Path of the Vampire forum

The Death of Wendell Groom: Epilogue
Date Unrecorded

"Hey... hey, Gabriel!" The vampire was distantly aware of the voice and the hand on his shoulder, shaking him, trying to rouse him. Ignoring it, he tried to cling to the dream-like figments of the Stillness: picking every last morsel of information from the dying thoughts (if they could be called that) of Gabriel Groom. He would need as much as he could to blend in. There were still memories that Gabriel tried to conceal from him... important information... just out of his reach.

Like a dream, however, the images escaped him as Vincent's insistence pulled him back into consciousness. The vampire opened his eyes, to Vincent's immediate relief. "Thank God," Vincent said, crossing himself habitually. "I wasn't sure what happened to you there. You kind of just... went into a trance."

Wendigo paused. How would Gabriel have responded? Mimicking someone's personality from a handful of observations and memories was like trying to assemble a puzzle without all of the pieces. It had taken weeks of practice with Wabash, and he still used video clips to get the details right.

"It happens," he replied, looking to the degree that lay unattended in his lap. He held it up to examine it again. "I remember these things now... most of them at least."

"Gabe?" Vincent asked. His tone was a strange mixture of hope and hesitation.

"Yes," he said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Yes, I am."

Vincent nodded slowly, and then patted the vampire's shoulder warmly. "Thank God," he repeated. "I wasn't sure what to think." Vincent forced a smile, though it was still quite concerned, and returned to the other side of the desk.

Wendigo paused. There was still too much information to process. The longer he lingered, the greater his chances of blowing the illusion. He answered a few of Vincent's questions and then excused himself, citing the need to clear his head. Vincent had hugged him and walked him to the elevator. Wendigo had promised to come by the next day, and then pressed the button to head down to the Parking Garage.

---

When the elevator doors closed, Vincent looked back to the corner of the office, and found no trace of the Wraith. He had hoped the Wraith might provide more answers, but he was also growing suspicious of the ghost. Things weren't going like Dee had suggested they would. Vincent suddenly felt like a pawn in a very dangerous game.

The reality of that danger was all-the-heavier by what he had to do next. Knowing that the Wraith might still be watching, he pulled out his phone, dialed, and took a deep breath.

"Angie?" he asked. "It's Vincent." He paused, listening to the woman on the other end. "Yes and no." A pause. "No, Angie... I don't think that's a good idea. Not yet." The woman was insistent, and disappointed by what she was hearing. He immediately regretted having gotten her hopes up. He should have kept his mouth shut.

"Listen, Angie. It's just not safe." A pause. "No, he doesn't. It's not --" Pause. "I don't know." They went way back, so he felt he owed her, but there was a lot at stake. So much could go wrong if she got involved. Dee had warned him that she was a rogue element. Vincent had called her regardless.

"Angie, I really have to go." Ending the conversation quickly seemed wise, but at the same time, she wasn't going to let this go without some sort of definitive answer. She retaliated, knowing the sound of worry in Vincent's voice. He sighed, and moved the mouse across the desk to cancel the screensaver and return to the image he had shown... whoever... whatever... he had been sitting across from.

"Look, I don't know much, but I can tell you this..." Breaking bad news to people had always been an occupational hazard, but he still felt nauseated every time. There was no getting around some things softly, and some facts couldn't be softened. He took a deep breath, and glanced towards the image on his screen of the three 'brothers' in their tuxes.

"...the man I met tonight was definitely not your husband."

May 15th, 2014
The assault on Vincent had left Wendigo feeling somewhat disoriented. In the past, he had been indifferent to damage to his property, and that had always included his employees. Humans were, especially in a bad economy, largely replaceable. He had seldom had difficulty finding well-qualified applicants for a position. Perhaps the difference with Vincent -- the reason Wendigo had been so... motivated to find his assailant -- wasn't that Vincent was family, but more that Vincent was important. Without Vincent, and with Wendell Jr's status among the living still in question, the Board of Directors would inevitably put one of their own in charge. Wendigo tried to reason out why the new CEO couldn't simply be enthralled as well, but the best he could come up with was that there was a slim chance that they'd be resistant to that ability.

He distanced himself from the cognitive dissonance by formulating a new plan. Obviously, the Panic Button solution didn't leave Vincent invulnerable. Even in the best case scenario, Wendigo didn't have a cellular signal at all times. If he were in the sewers, for example, the chances that he could receive a text were, at best, 50/50. Avoiding the various raids, catacombs, sewers, and parking garages wasn't an option. How had it come to this? That he should have to protect a mere human? His thoughts shifted about violently. Until recent revelations, he had always planned to kill Vincent himself and reappear in the public light. Learning that Vincent had known about vampires and Dee all along had changed things. Made him seem more valuable. Perhaps Wendigo had placed unnecessary value on knowledge.
Wendigo turned on the Wraith. There were still many questions that needed answering, but present matters took precedence. "How so?" he asked.
He considered this. Remembered the far-off stares of some human thralls: they were mules, blood dolls, and slaves devoid of reason or sense of self-preservation. Vincent had always done as Wendigo asked, but he always had. Even as children, Vincent had followed Gabriel's lead. Maybe the existence of that relationship allowed Vincent the semblance of a mind? Maybe Vincent still had his own mind? The implications were many and various.
"Let him keep his will?" Wendigo asked. The Wraith seemed to nod in turn. Perhaps Vincent was more useful with an intact mind... at least for now. At least Dee seemed to think so. Especially with Dee capable of guiding Vincent, perhaps whatever independence the human had could find a way to be useful... even if it meant that Vincent would occasionally get himself into messes.

Besides, Wendigo realized, there was always one emergency backup. New plan in mind, he set to work putting up new security cameras in areas Vincent frequented: he would need a video portfolio to act as a catalyst for his powers if this was going to work. After all, if Vincent were to die before Wendigo was ready to assume a role in human society, Wendigo could always just assume the form of Vincent.

November 15th, 2014

As the sun began to rise, Wendigo felt the familiar fatigue wash over him. Each day he fought it off a little more: challenging himself to stay up for a few seconds longer than the morning before. It was, he knew, just a contest of wills between him and a several-billion year old sun. He'd eventually prove the greater.

This morning, however, it felt a bit easier. Last night had been a triumph: a victory much needed since the Crow had surrendered itself. Bancroft would take office -- provided he survived that long, of course -- and that was the best hope of getting the powerful vampire behind him to reveal itself. The vampire community desperately needed a leader, and much as it would have benefited Wendigo personally to insert Vincent into that office, Bancroft would likely be better for the community.

There were many who disagreed with him: who feared a more powerful vampire. They feared what they did not know they could control, because they feared not being in control. Humans were the same: their "not my Prime Minister" bumper stickers and complaining. Like vampires as well, humans did little more than complain. Given a sufficient power in office, they would fall in line. They were, in their unbeating hearts, cowards.

Everyone always thought they knew better: they all envisioned themselves in power. Most would support democracy, and decry it the moment their candidate wasn't elected. It was not in the nature of man nor vampire to kneel: they craved only to be knelt before.

Wendigo knew better. For a community to work, not everyone can be standing: most needed to kneel. Better to kneel to another than to watch everything crumble. Even if this vampire turned out to be an insane disaster, power might be sufficient. After all, there were two ways to make others kneel... only one of them required getting the community to kneel voluntarily.

Sometimes, when men refused to kneel, then they must be made to.

July 8th, 2014

Vampire senses afforded experiences that mortal humans could not, and as such, there were not words for them. The odor of Fadebeast, for example, once you got past the stench of death that were merely symptoms of its presence, could only be described as smelling like Fadebeast. A Fadebeast in the sewers was of little threat in the broad scheme of things. In fact, he'd contemplated allowing the ones he'd encountered down here to live: they were certainly more than a match for mere Paladins, and they weren't choosy about their targets. On the other hand, so close to Groom Center, there was a chance one would find its way into the Parking Garage.

Not on his turf.

Based on the strength of the odor and the loudness of the steps, he expected to come around the corner and be right on top of the creature. Instead, he saw nothing. His vampire eyes saw perhaps a hundred yards down the sewer with only streams of light punctuating the manhole covers along the way before an inky blackness that must be a wall.

A... moving wall. Rapidly approaching.

Wendigo looked down the sights of the rifle. It certainly was a Fadebeast, bigger than any he'd ever seen. He was surprised, in fact, that it was able to move so quickly in such a confined space. Then he noticed that it wasn't moving in a confined space: it was partially phasing through the wall. He had seen similar abilities from the Paladin Emanuel Valentin. Thankfully, the Paladin Master hadn't been immune to bullets, and this thing shouldn't be either.

Five rounds in, however, and he was beginning to question that theory. Certainly some bullets were hitting, but others were zipping clear through, and none seemed to slow the charge. At a range of fifteen feet, he stowed the rifle and drew his sword. The runes on the blade normally glowed with a faint yellow light, but they seemed muted in the presence of this monstrosity of living darkness. Stepping towards the wall to give himself the space to bring the sword all the way around, Wendigo put both hands on the hilt and swung with all his might at the head as the beast overtook his position.

Now he was fighting as though inside the Fadebeast. All around him, the half-phased creature seemed to be claws and teeth with no vitals to aim for. He couldn't see very well, surrounded as he was by the tendrils of living shadow, but he suspected he was losing. He also suspected that the battle would end in an involuntary visit to the Shadow Realm if he persisted. Persistence might have been one of Wendigo's strengths, but tonight it could prove his weakness. Whereas another vampire might fight to the death here for some sense of honor or pride, Wendigo fled at top speed.

Celerity being what it was, and his vision impaired, he slammed into a wall a hundred yards down and dislocated his shoulder, which caused him to drop the sword. He turned to see the monster bearing down on him, but still far-off. He contemplated opening fire again, but his off-hand aim was considerably poorer. Moreover, he suspected it wouldn't do much good at all. Scooping up the blade in his left hand, he turned and bolted to the west... the monster still in pursuit.

He was certainly drawing it off from Groom Center, which was a minor reward for his injuries, which he suspected were extensive. Chances were, he knew, that the beast would give up before long given the advantage of speed he possessed. The pressing question, at the moment, however was "where do we want it to be when it does give up?"

He skidded to a halt, and then doubled back on his path, heading east. There was a place in the hills, Dee said, where the Paladins had built a base of sorts. Wendigo had accepted that such strongholds would crop up from time to time, but this one had outlasted many others; it was, among vampires, considered something of a "permanent" home for the Order. The foothold was a sign of the Community's failure: its inability to come together even in the face of a genuine threat. A number of vampires had sent sadistic "housewarming presents" to the Paladins: most frequently the heads of their footsoldiers. Wendigo seriously doubted that such gifts did anything more than fuel the zeal of the Order, and he resolved not to stoop to such petty demonstrations unless he could find something that might actually damage them.

"Welcome to Harper Rock," he mused.

February 27th, 2015

Somehow, after all the years of being abandoned, the Westwall Hospital had retained its... hospitalness. Nary a ceiling tile nor light fixture was intact: those that weren't missing entirely were hanging precariously from their places. It was a dark reflection of its former self: as if the real Hospital and the Shadow Realm had switched places. Momentarily, he entertained the notion of a shining and pristine facility in the middle of the endless black expanse. Like the locales of the Shadow Realm, the ruin somehow amplified the feeling of what this place was. There was always so much fear and suffering in hospitals despite their fluorescent sterility... now the chief emotion this place once elicited was matched by its squalid appearance.

That anyone underwent shady procedures here and didn't die from massive infection was a wonder. The place had been turned over to the scum of the city: gangsters getting their bullet wounds sewn up by would-be physicians and medical school dropouts... and sometimes veterinarians. Corrupt cops -- worse than any addicts they put away -- buying morphine from former-doctors who lost their licenses for, ironically, selling prescriptions. He made a mental note to see if any of these fallen healers could be tracked down and turned to his purposes. At the very least he would need willing accomplices to fake lab results in order to facilitate the Masquerade.

"What do you think?" Vincent asked. Wendigo turned to look at the thrall. Vincent was unaccustomed to being out in the world of vampires: Wendigo generally kept the most crucial elements to his plans safely hidden away. Tonight, however, he needed the man to see for himself. Wendigo could assuredly command Vincent to speak to Donors, but passion -- Dee had suggested -- needed to be genuine.

"Needs major work," Wendigo admitted. "Probably cheaper to start over."

"That's not what healing is about, Gabriel," Vincent replied. The balding man ran a hand along what was once the admissions desk. "The building is a symbol of better times. You can't just replace a symbol. Hundreds of our citizens were born here... had children born here. They'll look to it again and they'll have hope."

Dee floated through one of the nearby walls, humming merrily to himself: The vampire lacked an emotional response, but he could see the silhouette of one, as if seeing a ship in a fogbank. He was unmoved but distantly aware that others might be. The Wraith and the Human were right... although their purposes differed widely: Vincent wanted to restore hope for the people, and Dee's thoughts -- from what Wendigo could figure -- turned towards grabbing power among humans. The vampire tended more towards the Wraith's point of view. "Think donors will agree?" he asked.

"I do," Vincent answered confidently. After a pause, he added, "It's good to see you taking an interest in healing again."

"Lots of purposes," Wendigo replied abruptly. Vincent was idealistic, and that trait was necessary, but he still needed to see the big picture.

"Well, your purposes may still help a lot of people," he eventually replied, a bit dejected. "The contractors say we can get this wing cleared out by the end of the week... the inspectors will be a bigger challenge, but I got a local inspector who will be sympathetic." Vincent paused. "We could have patients in here in two weeks' time if we can staff this place."

Dee whipped around behind Wendigo and leaned in conspiratorially.

The Wraith's song took, as it often did, time to decipher and absorb. There were, Wendigo knew, many flags to plant along The Middle Road. More and more, it looked to be his responsibility to plant them himself. Vampires, for all their talk of goals of personal profit or helping the humans, were slow to actually do anything to accomplish those goals. Even the notion of a Community Market seemed to be falling through.

First and foremost, The Middle Road was securing power for the purposes of maintaining the Masquerade. The Masquerade was never going to be a permanent solution though, so the other responsibility was working towards building up willing vampires into places where they could later be revealed to be invaluable to the humans. Wendigo aimed to be like the hospital: a symbol not to be casually replaced.

However, done incorrectly -- or by some rogue element -- the revelation of vampires to the world would be a disaster. There would be no time for negotiation or to demonstrate value: it would be fierce and immediate war. Looking around and envisioning a body in every bed, Wendigo saw a second purpose that the hospital might serve in more desperate times.

Wendigo growled softly. "Hostages."

May 10th, 2015

When the hatch to the private jet opened, Wendigo could smell Harper Rock. Perhaps he wouldn't have noticed had he not spent so much time away of late: after all, one would habituate to an ubiquitous odor over time. More likely, however, the rumors were true: the smell was resultant of these "fractures". In either case, the smell was overpowering.

Perhaps "smell" was the wrong word. It was a perception not unlike being in the Shadow Realm. Olfaction required chemical stimulation, and this was not a chemical. There were no chemicals in the Shadow Realm, just as there was no air and no light... only illusions of those things. That was the smell on the wind: the utter absence of anything. It smelled the way that the blood of Shadows and Fadebeasts looked: empty.

Of course, it wasn't a Shadow that was bleeding... it was the Shadow Realm itself. Maybe it wasn't bleeding... maybe the Physical Realm was being sucked in. He hadn't been able to rule out the latter possibility. As he paused by the carousels in the baggage claim area, he wondered if it wasn't both.

This was Bancroft's doing... or, perhaps, his Master's. That distinction, unlike the metaphysics of the Shadow Realm, was mere semantics: one would not distinguish between the finger that pulls a trigger or the person the finger was attached to. Bancroft, through what appeared to be simple sleight of hand, had set Harper Rock to tearing down the Veil. Bancroft merely counted on the contrary nature of Vampires and added in the bonus of telling them that there was power to be had if they widened the Veil. What else would the Community do but "defy" him? In their attempt to spite Bancroft, they were Bancroft's pawns.

Bancroft's sheep.

Bancroft's Vampires.

Wendigo, too, had been outplayed... twice, in fact. First, he had been one of Bancroft's biggest financial supporters, despite the rumors that Bancroft would attempt exactly this. He momentarily entertained the notion that Bancroft's agenda would have merely been delayed if he had lost the election, but he set the thought aside with all of the other pointless "what ifs". Second, Bancroft had clearly seen through Wendigo's attempt to paint himself as an ally, or otherwise rebuffed all would-be allies completely. Wendigo was resolved not to be outplayed a third time.

Wendigo did, however, have to credit Bancroft for knowing Vampires. Knowing the nature of the beast had allowed Bancroft to bend it to his will. Offer a hungry Vampire blood, and the impulse was consuming: the only defense was satiation. Wendigo absently touched the Armlet that provided his nourishment and had kept him from feeding for weeks at a time. There was, however, no satiation to be had for power... Vampires of lacking will and confidence would succumb to the impulse.

The impulse, he surmised, was strong. A Vampire who desired to protect the Masquerade would never widen the Veil. Moreover, most of the anarchists hated the Masquerade because they valued humanity; however each Tear reportedly released Fadebeasts on the hapless citizenry. Both sides had adequate reason to close the Tears. That said, he had heard at least a dozen reports of Tears, but zero reports of Tears being closed. One was left to assume, then, that they had all been absorbed.

Vampires could be counted on only to abandon to their vaunted ideals when offered personal gain. It was, of course, the simple elegance of Bancroft's plan.

Wendigo wondered if he too would reconsider his position when standing in front of a Tear: offered power ready for the taking. He doubted it though... he had many flaws, but hesitation was not among them. There was, however, only one way to find out: he needed to find a Fracture himself. Testing himself was only a side benefit however... perhaps, observing a genuine fracture would give him the answers that had taken him so far away for so long.

By the time Vincent brought the car, Wendigo was resolved: he would find a Fracture for himself. He gave Vincent the luggage and informed him curtly that he would be going out. The Fractures were reportedly difficult to find, but they also reportedly produced Fadebeasts. Fadebeasts were not difficult to find.

Stepping out of view, he became the vulture and glided away from the airport. All of his senses were heightened in this state, but he needed only one:

To find a Fadebeast, one needed only to follow the screams.

May 12th, 2015

Wendigo drifted above the highway, peering down at the occasional cars below. Although the road was safe to traverse, he knew that it was a thin ribbon of safety surrounded on both sides by Fae in the trees. While the Fae were generally only a marginal hazard, his endeavors tonight demanded caution: although he did not fear death, even a "final" death, he knew that being reckless generally lead to greater setbacks.

He counted off another five miles before landing near the roadside and resuming a human form. Nicking his thumb on his fang, he spread a bit of blood on his hand and pressed forward into the open air. It was a brief ritual that he had become adept at: opening a Shadow Gate. The practice -- although it differed from vampire to vampire -- required blood. That their blood was the key to the Shadow Realm, and that controlled exposure to the Shadow Realm strengthened them only fueled his theories that vampire-kind actually was an extension of the Shadow Realm: an eternal, ethereal reality manifested in a human form. Thus far, his theories had been rebuffed by all he had ventured to share them with.

Piercing the Veil slightly allowed the energies of the Shadow Realm slip through, and this did strengthen them... not unlike the absorption of the Fade Fractures reportedly did on a larger scale. He wondered if the practice of creating Shadow Gates hadn't been steadily sundering the Veil for years.

Here, as expected, the Veil was becoming harder to pierce. It was not yet impossible, but it was becoming close. He suspected that death beyond the range where the Veil could not be pierced would be final; he made a mental note to abduct one of the vampires who had become slaves to their enemies and test that theory. In the meantime, he retrieved his phone and had it record his GPS coordinates.

His purpose in building a map was two-fold. First, he suspected that the range of the Veil Tear was not uniform -- not a perfect circle, which seemed improbable -- but some other shape. In either case, the shape might be of use to understand both in terms of its epicenter (undoubtedly the Quarantine Zone) and its boundaries. Second, recording the boundaries would allow him to test, in a quantifiable fashion, whether the Tear was growing. He suspected that it was, thanks to Bancroft and the asinine obliviousness of his species. Measuring the rate of growth might give him a sense of a timescale.

Unless something changed soon, however, he suspected that the only timescale he would need to consider would be whether his bunker would be completed in time.

Revelations: Part One
June 2nd, 2015 - 9:04pm

The quarterly fire drills required under Canadian law never really prepared people for the real thing. Like most events he had seen through the elder Groom's blood, this one had probably started harmlessly enough: a few people wondering if it was a drill... a quip about Harold in H.R. burning microwave popcorn. Ultimately, however, this part was inconsequential, and everyone obediently began making their way to the stairs like cows led through corrals.

It all started harmlessly enough... then the screaming would start.

It didn't much matter who screamed, where the scream came from, or even why someone was screaming. A real scream of terror was something that elicited a visceral reaction in virtually everyone without some kind of emergency training. First, tension and silence... a period of orientation and adjustment where people failed to react. Veritable deer in the headlights. Then frenzy. Not everyone would go into a frenzy at the same moment, of course: merely the weakest among them, but that was all it took. A shove. Maybe someone tripping. Someone shouts in protest. The silence gives way to more screaming. A chain reaction. The orderly procession of beasts walking between fences becomes a stampede.

Willing the droning evacuation alarm to the edge of his perception, Wendigo rode up in the elevator. His inch-thick fingers gingerly turned a fireman's key which overrode the lift lockdown: some simple tools were essential for bypassing security measures. Wendigo had broken into nearly every cubicle farm, warehouse, and factory in Harper Rock, as well as numerous private offices and residences. There was one building, however, that he never imagined needing to use such tools to break into.

Tonight would be a night of firsts.

Revelations: Part Two
June 2nd, 8:20pm

Wendigo generally snapped from unconsciousness to consciousness at the moment of sunset like someone flipping the lights of a room on. It took something extremely salient in his environment to rouse him before that moment. As such, feeling tired upon waking was a rare occurrence.

It was the phone that woke him. Between sunrise and sunset, the phone was programmed only to ring when Vincent called; his thrall knew only to call in emergencies. Wendigo attempted to muster a mental connection to his thrall, then to his phone... both tries were failures owing to the sun having not yet crept beneath the horizon. He settled for a physical connection and managed to turn on the speakphone.

"What," he growled, his voice lacking some of its usual menace.

"Gabe... thank God... I don't know..." Vincent began. The thrall sounded disoriented. Wendigo mused that perhaps a human might have been moved to offer comfort... but he mused in groggy silence while the human stammered. He wasn't sure how long this went on before the words "...one of those Fractures you were talking about" caught his attention.

Wendigo paused. "Where?" he asked.

"The Fourth Floor!" Vincent exclaimed.

"The Fourth Floor of what?" the vampire demanded.

He didn't register Vincent's reply: it was unnecessary. No sooner did the words leave his mouth than the pieces came together: how many buildings in Harper Rock even had four floors? How many of those would Vincent be in? Even without adrenal glands to speak of, the danger brought everything into immediate and sharp focus. He bolted upright in the bed and drew his powers together. Reaching out, he snagged Vincent, pulling the human through the shadow to the basement where he currently resided. At that moment, it didn't matter if a human vanishing into thin air was a Masquerade Violation. Moreover, if his suspicions were correct, it would be a small infraction compared to the chaos he might be facing.

"...you have to..." Vincent was in the middle of shouting into the phone, and he wheeled about in his new location confusedly before getting his bearings. "Gabe! Jesus Christ, Gabe! They were killing people!"

Wendigo collapsed backward onto the bed: the exertion of using his powers while the sun still owned the sky was phenomenal. "Car... garage. Keys... sink," he said through what sounded like a groan. He anticipated Vincent's next question with, "You... drive." Even having the conversation required effort; Wendigo closed his eyes again. Vincent paused, clearly considering protest, but ran off faithfully. Knowing Vincent, he wanted to demand the vampire summon others, but perhaps he was also smart enough to realize it was impossible.

Not only impossible, but wasteful: any human left in the building was replaceable. The Company's reputation, however, was another thing; if the Shadow Realm was in fact spilling into Groom Center, Wendigo would need all of his resources to deal with the potential disaster.

Revelations: Part Three
June 2nd, 9:29pm

Two Fadebeasts, now dead at Wendigo's hand, had emerged from nothing in a corner office on the Fourth Floor. Too primal to use stairs or the elevator, they had remained there after killing a half dozen employees... followed by two security guards who came up to investigate. If the incident had occurred during normal business hours, it might have been ten times that. Still: eight dead. Worse still: mauled to death. None of the normal stories would work: no way a bear had found its way to the fourth floor. He'd have to frame one of the dead ones as having had a psychotic break... probably light the place on fire to hide evidence... bribe the coroner heavily to claim the deaths were caused by a weapon... delete the security footage, of course... Unmitigated disaster. Probably a million dollars or more. For what?

Wendigo regarded the Fracture coldly. He had wondered if he would succumb to the lure of its power when faced with it, but now there was no question. Standing among the bodies of employees he had never bothered to learn the name of solidified his resolve. How could someone be so narrow-minded as to think piercing the veil could be worth it? He was not, of course, thinking about the deaths in terms of their lives -- those were of little value to him -- but in terms of the risk to the Community. An egregious breach of the Masquerade... in his house. There was no amount of power that could be worth such chaos. Even with the damage already done, absorbing this Fracture would just accelerate events and invariably create another incident. How foolish were his fellow vampires!? It was seldom that Wendigo felt anything, but a low growl emanated from his being.

After several minutes of careful study and taking pictures, he heard the elevator engine carry the car down towards the lobby. Without hesitation, he raised his rifle and fired three rounds through the two-dimensional doorway. It shattered and fell away... not unlike a mirror would, he mused. Summoning up his speed, he moved to the Security Desk to purge the records. Then, in a brief moment of insight, uploaded them to his private server before doing so.

Reaching into his duffle bag, he quickly located one of his prototype "incinerators": a machine of his own design designed to rapidly dispersed and ignited thermite. He had never tested such a device, but he was confident it would function as designed. Of course, that story about a psychotic employee would never be believable if the building went up just as someone called the elevator... for the story to work, everyone up here already needed to be dead. Thinking quickly, he quickly wired a sensor alarm into the incinerator and placed it in front of the elevator doors. Undoubtedly, this would result in more human deaths, but a booby-trap would help to sell the story. It was, of course, the story that was important. At this point, the body count would be as high as he needed it to be.

Wendigo had already reached the rooftop access and taken wing when the windows on the fourth floor exploded outward in a fiery blast.