Masquerade: Midsummer Nights (Apply in OOC)

[Luminesa]

-snip-

“Ah. Name of the doctor you have been visiting?” Asked Wagner, “Don’t even need a specific person, just the name of the location.”

Wagner nodded thoughtfully, not pressing forward about the scars any more. Higgins did much the same. The same could not be said for Graves, who, inside her stoic exterior, practically lit up like a little schoolgirl. An angle. As the needle entered Mikhailov’s arm, Graves waltzed to the other side of Mikhailov and crouched down.

“Mister Mikhailov,” she asked, “Do you mind sharing your other, healthier reasons?”

Her two compatriots glanced at her like she was mad, but Graves had found her angle and she was going to gently apply the pressure. “It’s no threat, I’m just curious. What sparked it? Collapse of the Soviets? Something about a sense of purpose in life? Did you find one? Who helped you out of that hole?”

“Agent Graves, this is hardly appropriate-” Wagner remarked, withdrawing the syringe, newly-filled with blood, and dabbing at the puncture wound with a bit of cloth before applying a bandage to it. “I don’t tell you how to do your job, lab tech,” Graves snapped back, “I’m just asking a few questions.”

Mikhailov smiled calmly. "It's not an issue..." He turned to Graves, giving her a kinder look. Inside, of course, he chuckled. He knew that she was trying to pry his mind, acting sweet to try and read through his own persona. Yet he knew that game, and he knew it well. He had played it all his life. "Hm? Oh no, the collapse of the Soviet Union did not worry me. When greedy pseudo-communists took over and tried to parcel Russia amongst themselves, I knew the end was coming. But that is no concern now. As for my sense of purpose...well, I have a few purposes. I am a professor. I was a scientist. I am also a theologian, though I am not famed for such. I suppose having so many purposes kept me going, but...also gave me some stress. And so I...well, I gave myself more scars. I spiraled into darkness...but a friend, a beloved friend of mine...helped me out of that darkness..."

He turned and smiled toward what seemed to be nothing, to give the indication that he was thinking about a distant memory. Really, he was facing the hallucination of Alexei, who blushed when their eyes locked. "...Yes. They reminded me that my purposes are for more than simply the aggrandizement of my own self. They are also to help the world to be better. I began teaching in the States for that reason. Philosophy. I enjoyed it. But now...I needed to take some time off in order to think further on my purpose. Does that answer your question? Or is there something else you wish to know?" I have not quite lied yet, have I? And why wasn't the idiot listening when I gave a doctor's name the first time? Look him up, go ahead! I know the question you will ask next.

[Imperialisium]

Anna's Private Chambers

Anna remained silent as Alexei spoke. Finishing her drink she set down the glass and folded her arms. "Cold, yes, but with a purpose. You will go home, but not to your apartment, you will go to your new home. You will go to the stronghold of House Angeloi itself. Deep in the Carpathians. To begin a new point in your life." At that, she stood and looked at Jonah, "Pursue the blade Mr. Slaid. Feel free to ask Medorna for anything you may need." Anna flicked her eyes back to Alexei, "As for you. You'll be going with them." Anna snapped her fingers and before her casket, fitting the space of the wide arch before the annex where she would slumber during the day, there was a flash of blue-black light as a portal flashed into existence. The temperature in the room dropped significantly. Frost forming on glass surfaces and along the floor. Jonah and Alexei could see their breath in the air. Strong magic had certain effects on the world around it.

Out stepped four armored and armed vampires. Rothai. Their polished steel armor and weapons, their frosty eyes looked at him with indifference, it was surreal and eldritch. "I will join you there in a few days time Alexei. Where your fears will be put to rest in terms of what I have planned for you." At that Anna turned around and filled up her glass once more with the crimson liquid. the Rothai motioned for Alexei, one muttered some words in an ancient language, and a pull began to move Alexei of its own will. He was being drawn to them like hands had hoisted him up and carried him over. Until a pair of steel armored gauntlets grasped him by the shoulders. He was thrust through the portal with the Rothai disappearing back into it after him.

Alexei would hit cobblestones. Smooth and clean. He would find himself in a vaulted, arched, gothic cathedral-like space. Out the stained glass windows were a variety of mythical creatures were depicted. One could make out the shape of a large fortress. Practically carved into the mountainside. Grasping Alexei they moved him out of the space and into a wide courtyard. Alexei would see the bustling activity of dozens of vampires of all specialties. The steel armored soldiers of House Angeloi. Vampires carrying books and scrolls trailing their superiors. Numerous ghouls of shuffled about quickly doing half a dozen tasks. A trio of Revenants rushed by carrying what seemed to be pieces of electronics to another courtyard beyond an archway. The fortress was massive. Statues of nameless figures only the vampires would know fit in alcoves or adorned bastions. Its Neo-Roman and Gothic architecture gave an eclectic mixture of Roman, Byzantine, Medieval, and Renaissance construction. A pair of Gargoyles flew overhead on their leathery wings.

Vaeghorod. The Fortress Headquarters of House Angeloi of Clan Tremere. Alexei was far, very far, from home.

[Luminesa]

Anna's Private Chambers

Anna remained silent as Alexei spoke. Finishing her drink she set down the glass and folded her arms. "Cold, yes, but with a purpose. You will go home, but not to your apartment, you will go to your new home. You will go to the stronghold of House Angeloi itself. Deep in the Carpathians. To begin a new point in your life." At that, she stood and looked at Jonah, "Pursue the blade Mr. Slaid. Feel free to ask Medorna for anything you may need." Anna flicked her eyes back to Alexei, "As for you. You'll be going with them." Anna snapped her fingers and before her casket, fitting the space of the wide arch before the annex where she would slumber during the day, there was a flash of blue-black light as a portal flashed into existence. The temperature in the room dropped significantly. Frost forming on glass surfaces and along the floor. Jonah and Alexei could see their breath in the air. Strong magic had certain effects on the world around it.

Out stepped four armored and armed vampires. Rothai. Their polished steel armor and weapons, their frosty eyes looked at him with indifference, it was surreal and eldritch. "I will join you there in a few days time Alexei. Where your fears will be put to rest in terms of what I have planned for you." At that Anna turned around and filled up her glass once more with the crimson liquid. the Rothai motioned for Alexei, one muttered some words in an ancient language, and a pull began to move Alexei of its own will. He was being drawn to them like hands had hoisted him up and carried him over. Until a pair of steel armored gauntlets grasped him by the shoulders. He was thrust through the portal with the Rothai disappearing back into it after him.

Alexei would hit cobblestones. Smooth and clean. He would find himself in a vaulted, arched, gothic cathedral-like space. Out the stained glass windows were a variety of mythical creatures were depicted. One could make out the shape of a large fortress. Practically carved into the mountainside. Grasping Alexei they moved him out of the space and into a wide courtyard. Alexei would see the bustling activity of dozens of vampires of all specialties. The steel armored soldiers of House Angeloi. Vampires carrying books and scrolls trailing their superiors. Numerous ghouls of shuffled about quickly doing half a dozen tasks. A trio of Revenants rushed by carrying what seemed to be pieces of electronics to another courtyard beyond an archway. The fortress was massive. Statues of nameless figures only the vampires would know fit in alcoves or adorned bastions. Its Neo-Roman and Gothic architecture gave an eclectic mixture of Roman, Byzantine, Medieval, and Renaissance construction. A pair of Gargoyles flew overhead on their leathery wings.

Vaeghorod. The Fortress Headquarters of House Angeloi of Clan Tremere. Alexei was far, very far, from home.

Alexei felt his bones freeze under her stare. He felt no love, no kindness. He was trapped. Even worse, she had completely ignored his words. He wondered if she had perhaps heard them before, the pleading for freedom. He was not unlike other prisoners under her spell, perhaps. Even as he took a step back, he knew he would not be able to leave. The worst part, however, was that he was being sent away, and his body seemingly lost control of itself in the process. He felt himself being dragged to this new place, far away in the blackened, rugged mountains of Eastern Europe. He felt light as air, and then he felt a thud, all at once.

When he awakened, he felt cobblestones under his face, cold and ancient as the bones of martyrs. He blinked, feeling around him, and he knew he was indeed no longer in Los Angeles. He took a deep breath before he looked-up to face the inevitable. Rather than showing pure horror, however, he was in awe of the majestic and frightening fortress before him. An enormous castle, shaped like one of the old cathedrals of Medieval Europe, speared the sky before him and loomed with the aura of a haunted castle. He took a soft breath, attempting to absorb the massive image before him. Vaeghorod seemed as though it had been carved by Hesphaestus himself into the mountainside.

He hardly even felt the vampires moving him out the way. The hustle and bustle of the Revenants and the Ghouls, however, also caught his attention. He could not quite tell what they were carrying, but their activity was intriguing. Electronics? Weapons? He had no idea, but he knew danger lurked around this fortress’s massive, shadow corners. The wind howled, and he could practically hear the cries of lost souls, wailing for another chance at life. A chill ran down his spine. He was in the lion’s den, beautiful and terrifying and waiting with an open maw to devour him.

“...She wants to make me into a vampire...That’s...that’s the only thing I can think of. That’s why she’s brought me here...” he whispered to himself. Nobody paid any attention to him. He was just another prisoner, with no status and no familiar faces. He thought about calling his mother, but such would be of no use. He would only cause her panic, and she could not help him. He was in a world very far from hers, and if any way was possible, he needed to leave. Even if he had to crawl through the mountains to get away. Even if he had to swim through the sea. But for now, he needed to learn about his location. He entered the lion’s den, quietly and alone. When he walked into the dark place, he looked for a servant. “...Excuse me,” he spoke, “I imagine this place has a library. I have been summoned here by Prince Anna...I...While I am waiting for her, do you mind if I browse the library? If not, that is fine.”

[Imperialisium]

Mikhailov's Questioning

The VASCU agents in the FBI building set up shop and were now going over various recent cases. Needless to say, it was not long until they brought up the recent situation of bodies with weird physiological and biological markers. Looking at the reports and pouring over coroner photos that were available the situation became clear to the agents. They were dealing with potentially several factions of supernaturals in Los Angeles. Mainly Vampiric. "Take a look at this, Sir." said one of the agents as they looked at some interrogation footage while checking the security cameras. A routine check to familiarize themselves with the field office and the LAPD offices.

"Looks like a couple of locally stationed law enforcement personnel got themselves an odd looking fellow. Russian. The name doesn't appear much in records. Fingerprints aren't in AFIS. Also, getting an odd aura from him just by looking at this feed." The agents squinted. VASCU laid claim to any candidates for Special Agent that showed signs of psychic ability. Latent or otherwise. Needless to say, they all had psychic abilities of some specialty.

"Well Agent Andersen lets say hello." replied the male and clearly in charge agent standing behind the lithe female sitting before him.

Twenty minutes later

The two agents strolled into the Medical Lab were Mikhailov was being questioned by Graves. Moving into the room they flashed their badges. "Agent Graves and Wagner. Mr. Mikhailov." said Andersen. Andersen was blonde with blue eyes and lithe of figure. Wearing a simply grey female tailored suit common for female agents. The male agent beside her, slightly taller, with flecks of grey in his brown hair. His green eyes looked at Mikhailov thoughtfully. "We are with Vanguard Serial Crimes Unit, FBI, I am Agent Andersen and my supervisor with me is Agent Rodrick, and if you don't mind Agent Graves we'd like to ask....Mr. Mikhailov some questions. You may be present if you wish."

At that, the male agent revealed a manilla file. One assembled from information that came up with some searching on the way over through the FBI database and a quick phone call to the Russian FSB. Though the FSB thought they were simply questioning a Russian ex-pat of potential crimes in the United States. "Anatoly Vasilikov has been dead nearly 40 years, Mr. Mikhailov. Additionally, you're not in AFIS nor do we have any naturalization papers on record for you. No up to date visa. Quite frankly I'm wondering why we shouldn't hand you over to ICE for expatriation back to Russia."

While Rodrick spoke Agent Andersen was already working. She was raiding the surface if Mikhailov's mind with her psychic powers. Not that Mikhailov would feel it. But she could feel like something was off about him. About his very soul. It was more vibrant, alive, and connected with the environment around him. Her mind flashed back to incidents were agents had hunted down and dealt with people who showed strange reality warping powers. They had similar adjectives in their case files. Something about them was different than a normal human. But otherwise, they could not be discerned from the norm. Andersen let out a whisper that Graves, the closest person to her, could only pick up. "Mage?"

[Luminesa]

Mikhailov's Questioning

The VASCU agents in the FBI building set up shop and were now going over various recent cases. Needless to say, it was not long until they brought up the recent situation of bodies with weird physiological and biological markers. Looking at the reports and pouring over coroner photos that were available the situation became clear to the agents. They were dealing with potentially several factions of supernaturals in Los Angeles. Mainly Vampiric. "Take a look at this, Sir." said one of the agents as they looked at some interrogation footage while checking the security cameras. A routine check to familiarize themselves with the field office and the LAPD offices.

"Looks like a couple of locally stationed law enforcement personnel got themselves an odd looking fellow. Russian. The name doesn't appear much in records. Fingerprints aren't in AFIS. Also, getting an odd aura from him just by looking at this feed." The agents squinted. VASCU laid claim to any candidates for Special Agent that showed signs of psychic ability. Latent or otherwise. Needless to say, they all had psychic abilities of some specialty.

"Well Agent Andersen lets say hello." replied the male and clearly in charge agent standing behind the lithe female sitting before him.

Twenty minutes later

The two agents strolled into the Medical Lab were Mikhailov was being questioned by Graves. Moving into the room they flashed their badges. "Agent Graves and Wagner. Mr. Mikhailov." said Andersen. Andersen was blonde with blue eyes and lithe of figure. Wearing a simply grey female tailored suit common for female agents. The male agent beside her, slightly taller, with flecks of grey in his brown hair. His green eyes looked at Mikhailov thoughtfully. "We are with Vanguard Serial Crimes Unit, FBI, I am Agent Andersen and my supervisor with me is Agent Rodrick, and if you don't mind Agent Graves we'd like to ask....Mr. Mikhailov some questions. You may be present if you wish."

At that, the male agent revealed a manilla file. One assembled from information that came up with some searching on the way over through the FBI database and a quick phone call to the Russian FSB. Though the FSB thought they were simply questioning a Russian ex-pat of potential crimes in the United States. "Anatoly Vasilikov has been dead nearly 40 years, Mr. Mikhailov. Additionally, you're not in AFIS nor do we have any naturalization papers on record for you. No up to date visa. Quite frankly I'm wondering why we shouldn't hand you over to ICE for expatriation back to Russia."

While Rodrick spoke Agent Andersen was already working. She was raiding the surface if Mikhailov's mind with her psychic powers. Not that Mikhailov would feel it. But she could feel like something was off about him. About his very soul. It was more vibrant, alive, and connected with the environment around him. Her mind flashed back to incidents were agents had hunted down and dealt with people who showed strange reality warping powers. They had similar adjectives in their case files. Something about them was different than a normal human. But otherwise, they could not be discerned from the norm. Andersen let out a whisper that Graves, the closest person to her, could only pick up. "Mage?"

More agents. Mikhailov was annoyed, but he remained calm and affable, remembering that Graves was trying to get into his head, to make him lose focus. He turned toward the new agents, and he noticed they were rather different from the group currently interrogating him. They were ster, standoffish, and well-dressed. Andersen and Rodrick. Something about their eyes seemed too focused, and now they were asking the questions he had hoped Graves and Higgins would not ask. Nevertheless, he had an answer. “Yes, I am aware. However, I have had other doctors during my time in Russia and in the United States. A person rarely sees the same doctor for 40 consecutive years, after all...As for my naturalization papers...hm...Where is my wallet...”

He dug around in his coat and pulled-out his wallet. He then showed the agents his passport and social security card. “...Both up-to-date. Naturalized in 1999. But no worries. I believe this may have simply been an oversight. And you could not pay me to go back to Russia, even voluntarily. I have no business there anymore. I left when the Soviet Union fell...” he explained, putting away his cards after he spoke. The hallucination of Alexei was still present as he eyed Andersen, but he did not face toward the vision. The vision, in the meantime, stared toward the Agents with a little fear. ...Kostya...be careful...they want you dead...

They only wish to ask questions. You have nothing to worry about... he answered. The vision walked back toward him, and stood next to his chair, putting a hand over his. Mikhailov still did not know how a simple mental image could have such a warm touch. He watched them, and he saw Andersen turn to Graves to whisper something. He could not tell what she had asked, but the image of Alexei moved a hand to his wrist. I want to protect you...Let me protect you...You are not invincible. These people can kill you...

Shush. You fear too much...I doubt you could even fight them, given you are not actually here... While he spoke mentally to the image of Alexei, Mikhailov never looked away from Andersen, letting her know she had his full attention.

[Fascist Republic Of Bermuda]

Mikhailov's Questioning

-e-

“Hey, hey, if you need some bloodwork done, go to Barnes, I’m busy here,” Wagner stuck a thumb at the lab tech in the corner, but it soon became clear that the two new agents weren’t here for some bloodwork. “Never heard of the Vanguard Serial Crimes Unit. You have something to do with these deadend cases, chasing ghost stories like I do?” Agent Andersen asked for some questioning. “Sure. Maybe you’ll have better luck.” Higgins, being quite forgotten in the meantime, cleared his throat, leaning on a counter. “That’s my partner,” Graves pointed at the African-American narc. “Agent Higgins, he’s DEA. He’s going to be sticking around too.”

Graves glanced between Mikhailov and the VASCU agents. “Mister Mikhailov, are you telling me you are over 50 years old? Wagner?” “Everything medical’s been consistent for a late-twenties early-30s male in good health,” the lab tech informed the agents, giving a shrug, “If he’s in his 40s or older, especially with chronic anemia, he’s found the Fountain of Youth or something.”

And then Andersen leaned over and whispered “Mage?” to Graves. Graves glanced at Andersen, confusion clear in her face. “Look, Agent Andersen, I’m afraid I’m not familiar with your unit's lingo, so you’re gonna have to say it like the rest of the Bureau does.”

[Imperialisium]

Mikhailov's Questioning

-e-

“Hey, hey, if you need some bloodwork done, go to Barnes, I’m busy here,” Wagner stuck a thumb at the lab tech in the corner, but it soon became clear that the two new agents weren’t here for some bloodwork. “Never heard of the Vanguard Serial Crimes Unit. You have something to do with these deadend cases, chasing ghost stories like I do?” Agent Andersen asked for some questioning. “Sure. Maybe you’ll have better luck.” Higgins, being quite forgotten in the meantime, cleared his throat, leaning on a counter. “That’s my partner,” Graves pointed at the African-American narc. “Agent Higgins, he’s DEA. He’s going to be sticking around too.”

Graves glanced between Mikhailov and the VASCU agents. “Mister Mikhailov, are you telling me you are over 50 years old? Wagner?” “Everything medical’s been consistent for a late-twenties early-30s male in good health,” the lab tech informed the agents, giving a shrug, “If he’s in his 40s or older, especially with chronic anemia, he’s found the Fountain of Youth or something.”

And then Andersen leaned over and whispered “Mage?” to Graves. Graves glanced at Andersen, confusion clear in her face. “Look, Agent Andersen, I’m afraid I’m not familiar with your unit's lingo, so you’re gonna have to say it like the rest of the Bureau does.”

Andersen spared Graves a glance at her comment about the word, 'mage.' Rodrick, however, seemed like he could care less and simply replied to the two agents before him and his counterpart, "We are here solely because of those cases. A pleasure to meet the both of you." At Mikhailov's reply and the agent's own skeptical looks followed by the reply from the lab tech resulted in Rodrick closing the manilla folder. Rodrick looked at the lab tech, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave the room for this next part of the questioning." The lab tech frowned but did what he was asked to do. Complying by shuffling out of the room in his scrubs.

"Normally we would ask you to do the same. But, given the length of time and you seeing some of the evidence already you might as well stay," said Rodrick. Andersen whipped her head around to Rodrick with a concerned look. "They saw some of the bodies before we could get them." shrugged Rodrick. He continued, "Andersen if you please." Andersen rolled her shoulders and looked at Mikhailov. She focused gaze, not at him but through him, and she began to utilize her Interviewing techniques. The first method she used was known as the Polygraph. Whereby she would skim the surface thoughts of the subject. Yet, she found nothing but concern for...an Alexei. A vision? Was Mikhailov hallucinating a vision now? Her pupils dilated and she began the technique known as Synchronization whereby through psychic contact her mind began to copy his. An image flickered into her view. That of the so-called Alexei. But...since she was copying him. A second vision came into existence and looked at his counterpart.

"Oh my I look tired." remarked the Andersen-Alexei. "Careful though, Agent, he is most unhinged about me. Unresolved feelings and the like. Possibly bordering on the romantic." The Andersen-Alexei snickered with a chuckle. Andersen began to see images, vague and amorphous, and the sounds of past memories like voices and place names. The word convention came up more than once. Time seemed to slow for Andersen as she sent a telepathic message to Mikhailov. Not to his consciousness but to his subconscious. Tell me if you are a mage or not. This technique was called the Talon. It was a form of psychic, telepathic, pressure exerted to force a subject to do something. In this case, give an answer.

Mikhailov's mouth moved seemingly of its own accord. "Yes, I can wield magic." Alarm. Andersen began to pressure more but felt the mental walls of Mikhailov begin to lock down his mind. She mentally raced forward, a small trickle of blood began to drip from Andersen's nose. Rodrick knelt down with a tissue for his focusing comrade. Dabbing up the blood before it got onto her suit. "What is a recent magical incident you were a part of."

"The club I---." Dammit, the gates of his mind were closing. The trickle of blood quickened as Andersen fought to telepathically keep the gates open. Mikhailov was strong, resilient, he would win this fight in the end.

"Do you know about vampires in LA." said Andersen quickly. Her eyes fluttering, she leaned forward, her eyes rolled back. Rodrick grabbed her and grasped her chin. Tilting her head away. Severing the contact. Andersen let out a gasp of air and her eyes rolled back to normal. She looked pale.

Mikhailov was physically fighting to give an answer, "Ye---." Silence. His face was red like he had fought down a horrible sneeze, cough, or was about to blow a blood vessel.

Rodrick pulled out handcuffs. "Mr. Mikhailov you are under arrest. All rights and privileges granted to you by the US Constitution, Federal, and State laws have been forfeited until further notice." So much for Miranda Rights. But then again with what the VASCU deals with they couldn't be bothered to deal with that.

[Luminesa]

Mikhailov narrowed his eyes when these two new agents ordered the tech out of the room. He did not see how they could disbelieve him. He had not given any indication that he was lying. His eyes flickered to the side, and the hallucination of Alexei looked over to him. His eyes then looked to Andersen as her pupils widened, and he felt that she was peering at him. Even worse, Mikhailov knew that she was looking into his soul. Examining it, moving through it. He felt...violated, but he did not flinch. He could not hide his feelings from her, or his thoughts. He swallowed just a little, but he kept his eye-contact on her.

...Kostya...She can see me... the vision of Alexei whispered, leaning over and whispering in his ear.

The Mage did not answer. He could feel her bringing-out his feelings toward Alexei, and his eyes dilated as well. In his mind, his mental self stood next to the former Inquisitor, and his subconsciousness pulled the younger man to his side, as if to protect him. Why can't I keep her out...Why can't I keep her out...Alexei...don't approach her...

I won't...I can't... the image faced toward Andersen, jolting as her mind took the image of him. He drew his sword and held it by his side, glaring at the copy of himself. I will always protect you...

The firm, gentle voice intensified in the Mage's ears, and he could feel the blush on his physical face become brighter. The hallucination moved closer to his side, putting an arm around his shoulder. He took deep breaths, holding his poker-face despite his pink cheeks. He did not understand why he felt so...open. He could feel his thoughts coming to the surface, involuntarily. ...Get away from me...I won’t let you dig around in my mind...You wretch... With the last word, Andersen would begin to feel pain as the barriers of his mind bore down on her. Thunder and lightning, the sensation that her mind would shatter if she moved closer.

Focus...focus... The vision of Alexei put his other hand on his shoulder, trying to stabilize him, sensing his anger. He gave a warm smile toward Mikhailov, though a sense of sadness sparkled in his eyes. He seemed to feel that the Mage would not return his look. Subconsciously, he did, however, just before he turned back toward Andersen. An unusual, intimate smile appeared on his face, a little shyer than his normal smile. The smile only lasted a moment, however, and he turned his face to steel his gaze at the VASCU agent.

Now, Mikhailov closed his eyes, trying to hide his mind and heart from Andersen. She was forcing answers from him, and he had to fight back. Being trained against such torture, however, he walked among the thunder and the lightning, giving a cold glare down toward her as he pushed her out of his mind. Do you really want to try and look closer?..Do you really think I’ll just let you walk into my mind and see whatever you want?...I will give my mind and my heart to whoever I choose...You have not even earned my respect, and here you are, looking into me as though I am a common criminal...

He coughed as she tried to force answers from him, keeping her from getting what she wanted. His “Yes” sounded too inaudible to be a genuine yes, though he did admit to knowing Magic. ...You’re a fool...Wasting your time. End this, or your mind will be destroyed. I’ve been tortured many times, dear...And this might be the only time I’ve not enjoyed it... he whispered to her. His last mental words before both the Mage and the agent were dragged back into the present, into the physical world. He blinked, and took deep breaths as he felt his reddened face. He wiped the blood from his nose, and glared as the other agent grabbed the handcuffs. Ignoring the Miranda rights? Heh...that’s a two-way street, isn’t it?... He knew he was going to be held in captivity now, but he could only give a cold glare while hiding his glee underneath. He could see the way he had frightened Andersen. Once he was trapped with her, he would give her Hell.

[Imperialisium]

Vaeghorod

The servant looked at Alexei with a confused face and just simply shuffled along, looking at him warily, then a voice appeared behind Alexei. "Very few here speak English." It was inquisitive in tone, feminine, and sweet sounding. Possessing a higher infliction of enunciation than Anna's sultry voice. Turning around Alexei would see a vampire a few meters from him. She had golden blonde hair, bright green eyes, and possessed sharp features. She looked similar to the Prince if Anna was a blonde with bright eyes. "How rude of me." The vampiress did a curtsy in her blue and white dress, "I am Katarina Zhelina. Our Progenitor has commanded me to see that you are comfortable here." Progenitor. Anna was indeed the first of House Angeloi from which all of the vampires of those strata of Clan Tremere could trace themselves. " I heard you inquiring about a library. Vaeghorod has one, this way, we get very few guests here," said Katarina with an odd sense of excitement. Beckoning Alexei to follow her she maneuvered him across the courtyard and through a small gatehouse, up to a flight of stairs, which led to another courtyard. Under an archway and into a building fronted by Ornate Pillars of Classical rendition. Statues of ancient gods and goddesses, in white marble, stood on plinths between each pillar. Save for the pillars directly in front of the large polished brass doors bearing the edifice of a two-headed eagle. Pushing one of the doors open Alexei would see massive stacks lined with books and scrolls. The light to read, not that vampires required it, was brought in via openings in the rooftop to the night sky and channeled via a complex set of mirrors. Walking Alexei through a set of stacks with each shelf lined with all manner of books and scroll. However, all seemed to be rigorously itemized and orderly. The duo would come to a terrace. Looking down the Library extended ten stories into the mountain face. Looking up another six stories. Hanging from heavy chains was a planetarium showing the movements of the heavenly bodies. It was awe inspiring and monolithic.

"What are you doing bringing a stranger here!" a gruff voice boomed from behind them. Stomping into view, a dozen scrolls tucked under his right arm, was a Gargoyle. Katarina smiled, "Tiberias, he is a guest, sent here by Lord Angelos herself and he requested to see the library." The Gargoyle came closer and narrowed his eyes at Alexei. Then looked at Katarina. "There are tomes that his mortal eyes should not see," warned Tiberias. "I will watch him, Tiberias you old curmudgeon, he is the guest." At that Tiberias straightened. "Curmudgeon! Well, I accept that compliment. You know how long it takes to cultivate that reputation among immortals!" Tiberias pointed a finger at Alexei, "If I find one article out of place I'll have you re-catalog the entire library." Turning around the Gargoyle stomped off with his half dozen scrolls under his arm.

Katarina let out a giggle as she looked at Alexei. "Tiberias had been the guardian of the library for as long as I can remember. Don't mind him. Is there a specific place you'd like to start?"

[Luminesa]

Alexei felt almost numb when he simply got a cold stare for an answer, but then a sweet voice spoke to him from behind. He turned around, and a lovely young woman with honey-blonde hair and bright-green eyes greeted him. Katarina was her name, and he figured she was a maid. Carefully, he approached her, and took note of her kind, cheerful face. She almost looked like Anna, but lacked the coldness and the cruelty of her Primogenitor’s eyes. He almost dropped his guard around this new woman, until he of course remembered that she was indeed another vampire. Something about her aura told him that she belonged to another time and place. The innocence and uncanniness of her appearance reminded him of Michael. Gentle one moment, ferocious the next. Nevertheless, he smiled at her. “It is a pleasure to meet you. If the need arises, I can also speak Russian, perhaps that might be more familiar with members of House Angeloi. Thank you for being so kind in welcoming me...” he answered her. He needed to be polite in order to survive, but he also felt a little comfort in her company. How he had longed for a kind voice to address him and to welcome him somewhere...

He readily followed her into the building, examining his surroundings as he entered. As he passed through the courtyard, he noted the Classical Greek and Roman goddesses carved out of white marble. Zeus in all his muscular, thundering majesty, Apollo in his radiant beauty, Aphrodite’s blooming visage seductively peering down toward passersby. He felt strange, as though these statues were watching him. He also noticed, on the pillars before the huge brass doors. the two-headed eagle of the Holy Roman Empire. Of the Byzantines before their Ottoman demise. He stared up at the symbol, thinking. Perhaps she loves the Holy Roman Empire and dreams of its splendor...or perhaps...she is as old as the Holy Roman Empire. That would not be surprising... He was thankful that his Church History professor had made a point of talking about Charlemagne and the Holy Roman Empire, as now he had a good reason to apply that knowledge.

The library was massive, stories and stories of books towering above Katarina and himself. Above them, models of the planets hung and created a scholarly, celestial feeling to the massive room. As he admired the enormous area, however, an angry gargoyle named Tiberias stomped into the room and demanded to know why he was here. Katarina explained, and Alexei’s ears perked as she called him the guest. He was distinguished. Wanted for some mysterious reason. Anna had commanded her household to treat him with utmost respect. He was shocked, and confused. He hardly heard Tiberias’s threats as he tried to understand what she possibly wanted with him. When Katarina asked what he wanted to see, however, he snapped back to reality. “...Ah, sorry...I...I would like to see any books you have on...the geography of Eastern Europe. Perhaps on the history of...this region. I am a history major in college, though I imagine that is not so relevant here...but such things interest me. Also...”

He stepped a little closer to her, careful not to infiltrate her personal space. He did not know whether or not she would attack him if he moved too close, and he did not want to seem as though he wanted to harm her. She was probably much stronger than she looked. “...Do you know...why Prince Anna wishes for me to be here? I...she did not tell me much before she sent me here. I was wondering if you knew...anything. Please, don’t mind me if you do not know, however. I’m just very curious...” he whispered.

[Kingdom of Irhk]

Connor Mac Domhnaill

The night ended as the battle between Connor and the Doll ended. The day brought in the magical activities that seemed to repair the damage that their leader suffered. There was always something ritualistic about the wounds he suffered: it made everyone gather around a table full of food and drinks, to tell once more the stories of their battles: how Connor and Derrick devised a plan to kill Kindreds that were gathered in a Berlin nightclub, or how they nearly died hunting a Sabbat leader in Romania... If the Fianna loved storytelling, Connor's pack was the living proof of their passion for constructing a narrative.

However, the "Romanian Troubles" - as Connor and Derrick decided to call their tour in the nation - story would have to wait. Garou started to pull boxes inside the warehouse that served as their headquarters. As Connor's yellow eyes stared at the boxes, he started to laugh as a perfectly healthy - yet not perfectly sane - man would do.

The younger Garou rushed to open the boxes, as an assortment of firearms and bulletproof vests came out of the boxes. One was especially addressed to Connor, obviously under a pseudonym, but the size of the box matched the size of the red giant that was the Fianna leader.

From inside the box came a M249 along with a claymore: both of them were "tools" of Connor's job, as the Garou often said himself. One made to suppress his foes, and the other one meant to slice those who decided to get too close. Minute after minute, the Garou started to choose their weapons, with the most prominent members of the pack already knowing what they were going to use.

With bandages around his shoulders, Connor stood up on the couch and gathered the pack around him, Riyoko included, to hear what he had to say.

"Alright, alright... You all saw your new toys! But right now, we lack a playground to test them. We have a debt with the Gazers, mates! They want their home back, and I don't plan on letting some bloodsucking worms that howl at the moon to pretend they are something from the nature to steal the home of our brothers and sisters in Gaia. And if I know the group of men that are here with me, I know you don't plan in letting that happen too! So this is what we are going to do...

We will kill the Gangrel patrols in the forest. Steal their equipment, force them to get or buy more. And just like our weapons came from the docks, their weapons have to come from here too. And our dashing Derrick will do the trick of tracking them down. He'll find out how the fuck they smuggle their toys to the countryside, and we'll strangle that.

Last piece of the plan involves the lovely magic from Ms. Riyoko. We will fry the sons of Caine inside the food processing plant they think they will own forever, and if they decide to escape, well... Our guns still fire bullets and our claws still kill.

So rejoice! For we are about to enter a war against those foul bastards, and I couldn't choose a better company to help me in this journey! So for Gaia's sake, put some smiles in your faces and fill your stomachs with alcohol, because we might as well die in this fight!"

[Fascist Republic Of Bermuda]

-interrogatey boi-

-interrogatey boi ii: mikhailov boogaloo-

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving. Barnes!” Wagner stood up, setting aside the vial with Mikhailov’s blood, “Let’s give these guys some space, yeah?” Disposing of her latex gloves as she shepherded the other lab tech out of the room.

Graves and Higgins both stared rather uncomprehendingly as the female agent seemed to try to get into a… staring contest. Maybe it was some form of interrogation technique, get into the suspect’s hea-

Mikhailov said, quite simply, that he did magic. It didn’t seem… natural, his answers. As if they were being forced out at gunpoint. The female agent, the one who was staring, got a nosebleed. Mikhailov got a nosebleed. But nothing changed, the staring contest was unbroken. He mentioned the club, but managed to shut himself up.

Okay, maybe he was a little bit more unstable than first- “The fuck?” Graves blurted out at the question of vampires, getting even more confused when Mikhailov almost answered to the affirmative, “Is that the name of the drug distribution ring?”

The agents moved to arrest Mikhailov. Without any Miranda Rights, declaring he had forfeited all legal rights to protection.

“Hold up, what’s the charge?” Higgins asked, stepping forward, “And what’s this ignoring his Miranda Rights? The guy’s clearly an addict, but he’s got rights.”

“The only exception to the Miranda Rights is if there’s an imminent threat…” Graves murmured, tapping her fingers against the side of her jacket. Her eyes darted to the incomplete jumble of paperwork that would perhaps constitute a search warrant. “If there is an imminent threat to the public, we should search his place of residence. Gates, Kingsley & Gates Moeller Murphy Funeral Directors,” Graves spoke up, glancing between the VACSU agents, “We bust down their door with SWAT, stop whatever's in the works right here, right now.”

[Imperialisium]

FBI Field Office

Higgins and Graves took what was occurring in the typical fashion; disbelief, flabbergasted remarks, and a sense of urgency. The lack of Miranda Rights, the statements about vampires and magic, usually it wasn't received in stride. So the VASCU agents were in no way phased by their mundane counterparts reactions. As Andersen's lead spoke into an earpiece he pulled from his collar. Another VASCU agent appeared and as Mikhailov was fitted into handcuffs he was led away by the third officer. The handcuffs would be especially distressing for Mikhailov, developed by VASCU painstakingly over decades, they would cut off his ability to sense the tapestry. Much like his hands, his very soul was cut off, for all intents and purposes he would be as mundane as a normal human. The third agent would move Mikhailov down to the elevator and bring him to the secret floor VASCU was using. Moving him and depositing him into a cell with a solid steel door and a tiny reinforced window. Practically shoving him inside the VASCU agent closed and sealed the door.

Meanwhile, Andersen and Rodrick turned to Higgins and Graves with a serious look. "We will be going with you on this SWAT escapade. But I must warn you that you are now under our supervision. Failure to comply with any order from us will lead to mind wipe. If this concludes and we all survive, then you may also be mind-wiped, but first I have some things to clarify." spoke Rodrick seriously, "The bodies you saw with the weird physiology, Mikhailov here, they are not coincidental. Not freak happenings. There are things like mages and vampires. Worse things. That go bump in the night. VASCU and our sister organization, VALKYRIE, we are all that the Federal Government, which is heavily compromised, has to fight back."

Andersen spoke up now that color had returned to her and she wasn't dizzy. "Any number of SWAT operators could be compromised and under supernatural influence. The Vampires have especially infiltrated all levels of the Federal government and numerous State agencies. They could turn on you in a moment. We won't hesitate to kill them first. Neither should you. We meet at the motor pool in an hour. Our best bet is to go as fast and as methodically as possible." Rodrick and Andersen turned in unison and left Wagner and Graves to contemplate what they just heard. It was safe to say there was no risk in them speaking to others about this. I mean who would believe them right? It'd most likely land them in front of an FBI psychologist to evaluate if they've gone crazy or not.

Vaeghorod
Katarina kept her cheery face as Alexei spoke about his inquiry on the geography of the region. She was not stupid and knew there was probably an ulterior motive. But she also knew more of what was going to happen to him than he did. So needless to say she acquiesced to his request and led him up a flight of marble stairs to the next floor. Down several rows of shelves lined to the brim with books and scrolls. "The next six rows specifically attest to this region." True enough Alexei would see them all neatly organized by subject and author. From geography to population census to maps to even the most cryptic of topics. He would even see a couple written by A.A. and actually locked with a mechanism calling for a key. "The Progenitor's mundane books require a key that our lovely librarian probably won't hand over, unfortunately." Mundane books. So Anna also had written arcane books as well. No, doubt those tomes were also under lock and key and probably in a special section with limited access.

Food Processing Plant

The Food Processing Plant, a meat factory under the company name of Los Angeles Meat Packing co., was in a remote section on the border of the county line. South and East of the city proper. The Mountains and Los Angeles National Forest could be seen less than a half a kilometer away. It was surrounded by a chainlink fence topped with barbed wire and looked dead. Only some running lights but no workers. Obviously, not a 24-hour operation. But that didn't mean it was uninhabited. For it was base for the Gangrel. Indeed, a trio of them along with several ghouls would be inside the main warehouse and office building. Packing their more...black market goods to distribution. Which tonight just so happened to be their non-human trafficking shipments. Drugs like cocaine by the kilo, weapons by the crate, and assortment munitions.

"Load it up. Meitz wants this shipped to the warehouse up North for distribution in a few hours." said a toothy looking cainite with blonde hair and beady eyes to his compatriots.

Anna's Residence

While Anna dismissed Jonah who would go out to no doubt pursue the blade he had told her about. Unseen forces would be encroaching upon the mansion. Forces of the Inquisition. The Society of Leopold's L.A. chapter of Maxwell, Hideyoshi, and Manning; with Arquart, a couple of operatives from Gladius Dei, and four Lances of Condotierri loaded for bear completing the encirclement. Hiding behind buildings and prepping their weapons for the storming of the mansion that was to occur sooner rather than later on the request of Arquart. However, they would wait for Maxwell's call to move in.

[Luminesa]

-interrogatey boi-

-interrogatey boi ii: mikhailov boogaloo-

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving. Barnes!” Wagner stood up, setting aside the vial with Mikhailov’s blood, “Let’s give these guys some space, yeah?” Disposing of her latex gloves as she shepherded the other lab tech out of the room.

Graves and Higgins both stared rather uncomprehendingly as the female agent seemed to try to get into a… staring contest. Maybe it was some form of interrogation technique, get into the suspect’s hea-

Mikhailov said, quite simply, that he did magic. It didn’t seem… natural, his answers. As if they were being forced out at gunpoint. The female agent, the one who was staring, got a nosebleed. Mikhailov got a nosebleed. But nothing changed, the staring contest was unbroken. He mentioned the club, but managed to shut himself up.

Okay, maybe he was a little bit more unstable than first- “The fuck?” Graves blurted out at the question of vampires, getting even more confused when Mikhailov almost answered to the affirmative, “Is that the name of the drug distribution ring?”

The agents moved to arrest Mikhailov. Without any Miranda Rights, declaring he had forfeited all legal rights to protection.

“Hold up, what’s the charge?” Higgins asked, stepping forward, “And what’s this ignoring his Miranda Rights? The guy’s clearly an addict, but he’s got rights.”

“The only exception to the Miranda Rights is if there’s an imminent threat…” Graves murmured, tapping her fingers against the side of her jacket. Her eyes darted to the incomplete jumble of paperwork that would perhaps constitute a search warrant. “If there is an imminent threat to the public, we should search his place of residence. Gates, Kingsley & Gates Moeller Murphy Funeral Directors,” Graves spoke up, glancing between the VACSU agents, “We bust down their door with SWAT, stop whatever's in the works right here, right now.”

“There is no imminent threat. You have nothing to worry about,” he explained to the agents, as they thought about heading to the funeral home. He had to make a last-ditch attempt to save Silvanus, or to at least save his place of residence from being scowered for evidence. He did not need them to see the home, and he definitely did not need them to see his journals or his weapons. Of course, he knew that Andersen could try to see into his mind, so he kept his thoughts hidden.

Alexei seemed to also become silent in his mind. The image stood near Mikhailov, but said nothing. It only turned to stare at Andersen, whose nose was still bleeding. It then turned back to Mikhailov, caressing his shoulders and giving him a calm, soothing gaze. “I have been subjected to cruel and unusual punishment by these agents, as they used torture techniques which are unlawful and disproportionate. Interrogate me further if you wish, but know that you now have broken the law of the land yourselves,” he declared. He knew enough about the law to know that he could throw Andersen into the lion’s den if the need arose. He could not escape arrest without causing more trouble, but he knew that he could reveal these agents for the crooks they were themselves. In his mind, he let one thought slip before he submitted himself to arrest.

Lord Silvanus...I love you. And I will be arrested...if it means you are safe...

He was not used to sounding so vulnerable, even in his own mind, but Andersen and her partner were not focusing on him now. He would wipe his mind once again when he was being interrogated, but color rose to his cheeks as the words passed through his mind. The image of Alexei next to him seemed to nod, as though it had registered his words, and it smiled at him. Mikhailov, in the meantime, was still rebuilding the fortresses in his mind. He knew that he would be subject to more torture. He hoped they would never see the words he had felt, as they melted through his veins and caused his body to become warm.

[Luminesa]

FBI Field Office

Higgins and Graves took what was occurring in the typical fashion; disbelief, flabbergasted remarks, and a sense of urgency. The lack of Miranda Rights, the statements about vampires and magic, usually it wasn't received in stride. So the VASCU agents were in no way phased by their mundane counterparts reactions. As Andersen's lead spoke into an earpiece he pulled from his collar. Another VASCU agent appeared and as Mikhailov was fitted into handcuffs he was led away by the third officer. The handcuffs would be especially distressing for Mikhailov, developed by VASCU painstakingly over decades, they would cut off his ability to sense the tapestry. Much like his hands, his very soul was cut off, for all intents and purposes he would be as mundane as a normal human. The third agent would move Mikhailov down to the elevator and bring him to the secret floor VASCU was using. Moving him and depositing him into a cell with a solid steel door and a tiny reinforced window. Practically shoving him inside the VASCU agent closed and sealed the door.

Meanwhile, Andersen and Rodrick turned to Higgins and Graves with a serious look. "We will be going with you on this SWAT escapade. But I must warn you that you are now under our supervision. Failure to comply with any order from us will lead to mind wipe. If this concludes and we all survive, then you may also be mind-wiped, but first I have some things to clarify." spoke Rodrick seriously, "The bodies you saw with the weird physiology, Mikhailov here, they are not coincidental. Not freak happenings. There are things like mages and vampires. Worse things. That go bump in the night. VASCU and our sister organization, VALKYRIE, we are all that the Federal Government, which is heavily compromised, has to fight back."

Andersen spoke up now that color had returned to her and she wasn't dizzy. "Any number of SWAT operators could be compromised and under supernatural influence. The Vampires have especially infiltrated all levels of the Federal government and numerous State agencies. They could turn on you in a moment. We won't hesitate to kill them first. Neither should you. We meet at the motor pool in an hour. Our best bet is to go as fast and as methodically as possible." Rodrick and Andersen turned in unison and left Wagner and Graves to contemplate what they just heard. It was safe to say there was no risk in them speaking to others about this. I mean who would believe them right? It'd most likely land them in front of an FBI psychologist to evaluate if they've gone crazy or not.

Vaeghorod
Katarina kept her cheery face as Alexei spoke about his inquiry on the geography of the region. She was not stupid and knew there was probably an ulterior motive. But she also knew more of what was going to happen to him than he did. So needless to say she acquiesced to his request and led him up a flight of marble stairs to the next floor. Down several rows of shelves lined to the brim with books and scrolls. "The next six rows specifically attest to this region." True enough Alexei would see them all neatly organized by subject and author. From geography to population census to maps to even the most cryptic of topics. He would even see a couple written by A.A. and actually locked with a mechanism calling for a key. "The Progenitor's mundane books require a key that our lovely librarian probably won't hand over, unfortunately." Mundane books. So Anna also had written arcane books as well. No, doubt those tomes were also under lock and key and probably in a special section with limited access.

Food Processing Plant

The Food Processing Plant, a meat factory under the company name of Los Angeles Meat Packing co., was in a remote section on the border of the county line. South and East of the city proper. The Mountains and Los Angeles National Forest could be seen less than a half a kilometer away. It was surrounded by a chainlink fence topped with barbed wire and looked dead. Only some running lights but no workers. Obviously, not a 24-hour operation. But that didn't mean it was uninhabited. For it was base for the Gangrel. Indeed, a trio of them along with several ghouls would be inside the main warehouse and office building. Packing their more...black market goods to distribution. Which tonight just so happened to be their non-human trafficking shipments. Drugs like cocaine by the kilo, weapons by the crate, and assortment munitions.

"Load it up. Meitz wants this shipped to the warehouse up North for distribution in a few hours." said a toothy looking cainite with blonde hair and beady eyes to his compatriots.

Anna's Residence

While Anna dismissed Jonah who would go out to no doubt pursue the blade he had told her about. Unseen forces would be encroaching upon the mansion. Forces of the Inquisition. The Society of Leopold's L.A. chapter of Maxwell, Hideyoshi, and Manning; with Arquart, a couple of operatives from Gladius Dei, and four Lances of Condotierri loaded for bear completing the encirclement. Hiding behind buildings and prepping their weapons for the storming of the mansion that was to occur sooner rather than later on the request of Arquart. However, they would wait for Maxwell's call to move in.

Alexei watched Katarina’s face, as cheerful and sweet as she appeared. She was not a fool, and he knew he was taking a risk. Nevertheless, the risk was one he was willing to take. He needed to get away, and he needed to get away any way that he could. Yet he could not let her know of his urgency, of his desire to leave. He listened to her, and followed her up the stairs. Once again, he was shocked by the sheer volume of books in the library. And six bookshelves were dedicated simply to explaining the region in which he was in. He stared, his mouth agape for a moment, until he heard Katarina’s voice speaking to him. She told him that the only books he could not touch were those written by ‘A.A.’ Anna... He knew those initials, and knew to steer clear of those books for now. He had to keep himself safe, he had to keep his mind on escaping.

He gave a polite nod to Katarina, and smiled at her. “...Thank you kindly. I believe I can look from this point...Unless...um...did you need to tell me anything before I start my search?...” His eyes wandered back to the books, but he did not wish to be rude and to simply run without giving her a moment to speak. If only he could ignore her charming nature and even be rude for once. When he turned back to look at her, he could not stop staring at her eyes, turquoise and glittering. The kindness masking possible cruelty... ...She is not only like Michael...but also...Kostya... He fidgeted with the sleeves of his jacket, which he realized he had never removed. ...Kostya...please...be safe...I will try to see you soon... he thought. He then listened for Katarina’s response.

[Parcia]

Jonah

He made the trip back upstairs deep in thought, his mind swirling with plans and ideas that had all propped them selves up in the minuets it took him to return to the Room were he had left Jenifer.

As he came to the wooden door, he found a soft tune coming through the door. He leaned in and through the cracked door came a tune that was soft an melodic, the voice level in tone and near perfect in pitch as the singer let off the first verse in English, then the Second in a clear, passionate French Rendition that made Jonah's mind seem to fog up for the smallest of moments, carrying him off in to sweet nothingness...


Wait.

What the fuck?

No no no no nono on nooo no NO!

He focused his mind and set him self back in to the reality of the world, clearing his head of the Magical funk that clouded his senses. Being just a little pissed off, he gave a single sharp knock before opening the door and finding the young blond sitting on the edge of the bed, singing her little heart out as she braided her long blond hair in to a single french braid.

She had taken a short shower and put on the set of clothing the Russian had brought for her. He opened his mouth only to be taken off his feet when she rushed him. Luckily, the door was closed behind him, so when he and her crashed against it, it held them upright.

He put an hand around her throat and reached for the gun on his hip before he stopped him self. She wasn't attacking him. She had her arms around him, she was retching...wait...was she sobbing. He took a moment to listen in to the sounds that were coming from the women currently wrapping her self around his torso. She was...crying, this cute little blond women who, not less then several hours ago was trying to rip his arm off...was crying.

Remembering Anna's words, he decided to, against his better judgement, to take his hand off her throat and instead wrap his arms around her. After a while, they sorta slid down the door and sat on the ground, her sitting in his lap.

"I'm sorry for biting you...you saved me and I bit you for it." Well, at least she seemed Coherent. "It...its fine Kitten, I figured you were still...lost in your own head." She stayed like this for some time, buried in his shoulder, tears staining his wife beater. He sighed, and started with his own life's story, from his upbringing in Depression Era Florida, to the army to being taken taken captive in Fortuna and later his long walk through the Lonesome road in Hell.

He ended his long tale with finding her in that hole in the wall in the Club.

"Look Kitten...you and me are kinda alike in a sense. Both aint got no business in his dark world we find our selves in and we both don't really have any one to rely on other then each other. So, logically speaking, it would be better for the both of us if we stick to our guns...well, to my guns and your brains."

He took a moment to get up, picking her up and setting her down on the bed next to were he sat down. They had a lot to plan out.

[Kingdom of Irhk]

Food Processing Plant

The Food Processing Plant, a meat factory under the company name of Los Angeles Meat Packing co., was in a remote section on the border of the county line. South and East of the city proper. The Mountains and Los Angeles National Forest could be seen less than a half a kilometer away. It was surrounded by a chainlink fence topped with barbed wire and looked dead. Only some running lights but no workers. Obviously, not a 24-hour operation. But that didn't mean it was uninhabited. For it was base for the Gangrel. Indeed, a trio of them along with several ghouls would be inside the main warehouse and office building. Packing their more...black market goods to distribution. Which tonight just so happened to be their non-human trafficking shipments. Drugs like cocaine by the kilo, weapons by the crate, and assortment munitions.

"Load it up. Meitz wants this shipped to the warehouse up North for distribution in a few hours." said a toothy looking cainite with blonde hair and beady eyes to his compatriots.

Connor Mac Domhnaill & Derrick Cann

The movement inside the food processing plant didn't go unobserved. In a nearby hill, two Garou observed with another 3 younger Garou behind them. The two leaders looked through binoculars, checking the movement of crates inside.

"Alright, mates. Now, we are not going inside now. Let us wait. Once they leave in a truck, a pickup or anything like that, Derrick will make sure the truck stop, and then we rob it. Ms. Riyoko is around in case we need some explosions."

[Reverend Norv]

FBI Field Office

Konstantin Mikhailov was in a steel box. The cell was five feet wide by nine feet long. It had a bed built into one wall and a toilet built into the other. Rodrick and Andersen had left the handcuffs on him, severing Mikhailov's connection to the Supernal Realm - and therefore to Alexei. There was no way of telling how much time had passed since the door had closed behind him. The white glare of a lightbulb in a cage bathed the room in its unwavering glow.

After five minutes or an hour or six hours, the heavy steel door swung open and a man stepped in. He was of average height and build, this man, with greying brown hair in a sidepart and old-fashioned browline glasses, and he was dressed in a tweed blazer and corduroy slacks and a knit tie. He carried a battered leather briefcase. He looked like a college philosophy professor. He flipped the metal toilet seat down and sat on top of it, leaving Mikhailov the marginally more comfortable bed. There was something abashed in the stranger's movements, some apologetic reticence that suggested that he regretted finding himself in this cell as much as Mikhailov himself.

"Mister Mikhailov. My name is Steve Radcliffe. I'm a Supervisory Special Agent with the FBI." Radcliffe produced his credentials, and held them out at a polite distance so that Mikhailov could inspect them. "You can call me Steve, if you like. I'm here to bring you up to speed on what's going on here."

Radcliffe tucked his ID back into his blazer. "As a permanent resident, you are being detained under Section 412 of the Patriot Act. That gives us seven days to charge you rather than three. You do have the right to legal counsel, though your attorney won't be allowed to file for habeas corpus until those seven days are up." Radcliffe scratched his jaw. "I understand that you were told that your Miranda Rights have been suspended. I'm now in charge of your case, and I say otherwise. You don't have to answer any questions unless you want to do so."

The agent opened his briefcase and took out a manila file. "I am a great believer in transparency, Mister Mikhailov." Radcliffe looked at the prisoner over the frames of his glasses for just long enough to convey the threat hidden in those words. "So let me be transparent with you. Here is what I know. You are a powerful Theurgist of the Watchtower of the Golden Key." Radcliffe neatly placed a photograph of Mikhailov's lightning at the Coven of Purple Hearts on the bed next to the Russian. "But the vitae of a Cainite flows in your veins, which probably makes you a thrall." A printout of Mikhailov's blood sample joined the photograph. "At three in the morning, you show up at a strip club with a minor packing a sword and some impressive skills. Then some kind of changeling joins you - my guess is an ogre - and the three of you slaughter a bunch of Cainites and ghouls. And finally you leave without taking anything." A series of security-camera stills settled into the mattress.

Radcliffe's grey eyes studied Mikhailov carefully from behind his glasses. "Here is what this tells me, Mister Mikhailov. You are in trouble. The identity that has kept you safe for twenty years is in meltdown. You are helplessly in love with a creature that regards you as nothing but a weapon. You are in freefall, and the cruelest thing I could do to you right now is just to let you go. Out there on the street, you'll be dead in two weeks. And despite that Obrimos arrogance, I think you know it, too."

"So here is what I would like: I would like you to be as transparent as me as I have been with you." Radcliffe leaned forward. "And while I can make that happen without your conscious consent, I would much rather work with you on this. I am not asking you to betray anyone's trust, or to turn on anyone you care about. I am just asking to hear your story from your point of view, and to understand how you came to this point." The agent inclined his head. "Does that seem reasonable?"

[Luminesa]

FBI Field Office

Konstantin Mikhailov was in a steel box. The cell was five feet wide by nine feet long. It had a bed built into one wall and a toilet built into the other. Rodrick and Andersen had left the handcuffs on him, severing Mikhailov's connection to the Supernal Realm - and therefore to Alexei. There was no way of telling how much time had passed since the door had closed behind him. The white glare of a lightbulb in a cage bathed the room in its unwavering glow.

After five minutes or an hour or six hours, the heavy steel door swung open and a man stepped in. He was of average height and build, this man, with greying brown hair in a sidepart and old-fashioned browline glasses, and he was dressed in a tweed blazer and corduroy slacks and a knit tie. He carried a battered leather briefcase. He looked like a college philosophy professor. He flipped the metal toilet seat down and sat on top of it, leaving Mikhailov the marginally more comfortable bed. There was something abashed in the stranger's movements, some apologetic reticence that suggested that he regretted finding himself in this cell as much as Mikhailov himself.

"Mister Mikhailov. My name is Steve Radcliffe. I'm a Supervisory Special Agent with the FBI." Radcliffe produced his credentials, and held them out at a polite distance so that Mikhailov could inspect them. "You can call me Steve, if you like. I'm here to bring you up to speed on what's going on here."

Radcliffe tucked his ID back into his blazer. "As a permanent resident, you are being detained under Section 412 of the Patriot Act. That gives us seven days to charge you rather than three. You do have the right to legal counsel, though your attorney won't be allowed to file for habeas corpus until those seven days are up." Radcliffe scratched his jaw. "I understand that you were told that your Miranda Rights have been suspended. I'm now in charge of your case, and I say otherwise. You don't have to answer any questions unless you want to do so."

The agent opened his briefcase and took out a manila file. "I am a great believer in transparency, Mister Mikhailov." Radcliffe looked at the prisoner over the frames of his glasses for just long enough to convey the threat hidden in those words. "So let me be transparent with you. Here is what I know. You are a powerful Theurgist of the Watchtower of the Golden Key." Radcliffe neatly placed a photograph of Mikhailov's lightning at the Coven of Purple Hearts on the bed next to the Russian. "But the vitae of a Cainite flows in your veins, which probably makes you a thrall." A printout of Mikhailov's blood sample joined the photograph. "At three in the morning, you show up at a strip club with a minor packing a sword and some impressive skills. Then some kind of changeling joins you - my guess is an ogre - and the three of you slaughter a bunch of Cainites and ghouls. And finally you leave without taking anything." A series of security-camera stills settled into the mattress.

Radcliffe's grey eyes studied Mikhailov carefully from behind his glasses. "Here is what this tells me, Mister Mikhailov. You are in trouble. The identity that has kept you safe for twenty years is in meltdown. You are helplessly in love with a creature that regards you as nothing but a weapon. You are in freefall, and the cruelest thing I could do to you right now is just to let you go. Out there on the street, you'll be dead in two weeks. And despite that Obrimos arrogance, I think you know it, too."

"So here is what I would like: I would like you to be as transparent as me as I have been with you." Radcliffe leaned forward. "And while I can make that happen without your conscious consent, I would much rather work with you on this. I am not asking you to betray anyone's trust, or to turn on anyone you care about. I am just asking to hear your story from your point of view, and to understand how you came to this point." The agent inclined his head. "Does that seem reasonable?"

Mikhailov sat in his prison for what felt like hours. With the cuffs on his wrists, he felt as though he was disconnected from himself. His Magic, his identity, had been pulled away from him-he did not know whether or not he could call himself by his own name without his Magic. As he sat on his bed, his eyes closed, he wondered how he would ever escape. Even just getting the cuffs off his wrists would grant him all of the freedom he would need, in this situation. How desperate...to feel that the only way I can feel at-peace is with a hallucination with whom I can speak... he thought. He had never felt quite so tired in his life.

At some point during his monotonous, silent slumber in the prison, someone unlocked the door and entered to see him. Mikhailov opened his eyes and blinked, his expression cold and blank as the newcomer sat across from him. Of course, another FBI agent. Yet this one seemed to carry himself differently from the other VASCU agents he had seen. He was a rugged-looking man with patient, honest eyes and a frumpy outfit, that of a man who did not even think to buy new clothes with his hard-earned pay. In any other situation, Mikhailov would almost find his nature charming, amusing even, but he recalled that this man currently was dominant over his situation. He had to cooperate with him, as good men-unlike the likes of Andersen and her ilk-did not delay in punishment when they saw punishment as fit.

He allowed the man to speak, and was internally grateful that he was being allowed his Miranda Rights. Radcliffe was indeed a law-abiding man, one who did not see the law as simply a cudgel to swing at others when he wanted to show his power. Mikhailov gave the slightest of smiles, a weak sign of respect, but a sign nonetheless. His smile disappeared, however, when the agent began to tell him what he knew. He knew quite a lot, as well. He even knew his feelings for Silvanus. When he spoke of Mikhailov’s love for Silvanus, something in the Mage’s eyes changed. He had kept steady eye-contact with Radcliffe, and his pupils dilated just slightly. A sign that he was thinking about his feelings. The most shocking realization in the entire encounter was that Mikhailov had accepted his feelings, and allowed them to play in his mind, to warm him like a tiny, crackling fire. He had to be honest, for Silvanus’s and for Alexei’s sakes.

“...Let me, if I may, correct you on one detail. My companion, the one with whom I went into the Coven, is not a minor. He is an adult, like myself. I do not know if you wish to know his name, but...” He could almost feel his lips become numb from the words he would speak next. “...I need your help, on his behalf, more than my own. He is in a darker place than myself, being kept as a bird in a cage by...people more powerful than himself. You see, only a few days ago, my friend was an Inquisitor. A member of the Society of Leopold. He is...a much more faithful and kind young man than myself...” He recalled the image he had from his dream of Alexei holding an umbrella for him, and the gentle gaze he gave him in his apartment when he embraced him. How he had felt the strange warmth wrapping around him in a vicegrip, when Alexei vowed to make him happy to see him one day. A battle Mikhailov now knew he would win. “...And he was thrown from his position, despite being a faithful, humble soldier for God, who wanted nothing in his life for himself. The men who threw him away are...manipulative, vicious, and selfish men, much like myself unfortunately.” He chuckled at his own self-incrimination, knowing it might not help him, but knowing also that honesty was his best tool at this point.

“...Given how lost he felt, I decided...to aid him in getting back into the Inquisition. All of my attempts failed, as...the Inquisition believed that I was corrupting my companion, and they stated, I quote, that I was his ‘pet’. I do not believe...I have corrupted him as much as he has...awakened something in me...I am in prison now because I gave my freedom, and risked my position with...someone who you are right in saying...that I love...” Even breathing his declaration of love felt strange. The words had such an odd, bittersweet feeling on his tongue, like cyanide.

He leaned back against the wall, his eyes flickering to the images on his bed before he spoke to Radcliffe again. “...Now...I imagine there are particulars that you want. Given I am...not in a position to do otherwise...I am an open book. Read my mind. Ask me what you wish to know...I only wish...to keep them safe...” He spoke the last words at a whisper, one full of an alien passion, as though he was possessed by some being with more love in their heart than he. How bitter the taste of helplessness in the face of a just man, who could just as easily throw him aside in disgust as well as he could help him. Yet for some reason, he found himself trusting Radcliffe’s good nature, almost as much as he would trust Alexei’s good nature.

[Reverend Norv]

Radcliffe listened quietly as Mikhailov spoke. He had a large leather legal portfolio open on his knees, more like a lawyer's ledger than a cop's notebook, and he took detailed notes in a spidery hand. Behind their glasses, those grey eyes were attentive; when Mikhailov's pupils dilated at Radcliffe's description of Silvanus, recognition flickered in the FBI agent's gaze. When Mikhailov spoke of Alexei's exile and captivity, Radcliffe's lips made a thin, grim line as he nodded. And when Mikhailov spoke of his own manipulative nature, and of his desire to protect those he loved, Radcliffe looked up from his portfolio and studied the mage for a long moment before he offered a single, decisive nod.

"All right," the agent said quietly. He tucked his portfolio back into his briefcase. "This won't hurt. Just...think of it like putting eyedrops in. It's strange because you're not used to it, not because it's actually uncomfortable." Radcliffe gently touched Mikhailov's hands, just below the cuffs on his wrists. Despite the agent's frumpy clothes and thick glasses, Mikhailov could feel callouses on the side of Radcliffe's middle finger and at the base of his ring and pinky fingers: shooter's callouses, from countless hours spent at the range with a handgun. Radcliffe took off his glasses and tucked them into his tweed blazer. "Breathe," he said softly.

It was a very different experience from Mikhailov's interrogation by Andersen. Radcliffe did not invade the mage's mind; it was more like he was photographing it. Mikhailov could feel a vague presence, guarded and private, almost apologetic at its intrusion, moving around the periphery of his consciousness and brushing over the surfaces of his thoughts and memories: scanning everything with amazing speed, as if Mikhailov's psyche were being professionally Xeroxed.

It all took less than thirty seconds. Radcliffe's eyes flickered open again. He took his hands off Mikhailov's, and touched his fingers to his forehead, as if he were slightly dizzy. The agent let out a dry, subdued cough, like a man trying to work out something stuck in his throat. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his mouth before he finally spoke. "I see." Radcliffe nodded with immense weariness. "I see. Alexei..." The agent scratched his jaw. "I don't know how much I can do for him. He's a long way away, and outside my jurisdiction. But I intend to find out what's possible in that regard, and what I can do, I will."

Radcliffe stood, and tucked his photographs and portfolio back into his battered briefcase. "First, though, I need to have a talk with Silvanus. And I'd like your help to do it." There was deep sympathy in Radcliffe's gaze when he looked back at Mikhailov: the sort of sympathy that was possible only after having seen the world literally through the mage's eyes. "I know - why Silvanus is important to you. But I have a job to do. If I break down the front door with a SWAT team, a lot of people will end up dead: likely including me, likely including Silvanus. But if you help us to get in without alerting any guards or tripping any alarms, there's a much better chance that everyone - including Silvanus - will be able to walk away from this alive." Radcliffe smiled sadly, humorlessly. "This is happening, Mister Mikhailov. All you have to decide is how many people need to die in the process."

[Luminesa]

Mikhailov watched Radcliffe’s face, as he told him his side of the story. He had a calm, studious expression, by-the-book, as though he had performed this sort of interrogation many times. Yet he showed a quiet interest in everything the Mage said. He wrote every word Mikhailov spoke, though occasionally he stared back at the Mage and seemed to give him a look of understanding. He showed no duplicity or cruelty, and when Mikhailov finished speaking, Radcliffe gave him a long, thoughtful gaze. Echoes of a dangerous, sorrowful life pulsed behind his eyes, showing in various shades of grey like a silent movie. ...He has given his life to this job...His body and soul, all his hopes and dreams...all the love in his heart...He sees nothing outside of this job...What a melancholy life...

The VASCU agent’s calloused hands reached for his wrists, and Mikhailov felt the aching, battle-worn fingers. Heard the soft, gentle command to breathe. The agent was going to read his mind, as he expected, but he did not force himself into Mikhailov’s psyche. The Mage felt no pain. Rather, he felt a soft, ghost-like presence within his soul, as Radcliffe tried to feel what he felt. He did not wish to torture the Mage, but to understand him. To understand his feelings. As Radcliffe wandered in a flash through his soul, he felt the complexities of his heart, He saw to the core of the Mage, and Mikhailov felt naked, though in a different way. ...He is looking into my mind...and yet...I do not feel so violated...I feel...free... He had never trusted a foreign agent. As a former KGB member, he had hated American agents and had guarded his identity, his secrets, with his life. Now, he felt that he could release his heart to a total stranger.

Radcliffe saw trillions of tiny clips from Mikhailov’s mind, including his dreams, his visions, and his desires. He would not be able to absorb all of this information, but the Mage’s mind opened to allow Radcliffe to see and to feel certain memories. He saw Mikhailov in his lab, with his mysterious companion ‘Rabbit’-a companion Radcliffe would not know except through the similar appearance he had to Silvanus. Seeing through the Mage’s eyes, Radcliffe would feel Mikhailov approaching his silver-haired, black-cloaked assistant...and the assistant mentioned some strange numbers. Strange, Magic-related statistics related to unusual creatures. He had a personality similar to Radcliffe-gentle, soft-spoken, but he was far more timid and shy. He would feel the electric chill of ecstasy creep across the Mage’s-for now, Radcliffe’s own-skin, as he moved closer to the being, and began to speak. “...Good...good...you are always so reliable...” he whispered to ‘Rabbit’, “...I can always trust you...”

“...Of course...that is why...I wish to...!” ‘Rabbit’ gasped as Mikhailov took his arms and pulled him close. Hip-to-hip, wrist-to-wrist, and the Mage gave a peculiar, hypnotic smile. The assistant could not see the smile, but he could feel the heat radiating, the intensity of the gaze on him. “...Doctor?...”

“...Shhhhh....I wanted to show you...how much I appreciate you...I do not show it enough...” the Mage whispered, causing for the assistant to only blush brighter. “...Now...tell me...what do you feel?...”

‘Rabbit’ gave him a long, sightless stare. He took a deep breath, but words did not come from his mouth. He only gave an endearing, adoring, and submissive gaze in return, hoping that the Mage would never abandon him. “...I...”

“...You don’t have to speak, if you do not know what to say...I understand...” Mikhailov leaned his head close to his assistant’s forehead, and breathed something in Russian, something ‘Rabbit’ would not comprehend. A phrase spoken with deep, desperate longing and pain, with deep, twisted desire, and yet also with a shiver of hope. He stood like this with his assistant-and in the present, his lost and most painful memory-for what seemed like an eternity. Radcliffe would feel every moment, all in the span of about thirty seconds. A Mage, a genius, a wicked scientist, who clung to the darkness seeking a cure for a longing that cut deep through his heart.

Oh Mikhailov, you do not value your secrets as you once did...Perhaps you know that the inevitable is coming...You will lose something of great value to you...no matter what you say or do...but it must not be Silvanus or Alexei... Mikhailov continued to gaze with intent at Radcliffe, as the agent finished his mind-scan. He looked as though the procedure had exhausted him, but he remained intact. His eyes radiated with something else as well, deep compassion for the Mage. He told him that he knew his feelings, and the Mage did not argue. He knew what vision the agent had seen. Yet he became worried when he heard that Alexei was far away. Alexei...he’s not in Los Angeles? Is that what he’s saying?!...Then where is he?! He wanted answers, but knew those would not come now. Now, Radcliffe made an offer that was a bullet to Mikhailov’s heart.

...No...I would be...betraying Silvanus...He would never forgive me...I would never be able to return... Fury rolled through his eyes like thunder, but he looked into Radcliffe’s eyes and saw mercy, rather than hatred. He knew that even if he helped the man to find a safe way into the funeral home, he would be either killed or turned into some sort of an experiment. Had Andersen asked, Mikhailov would be more than happy to lead her into the lion’s den, to her death. Yet this kind, humble agent, even with all his experience and hidden toughness, would be an appetizer for the Malkavian Primogen. No...when have I ever had a conscience...When have I ever...desired for another to survive, despite myself?...What has he...what has Alexei done with me?! He chose to gamble on an answer from his interrogator. “...I have a single condition, but first...What do you wish for me to do?...How do you wish for me to...actually go through such a chore, while many of your fellow agents want to simply burn the place to the ground?” he inquired.

[Imperialisium]

Anna's Residence
Prince's Private Chambers

The Prince sat in her cushioned, soft, velvet armchair looking at the crackle of a small fire as it cast a glow in her electric green eyes. In her left hand was a goblet of crimson liquid that held a coppery tint. She gently stirred it by tilting the cup in a series of circular motions before, sparingly, raising it to her lips to take a sip. The door to her private chambers creaked open. It was the head of Brutus peeking through somewhat humorously given his bulk. "Jonah and the Fledgling have just left in his car. Presumably to get her settled at his abode, mum." As he finished speaking in his granite, tumultuous, voice there was a small series of chimes. Pleasant and soft. That emanated from a nearby bureau. Brutus looked at his master with a concerned look. The gentle notes, a melodic lullaby, carried through the air. "The Gargoyles and you, along with all non-essential personnel are to pack everything of value and leave here for Vaeghorod." Anna looked at Brutus with a sincere smile, "We shall return here in force when the winds are in our favor..."

"Yes, mum." replied Brutus with a solemn tone. Anna got up and walked gracefully to the bureau where the gentle notes were emanating from. Drawing the drawer open there was a small music box. Opening the lid a small ballerina popped out to mechanically dance to the tune. "You were always the persistent one, Maxwell."

Outside Anna's Residence

Augustine Maxwell held a small porcelain locket in his hand, a silver wire necklace dangling onto his coat, playing gentle musical notes. A picture of a woman in Victorian era fashion was in the black and white picture. She was beautiful with raven black hair and eyes even though they are black due to the limitations of the picture's ink could be perceived as bright. In her hand clasped at her chest was a small music box. A wrap came on the vehicle window, for he had been sitting in the front passenger seat, stowing the musical box quickly he opened the door. "All units are in position, sir." said the younger, heavily armed and equipped man standing by the door. "We also have concluded that the Mansions grounds are encapsulated in some form of witchcraft to appear normal no matter what occurs on the ground."

"Good. We move in now," said Maxwell taking out a Desert Eagle pistol and pulling back the hammer. A cane in his other hand as he moved across the street. A Lance formed up on him with Hideyoshi and Manning moving in with another Lance team from the woods. From all sides in a gradually forming and enclosing circle, the forces of the Vatican's Inquisition moved in. The Society of Leopold had deployed no less than fifty personnel for this operation.

Inside the Mansion
The Mansion was a flurry of activity as servants, maids, and Gargoyle alike hefted chests, crates, trunks, and bags of material through shimmering, frosty, gates that teleported one directly to a courtyard in Vaeghorod. The whole process was very quick and this was mirrored in the Tremere Chantry a short distance away from the Mansion as the Tremere vampires there moved all essential material and articles of knowledge quickly and expertly to Vaeghorod by means of their own blood magic. All the while human, ghoul, and vampire security personnel readied weapons and began to take up positions around the mansion.

John slammed a magazine into place on an AR-15, a pair of pistols on his belt, and a shotgun slung on his back. Racking the slide he moved to take up a position in the library. While Medorna watched the camera feeds, flicking through infrared, thermal, and ultraviolet spectrums. He spoke into his comm bead, "Sniper team 1 you have a squad moving in directly in front of you. 600 meters. They just crossed the perimeter." The snap of a bolt action M82 sniper rifle cracked and Medorna watched one of the Papists drop like a ton of bricks. Incoming shots came in disciplined bursts, back from the Inquisitorial forces. Shattering windows and peppering the walls of the mansion. On the opposite side of the mansion, a second sniper team let out three well-placed shots. John peered through the red-dot sight of his AR-15 at the windows as two platoons worth of gunfire erupted around him between the Inquisition and Camarilla forces. Ripping up the gardens and flower beds. Smoke was popped off to the South and John heard the distinctive jumble of a flashbang come through a window. John looked away as the flash went off but his ears rang with the force of a hundred bells.

Looking back through the scope he shifted to the left and let out a three round burst. Catching a Papist soldier clambering through the window, two in the kevlar vest and one through the neck. The man toppled onto the wooden ground. Moving with well practiced speed John maneuvered around to get a better view of his surroundings. Speaking into his comm, "Medorna, anything on camera for the library?"

"Got two moving to flank you from the North. They've pushed along most of the grounds. Team 4 and 8 are all dead. Team 7 cant move in the galleries near you due to some submachinegun fire from the backyard pool area. Team 5 is flanking in along the hall way to assist you."

John peered through the windows to the pool area. Sure enough, an MG3 was rattling off, "Thats not an SMG Medorna..." sighed John as he lifted up his assault rifle and toggled to single shot. John fired.

Outside the Residence

Hideyoshi was crouched behind a hedge as bullets whizzed over his heads and crunched through the branches around him. Flicking up puffs of dirt. Beside him a MG3 equipped soldier was laying down some impressive suppression. Hosing left to right and back. Pinning down a Camarilla fireteam as his compatriots moved closer with frags. Hideyoshi touched his shoulder, "Wa--." The man's cheek exploded in a shower of gore as a 5.56 round tore through is face. The machinegunner crumpled onto his side. Manning crashed next to him, "There's a guy in the Library. Killed one of us..."Manning noticed the dead Machinegunner. "Yeah..." growled Hideyoshi as he dashed and rolled from his cover to a nearby stone trim near the pool just tall enough to hide him. A couple rounds from the library missed him by a hair. Manning grimaced and peered through the hedge as he hefted his FAL "G" and popped off several rounds at the library. Causing a man with black hair to duck and move behind cover. Manning dashed over the hedge and vaulted an overturned chair to join the Inquisition soldiers standing beside the mansion outer wall. Hideyoshi was making his way via crawling along the trim to take up position on the other side.

Boom.

Dust and grit exploded out from the mansion as the grenades tossed moments before went off. Screams came from inside as the Papal soldiers moved in to expertly clear the room. A pair of figures sprinted away from them into a hallway. The team moved into the Mansion proper and as the last soldier in front of Hideyoshi stepped through a shotgun blast flung the man off his feet onto the ground several feet away. A raven haired man slammed Manning to the ground and grappled with Hideyoshi. The duo struggling back into the library and over a balcony. Manning groggily, shakily got to his feet as another explosion shook the hallway. Then a second ending in part of the wall exploding outwards in a shower of splinters. Another Papal team stormed through. The mansion was being breached in multiple areas.

Moving swiftly through the broken front doorway of the Mansion and down the central hall, Maxwell felt the crunch of his boots on the debris. A ghoul appeared on the top landing and Maxwell took aim and fired two rounds. The ghoul crashed against the wall to his back and sled to the ground. Leaving a trail of blood as he descended slowly. Behind Maxwell and moving in around him more Society of Leopold Lance teams moved in down the hallways and into adjacent galleries. It was not long before they found the sealed entrance that led to the lower levels.

Medorna

Medorna typed quickly in the security suite as he saw on the cameras, the ones still operating, that the Papal soldiers were overruning the surface defenses. But at a heavy cost of Catholic lives. He spoke feverishly into the comms calling for a general retreat to the lower levels. Team 7 entered and Team 5 moved in while Team 1 and 9 managed to break through to the Teams operating from the Tremere Chantry. A minute after the last team member from Team 5 entered he saw Maxwell enter the front foyer. Followed by a pair of Papal soldiers putting C4 on the door way. Medorna's eyes went wide as he slammed his chair back and got up to rush out. The C4 detonated behind him sending him flying through the air and onto the ground. He rushed to get up. Six hot pangs struck him and he gasped. Blood came from his mouth as he felt his energy literally drain out of him into a pool of blood. All he could think about was his family, that did not know what he truly did for work, only that he made a good salary and that what would become of them. He spat and tried to crawl. Only to finally expire a few seconds later as the light left his eyes.

The first Papal soldiers moved down the hallway with weapons raised. Then the lights went out. Casting the hallway into gloom. The soldiers switched on night vision goggles and proceeded with more falling in behind them. Moving quickly to check side rooms and found a stair case. The Elevator obviously being a death trap. The first squad moved down the stairs fast, weapons trained below them, as they moved onto the next floor. Moving into the corridor the area was pitch black. The second team moved into the stairwell. Making it hallway down when the comms was lit up by frantic screams, the sounds of several assault rifle magazines emptying, and cries for help followed by gurgled death throws.

The second squad, with the third squad following close behind, cautiously entered the second floor to see, through green tinted NV goggles, the carnage and literal body parts of their compatriots strewn along the corridor. A glint of multiple pairs of eyes and fangs. Vampires. The snarls of the vampires were met by shouts of, "DEUS VULT!," and, "FUR GOTT!" The pitch black darkness was lit up by the muzzle flashes of the Papal soldiers as they stormed forward to meet their dark foes. Behind them the fourth squad moved down the stair way to take the fight onto the third sub-level.

The Inquisitorial fourth squad moved down the third sub-level cautiously. The sounds of gunfire, roars of anger, and thuds of battle above them. They moved slowly until something shadowy appeared before them. Their NV goggles shut off on their own. A soldier quickly snapped a red flare and dropped it before them to provide light.

Before them stood a woman with raven black hair and electric green eyes that glowed in the dark. The soldiers raised their weapons. The woman shifted her right hand, a glint of steel, then the blaze of eldritch blue-purple flame along its blade.

"Open fire!" Shouted one of the soldiers and they all let loose with their weapons. The woman swung the blade quickly, so fast that the soldiers eye's barely registered the after images, blocking several bullets as she gracefully stalked towards them. She through her blade. Or rather the soldiers saw the after image of her throw followed by the blade exploding through the back of the lead soldier's kevlar vest. The purple-blue flame literally causing his body to catch fire as he screamed in utter agony. The blade ripped itself out of the man of its own accord ad swung itself. Decapitating another in a fountain of blood. All the while the woman stalked closer. Reaching out the blade flew back to her as she made a clenching motion with her other fist. A third soldier clutched his chest as his heart literally was crushed into a pulp. Blood spurt from his mouth as he fell. A fourth frantically emptied his magazine and moved to draw his side arm. The woman blurred. Slice. Two halves of the fourth man crumpled into two disgusting heaps. The woman was among them properly now. She swung and slashed. Her actions so quick the soldiers could barely react, barely even keep up with her movements, as she moved among them. Leaving gory chunks of human flesh behind her. The last few soldiers turned to run but found the stairwell door suddenly closed. Unable to be opened as they screamed for aid. For God. For all the Angels above. Sure enough some soldiers from the top floor hearing this began to come down. Only to see a flaming blade punch through the man's torso and doorframe. The blade disappeared but the doorway exploded outwards to reveal the raven haired woman who let out a thin smile. Flicking her wrist a soldier's neck snapped and another fell to the floor with sizzling blood pouring out of his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears.

Anna moved up the stairs calmly.

John

John kicked Hideyoshi away from him as they fell to the library floor. Immediately, Hideyoshi dove on John and the two exchanged complex moves of grapple, block, break, and savage punches interspersed with quick heel strikes. Their skills in physical combat evidently matched but no less lethal to each other. Hideyoshi pulled his Katana. John pulled a pistol and shot. Hideyoshi's quick movement saving the man as he swung low. John rolled back out of the way of the blade. Bringing his arm up it caught the blade in a burst of sparks. Batting his aim away as it barked from his reflex pull of the trigger.

John punched in a wide swing. Striking Hideyoshi's arm and he swung around to bring his blade in a wide upper cut. John ducked and kicked. Catching Hideyoshi in the chest. Knocking the Japanese man over a couch, but like John, the Papal soldier rolled up to a crouch. John's pistol barked twice. Both rounds catching Hideyoshi in the chest. The Japanese man fell to the floor. John moved up to finish him.

Bang

John looked down to see his white dress shirt turning crimson red. He had been shot from under his kevlar vest that he had worn under his suit jacket. Looking back he saw a young man holding a pistol and crouched behind a hallway door. John moved to bring his gun around but the young man's pistol flashed three more times. Sending John stumbling backwards and out a shattered window frame into the last rays of the Sun as dusk turned to night. John felt the warmth of the grass crunch under him. Heard the young man's voice as he rushed to Hideyoshi's side. Heard the Japanese man say he was alright and that John's bullets had been stopped by his own vest. John turned onto his stomach and began to crawl away into the bushes. The din of battle to his back as the fighting entered the later stages of the battle.

Maxwell

Maxwell stood in the foyer as a soldier rushed out from the secret hallway to Maxwell. "She's coming. The men on the sub levels are cut off, she's almost to the main floor here." Augustine looked behind him across the destroyed gardens and lawn as an armored truck pulled up. The familiar face of Arquart and a whole platoon of reinforcements behind him. Off to the right Hideyoshi and Manning stumbled into view.

"Have faith." said Augustine as Arquart joined him and they moved forward. Only to stop. The raven haired woman stepped through what was the security door. As the last vestiges of Sunlight fell away behind the waves of the Pacific.

Arquart, geared up like the rest of the Papal forces, raised his M4 assault rifle at Anna. Anna's flaming sword went out and disappeared in a shimmer.

"Maxwell. I take it you have not come back to me?" said Anna with a devilish grin. Arquart looked confused. "They don't know do they..."

"Shut up, Witch! Harlot! Demonspawn!" spat Maxwell. Anna cocked and eye brow and rolled her jaw into a half, playful, smile, "Come now, is that a way to speak to me, after all we've been through. All we've done together. I sav--."

"You didn't save anyone! You took them from me! Cursed me!" snarled Maxwell with tears down his face as he pulled up his pistol and fired. The round struck Anna in the stomach but merely dropped to the floor. Her Vampiric strength was still strong.

"Oh come on, Augustine, your children were dying, your wife already buried, you asked me to save them and I did." Those last two words carried a tint of frustration. Augustine let out more tears rolling down his cheek as he fired round after round. All bouncing off her as she slowly moved forward.

It was then that Arquart shouted for the men to fire and they let loose. The bullets struck Anna in several places. Then a few more actually managed to puncture her skin. She raised a hand and a shockwave flung them all onto their feet. Arquart ran forward with a wooden stake and bellowing litanies. She grabbed him by the arm bearing the stake, turned side ways, swung him to the ground and pulled. Ripping Arquart's arm out of its socket with a sickening tearing of flesh. Arquart's scream went shrill. "Your faith is not strong. Power can do that to a man." sneered Anna as she swung his arm like a bat. Bashing another charging soldier to the ground with it.

Maxwell looked on as he craned his neck. His old age catching up with him as he felt a few broken ribs in his body. Gasping for air, which panged him with an inner fire, he moved to slowly get up. Lifting his face up he came to look into Anna's eyes. Inches away from his. Her soft, blood covered hand, touching his weathered face. "You were so handsome once." said Anna almost in sadness. "I..hate you." Those words caused Anna's eyes to widen as she frowned in anger. "Then I will have what is mine!" Maxwell's mouth gaped open in shock as Anna literally punched into his chest and tore out his heart. Still beating in her hand. She turned slowly with a smile on her lips. Until her lips too parted in shock. Out from her chest erupted a stake. She fell to her knees still clutching the heart as Maxwell slowly slumped to the ground. Dying with a smile on his face and from his chest, whether by coincidence or heavenly design, the notes of the locket began to sing once more.

From the mansion, Manning let out a cry at seeing Maxwell fall as he helped a battered Hideyoshi. The reinforcements merely watched and moved on. Manning let out a cry, "Help him what are you doing!" A soldier moved past them both. Manning moved to grab his arm. The soldier drew a pistol and fired into Manning's skull. The back of the young man's skull bursting in a shower of brains and skull fragments.

"No!" shouted Hideyoshi as he brought up his katana. But the soldier was quicker. Shooting Hideyoshi point blank in the neck. It was then that the soldier unbuckled his helmet and tossed it aside and pulled out a simple trac phone. "Lord Houghton. It's Murietta. We'll kill the rest of the Papal troops here and anyone else of the Camarilla we find. Should we burn it all to the ground? I'd really love to burn it all to the fucking ground."

"Do as you please. But, don't touch her until I arrive." came the reply on the other line. Murietta grunted in affirmative and flipped the phone shut. Looking back at the soldiers he shouted, "Come on ye Pentex boys. We got some vampires and holy men to kill!" The soldiers followed Murietta into the mansion.

Nikolai Samerikov

Nikolai had been in the sub-level fighting the Papal squads that had moved onto the second sub-level and moved up to the first when those had been all killed. Then onto the main floor once those were done. But at great cost. Most of the Camarilla vampires with him were slain or grievously wounded and moved to flee out through the sub-level passage that led to the Tremere Chantry. Nikolai and some others, however, moved up to find Murietta and the Pentex soldiers dressed in the Papal soldiers garb to be there moving to secure the area. Immediately, Nikolai and the vampires leaped to action with a guttural cry. At least, Nikolai started too until he saw Anna's slouched form and a stake through her heart. His eyes red with rage he flung himself forward. Ripping a Pentex soldier's head off before mauling another. Bullets whizzed by him striking debris, walls, and the floor. He dove, rolled, and moved up through a window as the vampires and Pentex soldiers fought throughout the ruined Mansion.

Nikolai's goal, however, was to that of his Master. He ducked, weaved, rolled, and clawed his way forward until he felt Anna's weight in his hands as he hauled her up. A pool of vitae had grown around her. Her face seemed so lifeless, even more so, and she was like a ragdoll in his arms as he began to haul her away.

"Where do you think you're going." came a voice from the mansion steps. The din of battle behind the silhouetted man.

"Who the fuck are you?" said Nikolai.

"Joaquin Murietta and I'm going to kill you." said the man matter of factly.

"Yeah, about that." As Nikolai spoke he formed a rune on Anna's neck with his own blood and muttered a few phrases. Murietta began to sprint with inhuman speed towards them. Just as he was about to land a blow with a savage serrated looking knife the two vanished. Murietta let out a cry of anger and rage. Barely registering the explosion behind him as a fuel tank in the Mansion's boiler room exploded from the fighting. A stray bullet no doubt.

Reynolds

Reynolds had been chained up, bruised, battered, with numerous cuts and lacerations along his body when the battle began. Eventually, he was able to hear the cries and gunfire. Footsteps pounding past his door in both directions. More gunfire and the sounds of brutal hand to hand combat. He kept quiet. For he didn't know what side was winning or who was even fighting. At least until an explosion nearby tored through the wall and his chains fell to the floor as he hit the cement. Looking back his chains were severed leaving only the cufflinks and about a foot of chain still connected. Better yet there was now a nice hole in the wall to escape form. Reynolds moved through the hole in the wall and came up to see carnage and ruin along the ground floor. Bodies in almost every room and blood splattered along the walls. Reynolds ran into the backyard and vaulted over a hedge to land into a pool of blood that then turned into a trail heading off into the woods away from the fighting. Reynolds paid no attention and ran as fast as he could into the early night of Los Angeles.



Kai

"The Gangrel are what?" spoke Kai as he was one of the last to leave the Chantry. The fire of the burning and destroyed Mansion in the foreground out the window. No doubt the enemy would be coming here next and the Chantry personnel had already evacuated. The phone he held carried a frantic voice of a Tremere vampire else ware in the city stating that the Gangrel had seized several Tremere properties and that the LA Gangrel were leaving the Camarilla. An explosion in the distance, from the mansion, caused Kai to hang up the phone. Grab some ledgers strewn with notes and hurry down a corridor and through a shimmering, frosty, portal to Vaeghorod.

At least he was until something caught his eye. Zapping into view was Nikolai, dragging Anna, towards the chantry. Squinting into the distance Kai could see several figures emerge from the ruined Mansion heading in their general direction. "Shit." Kai turned towards the portal.

Nikolai

Nikolai dragged Anna's body towards the chantry as fast as he could. He was weak, battered, with multiple injuries from the fighting. His own vitae coming in drops onto the grass as he dragged Anna. Her vitae largely spent, she was almost dry, as she left a wide path of blood behind her dragging feet. Nikolai looked in the distance as he saw figures racing towards him from the Mansion. Pentex soldiers and the shouting voice of Murietta.

A strong grip grasped him from the back. Nikolai swung his fist, only to freeze an inch away from smashing Kai's nose in. "Go to Vaeghorod. You don't have the strength to get her away. I do. Go! Go!" Nikolai looked back at Anna, then Kai, then to his master again, "I'll get back to you as soon as I can." said Nikolai to Anna even though he was unsure if she could even hear him. Nikolai handed her off to Kai as the Russian vampire raced into the chantry and away from danger. Kai, looked on and hefted Anna up. For he was still fresh and muttered several phrases as he ran to the SUV left there by the side of the Chantry. A small dirt path led off into the woods. Moving to the back of the SUV Kai opened the hatchback and there lay a coffin. Identical to the one Anna had arrived back into LA in. Flipping the led open looked at her and grasped the stake. Wrenching it out of her before gently but quickly laying her inside the coffin. To be honest he did not know the proper spell to teleport them away and with Nikolai dragging her so slow due to his own severe Vitae loss they would have been overcome by Murietta and the Pentex soldiers. Shutting the led and getting into the driver's seat he brought the engine to life with a set of keys and slammed on the gas. A bullet whizzed by his side view mirror. The Pentex soldiers had rounded the Chantry corners and were storming inside.

Kai drove as fast he could. Crashing through an old wooden gate and onto a dirt road further into the foothills of the Mountains and Hills to the North of Los Angeles.

Kai

Kai checked the clock. He'd been driving for about twenty minutes when he finally wound his way to a gravel road. They were deep into the foothills and passing by a lake. Driving slowly along the path he looked to try and get his bearings. The roar of an engine suddenly appeared behind him and he jolted in his seat as a black armored truck smashed into the back of the SUV. Tearing the hatchback off and causing the SUV to roll into the lake. Anna's coffin was spun out by the sheer force of the hit and splashed into the lake. Bubbling as it sank beneath the disturbed surface. Kai frantically unbuckled himself and swam up to the surface. Shots rang out. Kai dove and made his way to the coffin sinking into the watery depths. He grasped it. Something splashed from shore. Kai panicked and let go of the coffin as it sank into the pitch blackness.

Kai would surface on the opposite end of the lake and fled into the forest.

[Luminesa]

Alexei began to flip through one of the many books he had found in the library, when he began to hear a cacophony or panicked noises from downstairs. New voices, adding chaos to the steady rhythm of activity in Vaeghorod. He listened to the hectic footsteps and shouts below, curious as to the source of the sudden fright. Is Anna coming?... The thought crossed his mind, and he himself began to feel a different sort of panic. His heart beat painfully in his chest. He had only just begun to explore his surroundings, and now he felt as though he was soon to be cornered...

Until he was not.

The noises of the gargoyles and servants grew loud and panicked downstairs, but at some point in the midst of the madness, he felt the forces of a great battle collide in his heart. Death, eternal separation from the physical realm, cut through his chest like a hot knife through his veins. At the same stroke, death cut through his blood bond’s chains, causing Alexei to feel a wave of release fall over him. His body felt as though it was his own once again, even if he could still feel the pulsation of Anna’s blood in his veins. At this moment, he looked-up from reading his book, and he dropped to his knees. He was free. Somehow, he was free. His body felt the weight of a thousand years of pain and heartache falling off his shoulders like a heavy cloak. All of his aching for Anna dissipated. He could feel a clarity he had not felt in what seemed like an eternity, even though he had only been blood-bound for about a week. Yet at the same time, he felt a different wave of pain, the same heartbreak he felt when he knew that Veronica had blood-bound him, moments before he killed her. Once again, the thrill was gone.

So now, he needed to escape. With the proverbial chains broken off his body, he had to head back to Los Angeles. He had mysteries to solve, he had to find Mikhailov and Silvanus and to decide how he would carry forward. He needed to see Maxwell, to get questions answered, and if not him, then someone. Anyone. Alexei moved through the library slowly, without giving a look or a glance to anyone. He held the book up to his nose, continuing to read while also looking for an exit. He found a window, and looked into the courtyard below. He had suffered worse falls, but he was the only person in the library for now.

Anyone who approached him at all would feel the stinging power of Faith, and some would even be suffocated by this power if they drew close enough. Closing his eyes, he recalled himself flying through the sky with his light-fueled wings, as he fought Mikhailov. Recalling this attempt, he trusted God and took an insane chance. Dropping the book, he ran to the window, lowered his shoulder the way a linebacker might, and glass exploded around him. Before he could shoot toward the ground, before he could break into a pile of bones, his wings emerged. For the first time in what seemed like months, his Faith had prevailed...

[Fascist Republic Of Bermuda]

“This is insane,” Higgins repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, pacing back and forth, “There’s supernatural, Men-in-Black stuff that the FBI deals with, and I’m here from the Drug Enforcement Administration. Maybe the vampire-mage-witches will have a few ounces of coke on them or something, Jesus Christ…” he ran a hand through his hair.

Graves adjusted the straps on her ballistic vest, pulling on her cap. She chewed on the side of her cheek as she thought about it. What- exactly- were they going into? Something above her pay grade, definitely. But that never stopped her before. So why now? Perhaps it was the uncertainty of it all, perps with guns she could deal with, but now, with the revelation of the supernatural, that brought in an entirely new revelation. And the government was compromised, to boot.

It was like she was staring into an abyss, a rabbit hole that had no bottom, and if she kept going she could never live a normal life again. Well, when had that bothered her? She’d dedicated her life to her work, right? Her boyfriend, back in New York, before they had broken up, had accused her of never knowing when to turn off her brain from cop mode. She was getting an idea of what he meant now, thinking of the incomplete search warrant she’d been so desperate to write out based on wild speculation.

So here she stood, getting ready to throw herself into an entire new world, all based on her job. She took a breath. Well, if she wasn’t going to jump in, who would?

“Agent Graves, you’ll be needing these,” Sergeant Powell, LAPD, suddenly said from behind the FBI agent. She whirled around to see him holding… magazines for her USP. “Thanks, already got some,” She replied quickly. “No, you really need these specific mags,” the Sergeant practically shoved them into Graves’ hands. “Oh really now?” She raised an eyebrow, “They lucky or something?”

“Blessed.” Powell replied curtly.

“Excuse me?” Graves blinked.

“Er, that’s what the FBI guy who gave them to me said. He might have been poking fun at ne, you know, the city cop,” Powell said quickly, but Graves didn’t dwell on it. She took her USP from her holster and exchanged the mag, placing the normal magazine aside. She replaced the rest of her magazines with the ones Powell had given her. “These forty S-and-W?” Graves asked Powell, who nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” came the reply from the intrepid LAPD officer.

“And now, we just wait for that new VASCU guy to finish with his interrogation,” Graves sighed as she stuck her pistol back in her holster, “And then we can get to the bottom of this pile of shit.”

[Luminesa]

Maxwell had thought possibly that the end result of his death would be the sweet release of Heaven. However, Arcadia ever continued to stir above Los Angeles, and while Endymion himself could not reach into the realm below and take what he wanted, he knew that he could get what he wanted some other way. After all, Simone was getting away on one hand, and if he managed to escape Arcadia, then he would need a different student. A different...child. The Fae of Creation sat on his throne, staring calmly at the vicious battles below, noting that a Changeling was already among the chaos. However, he would serve as a challenge, given that he already knew the power and the effects of Arcadia on the body and soul. Yet as he looked below, he noted a mysterious drama of another sort.

A human Inquisitor and the ancient Prince were locked, for a few minutes, in a bloody dance. His eyes widened just a little, as he listened to their piercing words toward each other. They aimed to kill each other, one way or another, for the suffering one had inflicted on the other. What made their utter hatred of each other so fascinating for Endymion was the way their hatred had seemingly evolved from deep, intense, forbidden love. He saw the glitter in Anna's eyes, her soft movements as she whispers sweet nothings to Maxwell. He caught a glimpse of the locket Maxwell wore, and the tortured expression he wore as his face was inches from hers. Once upon a time, they had been closer than two grapes on a cluster of a vine. Now they had been crushed, and the wine of their sorrow was all that remained, a bittersweet scent in the air.

To Endymion, souls were like fireflies. If one waited at the right time, when the night had come, and the darkness revealed their vulnerable nature, he could find them and keep those souls for himself. He did not see this as evil. In his eyes, every lost soul needed a shelter, and every soul could be created into something new. He smiled as he watched Maxwell's soul fly among those of his fellow Inquisitors, and without making a movement, he reached for it. It floated in his hand like a golden butterfly, silent and struggling to fly away, but Endymion was too powerful. "...Interesting...this soul is still warm, even...A soul in the clutches of eternal death...But fear not...eternal death shall never reach you...I will make you new again..."

Upon awakening in his new realm, Maxwell would not realize that he was not in Heaven. Not at first, anyway. For starters, he awakened on the beautiful beach of the Sea of Creation, with the endless, crystalline waters stretching before him, melancholy and pristine in their beauty. The air was cool, and eternally youthful, full of the calm happiness a child might feel during a summer afternoon. The sky was still bright-blue, as 'daytime' rolled forward endlessly. When he looked to examine his own body, however, he would find the strangest sight. He was younger-much younger. His wrinkles were gone, his hair had lost its grey color, and his eyes were not aching from a lack of sleep and the fullness of grief. His clothing was simple, and a reminder of a time long-past-a white, loose-fitting, flowing blouse, a black vest and pants, and black boots. His body was dashing and full of mystical energy. Endymion watched over the unconscious Maxwell, smiling as he awaited his awakening into his new life. Hopefully, for the Fae of Creation, his eternal life. Dressed in his brilliant white robes and staring at the Inquisitor with sparkling eyes, he chuckled. "...Humans are such romantic creatures...Full of tragedies...full of excitement...full of love...Once would almost wonder...if they are coveting something the Fae do not have, as much as they guard their hearts..." he mused. He slowly walked toward Maxwell, and crouched beside the body, feeling his wavy brown hair in his hands. His creation, in his eyes, was perfect. "...What does your heart guard, Augustine Maxwell?"