Disc: Blah, bleh, bluh. You know how it goes. And if you don't, well, then, you should.
Beast
Humanity
Thoughts
Voices
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Retribution and Revolution
Chapter Four: Answers for a Price
-Hollywood-
-The Warrens-
Wrayth emerged from the desecrated tomb's tunnel into the dining room. Gary's silent guests still sat with their plates of rats untouched. Good waste of bad food, she thought grudgingly.
"Voice...oh voice? Come out, come out, whatever you are..."
A gravelly laugh echoed in the cavern's corners. The sound of it made Wrayth's hackles stand straight as needles. It got into her head, which was a thought she didn't like at all.
"Evening, boss. Come a'sniffing for clues? One of our boys tells me you threw quite a tantrum on one of your own."
Wrayth shrugged. "He angered the demon of knowledge that possesses me. It doesn't like it when I don't know something." She pulled the scrap of cloth from her bag and tossed it onto the table in front of Bogart's bones. An unseen hand snatched it up, and Gary appeared from the dark mists. "Know you the scent of this pulled petal?"
The former movie star raised the cloth to his nose and took a full breath of it, closing his catty eyes to isolate the scents. Those eyes popped back open and a wild grin appeared on his twisted lips when he detected the scent beneath the Malkavian's. "Hmm, mind if I ask you a question too, boss? How bad do you want to know?"
"Hello? Demon of knowledge? I don't just talk to myself all the time...well, maybe I do..." She shook her head, trying to stop her madness from completely sidetracking her. "You propose an errand, visible voice?" Gary nodded. "Anything within-or without-reason."
"Jyhad's getting easier, eh boss? I promise you this will be fun and functional. You ever listen to 'The Deb of Night' show?"
"Ah, a sarcastic seductress in the sweet night."
"Well, boss, Mitnick's been keeping tabs on a frequent caller of Deb's. A guy named Gomez."
"The prophet of propaganda! The connoisseur of conspiracy! His words make my laughter loud."
"The very same. Now, normally, this guy's a harmless crackpot. But a few nights ago, Gomez got his big break. Some dumb quiff got her fangs too deep into some poor sap and ended up having to turn him. But she didn't stick around long enough to explain the Masquerade, so this guy went blabbing to Deb on the air. Our buddy Gomez got wind of it and did some digging."
"The squirrel found a store of nutty goodies?"
Gary went to sit at the head of the dinner table. "You could say that. He's a fiend for 'Haunted LA' and decent hacker and got into some of the clan's networks. Not anything you wouldn't find on any emo Goth kid's blog nowadays, but we need to nip this in the bud while it's still young and tender."
"I heard the sweet sarcastic voice ridicule the prophet's convictions."
"That's Deb's thing. She hears something potentially exposing us, she does spin control."
Wrayth smiled. "I thought her spinning words were stirring. Deb's a dead debutante?"
Gary nodded, steepling his gnarled fingers. "One of the more decent Toreadors I've met, and that's saying a lot. She went Anarch after LaCroix threatened her for being too much in the public eye. Isaac was more than happy to support her decision. That guy doesn't take kindly to squelched artists." A nasty glint entered his eyes. "By the by, nice architectural work on the tower, boss."
"Just a little thing I do...now, what else need I do?" She asked, rubbing her palms gleefully. As annoying as running errands could be, she did have quite a lot of fun at times.
"Now, don't go getting too excited. First off, you need to get rid of Gomez's evidence. He's only started really digging for Kindred for about four days, but who knows how much he's found. Mitnick will set you up with all of that. Go talk to him before you leave. Make sure that he doesn't see you if he's there, and even if he's not, there's bound to be cameras. Watch yourself. After you do that, I'll contact you about Ol' Gomez's whereabouts. Find him and, well, feel free to use that sanity-free imagination of yours, boss."
"You don't fully know what liberties you just gave me," she giggled. Then, another thought made her grow serious. "What of the chattersome childe?"
Gary's own eyes went solemn. "No need to worry about that anymore. He went complaining a little too loudly around some hunters. Went out smokin'."
Wrayth's stomach grew hot with anger. Damn hunters. But, then again, she didn't know if she herself could slaughter another Kindred just for not knowing the rules. Julius's dying pleas still prodded her Humanity when she let her guard down. At least it wasn't her task this time.
"We'll be keeping an eye on you. Come back when you're finished, and I'll give you what you want. Deal, boss?"
Gary extended his twisted hand. With no hesitation, Wrayth shook it enthusiastically. "Like a deck of cards, voice."
With a nod, Gary vanished into the shadows again. "Remember, this guy is a paranoid piece of work. Don't give us up by being careless."
"Done, and when I return, we will settle this."
"You have my word, boss. You trust me, right?" The same gravelly chuckle echoed in the room and Wrayth shivered in spite of herself. She turned on her heel and made her way across the foul lake towards Mitnick's room.
The expert hacker was hunched over his keyboard, chuckling at the suckers unlucky enough to piss him off with their lack of security. "How many gnats do you snare tonight in your web, little technospider?"
"Huh? Oh, hey. Y-yeah, lemme just finish this up. Hey, hey, you wanna watch this guy's screen melt? Who just downloads porn without an anti-virus program? I mean seriously."
"Especially with you lurking in the linux. I come from the big cheese. He sends me out as a rat tonight to scramble some circuits...and maybe a kine."
"Wha? Oh, yeah, the virus. Here ya go. And here's the key to the warehouse." He opened a drawer and handed her a key card and a CD-ROM in a jewel case. Wrayth took them and examined the label on the CD.
"'Double Agent.' A new recruit for the secret web?"
Mitnick shrugged. "Well, it's actually a good system. Needs some major touch-ups, but that's easy. Follow the instructions on the note in there. It'll wipe his system clean and set up a direct line into the Schrecknet. Waste not, want not, y'know."
"Reduce, reuse, recycle. It shall be served to you on a silica platter. Farewell."
-Downtown-
-LA Fine Wares-
Safely invisible, Wrayth slowly crept into the warehouse. The place was a hacker's fondest dream. At least twenty monitors were set up around the room, glowing green and blue and casting an eerie light over the spaghetti-like tangle of cords that covered the floor. She detected no auras in the place, but security cameras were set up throughout. She would have to remain shrouded for a while.
A light in an upstairs office caught her eye and she quickly ran up the stairs. The lock was simple and the door opened to reveal a room filled with what Mitnick would no doubt have on his Christmas list. She counted fifty TV screens showing various angles in the warehouse and even some in places around the city. A shot of the Vesuvius girls dancing on their volcanic stage got her attention, but she knew that Gomez watched for a different reason than she would have. Teach him to spy on my Dolly...
A huge motherboard sat against a wall facing a large computer mounted above an old desk. She sat at the desk and pulled up the menu screen. She hacked into the security folder using the password "BigBrotherIsWatching" and went through each camera, disabling their prying eyes. Big Brother is blinded...
Safe for the moment, she dropped her disguise of transparency, but kept her Auspex up in case unexpected company came along. She typed in a command for the anti-virus software and disabled it with a few clicks. Gomez should have been smarter than to have used "conspiracy" as his password into the only thing that would save him. Pulling up a menu of conspiracy theories, she absently clicked through them, skimming over the titles.
"Hypnotic commercials," no..."secret traffic light cameras," uh-uh..."Andromedean invasion," perhaps later..."creatures of the night," not quite..."cell phone radiation"...oops.
She opened "Creatures of the Night" and a password prompt appeared. Using her left hand, she held down Crtl and Alt and pecked "skellingtonkey" with her right hand. She held down Insert and then pressed Enter. A scramble of letters ran across the password bar as one by one they spelled out "paranoiajustified1984".
At least nineteen files containing Gomez's evidence appeared and she read through them quickly. Depositions, photos of crime scenes, coroner's reports, many of them chronicling her own deeds during the short time she'd been dead. Ooh, I'm famous. And here's my fanbase. Also among the evidence were countless schedules of Haunted LA, including investigations into the cast and crew's disappearance. Wrayth's mind wandered to the blood-smeared beauty of a black widow she'd met below the hospital. Pisha said she was moving on to another place, and Wrayth couldn't help but think of all the occultish goodies yet to be found in this city alone. Oh, well. More for me.
Beside the computer was a small TV with a built-in VCR unit. Piles of videotapes lay next to it, some labeled with chicken scratch, others left blank. A videocassette with a torn label protruded from the VCR. Her insatiable curiosity piqued again, she slid it in and switched the TV. Its screen was a little fuzzy with static, but she could make out images just fine. The cameraman cleared his throat.
"Uh, this is Gomez, November 16th, about midnight. I've heard, um, heard a lot of weird stuff about this place and I think it might have something to do with the real truth of what's been going on in the city."
The camera's view revealed the inside of a very dirty, rundown hotel of sorts. It looked familiar. As she squinted at the screen, she recognized it as the derelict temple of the Ninth Circle. The camera angle swept to the floor where rotted body parts and desiccated corpses were carelessly strewn about, some apparently gnawed on. Carrion-gorged flies buzzed noisily in such numbers that the air was nearly black with them. The view became shaky as Gomez began panting in terror and anxiety, muttering a mixture of curses and prayers. Around the corner came a thick moan, not of sadness or pain, but mindless hunger.
Don't go in there... She thought and slapped her hands over her mouth to stifle the inevitable giggles. She knew she was alone, but the slightest chance that she might be heard shut her up. She couldn't give herself away if she hoped for answers tonight.
The camera swung around the corner and right into the arms of a waiting Summoned. Its sore-ridden mouth gaped; bits of black, rotten flesh stuck in the teeth dripped with vileness. One of its clouded eyes dangled loosely from a mangled socket. The wretch lurched for Gomez and the ocular pendulum swung forward, splatting wetly against the camera lens.
Gomez screamed and turned-tail, racing back to where he came in. As he ran, his pumping arms swung the camera into a door and it turned off abruptly. White noise and snowy static took over the screen and Wrayth sat there for a moment, making out faces, words and scenes in the flickering pixels.
She ejected the tape and pulled the virus out of her bag. She opened the jewel case and found a note behind the CD-ROM.
F1, 'two-faced', F5, 'traitor', hold Alt and press Enter. Ka-boom. - Mitnick
Popping the CD into the drive, she opened the "double agent" file. A password page opened and she typed in the contents of the note. After pressing Enter, the screen dissolved into a cartoonish, spherical bomb with a hissing fuse. It took all her control not to giggle and clap her hands with glee, and she turned the volume on the computer all the way down just as the bomb disappeared into a cloud of smoke that read "Ka-boom!"
When the pixelated puff of smoke cleared, she discovered that every file on Kindred was cleaned and gone, and in their place was a link to the Schrecknet. She opened it and a message from Mitnick popped up.
Nice work. Dump all hardcopy evidence into the vent shaft. We'll take care of it. Happy Hunting! -Mitnick"
Quickly, she closed down the programs and went to the file cabinets on the right side of the office. The files on Kindred were thin, but anything that pointed a finger at them brought on the sun. She gathered them up and glanced at the videotape as an afterthought. She picked up a nearly dried-up Sharpie and wrote "give to Gary, much laughter ensues" on the label. Placing it on the top of the short pile, she carried it down the stairs and crossed to the vent shaft. A pair of glinting, venom green eyes peered out at her.
She opened the grate and slipped the pile to the agent. "Bombs away," she whispered.
A gravelly, nasal laugh answered her. "Nice. Get out quick. Oh, and here." A clawed hand appeared from the blackness, sliding a pair of blood bags to her. She snatched them up and drank one greedily, relishing the warm, coppery flavor.
"A fine O positive bouquet. Thanks to you, kindly sewer prince. May many rats cross your path."
As she exited the warehouse, she let her disciplines fall to nothing, letting the blood replenish her fully. She tossed the empty bag into a fire barrel and made her way towards Confession. A wage run and light snack would do her good.
As she rounded the corner near the decimated Ventrue Tower, the payphone by the bus stop began to ring. Knowing it was no coincidence, she made a beeline for it and picked it up.
"Hello, Lucky Winner! You have been randomly selected to date our mystery guest if you can guess this sound!" A raspy laugh interrupted the bouncy voice and Wrayth felt the down on her neck rise.
"Keep your mysterious match, creepy Crypt-keeper. The Prophet's compy is erased and replaced."
"I know. One of the boys just got back with the evidence. More than I thought there would be. And the tape...sounds like a gas."
"Like a Texaco station. Could you now be my compass to the conspiracy theorist?"
"Sure, Boss, why don't you go confess. You've done your fair share of sinning these nights."
Wrayth chuckled. "Your cryptic quips, dear Crypt King, are well-understood. I have made it in my mind to go to my local priestess."
"Come back when you're done. Don't get sloppy, and most of all, have fun. And remember, never talk to yourself. You never know who's listening."
She frowned, always uncomfortable when his voice went wriggling in places it didn't belong. "There's only so much room in my head for voices. Don't overstay your welcome."
She hung up the phone and resumed her path, stopping for a moment to admire the yet uncleared wreckage of the tower. Ahh, never get tired of seeing that. Right before she turned another corner, a moment of clarity made her aware of how conspicuous she was with all of her noisy toys in plain view. She could stand to cover them up a little before meeting with the skittish Gomez. Luckily, Fat Larry's Truck o' Mack was close by.
The rotund, afroed man straightened and smiled when she approached him. "Aw, Baby Girl! Thank the Lord you're okay!"
She grinned at him. "You're concern is flattering, and flattery will get you everywhere my friend."
"Well, I saw you go into that tower and then, well, boom! And I thought...well, you're not. So, okay, what do you need tonight, sweet thang?" He asked as he pushed the roll-away hatch of the truck.
Wrayth's mismatched eyes twinkled at the array of goodies and pretty things. "Have you a regal, royal robe to keep my little ones, and me, warm?"
"Yeah. I think I got somethin'...now let's see...ahh, yeah, here you go." He reached in and pulled out a calf-length trench coat made of thick black leather. A spike-studded belt hung in the belt loops and matching spikes adorned the lapels, wrist cuffs and openings of the deep pockets. The inside of the coat was lined in red silk and had built-in holsters. Stitched on the back were red leather letters that read "Don't fuck with me." She smiled and took it from him, slipping it on slowly to savor the feel of the slithery silk on her cool flesh.
"Fit for a queen of the night. May this make your wallet weighty." She pulled out her wallet and fished out a few bills and tucked it into his afro. He pulled it out and grinned at her.
"You have fun out there tonight, Cleo. By the way, I got some new merchandise coming in a few nights, so stop in and see what I got for you."
"I always want what you have, Street Santa. Farewell."
After she left he truck, she ducked into an alley and rearranged her weapons. One by one, she whipped them out to test how easily each could be equipped. "Pie was never this easy." She put her toys away and straightened her new coat. "Time to defuse the ticking bomb."
