was the order of the day. There would be time for a midnight feast later in the evening, once the nitty-gritty of the meeting had been digested.

“I most definitely do want to talk plans,” continued Stonehouse, “and I think that there are two key areas that need to be addressed immediately.”

Stonehouse eased himself back into the soft leather seating of the booth, his keen eye wandering around the room, but not to take in the delectable delights of the toned employees and their exotic underwear, but to ensure that the pair of vampires weren’t being watched. Despite the collapse of the Masquerade, secrecy and discretion were still essential in Stonehouse’s cautious mind. He raised a hand, its thumb outstretched as if he were about to go hitchhiking.

“First of all, we need to know how this whole shambles has occurred. Is it simply down to the cumulative effect of multiple vamps acting like careless Muppets, which has finally caused the authorities to see what’s been right in front of their clueless eyes for years, or is there a greater force at work here?”

The Englishman paused, allowing his words to sink into Levi’s mind, not that the Italian lacked any attention span, and then raised his index finger to join his protruding thumb.

“And secondly, we obviously need to come up with contingency plans that cover all eventualities. I’m not convinced, and I doubt that you are, that the humans are suddenly going to welcome us all with open arms. I worked for a medical company for years, and I can assure you that there are thousands of scientists out there who would just love to get their latex-gloved hands all over our bodies, and slice us up into tiny strips of pastrami.”

Stonehouse’s gaze turned to a leggy brunette across the room who was wearing elbow length black opera gloves, and not much else.

“Sadly,” added the Englishman, “the overwhelming majority of scientists don’t look like her.”

Having spent years working for Elixir, a medical company focussed on researching neurological and degenerative conditions, he was acutely aware of how valuable vampires could be to the scientific community. The ability to heal, the amazing mental and physical powers that they possessed, and the ultimate trait, the Holy Grail of medicine, immortality, would transform vampires into unbelievably desirable commodities. And that’s exactly what they would be, commodities to be traded, bought and sold, lab rats to be tested with all kinds of drugs. Stonehouse didn’t fancy finding himself strapped to a lab table while Dr Frankenstein and co. poked him with goodness knows what.

“So,” continued Stonehouse, his attention returning to Levi, “about how this mess has suddenly happened… I’ve been thinking about those bloody Sirens and the whole Hebigumo Foundation. It really wouldn’t surprise me if those sneaky fuckers have something to do with it.”

The so-called charitable organization that was the Hebigumo Foundation, with their army of Encantado minions, was most definitely up to no good. It was unclear as to whether or not their aim was to totally destroy vampires, but they certainly wanted to protect humanity. To ensure that their goal was achieved, they’d probably be happy to throw the vampires under the proverbial, and probably literal for that matter, bus. Stonehouse and D’Amico, along with a woman named Pru, had unearthed some of the Foundation’s plans when they had gone exploring in the underground caverns. Up until now, the pair, and presumably Pru, had not shared their information with anyone. Just how important was their secret knowledge in this whole debacle?

[Whit]

The door slid open like a switchblade blooming with lethal malice. Whitaker sat back heavily in his high wing-backed leather chair. The style was Victorian, with dark varnished black wood for the frame; it looked like it might have been taken out of some ancient library. New and old, exactly after the fashion of Whitaker himself. A taste of the old world mingled with the pragmatic side of the new. A lone figure stood in his doorway, though he did not glance up from the wall of monitors. The screens themselves all had different streams of data flowing across them, such as stock market figures, news headlines from around the world, communications from every corner. This was Whit's information hub, the place where he spent most of his time. Originally his agoraphobia had arisen as response to the spirits which constantly haunted him. He could not go out in public without seeing them, and if he gave even the tiniest indication he noticed them. Well. They wouldn't let him have any peace until he entered into the carefully sanctified, blessed premises of his home or one of his businesses. Eventually, he'd just gotten used to staying indoors. It wasn't as if he needed Viatamin D.

"Sir, there's a call on line one." She said.

"I saw the blinking light." He commented.

"Yes, but er respectfully, you aren't answering and Mr. Moore is getting more and more insistent."

"Sophia, what are your thoughts on the latest about vampires?" He asked bluntly, his gaze finally peeling away from the screens so he could peer towards the woman. He stepped closer. The room itself was dark, only illuminated by the monitors on the walls, most of which had exceptionally dark backgrounds themselves, and therefore were not great light sources. Actually, as Sophia was considering it, she had only ever seen her employer a handful of times. Normally, his features were carefully hidden in the darkness. Normally she only ever made out the breadth of his shoulders, or the hard lines of his suit. She knew he was thin, but if asked to describe him, she would have had trouble.

"Pardon?"

"The news about vampires." He repeated, his tone neutrall. That was another thing she'd come to notice about him. He never seemed to display any variety of emotion. Even those who weren't habitually happy (as she liked to consider herself), at least could be described as angry or melancholy, or...something. He was nothing. His entire existence was some sort of void to her. She didn't find it unnerving though. Some people just liked their privacy, and she assmed the lack of emotional response was either just very thick skin or some sort of high functioning autism (a bachelor's in psychology made her view everything in terms of the mind). The pay was good. Who was she to judge?

"Uhhhh." She began, with the verbal grace of a sloth on barbiturates. "Well I thought it was some kinda advertising thing. You know, like one of those smart ads. Now? Not really sure what I think. Sort of scary and exciting all at once isn't it? Like there's the chance they're real dangerous, but then you've got stuff like Dracula and True Blood. Like dark romance? Could be hot under the right circumstances." Whitaker peered into her eyes, or at least she thought he was. His face was still shadowed, but she could almost feel the weight of his gaze on her. "Scareciting." She finally said, to summarize.

A moment passed.

"Thank you, Sophia, you may go." Came the hollow voice from across the room. She got out of there quick enough, trying to pretend the extended silence hadn't totally given her the heebie jeebies.

Whitaker did not understand that sensual darkness associated with the modern view of vampires and other related monsters. It was true that many of his kind were turned for their looks or for some sort of attraction. Such had not been the case with him. On the contrary, he had been turned to save his life. He had difficulty understanding the human attraction to things that hurt them. Addiction to food and drugs, and alcohol. He didn't understand why there were some people who needed an adrenaline fix so badly they ran right into danger. What was it about countless women who enjoyed Fifty Shades of Grey? There was nothing inherently sexual about wanting to eat someone. Romanticising a vampire's need to consume someone did not change that one person in the relationship was food.

How long until humanity figured that out though?

He plucked up the phone and hit a button so that he could listen to Mr. Moore seethe two hours worth of violence into his ear. The man had been attempting to get ahold of him.

"Fine. I'll pick up the package in person."

A pause.

"You want to meet where?"

Twenty minutes later, Whitaker was at Silks, what appeared to be a strip club. The only thing he really favored about it was that it was dark enough not to reveal much of his true face. He still looked emaciated. Still looked pale. Still looked gaunt with sunken eyes. However, he didn't look precisely like a corpse. His suit was ultimate bespoke William Westcott in charcoal, with burnt orange accents which brought out the already haunting blue of his eyes. He checked his pocket watch with its Roman numerals. The back was a clear encasing which allowed one to see the ticking away of time. The front was a hatch with a rabbit, a rose, a hat, a playing card, and a key. All of them had been etched into the silver case. Certainly not his most expensive or rarest piece, but handmade all the same, and a favorite when he wanted to keep someone punctual.

Finally, Andrew Moore sat across from him. The man's attention was seemingly drawn immediately to a woman only a short distance from them. Whit's brow slowly lifted in question, the facial expression nearly useless for a moment before Andrew caught on and shuffled a little thumb drive across the table towards Whitaker. Concord felt the whole thing felt entirely too clandestine. Like a scent out of a movie. None the less, he tossed a brown paper bag wrapped around some cash into the other man's lap. "I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if this turns out to be a fake." Whit said before abruptly standing. He tucked the drive into his jacket before he began towards the door. That was when he caught sight of a familiar face. A recently admitted member of the Court. A man whose ambition said he would swiftly rise through the ranks. However, he appeared to be doing some business and Whit did not want to interrupt. That was one of the practically unspoken bylaws. Never **** up your brother's business ventures. He politely tipped his head though before making his way towards the door, only to be stopped by a particularly overzealous 'dancer' who seemed to think his rod-thin appearance meant he was designed to be rubbed against.

[Levi DAmico]

Despite all outward expressions of rage and violence, Levi was a patient man. He was used to being the one who sat there in silent reflection as debates were had around him. Most of the time Levi could use his quiet nature to go unnoticed in such situations, but very occasionally his silence could be seen as insubordination or a threat. Fortunately the Italian had a good memory and could recite instances in great detail when called to prove he was paying attention. If anyone asked why he hadn’t said a word, however, they were likely to be disappointed by his rationality. The reason he very rarely spoke was because he doubted the capabilities of his company to understand him. That wasn’t the reason he was quiet as Grant spoke, however. Quite the opposite, actually. The Englishman seemed to have this uncanny ability to read the Vampiro’s mind and present the ideas in a way that Levi couldn’t actually improve on. Of course Grant was far more descriptive with his way of speaking, leaning on the metaphors and similes even better than Levi could. They both clearly understood the benefits of using examples and visual aids when making a point too.

Amused and intrigued, Levi made the effort to shift in his seat and disguise a smirk behind a loose fist. His elbow had come up on the table’s hard metal surface, his head lowering so that smile sank below a curled index finger. For the most part, Levi’s intense umber gaze held to Grant like the rest of the world had blurred into nothingness around them, but he allowed his focus to be taken where it was needed with Grant’s presentation skills. For instance, when the Englishman pointed to one of the lovelier dancers, using her to make his point about how far apart the comparisons were when it came to the invasion of being treated like a lab rat to the pleasures of looking at her. Unfortunately, Levi wasn’t a stranger to unregulated clinical procedures. The Mafia doesn’t exactly consider hospitals an option, you’re lucky if there’s any anaesthetic, and you better hope you haven’t pissed someone off who’s got their hand in the surgeon’s pocket. Levi’s body was by now a tapestry of scars – evidence to the fact that he was too willing to put himself in harm’s way and was incredibly difficult to kill. Nevertheless, becoming an eternal test subject would surely make all the pain in his life pale in comparison.

While Grant and Levi seemed to be in agreement that Humanity wouldn’t accept the existence of a superior species with a warm and welcoming hug, the question about just what to do to avoid that possibility seemed to make both men pause to consider their options. Levi couldn’t have agreed more with Grant’s hypothesis. Admittedly, the Italian didn’t have the background that the Englishman did when it came to pharmaceuticals, he didn’t know too much about military or governmental procedures beyond tax dodging and criminal activities either, but Levi did know the underworld. Just the thought of people like him getting their hands on the power that these Vampiri had flowing through their veins had been enough to put a muzzle and a straightjacket on Levi all these years. He had done everything in his power to separate his two worlds just to prevent that prospect, but, it seemed the odds were always going to be stacked against him. Having Gino Valachi aware of the truth was bad enough, but the whole world? **** that with a splintered broomstick. But what to do about it? That was the main issue here.

Sometimes opportunity is said to knock politely on one’s door, while at other times it comes crashing through the walls like a ******* wrecking ball. The Italian couldn’t decide right away whether this was certifiably one instance over the other, but that didn’t entirely matter. Opportunity had arisen – that’s what mattered – and Levi didn’t need any convincing that pouncing on these moments when they came would be good for him in the long run. The problem was that Whitaker was on his way out of the lounge when Levi had spotted him, and Grant was waiting for an actual conversation to happen. Their subject was important, too important perhaps for just two members of their species to be talking about, debating. Even at the risk of seeming flippant and uncouth, Levi decided that it was worth including somebody who was probably on par with Grant and himself. Levi didn’t know Whitaker too well, but when it came to business decisions, Levi trusted his gut instincts. He had a good feeling about the Necromancer, a similar kind of vibe that he’d judged Grant by, albeit for very different reasons. The Italian raised a hand suddenly, palm facing the stone-eyed gentleman opposite and yet barely lifting his hand off the table. Umber eyes switched between his seated companion and the tall, thin grey man calmly seeking the exit, but largely settled on the Necromancer.

“Un momento,” Levi said, rising from his seat. “Hold that thought.”

Of course it wasn’t Levi’s intention to insult the Englishman’s intelligence by translating the easily comprehendible Italian phrase, but Levi wasn’t exactly pausing to consider his company. He had a habit of speaking in both languages regardless of how multi-lingual his colleagues were. It was probably something he’d been subconsciously indoctrinated to do as most Mafiosi were subject to mixing their traditions into the new ways. This melding of concepts didn’t seem to be unnatural or abhorrent in any kind of way because a lot of the time all sorts of problems can be resolved with the same solution. While Levi and Whitaker associated only for the cause of The Midnight Court, the Italian saw no reason why they couldn’t come together on other occasions – potentially outside the Faction. After all, this particular matter was something that involved their entire species and while, theoretically, the debate should have been a public one, Levi wasn’t the type to invite just anyone to hold his company. He made no such exclusions for Whitaker as the Vampiro happened to share the kinds of characteristics that Levi appreciated: a sharp mind along with a tight lip. In fact, the Necromancer was so quiet that he was accosted by one of the dancers before he could make it to the door.

These women were certainly more predatory than they appeared. The leopard print, the tiger stripes, and the snake-skin patterning of their costumes were more indicative of their natures than most realised. When they smelt an easy lunch, they were likely to bite. Levi tried not to be too openly amused at the sight of the burly brunette who’d positioned herself between Whitaker and the door. She honestly looked like she could snap him in two between her thighs because each one was probably twice the girth of the male’s. The Amazonian, or potential Transvestite – Levi never was too good at distinguishing that type of thing – wasn’t going to let an easy couple of dollars slip from her fingers. If she couldn’t rub the cash right out of his skin then it looked like she was happy to take a bribe to get lost. The Italian didn’t consider himself the saviour kind, the hero – his shining armour was scuffed and bloodied and probably stolen in the first place – but he could do a good deed if he benefited from it too. He had his wallet ready even before he’d approached the pair, trying to keep his features neutral even if their natural condition was rage.

“Scusi, bella donna,” Levi crooned, catching her attention but only for a second. Her wary, bloodshot eyes weren’t interested in entertaining another client, not when the one she had was so delightful. “I’ve got a hundred dollars for you right now if you let the guy go. Kinda need him in one piece. And not traumatised.”

Levi could speak two languages fluently, and maybe a half a dozen more if you’re counting strictly by a couple of phrases, but the only thing that was known to pervade all language barriers was the talk of money. The dancer’s head whipped around quicker than a dog at the sound of the dinner bell. She ignored the traumatised comment at the flash of cash and sidled up close to the Italian – too close. Levi could feel the thundering of her heart pulsing under his skin, but he pushed the revulsion aside, standing like a ******* mountainside until she took his offering, thanked him, and then waltzed off into the haze of writhing flesh. Both Vampires probably needed a moment to compose themselves after that upsetting occasion, and Levi utilised that moment with a long sigh and slow blink. It was basically the arrogant man’s equivalent to a full body shudder after coming into contact with something gross. Once Levi was feeling better at least, he locked his umber eyes on the Necromancer and offered a polite smile.

“I know you’re on your way out,” Levi said. “But I was wondering if you’ve got a few moments to spare? It’s kind of important.”

[Stonehouse]

“I have had people walk out on me before, but not… when I was being so charming.”
~ Deckard – Blade Runner ~

The whole Hebigumo Foundation saga had been troubling Stonehouse for weeks. The so-called scientific company had effectively been hidding in plain sight, somehow protected by the shroud of being a charitable organization, getting away with goodness know what behind the scenes. Were they just a glorified version of the Wizard of Oz, pulling devilish levers and pulleys from the comfort of their secretive laboratories, obscured by the curtain of distraction? It was crystal clear to the Englishman that the Sirens were plotting something sinister deep below the surface of Harper Rock, like a giant earthworm of devious destruction, attempting to undermine the entire vampire community. Although some of their subversive plans had been disrupted by Stonehouse and his accomplices, the Sirens would surely continue to forge ahead with whatever escapades that had started.

The fact that the vampire Masquerade, their shield of secrecy, had suddenly collapsed could not, in Stonehouse’s opinion, be pure coincidence. He was delighted to see that Levi appeared to be nodding away in agreement when he shared his views. The pair had seen too much in the depths of the caverns to dismiss the affair as simply bad luck. The dramatic exposure to the world of the vampires, and the mysterious scheming of the Sirens had to be linked, how could they not be?

In many ways, Stonehouse’s own business ventures were like a miniature version of the Hebigumo Foundation, a much smaller scale operation, but with distinct similarities. The tall entrepreneur used legitimate businesses to help act as a front for his own dodgy dealings. He would regularly partake in a spate of breaking and entering, selling the stolen good to the numerous backstreet black market traders who operated around Harper Rock. Sure, his business enterprises were real companies offering genuine services, but if they were stripped back to basics, then they were just a glamorous affront to a world of shady crime. His legal businesses were the beautiful Botox-enhanced skin, pumped full of silicone that covered the shadowy skeleton within.

It was, perhaps, this knowledge of how something ugly could be disguised as something beautiful that hardened Stonehouse’s views about the Hebigumo Foundation. They were rotten to the core, yet the public were still invited to bite into their juicy flesh. Had they now infected the shiny apple with even nastier poisons, toxins that would flush out the vampires and have them all choking in public? Snow White needed to wake the **** up.

Strangely enough, the strip bar seemed to fit perfectly into the same mould. The place appeared to be outwardly lavish, with expensive-looking furnishings and soft, seductive lighting, but it was all a gloss that washed over the grime hidden beneath. Most of the women who worked in the joint probably hated their jobs, but did it because the pay was good. They put on a metaphorical mask, adopted a role, and played it to the best of their ability, using whatever physical attributes they possessed. Looks, charm, an abundance of flirtatious behaviour, anything to get the sale. They’d fool any sucker with cash into believing that they were somehow “special”. Even their exotic names were a sham. What were the chances that Minxy Ryder was really called Jane or Samantha, or that the luscious Latvian goddess named Valeska was plain old Anne from Ottawa?

What kind of charm offensive would the vampires need when the human hunting parties came banging at their doors? Would vampires simply be unwilling lap dancers, giving their bodies to the science companies with the fattest wallets? Stonehouse was convinced that the vampire community had no idea of the experimental sledgehammer that was going to smash them full in the face. No amount of reconstructive plastic surgery would be able to fix those wounds.

Just as the conversation between Stonehouse and his Italian friend had left the starting grid, another driver appeared to join the race, one that, judging by Levi’s reactions, would be a useful ally. Either that or the charismatic Englishman was losing his touch, and was no longer able to hold the attention of even the smallest crowd.