To readers new to the Vampire: The Masquerade universe:
This is a story set in the World of Darkness - an alternate version of the modern world in which vampires, or 'Kindred' as they are more commonly called, live and struggle in their nightly unlives. It is a dark world - one in which its inhabitants are constantly made to contend with issues of morality, immortality, iniquity, desperation, and despair.
To those already familiar with the VtM franchise:
As with my previous novelization, this one is yet another attempt at a full-length novelization of an amazing game - Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines. There have been a few attempts I've seen already, but none that have really delved into the more mature elements and implications of 'living' as a vampire in a realistic modernized world. Once again, my emphasis is on plausibility within the logic of the game world. And that means that, as with Fallout, I may make tradeoffs either with respect to the plot of the video game or even, on occasion, with the lore of vampirism in VtM. If I do so, it will be done for the sake of realistic plausibility. However, I'm always interested in hearing feedback, especially if there are good creative ideas in them.
To those who also read my previous novelization:
As some of you may know, there's been a long hiatus since I last finished and then revised Fallout 1. Partly it was my own personal work. Partly it was because my repeated attempts to novelize two other games prior to this one - Baldur's Gate and Grim Fandango - have failed. I have decided it's not possible to give these stories the plausibility treatment without drastically changing several key elements of the stories. So I'm dropping them permanently. In any case, there are already full-length novelizations of both in existence.
DISCLAIMER: Most names, locations, and the overall plot are, or at least were, the property of Troika Games and Activision. This is merely a piece of fan fiction written in homage to an excellent game. As before, my main purpose is to bring to the literary medium an amazing story that would otherwise be restricted to the audiovisual medium. The work is completely not-for-profit. A strong effort has been made to replicate the events, themes, and key dialogues from the game, except where alterations were needed for the sake of narrative plausibility. The result is that this story WILL occasionally deal with dark and mature themes catered to an adult audience. Right from the start, I'm assigning this an M rating even though I know this means a reduced prospective audience. I'm also starting with a full-length beginning which I know will scare off some people. I may at some point introduce a shorter prologue before this one, y'know the sort that more effectively captures the attention of the reader. But for now, no such thing.
Prologue: Jyhad for Beginners
Her name was Carlotta. But everyone had always just called her Lotta. She had always preferred it that way. Based on what her parents had told her, Carlotta meant strong, and for her entire life, she had been anything but.
She hadn't been strong when the hotel had fired her for breaking the nose of that business magnate who'd let his hands wander too high up her skirt; hadn't been strong when she'd headed to the downtown bar instead of back to her apartment; hadn't been strong when she'd let her first drink of alcohol since the last time she could remember end up becoming her sixth; hadn't been strong when the charming man with the deep gaze and fathomless eyes had approached her, asking her name; hadn't been strong when they'd reached his hotel though everything inside her had told her to say no and leave; hadn't been strong when they'd ripped each other's clothes off, knocking the wineglasses and furniture over in their rush to feed the animal within; hadn't been strong when they'd made love between and on and off the sheets that night, and then through the night; hadn't been strong when he'd clasped the handcuffs onto her wrists, fed her strange white pills that made her feel like she was floating to the ceiling, and then continued with what they'd started the night before while she watched in her drug-induced stupor from on high as if she were an outside spectator; hadn't been strong when she'd come down from her high and he'd released her later in the afternoon and they'd carried on till night as if nothing had changed except that her body had gone way past its natural limit and they'd had to work through almost an entire bottle of lube; hadn't been strong when he'd leaned into her and whispered, "I want to show you something," just before she'd felt the blinding pain in her neck and lost consciousness; hadn't been strong when she'd woken three hours later with a strange ache in her neck and the mysterious and nameless stranger fixing her with an intense and enigmatic stare from where he'd sat across the room
Hadn't been strong… when the newcomers with the glowing eyes had bashed in the door; hadn't been strong… when the thuggish one had plunged a jagged piece of wood through her chest; hadn't been strong… when she'd discovered she was still alive but had lost all control of her body; hadn't been strong… when they'd dressed her paralyzed, naked body and moved her and her most recent acquaintance into a darkened room with no lights or windows; hadn't been strong… when the one with the sneering grin had leaned over her and told her… she wasn't alive and that she should treasure the last few hours of her time on Earth… hadn't been strong when they'd removed the hood a day later and she'd found herself kneeling on a stage before an audience…
"Lotta," he had said somewhere deep in the middle of their conversation, savoring the word as if its utterance somehow gave him pleasure. "I like that better than Carlotta. Do you know what 'lotta' means in Italian?"
She had shaken her head, too entranced by his magnetic personality, piercing eyes, and (in retrospect) simply the attention he was showering on her, making her feel needed, making her feel wanted.
"It means 'to fight' or 'to struggle'. And I can tell you are struggling, Lotta. Are you a religious person?" She had been hesitant, afraid of breaking the spell if she spoke the truth. "Well, 'struggle' is an important element in the Islamic faith."
"Oh, I'm not—"
"Bear with me a moment, if you will. Nowadays, every time some terrorist group that emerges in the Middle East wreaks havoc in some other Western country, we hear the term 'jihad' thrown back and forth quite a bit in the media, don't we?"
She had frowned. "Are you trying to say—"
"What most people misunderstand about the religion," he had continued, "is that the more important struggle, the 'greater jihad', has always been the internal one, not the external one that everyone obsesses over."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying, Lotta, the greatest struggle occurs within each and every one of us. Losing a job always sucks, especially when it leaves your future dangling by a thread like that, but what's really at stake right now is what's happening inside of you. When you're secure in that, when you've won that struggle, then nothing the world throws at you can faze you. Now, I know little about hotel management or what it might take to change your former employer's mind and take you back in. But what I do know a lot about is what it's like to have that struggle within yourself. I may not have known you long, Lotta, but I know you. And I'm hoping, that, if you'll let me in, you won't have to go through this struggle alone."
And she had let him in, fully and completely.
But this man who had promised her a way out of the constant cyclical depression of being poor and out of work – a lost soul in Tinseltown, one of many – had now also overturned her entire life, her very being, her very humanity. And now he was kneeling beside her, as defeated as she was lost, waiting for the hammer to fall.
"Good evening, my fellow Kindred," said the well-dressed, well-groomed young man in the business attire with the crisp accent. "My apologies for disrupting any business or interfering with prior engagements you may have had this evening." He was speaking to the audience even as she knelt there alongside her unnamed companion of the previous night. The one who had stabbed her in the chest now stood behind her lover, his hand clasped over the man's neck, forcing him to stare at the wooden panels at his knees. The sneering man pulled the stake from her chest and, gradually, she found herself regaining control of her body. Yet she remained as still as before, afraid that any sudden movement might mean her end.
Behind the pale, aristocratic young man stood a giant with almost simian features, wearing a trench coat and standing just over two feet taller than the speaker. There were no pupils in his eyes, only a uniform red haze. Lotta had seen him standing in the doorway when the other one had stabbed the stake through her heart the previous night. On his back was slung an enormous executioner's sword and Lotta suspected she knew the blade's purpose that evening.
They were in some kind of grand theatre complete with galleries, boxes, and orchestral seating. It didn't look familiar to Lotta.
"It's unfortunate that the affair that gathers us together tonight is a troubling one," the speaker continued, delivering his words in calm, measured tones. "We are here because the laws that bind our society – the laws that are the fabric of our existence – have been broken."
Lotta gazed up from the wooden stage floor where she had been blankly staring and, for the first time, noticed the diversity of the audience. Over on the right side of the aisle, a casually dressed, bald-headed man in a tight long-sleeved shirt was whispering into the ears of a man in a goatee with an open blue denim jacket with folded sleeves worn over a faded white t-shirt. On the left side, Lotta spotted a beautiful, buxom, pale-skinned young woman with striking red hair and silver eyes dressed in nothing more than a corset; Lotta suspected she knew the woman's profession. The woman blew a kiss to someone in the gallery seats: another bald man – but with pale, almost bluish, skin – wearing a rich red velvet overcoat with matching round-rimmed glasses. He waved off her gesture.
Off to the side of the orchestral seating was a man in a grey business suit over a blue dress shirt. He was also well groomed, only he looked to be in his late fifties to early sixties. Near the stage sat a scowling young woman in glasses with blonde locks parted down the middle and tied in a chignon at the back. She too was dressed in a business jacket. At the other end of the row was a woman in a grey t-shirt with unruly shoulder-length burgundy hair sliding out from beneath the grey beret on her head. Far towards the back of the theatre, leaning against one of the pillars in the shadows stood a gruff, unkempt man with long, grimy, dark hair and an equally disheveled long beard. He was smoking a cigar.
And that was just a few of the more notable characters in the room. It was, without a doubt, the most varied group of people Lotta had ever seen in a single space, at least as far as social class went.
"As Prince of this city," the well-dressed man continued, "I am within my rights to grant or deny the Kindred of this city the privilege of siring. Many of you have come to me seeking permission, and I have endorsed some of these requests. However, the accused that sits before you tonight was not refused permission. Indeed, my permission was never sought at all." For the first time, the charismatic young man's brow betrayed signs of his displeasure. "They were caught shortly after the Embrace of this Childe."
Lotta couldn't bear to face the eyes of the audience that had all turned to her. She cast her eyes once again at the floor beneath her. Over the past few hours, she had had time to think over what the sneering man in the cap had been telling her. Vampires existed. And now she was one of them. But apparently there were rules and, through no fault of hers, she had broken them just by being alive… or undead, or cursed, or whatever the hell her current condition really was.
"It pains me to announce the sentence," said the Prince, if that truly what he was, "as up to tonight I considered the accused a loyal and upstanding member of our organization. But as some of you may know, the penalty for this transgression... is death." The Prince spoke those words with the same calm, and it chilled Lotta to her core. "Know that I am no more a judicator than I am a servant to the Law that governs us all," he stated to his audience. "Let tonight's proceeding serve as a reminder to our community that we must adhere to the code that binds our society, lest we endanger all of our blood."
Lotta's companion was moved unceremoniously to the front of the stage and positioned so that his head was bowed, neck exposed. He gave no resistance. Lotta felt her breath coming heavily in terrified anticipation for what was to come.
The Prince bent to one knee so he was level with the one to be executed. "Forgive me," he said solemnly, before rising once again to his feet and giving the command. "Let the penalty commence."
The simian with the enormous blade stepped forward, raising it high above his head. Then, with one swift stroke, separated Lotta's companion's head from his shoulders. In her peripheral vision, Lotta could detect movement. Her eyes fell on the beautiful red-head in the corset who seemed most affected by the execution to the point that she'd had to turn her gaze from the sight.
Lotta couldn't help but gasp as her former lover's head landed right in front of her, and then, within just a few seconds, seemed to decay to a point that made it looked as if he'd been dead for months, his features sunken to the point where the shape of his skull was clearly visible. She gasped again as his head was unceremoniously picked up by the same vampire who had held him down earlier.
"Which leads to the fate of the ill-begotten Childe," said the Prince, and Lotta found herself shaking, knowing she was next. "Without a Sire," said the Prince, "most Childer are doomed to walk the Earth never knowing their place, their responsibility, and, most importantly, the laws they must obey. Therefore, I have decided that—"
"This is bullshit!" an angry protest came from the audience. Lotta looked up to see that the man in the blue denim had risen in anger. The girl in the beret and the man who had been whispering to him earlier were also on their feet, but in order to hold him back. Murmurs rose from the rest of the audience and many similarly rose to their feet at the sudden commotion. The voices and muted conversations grew in number, filling the auditorium. Lotta snuck a glance at the Prince who was surveying his audience with an intense but calculating glare. He held that glare for several seconds, before his brow relaxed and his anger seemingly faded, at least from the surface.
"If Mr. Rodriguez would let me finish," he said softly but with enough authority to quieten the room. "I have decided… to let this Kindred live." Lotta's shoulders went limp as relief flooded through her body. "She shall be instructed in the ways of our kind," the Prince continued, "and be granted the same rights. Let no one say I am unsympathetic to the plights and causes of this community." He let his words sink in for several long moments before continuing. "I thank you all for attending these proceedings, and I hope their significance is not lost. Good evening."
When the crowd had dispersed, Lotta eventually found herself alone on the stage with the Prince. She still couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye. She knew she had just dodged a very fatal bullet but still couldn't fathom why. And the whole notion of a society of vampires with rules and punishments still shocked her, perhaps even more than the other bit of revelation that she had still not yet come to terms with – her identity as a vampire or, as the Prince had termed it: Kindred.
"Come," the Prince said in the same tone with which he had commanded the attention of his entire audience only minutes before. Lotta rose obediently and followed as he exited the stage. "Your Sire," he said as she followed behind him down the halls of the theatre, "Tragic. My apologies. But you see, there is a strict code of conduct that all of us must… must adhere to if we wish to survive." Lotta yearned to ask him just what all of that meant, but was too afraid to open her mouth. "When someone, anyone, breaks these laws," the Prince continued without a single glance back at her, "they undermine the well-worn fabric of our centuries-old society. Understand my… predicament. Allowing you to live makes me directly responsible for your subsequent behavior. So. What I'm offering is not generosity but the opportunity to transcend the fate woven by your Sire. This is your trial."
They reached the end of the passageway at one of the theatre's exits and the Prince turned to face her. "You will be brought to Santa Monica," he declared matter-of-factly. "There, you will meet an agent by the name of Mercurio. He will provide the details of your labor." The Prince leaned forward ever so slightly but the gesture was clear as day. "I've shown you great clemency. Prove it was more than a wasted gesture, fledgling. Don't come back until you do. Good evening." And with that, the Prince turned, exited the theatre, leaving her completely alone in the hallway.
Lotta was in a daze. Everything still seemed so surreal! And now she was supposed to be shuttled off to Santa Monica… Whowas supposed to bring her there? It felt almost like being in a new job, with a set of expectations for her but no guide as to how to go about meeting them. The difference, of course, was that if she failed, they would kill her… again, if the first time counted.
Was she supposed to follow the Prince out? It hadn't seemed like it. But what, then? At that moment, Lotta just wanted to go back to her apartment and implode. But it didn't look like they were going to let her go back.
Lotta vacillated for what seemed to her like hours before finally opening the door and stepping outside into the night.
"What a scene man," she heard someone off to her left comment loudly. She turned to see the disheveled hobo with the long beard and sleeveless jacket leaning against the wall, smoking his cigar. "Hoo-wee!" he exclaimed, laughing raucously, and she knew his comment had been directed at her. "Then they just plop you out here like a naked baby in the woods. How 'bout that?"
"I…" It was the first word Lotta had uttered since the hotel bedroom who knew how long ago and she didn't know how to continue.
"Look kiddo," the seemingly cheerful man told her, "this is probably a lot for you to take in, so, uh, why don't you let me show you the ropes. Whattaya say?"
"Wh… who are you?" Lotta asked uncertainly.
"I'm Jack," the man replied straightforwardly. "What's important is I'm offering help. You make it back from Santa Monica with your hide and we'll trade life stories, okay? 'Til then, I got about this much time. You in or out?"
"Okay," Lotta replied timidly, then admitted, somewhat gratefully, "I could use the help."
"Now, we ain't got much time," said Jack, "but I figure somebody should fill you in on the bare bones stuff at least. Y'know, could save your hide…"
A sudden wave of vertigo washed over her and Lotta had to catch herself to keep from staggering. It wasn't lost on Jack.
"You look wobbly," he noted. "You even had a drink yet?"
"Drink?" she asked with a confusion that gradually and swiftly began fading as his meaning hit her. With the threat of death hanging over her head the entire time, Lotta hadn't even given a thought to what was perhaps the central myth in every book, film, and rumor she had ever known about vampires – blood. Now she felt like she was going to be sick, but she wasn't sure if it was because of the thought of actually drinking blood or because she didn't have any.
"Oh, man, we're poppin' a cherry here!" Jack guffawed at her expense, making her feel more than just slightly uncomfortable. "Ah, you're gonna love this!" he exclaimed, before growing a little more serious. "Alright, check it out," he explained. "Blood: it's your new rack'a lamb; you're new champagne; blood's your new fuckin' heroin, kid. Get ready, though, cuz, hey, it's never as sweet as the first time."
"I..." Lotta grimaced. "I'm not sure I can do it."
"Ah, that's what they all say at first," Jack said dismissively. "Look, do you want to live? In that vampire way, I mean." She didn't reply. "Well, you're never going to take another bite of human food again, so this is the only way you're going be able to keep swingin'. You with me so far?"
Lotta wasn't, but she nodded anyway. Perhaps it was the vertigo. Either way, she didn't feel up to offering more of a protest than she'd already done.
"Look, I can tell you've gone awhile without your fix," said Jack. "Newbie as you are, you're not gonna feel so hot in a little. So you may want to decide what's the bigger trade off. No skin off my teeth, but, either way, you don't have the luxury of time, just so you know."
Lotta thought for a moment, but already she could feel a second wave of dizziness creeping up from within her. She knew there were ethical, not to mention existential, questions that needed answers, but Jack was right. She wouldn't even get the chance to find answers if she were dead.
"Okay," she said quietly. "What do I do?"
"Well, down around the corner there, saw this human. Poor S.O.B. – can't find his car." Jack chuckled mischievously.
"So… what do I… I mean, uh…"
"Alright. You go down there, casual like, then bare those little fangs and feed."
That was another thing Lotta hadn't thought about until that moment. She raised her fingers to her teeth. Although she had been expecting it, the sharpness of her canines still surprised her. And it almost seemed as if they were… growing in length as she thought more about the deed to come.
"Don't worry if you weren't captain of the wrestling team or somethin'," Jack continued. "It'll come so naturally you'll think you'd done it a thousand times already."
The thought of attacking another human without any provocation sounded terrible to Lotta, but another, more pressing, question rose to the fore. "Won't he become a vampire?" she thought to ask.
Jack gave a loud rowdy laugh. "Forget that comic book crap, kid. It don't work that way. Now go for it. Be sure though – and this is important, so listen up – be sure not to drain 'im dry, okay? It might be hard to resist, but don't kill 'im."
Jack's call for restraint wasn't the most shocking thing Lotta had heard that night, but it nevertheless surprised her. There was a lot about these vampire rules that she was finding out about. Whatever the reason, it made her feel less terrible about what she was about to do.
Following Jack's directions, Lotta made her way to the end of the alleyway and the parking lot beyond. Sure enough, just as Jack had said, a man was fumbling in his pockets and briefcase for the keys to his cars. Lotta approached slowly and uncertainly from behind, feeling weak and unprepared for the task. What was she doing? How was she even going to do this? Just the thought of biting someone, even that lecherous asshole who had tried to grope her in the elevator back at her former workplace, felt repulsive to her. And drinking blood? The last time she remembered doing that was when she'd accidentally bitten a nasty hole into her lip several weeks ago. And the taste had been hardly worth recommending.
She was right behind the man when he turned. At first, he seemed uncertain, perhaps even a little curious and excited about why a woman would approach him in a darkened parking lot alone. But then something changed. Lotta couldn't tell what. But she saw the look in his eyes change. A flash of fear. The beginnings of terror. His mouth opened, although whether to gape or scream, she couldn't tell. What she could tell was that the blood vessels throughout his body, especially in his exposed neck and wrists were pulsing like crazy – calling to her. And she moved in.
Lotta couldn't tell how exactly it happened. All she knew was that warm flesh was between her teeth, and then his skin gave way to her razor-sharp fangs and the hot, dark ichor was filling her mouth. And it drove her wild.
She had thought the sex and the drugs and the feeling of being wanted, desired – all feelings she had felt in her sire's hotel bedroom – had been the most intense rush she had ever experienced. Only now did she know how wrong she had been. The blood seemed to permeate her very cells. She could feel it everywhere. It filled her even as she felt enveloped by it. It was a climax in every fiber of her being. And through it all, she also became vividly aware that it was this man's life that was now coursing from his flimsy mortal frame through her throat and into her own system. He was becoming a part of her and she couldn't get enough. She had to have it all. And it was so easy. All she needed to do was hold on and—
"Alright, kid, I think you've had your fill for tonight," she heard a familiar voice through the haze of her ecstasy. Something clamped around her neck with enough strength to force her to release her grip on the life before and around and in her.
And just like that, the red mist that surrounded her lifted. Full, vibrant color came rushing back in, and the energy and life force before her coalesced into the shape of a human. And with that sudden realization, she released her hold on the man who slumped backwards against his car, before sliding to the ground in a paralytic daze.
A part of her was mortified at what she had just done. But the energy, the power, the life that now coursed through her veins made it hard to heed that sentiment. All of a sudden, the world felt so much more alive. She could see every detail in the man's face, even to the broken skin in the tiny puncture marks in his neck. She could hear every car and bus that was driving along the main road a block away. The bare breeze that passed through the parking lot felt crisp on her face and arms, as if she could feel even the uneven pressure it gently exerted on different parts of her skin. The smell of the nearby sewer was pungent yet strangely nuanced – a combination of dozens of distinct odors. And the taste! The savory-sweet taste and voluminous texture of warm blood still lingered in her mouth and throat. It was warm velvet on a cool day; it was silk sheets on her naked skin; it was life.
"Yeahh…" Jack said, as if experiencing her emotions and feelings vicariously. "Aw, yeahh… Hell yeah, you're feeling it. I can see it in your eyes. You're a born-again predator. Feeling that blood bubblin' inside you, lifting you up. That's it, kid, that's what it's all about right there."
She glanced down at the man, now slumped on the ground against his car. "Is he…"
"He'll be fine. He probably won't even notice those marks in the morning."
"He saw me," she gasped suddenly.
Jack shook his head. "Maybe he did. But he won't remember anything from the last few minutes. It'll all be a haze. You just make sure the next time you do it to keep in mind he's got only so much to give. So! What does the little conscience bug inside of you say now?"
"I don't know yet," she replied truthfully, "but it does feel… good…"
"Alright now," he said, apparently satisfied with her response, "you got the blood, you're feeling all kickass, feelin' better than your best day livin'—but wait! It gets better! All Kindred… Kindred, that's, uh, our word for vampire… all Kindred have a few things in common, things that set them right square above humans on the food chain."
"Like what?" Lotta asked, still fascinated by how energized and alert she felt.
"Like sharper senses, a body that can take a beating, and, if you play your cards right: eternal life. That's no sure bet but still, a chance at immortality is not a bad deal. And that's just starters – fringe benefits for joinin' the club."
"So I'm… going to live forever…?"
"Well, you can still be destroyed, but forget the books and movies. Garlic? Worthless. A cross? Pfft. Shove it right up their ass." He chuckled at the thought. "A stake? Only if it catches you in the heart, and then it just paralyzes you, as you no doubt discovered earlier. Running water? No problem. I bathe… er…. occasionally. Now a shotgun blast to the head: ugh, that's trouble, boy. Fire? That's real trouble. Sunlight? Well, you catch a sunrise and it's all over kiddo, get it?"
"I think so."
"Okay now—" Whatever Jack was going to say next was interrupted by the sound of squealing tires, sliding vehicle doors opening, and then the unmistakable report of rapid gunfire. Jack bared his fangs, seeming just slightly annoyed if not anxious for the first time. "What the fuck is this?" he hissed. They were hemmed in by the walls and wooden fences of the alleyway with no clear line of sight to the gunfire. "Look," he said, pointing her to a pitted metal door in the building on the opposite side of the alley. "You get inside there and head upstairs. We'll meet up in a bit. I'm just gonna go see what the ruckus is."
Having lived in L.A. for the past year, Lotta wasn't completely unfamiliar with the sound of gunfire, but having it this close was new to her and she felt no need to check it out for herself. Jack's plan sounded good to her.
Inside the building, she found herself in what looked like a chop shop, judging by the various stripped car parts and equipment for quick paint jobs. The door to the stairwell was locked so she fished around in the tool cabinet on the far wall till she found what she needed. She had been locked out of her apartment way too many times in the past year not to have learned some valuable life skills along the way.
With the door lock picked, she headed upstairs only to find, to her great surprise, Jack already waiting for her. He was standing at a distance from the large windows facing out to the alley below. Judging by the noise, the gun battles were still going on all around. Spotting her, Jack beckoned. "Come over here," he whispered urgently, before adding a warning: "stay away from the windows."
Sticking to the wall of the passageway, she slid over to where he was standing.
"Nicely done," he commented, and, realizing the lock picking tools were still in her hands, she assumed he was referring to her work on the door down below. "Not exactly an angel in life, were you?"
"I had my moments," she replied simply with a little bit of both pride and shame at the same time. "So… what is it we're keeping away from the windows for?"
"Agh, it's a Sabbat raid." Jack sounded annoyed. "The Sabbat, they're uh… Hell I was hoping to spare you this shit till later. The Sabbat... ugh… well, they're mostly mindless bloodthirsty assholes. That's all you need to know for now."
"What are they doing here?" she asked quietly.
"The Sabbat got wind of the gathering here, so they figured they'd raise a little hell and put heat on the new 'Prince.'"
"What's this Prince a prince of?" Lotta asked out of curiosity as she tiptoed closer to the windows and cautiously peered out.
"No time for the political rundown," Jack replied. "Job one? Get out of here alive. Sabbat might be mindless, but they hit like a Mack truck, like raging savages – nothing a fledgling like you wants to mess with."
"What am I—"
"Shh, shh. Heads up," Jack interrupted, hearing something and pointing back down to the alley. "Back away."
Lotta moved back just far enough that if whoever was down below decided to look up, she could duck out of sight immediately.
Outside, three thugs had just emerged into the alleyway down below. Two were armed with submachine guns. The last carried a long, wicked-looking blade. The door in the wooden fence ahead of them swung open and the giant vampire with the executioner's sword, sunken glowing red eyes, and ape-like features emerged. The middle one of the trio pointed at the sole antagonist and gave the order to his men who proceeded to open fire.
To Lotta's surprise, the giant made no move to evade the bullets. They peppered the fence behind him and struck him in the chest and arms, yet he seemed unfazed.
Without warning, two enormous wolves emerged from around the corner, behind the thugs, each beast the size of a full-grown man. The wolves went for the armed thugs, knocking them over from behind before proceeding to crush the thugs' skulls between their ferocious jaws. It was too soon, too sudden, and just too weird to have been a coincidence, and Lotta suspected the wolves were somehow bound to the simian.
The last thug turned and yelped in horror at the sight of his two companions being mangled to pieces by wild beasts in the heart of Los Angeles. He ran. Right into the giant. In response, the Prince's executioner calmly raising one of his paws to his lips. A moving hazy cloud had emerged from his sleeve and gathered in the palm of his hand. As he blew, the mist swelled in size, rushing towards the charging thug as if carried by a strong gust of wind. The mist seemed to slow as it collided with the thug, but, as Lotta continued watching in morbid fascination, the thug appeared to disintegrate before her eyes, and it was only then that she realized that it wasn't a mist but, rather, a dense swarm of some kind of insect. The thug's mouth widened to scream but was filled with a haze of a thousand devouring bugs that clogged up his airways and consumed him from inside. He was dead by the time he hit the ground and the insects continued their feast.
The threat over, the giant suddenly looked up to where Lotta was hiding. Their eyes made contact and Lotta found herself gazing into a bottomless red pit. For the umpteenth time that night, she knew fear, but this fear was different. She could sense something deadly and terrible within the ogre – something even worse than the wolves he had somehow summoned and the plague of insects in the cloud that had completely consumed the last thug.
Thankfully, the Prince's executioner did nothing. Instead he turned and headed back the way he had come. Lotta turned back to Jack who, while having also witnessed the ridiculously short skirmish, had not caught that moment when Lotta had been trapped in the beast's gaze.
"Dumb frenzied Sabbat bastards," Jack swore, summoning her back out of her daze. "Alright. I know for a fact there are a bunch more of 'em lurking around outside, so we gotta vamoose out the back, quick." He led the way around the corner. "Now if you want a lesson on how really not to act, take notes from those Sabbat assholes," he explained as they headed through the door ahead and into the office beyond. "You're a biig baad vampire… yeah, great, congrats. Now keep it to yourself. You go roar and beat your chest, and that's what you can expect." Lotta guessed he was referring to what had happened to those three thugs at the hands of the executioner.
"So no paying a visit to those bullies from my high school days, then," she joked, surprising herself by her humor. She suspected her recent bloody hydration had something to do with her newfound bravado. It was a bit, she realized, like having a teensy bit too much alcohol in the system. "That doesn't sound like any of the vampire shows I've ever watched," she commented. "Why don't vampires show themselves?"
"Same reason you don't let humans see you feeding," Jack said simply. "It's why the wolf doesn't want the sheep to know he's there. It's also why you don't go jugglin' dumpsters or outrun the 8:15 from Sacramento. And it's… it's why you didn't know any of this when you woke up this morning."
And for the first time, all that talk of laws and rules back in the theatre began to make sense. "Ah," Lotta gave a quick but muted exclamation. "I think I'm starting to get it."
"Keep our secret secret and you make things easier on all of us," Jack continued. "We're living in the age of cellphone cameras; fuckups ain't tolerated. Makes sense enough, right? Well, it ain't a casual thing for a fledgling like you."
"What do you mean?"
"That party back there – with the guy in the suit and the Magilla Gorilla – the assholes that put your sire to death: that's the Camarilla." Jack gave a grunt of disapproval. "They make a tidy business out of enforcing 'vampire laws' like this one."
"But you said this is something we should all follow." Lotta was confused. "Doesn't that make them, like, the vampire 'good guys'?"
"Mmf. Yeah." Jack didn't sound impressed with her supposition. "I'll tell you what I think some other time, maybe. I like to let people form their own opinions." But it was already fairly clear to Lotta what his opinion was.
"So what's next?" she asked.
"Alright. Now, don't worry cuz I know the area a little. And you know what? I'm glad we're in this situation, you and I. It illustrates a point: you gotta utilize your surroundings."
"What does that mean, exactly?"
"You do what you gotta do. Theft, destruction of property, breaking and entering. Heh. These'll be the least of your sins before the night's out. So look around here. Must be a key someplace for that door there." He gestured with his head at the other door to the office. Judging by the card reader on the wall beside it, it was magnetically sealed. "You find that keycard and head out back. I'll meet you out in the alley there. I'm gonna check out things from topside." With that, Jack was gone the way they had come, leaving her to explore the room on her own.
The office was simple and mostly bare. Cheap stained carpeting, cabinets on the wall below a framed certificate of listed registrations and licenses for the chop shop down below when it was pretending to be a mechanic's auto shop by day, an old heavily-stained brown loveseat beneath yet another framed certificate of some sort that was too smudged to be legible, a fallen and faded take out menu on the floor, a table by the window overlooking the chop shop's garage littered with empty liquor bottles, a desk in the corner with an incredibly old 486 desktop computer, and a safe beside it beneath a sheet of yellow notepaper stapled to the wall just beside the poster of some gothic metal band with the charming title, Die My Darling.
After verifying that the other door leading out was indeed locked tight, Lotta checked the drawers of both tables but found no sign of the keycard. Turning to the curious piece of notepaper attached to the wall, Lotta saw the words 'password: chopshop' conveniently written down. The safe didn't have a combination set of tumblers, which meant that it was likely wired to the computer somehow… which meant she had a fairly good idea what the written password was for.
"If only the rest of my life were so simple," she murmured, turning on the screen to the computer. The owner hadn't even bothered to switch the computer off. Lotta located the program for opening the safe and disengaged the locks with the password that had been so conveniently provided to her. Inside the safe, she found what she was looking for. Apparently that was all the otherwise empty safe had been for. No wonder the owner hadn't bothered to put even the slightest bit of effort in relocating the written password.
Through the magnetic door, unlocked with the use of the newfound card, Lotta found herself heading down a narrow flight of stairs that opened out into yet another alleyway, this one narrower than the last. She stepped out, expecting to find Jack waiting for her once again. Instead she heard a burst of gunfire coming from down the alleyway. She turned to see the two armed thugs at the exact same moment that she felt the searing pain in her chest as bullets ripped into her body. She pulled back into the doorway with a hiss of pain – a strange sound that she never even knew she was capable of making.
She heard a brief commotion and then the gunfire stopped. She peered out once more to find one thug gone and the other flying across the alley towards her where he crashed to the ground and slid to a stop. At the origin of his rather impressive flight path stood none other than Jack, a large nine-and-a-half-inch combat blade in his hand.
"Fuckin' waste of unlife, these Sabbat vatos," he spat disdainfully, as he walked towards her, noticing the bloodless holes in her ripped up blouse. "You get winged?" he commented, coming closer and giving the wounds a closer inspection. "Hehey! Look at them potholes!" he joked. "Those'll close up soon enough," he reassured her. "Better feed though." He sniffed the night air. "There's someone down the stairs here," he pointed to the steps leading down to the basement entrance of the nearby building. "Not the freshest catch but he'll do."
"Not the freshest catch?" Yet another puzzle. "What's the difference?" Lotta asked. "Blood's blood, right?"
"Well, when it comes to feeding, it's quality blood you're looking for, not quantity," Jack explained. "Bums and lowlife don't pack the same punch that a healthy well-bred human will. Juicebags with a pedigree: that's the good stuff. But you gotta take what you can get." He shrugged. "You ever had a Ph.D, kid?" he said rhetorically. "Ooh, that's the good stuff."
"Ph.D? I'd have thought you'd say vegan."
"Oh, they may have the cleanest blood, but you ever heard that term 'lifeblood'? That's what you're drinking."
"If you say so…" Lotta said, not entirely convinced.
"Remember what I said though," Jack added. "Don't kill them… least not the innocent ones. You're a monster now, make no mistake – one of the damned and the fallen. You need to hold onto every last shred of humanity you have."
"Well what happens if I… if what happened in the parking lot happens again and there's no one around to stop me from getting… overzealous?"
"It's like any human doing something horrible, only double for you. You kill one, even a worthless bum, even by accident, and it's gonna cost you a piece of your own humanity – bring you closer to that Beast you got welling up inside you."
"'Beast'? What exactly does that mean?"
"The Beast… it's always there, waiting to take over." Jack grew more serious and solemn as he explained. "When it does, it's like a wild animal wearin' your skin – desperate, scared, reckless. She'll do anything to survive and it's you that has to deal with the consequences after."
"So. No killing. Got it." Lotta frowned, suddenly confused. "What about those two you just… or the other three the big guy killed. Wouldn't those—"
"Uh uh uh!" Jack halted her with his punctuated rebuttal. "I said innocent people. If some asshole levels a twelve gauge your way, you drain him, skin him, and bash in his skull. Self-preservation is a vital part of humanity after all. My favorite part, in fact."
"How does that work, exactly? Isn't killing killing?"
"Look, I'm not good with equations and math and shit. What I know, I know from experience. Kill only when you need to… and trust me, there are going to be a lot of times you're gonna need to. That's how you win your struggle with the Beast. Oh and don't go hungry. That'll send you off the deep end too. It's a fine line."
"No kidding," Lotta sighed, recalling the exquisite and mind-shattering sensations she had experienced earlier while realizing that it had essentially come at the cost of the man's own consent and dignity – she had literally forced herself on him like some lowlife rapist. And now she was about to do it again.
"Careful," Jack added in warning as she headed down to where her next victim was waiting, "he's gonna drain fast."
The man huddled in a corner next to the door at the bottom of the staircase was homeless, swaddled in filthy clothes, a worn out red scarf, and an ugly grey knit cap. As she approached, he looked up at her and she saw his eyes widen with fear just like the last one. Lotta couldn't tell what it was about her that had spooked him so. Didn't she just look like an ordinary woman? Whatever the reason, he tried futilely to retreat further into his corner. "I ain't done nothing…" he pleaded. "Leave me alone…"
Lotta took another step forward, then stopped, and realized she couldn't do it – not to someone who already had the worst of life thrown at him. The wounds in her chest burned, but didn't feel anything like how she imagined bullets in one's chest should have felt like. She suspected she'd live. This man didn't need to suffer on her behalf. She turned and headed back to Jack.
"I couldn't… won't… do it," she explained. "Not if I can help it."
"Taking my advice a little too far, aren't you?" he said, before shrugging. "It's your call. Just know that one day you may not have that luxury."
"This may sound silly but are there… other alternatives? Besides human blood, that is?"
"Well, there are some rats down the way," he pointed towards the darkened end of the alley. Lotta shot him a skeptical but dirty look. "You think I'm kidding?" said Jack. "You can survive feeding on animals… if you can't stomach that kind of thing." He made a brief retching sound. "Well, give it a try."
"I can't… catch diseases, can I?"
"Nothing worse than what you already have." Lotta stared at him. "I'm joking," he reassured her. "The worst you're gonna get out of biting into a filthy rat is a small dose of self-loathing."
Lotta retreated to the end of the alleyway which, though unlit, appeared more than adequately illuminated to her heightened senses. Near a dumpster, she spotted a rat chewing on some old half-eaten morsel of food. She could feel the throbbing in its veins, could sense the life energy in it – energy that could be hers. All she needed to do was grab it and…
Jack burst out laughing when she returned empty-handed and still in pain from her recent wounds. "Just couldn't bear it, huh?" he chuckled. "Ahh, it's okay," he reassured her. "'Polite' Kindred society looks down on that kind of thing anyway."
"I don't blame them," Lotta commented.
"Well, I think we've overstayed our welcome in this spot. If you're not going to slake the thirst, then we need to be going. Just around the corner there's a… hold on." Jack's voice dropped in volume.
"What is it?" Lotta asked.
"Keep it down," he whispered, sniffing the air. "Got someone around the way here." He pointed around the corner from where they stood.
Lotta peered around the corner. "Just one guy?" she whispered, trying to spot the troublemaker.
"Not too much of a threat by himself," said Jack, "but you never know if there's more in shouting range. We're gonna have to sneak past." Looking around the corner, Jack pointed across the alley to the building on the opposite side. "The building across from us with the garage door. There's some double doors on the far side. Just stay low and stick to the shadows. Don't let him see you."
The space between the buildings was dimly lit by weak lights spaced too far away from one another. Occupying the space was an old convertible, a couple of large wooden crates, and a forklift.
"Alright. Let's go," said Jack, as he made use of the shadows, moving from cover to cover.
As Lotta followed, she noticed the one Sabbat at the far end of the alley. He looked skittish, his head whipping in every direction as if he were afraid he would be attacked at any moment. All around, there were still sporadic sounds of gun battles and a fair amount of howling and shouting from the ill-disciplined Sabbat. An explosion erupted a block away, distracting the guard. Seizing the opportunity, Jack raced to the double doors around the corner of the building ahead. It was a sudden burst of speed Lotta hadn't been expecting. It almost seemed as if Jack crackled with energy moments before he became a speeding blur that covered the remaining distance to the doors ahead in less than half a second.
Without Jack's abilities, Lotta had to be more careful. Waiting till she was sure the one Sabbat guard was preoccupied with the exploded vehicle or whatever it was that had combusted, Lotta ran the last few strides. Jack was already waiting inside.
"Keep it quiet," he said, as she reached him. "They're inside here. Seems that shovelhead outside just got separated from his pack. He's wounded too. You oughta take care of him. Learn what it's like while the picking's good."
"What?!" Lotta nearly shouted before catching herself.
"Don't worry, he's probably greener than you."
Lotta was still disturbed by the casualness with which Jack had just suggested she kill someone else, but his inference piqued her interest.
"What makes you think that?" she asked.
"The Sabbat, you see, they don't have the most rigorous training program," he explained. "In fact, that poor sod is lucky if he knows he's a vampire."
"How's that even possible?"
"He was probably just turned and beaten over the head. They like to do that – make shock troops. Cannon fodder. It'll be better to just put him out of his misery."
"But if what you've said is true, then… that could easily have been me."
Jack shrugged. "He's not. And if he survives tonight, he's gonna be a threat to every Kindred out there. The moment he decides to do something reckless and make the headlines… we're all going to have to pay for it." Lotta still looked hesitant. "Look, I'll cover you this one time. But so long as you've got debts to pay to our so-called Prince, you can be sure death is gonna come knocking. You just better be sure it's not your door he's at. Now hang here for a second. I'll be back."
Jack exited the beginning. Lotta heard a single muted thud, and in a few seconds he was back. He handed her a rusty tire iron. Lotta considered resisting but thought better of it and accepted the makeshift weapon.
"That's that," said Jack. "Poor sod wasn't even a Kindred. The Sabbat do that sometimes – treat the whole Embrace as some kind of reward for good work."
"Now what?" Lotta sked.
"Well it sounds like we got another pack moving in. The Sabbat're goin' all out. You better head underground, avoid stray bullets." He pointed at a nearby door. "Head down into the basement, through the grate in there. And keep that tire iron handy. I'll join you in a minute."
Lotta found the grating with little trouble. What was more problematic was that this part of the building was clearly not meant for everyday urban spelunkers. This was maintenance-only territory. She grimaced and headed down.
Down below it was all pipes and valves and old crates. Lotta had just navigated her way through the furniture when Jack caught up with her.
"Not sure what's goin' on," he admitted. "Sounds like the Sabbat's getting' scattered. I think they might be clearing out. No need to go stirring up the hornets' nest till we know the score, though. Through that next door you'll come to an elevator. Take it up to the first floor. I'll meet you there. Don't let 'em catch ya."
Lotta carried on alone. The basement was dingy, damp, and the only sounds to accompany her were that of faint dripping from leaky pipes. She found the elevator without incident and hit the switch to call the elevator cart.
Everything had been going fine so far, but it all changed when the door opened. She couldn't tell who was more surprised: herself or the thug with the uzi standing inside. For a long moment, both just stared at each other, wide-eyed. Then she saw the gun in his hand move and she reacted.
The tire iron connected with his cheek with so much force that she thought she actually heard the bone crack. The visible indentation in his face made him look almost like some mannequin. With the odd-looking hole in it, his it didn't even look real anymore – almost as if it were made of plastic, as if he were no longer a human being.
And with that thought, Lotta took a step closer and brought the tire iron down again amidst his flailing limbs. Then again. Once more, and his movements stopped. His body jerked on the fourth strike but he was silent.
When the elevator had risen one floor and the doors opened again, Lotta found herself face-to-face with Jack, who had returned from whatever task had called him away earlier. He seemed in a good mood and even laughed.
"Fucking humans," he chuckled. "Gangbangers 'protectin' their turf. Ah man." He sighed good naturedly at himself. "I'm here thinkin' it's Sabbat moving up in there… it's the fuckin' locals about to take one for the hood and…" He noticed the body lying at Lotta's feet for the first time. "Mmm, a little overzealous," he mused, noticing the bludgeoned man's face, "but, hey, it was him or you."
Lotta realized she was still clutching the tire iron tightly in her hand and released her grip as the reality of the situation sunk in. The tool clanged noisily on the elevator floor.
"Ah, you'll get used to it," Jack reassured her. He bent down and picked up the tire iron, handing it back to her. "You probably don't want to leave fingerprints for the cops to find though."
Lotta reluctantly reclaimed ownership of the murder weapon, blood still decorating the tool-end of it. "So…" She paused and took a breath. "So what happened with the rest of them?"
"The stragglers?" said Jack. "They won't be a problem anymore."
"So… it's finished?"
"That's it, kiddo," Jack affirmed. "Just like that and it's all over. Everyone slinks back to their corners of the city for the night."
"And this is… normal?"
"To be honest, you came along at an… interesting time. The Camarilla, the Sabbat… In L.A. these are the new kids on the block. There's already plenty'a Kindred had stakes down in California long before them. Now we got every ancient Kindred rivalry playing out all over the city. A lotta tension out there. Llllotta jittery, high strung predators clingin' to their little pieces of eternity. One power struggle packed onto another."
"I'm not sure I—" Lotta started saying before they heard a short blast of a taxi horn.
"I think they're looking for you outside," said Jack. "Guess you got a cab to catch. Was hoping to fill you in on a little more but… hell, you'll figure it out."
"So they're just going to… drop me off somewhere in Santa Monica?"
"If you make it back," said Jack, ignoring her last question, "stop in at the Last Round. It's this bar downtown here; I'll fill you in on the politics. Now that's the stuff that'll kill ya."
With a last parting wish of luck, Jack moved aside to allow her access to the main door of the building. Outside the cab was waiting to take her new home. She got into the car, closed the door, and stared out of the window as the city raced by like memories of her previous life, now rapidly fading into the distance.
Random Notes:
1. The dead vampire in this chapter didn't burst into cinders unlike in the game. My understanding is that in VtM, vampire bodies get frozen in age to the time of their first death, and that time catches up when they die as vampires. The vampire in this prologue wasn't alive for that long, so he didn't crumble to ashes or burst into cinders. I think VtmB just used that animation to simplify things.
2. Did the protagonist actually have penetrative sex with the vampire in the game? I argue yes, judging by the dozen-or-so open packets of contraceptives. From what I've been reading about VtM lore online, it appears that vampires can pump blood into the required parts to fake body heat and, I guess, also make the requisite organs tumescent. Yes, I know that's a really awkward and weird note to make, but I have seen debates online about whether VtM vampires actually can have or even want to have sexual relations with others.
3. There are going to be a whole lot of biological issues like this that are easy to gloss over or not even think about in a video game or pen-and-paper but that I feel have to be addressed for the sake of plausibility in a novel. I'll be interested to hear your thoughts, especially those of you who are more familiar with VtM lore.