WoD: Three Sisters
Chapter 1: Helga
She doesn't remember, but this is the third time Helga has had this dream since she got back to the States.
"Stop hiding. I need to find you. Where are you?" It always says the same thing. The voice doesn't seem to be coming from any particular location. All the more reason for Helga to ignore it, and keep looking for a way out. But the dreamscape she finds herself in won't let her leave. More darkened alleys and empty, unfamiliar city streets greet her around every corner. All she can do is keep running.
The first sign of familiarity practically screams at her to come into the building. It's her old house; the one she had promised to leave behind forever, and which she hadn't seen in at least three years. None of that enters her mind as she sprints through the front door, then the kitchen, then the hall, and finally enters the room she shared. A dark film seems to permeate everything, even the air, leaving only the equivalent of muted candlelight in the whole house, despite the presence of several glowing (and uncovered) light bulbs. In seconds, she has rifled through every closet and drawer, and is about to start checking under the twin mattresses when she hears the voice again. This time Helga knows where it came from. The front door.
Where is my fucking gun? She's getting desperate, realizing that she has backed herself into a corner. A glance through the window reveals only inky blackness, even less inviting than whatever is coming down the hall right now. Stupid, Helga slaps her head in frustration, even as a figure steps into the door frame. I never had a gun in this house. As the young woman finally gets a chance to look her pursuer over, she immediately regrets her decision to not dive through the window.
It may just be the dim light, but all that Helga can see is the silhouette of a girl about her height with messy, jaw-length hair. Only its fingers are twice as long and thick as they should be, ending in sharp points with no distinction between finger, nail, or claw. In fact, almost nothing about the figure is distinct, except for its slender outline and the Cheshire-cat grin in the middle of its head, with solid yellow eyes and white fangs stark against the blackness. "Oh," its teeth part and the words come through, freezing Helga solid with a fearful chill, "you're finally home. Good. You can wake up now. It won't be much longer before I find you."
She didn't forget the dream this time.
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"Are you sure this is necessary? I mean, I signed the contract, didn't I?" Helga had arrived early for her morning appointment, the previous night's experience ensuring hardly any rest among the sleep. The dream refused to slip away from her memory as the sun began to rise outside the small, windowless operating room she now sits in, her left arm held fast in a brace.
"It's necessary because you signed the contract. You read it, didn't you?" The scrub-wearing man leaning over her immobile arm throws a callous glance at Helga without stopping the motion of his hands. His lined face and touch of gray at the temples, coupled with the speed and efficiency of his work, gives her the impression that he has done a number of these weird operations before, and had grown quite tired of people like her asking similar questions.
Truthfully, Helga had indeed read the contract, but half of it was pure gibberish to her. It remained maddeningly vague about these "Potential Assets" it repeatedly referred to, and refused to explain any of the numerous other terms it threw around like she was supposedly an expert in whatever field this was. What she did understand were words like insurance, retirement, 401k, and salary. Holding only a GED and fresh off the jet from being an Army grunt (she had only been back for three days), Helga leaped at the first sign of an actual career outside the fast food industry.
It was at least clear enough what her basic job was: find the "Assets" and secure them for a Dedicated Pickup Team. The company representative had approached her with the job offer right in the airport terminal where Helga had disembarked. A real charmer in a pressed business suit. He told her that military experience was what they were looking for, and she would receive "on-the-job training" for any other skills she might need. Naturally, Helga assumed that meant her primary job was busting heads.
She blinks her eyes open, her head jerking up from its stooped resting place. "Was I asleep?"
"Yeah. Saved me most of the complaining I have to take from you raw recruits." The doctor's jibe seems more good natured now that he is done working. "You're done here. Keep your arm in that sling until the anesthetic wears off. Should only take a couple hours." Helga stands up to leave, feeling the dead weight of her arm hanging from her shoulder.
"Where do I go now?"
"Talk to Gus, downstairs. He's the only one in this early, so you can't miss him."
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"Well, Miss, this is about it as far as 'standard issue equipment' goes." Gus stands a good seven inches taller than Helga, herself no slouch for a woman at 5' 8''. Smiling, he hands her a plastic wrapped bundle. By now she has gotten enough feeling back to lose the sling, though she tears open the package a bit weakly. Inside she finds only two items: a small brown paperback and a sturdy leather jacket, each marked with a crescent and a lance forming a stylized bow and arrow. She dons the jacket, and it fits perfectly. Somebody must have gotten her measurements.
Taking a quick flip through the booklet, her eyes scan over the short table of contents: vampires on page one, werewolves on page five, witches on ten, demons on sixteen. The list goes on, and Helga doesn't blink at any of it. She has no reason to, given that Gus just spent the last hour and a half showing her what they've got locked in the sub-basement. Ten cells, all with extremely heavy steel doors. Each with something different yet equally horrifying and unnatural. Helga had the privilege of witnessing feeding time. Now she understands exactly what she is doing here. One of the cells was still empty. She has her first assignment.
As she and Gus begin to exit the locker room, Helga stops short in front of the full-length mirror. This is the first time the twenty-one-year-old has really looked upon herself in civvies since she got out of the Army. Her jet black hair falls straight down to her shoulder blades in the back, and to straight bangs in the middle of her forehead in front. A serious expression settles on her face, trying to look like she means business. Her thorough physical training is apparent, giving her somewhat broad shoulders and a muscular, though still quite womanly figure. The jacket is actually pretty spiffy, she decides. Under the jacket is a simple black t-shirt, with a functional pair of jeans.
"You got a gun, kid?"
"Not since leaving the service."
"Well, they give you that signing bonus for a reason. Get yourself something nice. Make sure it fits under that jacket, alright?"
Helga can't help but grin. "Alright."
"Welcome to Cheiron, Miss Kirchenbaum."