1
Mmmmmmmmm, silk..... Wait a minute, bath tubs aren't made of silk!
Allyson's brain slowly emerged from a blissful slumber, trying to piece together its location. One blue eye opened, and focused on an ornate wooden post. Running her eye up its length, she came to the cover it was holding up. As her brain finally made it into first gear, the remainder of the night fell into place, and she smiled.
It would have been a waste to keep it in the tub when there was a perfectly good poster bed in the adjoining bedroom...
Stretching her limbs out to their full, albeit short, length, she didn't encounter any resistance on the other side of the bed. Opening both eyes, she sat up and looked about. The room was mostly in shadows, lit by a few indirect sources. In the darkest corner, she detected a hint of movement.
"Good Afternoon, sleepyhead." The husky contralto voice emanated from the shadows. "Are we feeling a bit better today?"
Allyson grinned, and in a flash of movement, made a low leap from the bed to the seated figure, landing softly in their lap. She quickly captured the woman's lower lip with her teeth, and released.
"Does that answer your question?", she asked with a smirk. With a flick of the woman's wrist, Allyson was landing back on the bed, quickly followed by a chuckling flash of dark hair.
2
About an hour later, Allyson was buckling the last fastener on her just-delivered cleaned outfit, noticing happily that the bullet holes weren't too noticeable with the coat on. In front of her, Fatima Al-Roshta was straightening out her own clothes after their impromptu romp. Not, an appreciative Allyson decided, that she needed much straightening out. The darkly beautiful woman looked stunning no matter if she was in a boardroom, mingling in her club, or tied to the bedposts with ripped silk bedsheets. At this thought, she blushed slightly.
"Ah, listen Fatima, those sheets are probably really expensive. Why don't you tell me how much and I can replace them?"
The other woman waved her hand dismissively.
"Think nothing of it child. Their cost is nothing compared to the knowledge that you enjoy my company as much as that of my servants." She fixed Allyson with a look so lecherous the girl blushed to the roots of her hair.
"Speaking of servants, I haven't seen this Sophia around the club before. Where have you been hiding her?"
"She has been Uptown since I Marked her, learning the business side of my affairs. I brought her to the club to round out her education." An arched eyebrow was aimed in Allyson's direction. "Which you seemed quite eager to help with. Hopefully she will be able to sit down by tonight...."
Allyson shrugged. "I'd plead excessive youth, but I probably have twenty years on her."
A knock at the door interrupted their discussion. It opened to reveal the bouncer that let Allyson in the night before. Ducking low to pass through the door, he held out a battered but intact briefcase.
"Here is your 'case Miss Allyson. We found your motorcycle at the warehouse. That group must have been too worried about finding you to bother with it. Its out front ready to go when you are."
Allyson took the 'case from the man. "Thanks Casper. I'll have to bring over a beef side for you guys the next I head up to that butcher you like." The man's eyes sparkled at this. Turning back to Fatima, she thought for a second. "If it was VanStat that lit this fire under Delaquiox's balls, I don't think we'll be hearing from the asshole again. But if anything pops up, you'll let me know?"
"Of course." The older woman paused. "Some day you'll have to tell me why this woman hates you so."
Allyson's expression turned pensive. "As soon as I figure it out, you'll be the first to know." Her expression brightened a bit. "Tootles babe." With that, she walked out of the room. Casper shoot a glance at his mistress, and she nodded slightly. He too left, closing the door behind him.
3
The only place Allyson truly felt free was on her bike. There were no deals, no looking behind her back, no low profile. There was just her, the road, and the poor souls unlucky enough to cross her path. Luckily, the midafternoon traffic was fairly light. Cutting across the lower tip of Manhattan, she turned up along the East River. After passing multiple warehouse/wharf sites, she pulled into a service road. Above a half-mile later, she came to a chainlink fence, gate already rolling open. Pulling through, she rolled up to a smallish warehouse. Pressing a sequence of buttons on her bike's handlebar, she waited for the security system to authenticate the code. After a 15 second pause, a loading door slid open. Gunning her bike up the ramp, she entered the warehouse.
The inside was a stark contrast from the outside appearance. Instead of sun-bleached wood and powdery brick, fresh concrete and gleaming chrome dominated her garage. Allyson pulled the bike into an open slot, next to a half dozen bikes of various makes and models, and even an ancient hatchback car. Dismounting, she set her helmet on the seat and threw a nearby dustcover over the bike. Passing behind the vehicles, she came to a wall with two doors. After tapping yet another code into the wallpad, the door closest to the outside wall slid open, revealing an elevator. Hitting the single button on the panel, she impatiently waited as the door closed and took her up a floor. Exiting the elevator, she sighed.
"Home, sweet fucking home."
4
There was something to be said about a hot shower. Especially one in a shower custom made for one of less than heroic proportions. Soaping up vigorously to remove the last vestige of river muck, she hissed as she came across the bullet wound. Grabbing the small mirror she kept in the stall, she positioned it so she could she the area under her right breast. The wound was closed over and half its original size. Most likely, it would be gone by the next day. Grunting in satisfaction, she rinsed of and got out of the shower. Toweling off as she went, she made her way to the connecting bedroom. It was definitely a themed bedroom, full of satin and mirrors. Opening a side door, a large walk-in closet was reveled. It was filled with variations on the outfit from last night. Black vinyl shirts and pants, in myriad styles.
"Let's see. What does one wear when visiting Ghouls, hmmm?" After several minutes of browsing, she chose a pair of looser fitting pants and a tank-top style shirt. After getting dressed, she went to the very back of the closet. Pulling down one of the close-hooks, a large panel slid to the side, revealing what Allyson called her 'work stuff'. A black vinyl trenchcoat was hung on one wall, and several guns and holsters hung on the others. A life-size poster of Carrie-Anne Moss as Matrix 3's 'Uber-Trinity' covered the back wall.
Allyson knew that Delaquiox's attempt probably wouldn't be the last, and she had no intention of being caught off her guard again. Taking her favorite mini-Uzis down, she fastened the harness around her shoulders and hips, making sure the two machine pistols hung free along her sides. She then threw on the coat, careful of its added weight and stiffness. The material looked like a vinyl base, but it was actually 5th generation flexible Kevlar. Despite its lightweight qualities, it would stop anything non-AP up to a .50-caliber slug. Of course, if someone went for the headshot, she was still screwed. But you had to aim for that, and she didn't plan on staying still that long. As she was adjusting the fit of the coat and weapons, a phone rang in the bedroom. Exiting the closet, she scooped up the portable on the nightstand.
"Speak.", she ordered into the phone.
"Woof. Woof.", replied the aging male voice on the other end.
Allyson winced. "What now HEX? I'm a busy woman." If he wasn't the best infoskim I would have shot him years ago...
The voice sighed. "You missed a hell of a of a party last night Ally. Couldn't you have at least stopped in for a little bit?" The last part was delivered in a petulant near-whine. Allyson just rolled her eyes.
"No. Again, was there anything useful you needed to tell me, or do just enjoy wasting my time?"
There was a sniff on the other side. "That hurts kid. Just when I was calling to let you know I had some Class A news for you, you go a-"
"Good. I'll be there at seven." Allyson cut through the whining, and then hung up. Sighing, she through the phone on the bed and grabbed the battered suitcase from the stand she left it on. This night was looking to be so much fun.
"Well, no use putting it of any longer", she said out loud. "I just wish they didn't smell as bad...."
Allyson was mobile again, this time on a battered old 2015 Kawasaki Shogun. She liked her Black Orchid better, but one does not ride a $45,000 motorcycle into the heart of Co-Op City. The ride was uneventful, and she reflected at the rather interesting circumstances that led to her working with the Ghouls of New York City.
Every family had black sheep, and the Ghouls were said dark herbivores of the Vampiric lines. The result of a Turning that went horribly wrong, Ghouls truly were the 'living dead'. Necrosis set in as part of the Change, leaving them stumbling hulks of rotting flesh, depended on both blood and flesh to retain their mockery of life. They had been pushed into the shadows of vampire society, the equivalent of the crazy aunt everybody knows about but no one talks about. This was how it was for millennia.
And then the Blood Fire came....
Due to their alternate biochemistries, vampires were unaffected by the AIDS epidemic of the turn of the century. They grew complacent as disease after disease ravaged the human population, but passed them by. Proof, the Elders said, of their superiority. But then in 2009, the Fire ignited. No one was certain where it came from, but it seemed to be a distant cousin of the African hemoragic retroviruses. It was blood-borne, and it only affected Vampires, passing by the humans and fey. Even the Lupines and Trolls were unaffected. The infected vampire's internal organs began to dissolve inside their bodies. For 4 years, panic reigned in the Kingdom of Shadow. And then something remarkable was discovered. Ghouls, with their halted natural processes and rotting flesh, were immune. This fact was kept strictly secret, the Elders seeing a way to regain control over the unruly younger ranks after the debacle of La Magra. The Elders sanctioned research into the subject, and in 2021, they came up with a regime that held the Fire at bay. They used this monopoly of salvation ruthlessly, and soon the infected population was utterly loyal to the Elders. Unknown to them, a isolated group of Ghouls, all with previous training in the sciences, had come up with a similar solution. Knowing the Elders would crush them if they openly peddled their wares, they instead sold to those rich enough to pay for it, and rebellious enough not to want to toe the Elder's line. The Ghoul Consortium hoped to use the money made this way to develop the thing the Elders hadn't been able to: a cure. Which would release them from the closet of the family line once and for all. Which is where Allyson entered the scene. Being a outcast herself, she had no deep reasons for not working with the Ghouls (except for the stench). And being completely able to walk about in public without looking like a escaped George Ramero extra, she made a perfect go-between. Which brought her to the small alley she was currently in.
Stopping next to a closed dumpster, she got off and hit a small latch on the side. The front of the dumpster swung down, and she shoved the bike in. Grabbing the briefcase, she then swung the front back up, completing the oversized safe-box. Proceeding to the end of the alley, she came to a large manhole cover. Grabbing the 200 lb cover with her spare hand, she slid it over, revealing the sewer entrance. Dropping straight down the hole, she landed softly at the bottom of the 10 foot drop and paused, letting her eyes adjust from the dusk above to the blackness below. As her eyes adjusted, she picked out the door at the end of the short corridor. She approached it slowly, mindful of the camera in one darkened corner. Reaching the submarine-style pressure door, she pressed the intercom stud designed to blend in with the wall. Clearing her throat, she spoke to the wall.
"L'ourax here. I have the Delaquiox payment." after a few seconds, a small light blinked above the doorframe, and the center handle began spinning. As the door opened, a fetid wave of air washed over her, causes her to gag. If it was possible, it was actually worse than usual. The door swung back, revealing Alex, Allyson's contact with the Consortium. A female of average height, Alex was in surprisingly good condition for a Ghoul, with only the most superficial lesions and discoloration. She motioned Allyson over to a table set up a few feet inside the tunnel. Allyson sat down at the table, jumping a bit when the door slammed shut. She set the case on the table and did her damnedest to breathe through her mouth. Shallowly.
Alex sat down across the table from her and pulled the briefcase over. Snapping it open, she quickly examined the money, and then shut it.
"Looks good. Anything to report?" She fixed her diminutive companion with a rather haughty stare. Allyson returned it without flinching.
"Yeah. Delaquiox took a couple of shots at me, most likely at Queen Bitch VanStat's request. Dunno if you'll have much future business from him."
Alex shrugged. "We have other people in our queue. The treatments were starting to lose effectiveness on him anyways."
Ally's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "That can happen?" Might be something HEX would be interested in. Could knock a few grand off his retainer.
The Ghoul missed the gleam in the Daywalker's eye as she was scribbling something on a notepad. She answered absentmindedly.
"Unfortunately, yes. Certain House lines respond poorly to both versions of the virostatic. Its something we're working on." She tore off the sheet and handed it to Allyson, who glanced at the numbers and then stuffed it in a pocket. "Your confirmation numbers for the deposit. As usual, 15% within 24 hours of delivery. Is there anything else we can do for you, Ms. L'ourax?"
Allyson stood from the table, and the new, deeper smell hit her again. Putting a hand over her mouth helped slightly.
"Hey, what's up with the smell? Its actually worse than usual", she blurted out. Alex smiled slightly and activated the door.
"That would be the Troll. It just arrived from Portugal yesterday, and its been...marking its territory."
Allyson instinctively reached for her guns, but stopped when she remembered the overall lack of panicky screaming and horrific bloodshed. She still paled slightly. This was something Fati definitely needed to know about....
"You're going to tell me you guys brought a Troll into NYC? Are you fucking nuts? What if it gets out?" She backed through the door, looking nervously into the shadows.
Alex just shook her head. "Its a sane one Daywalker. Perfectly safe."
Allyson snorted at this. "There's no such thing as a sane Troll. I'm outta here. Give me a call before the next shipment, if anyone is still alive." With this, she turned around and hurried out of the chamber, not stopping until she was aboveground and had the cover back in place. Pulling her bike out of the faux dumpster, she suppressed a shudder. Something big must be going on if the Ghouls were messing with the Firstborn. It has been highly illegal in the Kingdom of Shadow to transport Trolls to the Americas for over 2 hundred years.
And with good reason, Allyson thought as she kicked her bike to life. There are still places in the Mexican jungles where no living thing dared to go....