Where Everybody Doesn't Know Your Name
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An internal buzzer sounded interrupting his game. Derrick blew away one more player before exiting. It really wasn't fair, but he enjoyed it anyway. He'd noted that his dump of the Watcher's server was complete and he began a cursory examination of the files. Some of it was old text books that had been scanned. Demonology, witch craft, standard Euthanatos and hedge-mage type stuff.
Amongst the take were numerous files under the heading "Watcher Diaries". These were the journals of watchers that were assigned to slayers. Some of these went back centuries! Reading a few he was amazed at some of the things these girls could do. But in all of them, there was the watcher and his slayer. No one else. In rare occasions the watcher was female, but that seemed the only variation. All of them died young, none made it to 30, most never past 18.
He searched for and found the diaries of Rupert Giles. As he read them he noticed that Buffy seemed to be fighting a running battle. It didn't seem like a night went by without her having to face something. Then he noticed a reference to something called "The Cruciamentum". Cross referencing it with the other files he captured he discovered that it's a ritual the Slayer is put through on her 18th birthday. Reading the details of it, Derrick's only conclusion was "Those Bastards!"
"This girl proves herself almost every day and they have the balls to do that to her!" he said aloud. He also discovered that Giles got fired for trying to stop it. Points for him. As for the rest of these "watchers", they don't deserve Buffy or any of the slayers before her as far a he was concerned. The more he read the more he realized that the slayers who excelled over the years did so in spite of the Watchers, not because of them. Apparently it was standard operating procedure that if a Slayer was injured and her recovery was expected to take a while, it was her Watcher's duty to flatline her so another slayer could be called. Derrick decided he'd need to change that and a few other things too.
Along with all of this came a bunch of information about the "Demon Vampires". A lot of it was straight Hollywood; stakes, crosses, garlic, holy water. Stuff that would make the vamps he knew laugh in your face. No mention of the Camarilla.
That confused him. "How could an organization deal with vampires for centuries and not know about the Camarilla?" he asked himself. "Answer: The Watchers are being kept in the dark on purpose or they are in league with them and are suppressing the info within their own ranks."
"How do I find out?" asking himself yet another question. He had a few contacts in the vamp world, Nosferatu who had as big a Jones for information as he did. The big difference was that while Derrick thought information should be free, the Nosferatu held their info close, and charged a lot for it. And not always in money. And asking the wrong questions of them is the right way to a short life.
The Nosferatu he knew only as Nathan was Derrick's Camarilla contact in Seattle. He lived in the Seattle Underground somewhere, the "old" part of town which got buried by progress. Derrick could have located his lair, but didn't want to sour the relationship. Normally Nathan was a straight shooter, but Derrick had never gone to him for info on a Camarilla-based subject. How would he react?
He e-mailed one of Nathan's drop boxes and asked for a meet. The reply came quickly. TSD, 10PM PST. TSD is an acronym for "The Spy's Demise" a "bar" located in the Digital Web. It was also considered neutral ground. An Iteration X operative could sit down and have a nice conversation with a VA about the weather, no problem. Yeah right, not exactly how it worked, but at least there was no fighting. Fighting was verboten. Some serious shit protected the place and the bouncers would put a hurt on you if you violated the peace.
There were many theories about its existence. Some said it was a way for the Technocracy to keep tabs on the Tradition mages. Others thought that it was a trap set by the Nephandi mages. Now those people scared him. The Nephandi hoped to drive the world into utter oblivion. Their vision is one of Descension; a universe reduced to bubbling primordial ooze, devoid of hope, life or light. Derrick shivered just thinking about it when he allowed himself to dwell on the subject. Most just thought The Spy's Demise was just a really cool place to hang. The Tass was free at least.
Checking the time, he had half an hour. He set up some routines that would index the data he'd gathered so far, making it easier to search. A big believer in fault tolerance, Derrick initiated a backup of all his data stores to several locations, both in the Digital Web, and on the other side. This should all take a few hours. Leaving his secure node, Derrick made his way to The Spy's Demise.
The club was built on or near a source of Quintessence, or "Tass". Tass is a function of life energy. Think of Obi-Wan's whole "force" speech and you've got Tass. Mages use the stuff in their magics. It's created naturally and can be gathered from various sources, most of which are heavily guarded. The Garou call it Gnosis and usually build their Caerns around a source. At the Spy's Demise they specialized in all types of concoctions made with it. The story goes that one laimoid actually made a run for TSD source of Tass and got fried in nanoseconds.
The club itself was huge; some say it has no actual boundaries. There is a core section that exists around the main bar, but most of it did not stay the same for long, it was constantly evolving. Rooms appear and then vanish a few days later. Corridors shifted, entrances changed. There were places to play games, chat rooms where you could interface with sleepers. Some sleeper icons actually made it beyond those boundaries, usually indicating that the sleeper was near their awakening.
The Cult of Ecstasy mages maintained a room that was a 24x7 orgy. Of course telling just who your partner or partners were was almost impossible; male, female, neither. That gave Derrick the wiggens so he stayed away from that construct.
He ordered a "Jumpstart" which was Rum and Jolt cola, with a touch of Tass thrown in for good measure. Sitting down in a booth, he didn't wait long. Nathan showed up with a glass of something deep red. Derrick didn't need to ask. The Icon Nathan used to represent himself was non-descript. Literally. Pale robes and a face that was completely smooth, almost plastic. Same with the hair. Derrick had never seen Nathan's real face, but he knew that it was hideous by human standards. Nathan was from the Nosferatu Vampire clan. All Nosferatu resembled the guy from that silent movie of the same name. The story goes that he actually WAS a nosferatu, not an actor in makeup.
Nathan opened the conversation. "Good evening Derrick. What can I help you with?"
"Right to business huh?"
"I feel it's best that way. That way we don't have to pretend we are actually interested in each other's company."
"Right. Of course you know I've been hanging with a pack of werewolves lately..."
"Decidedly unwise Derrick. They are a dangerous group of beings, and have no love for your kind."
"I know, but we're cool for now. Anyway, I recently heard tell of a group of werewolves who fought with some vampires that turned to dust when staked. What can you tell me about them?"
Nathan paused in thought. "What should I tell him? I could dissemble, but he'd notice that. If I tell him nothing he'll just dig more. The truth? How dangerous would it be for him to know? Why did he want it? The first people he'd tell would be his Garou friends. Wait, was that a bad thing? They had to maintain their "Veil" just like we maintained the Masquerade. The soulless ones have been a danger to the Masquerade for years. Having Garou destroy them would only be helping us. What irony was that!"
"I believe I have the information you are looking for, but it will cost you of course." Have to keep up appearances after all.
They haggled over a price. Thankfully Nathan only wanted money this time, not blood. Derrick brought up a holo-screen on the table and transferred the money in seconds.
"The Vampire breed you are referring to are called the "Soulless Ones" or "Demonic Ones" by the Camarilla. They are not true Cainites, but rather a corruption thought to have been created by the Settites long ago. We consider them lower then Caitiff. They have no organization other then the Sire/Childe relationship. Every once in a while a more powerful one will rise and declare himself a "Master". A particularly bad one caused all kinds of havoc in the 18th century, Angelus I believe his name was. It took a while, but he was dealt with."
"A Kill on Sight order has existed on their heads for a long time. Should your "friends" encounter them, there will be no repercussion from the Camarilla. Just make sure they are not true Cainites first, or you WILL violate the truce."
Damn. Derrick thought. "He just gave us a hunting license." "Okay, what's the best way to make sure?"
"They are susceptible to the Hollywood version of a vampire's weaknesses, which we believe is actually where that all comes from. Holy Water would probably be the easiest. If they burn, kill them. Anything else you wish to discuss?"
"No thank you. This clears a few things up. Thanks."
Nathan just nodded his head, got up and left.
Derrick sat and pondered what info he had so far. Sunnydale seemed like Grand Central Station for Bad Things. Which made him wonder why he'd not heard of it before. Hell, why didn't the Inquirer and the Globe have branch offices there?
Time to get a look at the place. Oh not physically of course, he'd wait for his muscle to get back from romping in the woods. Looking at his watch, he realized he's been up for almost 48 hours. Not his record, but no reason to stretch it now. Finding the nearest exit, he started heading towards the Bat Cave.
It was then that he was attacked.
Perhaps it was lack of sleep, or his preoccupation with Sunnydale, but a pair of Iteration X Hit Marks got the jump on him. Think "Terminator" and you've got a Hit Mark, only not so tough, depending on the model. They came out weapons blazing from a junk node Derrick had just passed. The only thing that saved him was the subroutine he had running constantly, which "jumped" him 10 feet away in the safest direction if anyone got a target lock on him.
Only momentarily confused, the hit marks reacquired Derrick instantly, but not before he could toss a feedback loop in their direction. This held their interest long enough for him to pull his next trick. Derrick has spent an entire month creating a resonance point. This allowed him to send any object or objects directly to this point without fail regardless of the distance. Of course this point happened to be at the bottom of the Marianas Trench, the deepest point on the "surface" of the Earth, seven miles underwater. It tended to be Vulgar, but it was worth the Paradox hit. Using his palmtop he activated the rote, which needed a few seconds to get a lock on its targets. The feedback loop provided those seconds, and then POP, they were gone.
Time to get the hell out of Dodge. In case he was being followed, he decided not to use his regular exit point; he'd use the one for the Chantry in Omaha. The next question being was this random or was he targeted? It was not unheard of for the Xer's to dump Hit Marks in the Web to try and catch a Tradition mage unawares. But given his latest activities why take the chance. Of course if they were targeting him, Derrick was insulted that they only sent two Hit Marks.
He reached the exit point and dumped out. To the surprised faces at the Chantry, Derrick's only response was "Who's got the caffeine!"
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TBC
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An internal buzzer sounded interrupting his game. Derrick blew away one more player before exiting. It really wasn't fair, but he enjoyed it anyway. He'd noted that his dump of the Watcher's server was complete and he began a cursory examination of the files. Some of it was old text books that had been scanned. Demonology, witch craft, standard Euthanatos and hedge-mage type stuff.
Amongst the take were numerous files under the heading "Watcher Diaries". These were the journals of watchers that were assigned to slayers. Some of these went back centuries! Reading a few he was amazed at some of the things these girls could do. But in all of them, there was the watcher and his slayer. No one else. In rare occasions the watcher was female, but that seemed the only variation. All of them died young, none made it to 30, most never past 18.
He searched for and found the diaries of Rupert Giles. As he read them he noticed that Buffy seemed to be fighting a running battle. It didn't seem like a night went by without her having to face something. Then he noticed a reference to something called "The Cruciamentum". Cross referencing it with the other files he captured he discovered that it's a ritual the Slayer is put through on her 18th birthday. Reading the details of it, Derrick's only conclusion was "Those Bastards!"
"This girl proves herself almost every day and they have the balls to do that to her!" he said aloud. He also discovered that Giles got fired for trying to stop it. Points for him. As for the rest of these "watchers", they don't deserve Buffy or any of the slayers before her as far a he was concerned. The more he read the more he realized that the slayers who excelled over the years did so in spite of the Watchers, not because of them. Apparently it was standard operating procedure that if a Slayer was injured and her recovery was expected to take a while, it was her Watcher's duty to flatline her so another slayer could be called. Derrick decided he'd need to change that and a few other things too.
Along with all of this came a bunch of information about the "Demon Vampires". A lot of it was straight Hollywood; stakes, crosses, garlic, holy water. Stuff that would make the vamps he knew laugh in your face. No mention of the Camarilla.
That confused him. "How could an organization deal with vampires for centuries and not know about the Camarilla?" he asked himself. "Answer: The Watchers are being kept in the dark on purpose or they are in league with them and are suppressing the info within their own ranks."
"How do I find out?" asking himself yet another question. He had a few contacts in the vamp world, Nosferatu who had as big a Jones for information as he did. The big difference was that while Derrick thought information should be free, the Nosferatu held their info close, and charged a lot for it. And not always in money. And asking the wrong questions of them is the right way to a short life.
The Nosferatu he knew only as Nathan was Derrick's Camarilla contact in Seattle. He lived in the Seattle Underground somewhere, the "old" part of town which got buried by progress. Derrick could have located his lair, but didn't want to sour the relationship. Normally Nathan was a straight shooter, but Derrick had never gone to him for info on a Camarilla-based subject. How would he react?
He e-mailed one of Nathan's drop boxes and asked for a meet. The reply came quickly. TSD, 10PM PST. TSD is an acronym for "The Spy's Demise" a "bar" located in the Digital Web. It was also considered neutral ground. An Iteration X operative could sit down and have a nice conversation with a VA about the weather, no problem. Yeah right, not exactly how it worked, but at least there was no fighting. Fighting was verboten. Some serious shit protected the place and the bouncers would put a hurt on you if you violated the peace.
There were many theories about its existence. Some said it was a way for the Technocracy to keep tabs on the Tradition mages. Others thought that it was a trap set by the Nephandi mages. Now those people scared him. The Nephandi hoped to drive the world into utter oblivion. Their vision is one of Descension; a universe reduced to bubbling primordial ooze, devoid of hope, life or light. Derrick shivered just thinking about it when he allowed himself to dwell on the subject. Most just thought The Spy's Demise was just a really cool place to hang. The Tass was free at least.
Checking the time, he had half an hour. He set up some routines that would index the data he'd gathered so far, making it easier to search. A big believer in fault tolerance, Derrick initiated a backup of all his data stores to several locations, both in the Digital Web, and on the other side. This should all take a few hours. Leaving his secure node, Derrick made his way to The Spy's Demise.
The club was built on or near a source of Quintessence, or "Tass". Tass is a function of life energy. Think of Obi-Wan's whole "force" speech and you've got Tass. Mages use the stuff in their magics. It's created naturally and can be gathered from various sources, most of which are heavily guarded. The Garou call it Gnosis and usually build their Caerns around a source. At the Spy's Demise they specialized in all types of concoctions made with it. The story goes that one laimoid actually made a run for TSD source of Tass and got fried in nanoseconds.
The club itself was huge; some say it has no actual boundaries. There is a core section that exists around the main bar, but most of it did not stay the same for long, it was constantly evolving. Rooms appear and then vanish a few days later. Corridors shifted, entrances changed. There were places to play games, chat rooms where you could interface with sleepers. Some sleeper icons actually made it beyond those boundaries, usually indicating that the sleeper was near their awakening.
The Cult of Ecstasy mages maintained a room that was a 24x7 orgy. Of course telling just who your partner or partners were was almost impossible; male, female, neither. That gave Derrick the wiggens so he stayed away from that construct.
He ordered a "Jumpstart" which was Rum and Jolt cola, with a touch of Tass thrown in for good measure. Sitting down in a booth, he didn't wait long. Nathan showed up with a glass of something deep red. Derrick didn't need to ask. The Icon Nathan used to represent himself was non-descript. Literally. Pale robes and a face that was completely smooth, almost plastic. Same with the hair. Derrick had never seen Nathan's real face, but he knew that it was hideous by human standards. Nathan was from the Nosferatu Vampire clan. All Nosferatu resembled the guy from that silent movie of the same name. The story goes that he actually WAS a nosferatu, not an actor in makeup.
Nathan opened the conversation. "Good evening Derrick. What can I help you with?"
"Right to business huh?"
"I feel it's best that way. That way we don't have to pretend we are actually interested in each other's company."
"Right. Of course you know I've been hanging with a pack of werewolves lately..."
"Decidedly unwise Derrick. They are a dangerous group of beings, and have no love for your kind."
"I know, but we're cool for now. Anyway, I recently heard tell of a group of werewolves who fought with some vampires that turned to dust when staked. What can you tell me about them?"
Nathan paused in thought. "What should I tell him? I could dissemble, but he'd notice that. If I tell him nothing he'll just dig more. The truth? How dangerous would it be for him to know? Why did he want it? The first people he'd tell would be his Garou friends. Wait, was that a bad thing? They had to maintain their "Veil" just like we maintained the Masquerade. The soulless ones have been a danger to the Masquerade for years. Having Garou destroy them would only be helping us. What irony was that!"
"I believe I have the information you are looking for, but it will cost you of course." Have to keep up appearances after all.
They haggled over a price. Thankfully Nathan only wanted money this time, not blood. Derrick brought up a holo-screen on the table and transferred the money in seconds.
"The Vampire breed you are referring to are called the "Soulless Ones" or "Demonic Ones" by the Camarilla. They are not true Cainites, but rather a corruption thought to have been created by the Settites long ago. We consider them lower then Caitiff. They have no organization other then the Sire/Childe relationship. Every once in a while a more powerful one will rise and declare himself a "Master". A particularly bad one caused all kinds of havoc in the 18th century, Angelus I believe his name was. It took a while, but he was dealt with."
"A Kill on Sight order has existed on their heads for a long time. Should your "friends" encounter them, there will be no repercussion from the Camarilla. Just make sure they are not true Cainites first, or you WILL violate the truce."
Damn. Derrick thought. "He just gave us a hunting license." "Okay, what's the best way to make sure?"
"They are susceptible to the Hollywood version of a vampire's weaknesses, which we believe is actually where that all comes from. Holy Water would probably be the easiest. If they burn, kill them. Anything else you wish to discuss?"
"No thank you. This clears a few things up. Thanks."
Nathan just nodded his head, got up and left.
Derrick sat and pondered what info he had so far. Sunnydale seemed like Grand Central Station for Bad Things. Which made him wonder why he'd not heard of it before. Hell, why didn't the Inquirer and the Globe have branch offices there?
Time to get a look at the place. Oh not physically of course, he'd wait for his muscle to get back from romping in the woods. Looking at his watch, he realized he's been up for almost 48 hours. Not his record, but no reason to stretch it now. Finding the nearest exit, he started heading towards the Bat Cave.
It was then that he was attacked.
Perhaps it was lack of sleep, or his preoccupation with Sunnydale, but a pair of Iteration X Hit Marks got the jump on him. Think "Terminator" and you've got a Hit Mark, only not so tough, depending on the model. They came out weapons blazing from a junk node Derrick had just passed. The only thing that saved him was the subroutine he had running constantly, which "jumped" him 10 feet away in the safest direction if anyone got a target lock on him.
Only momentarily confused, the hit marks reacquired Derrick instantly, but not before he could toss a feedback loop in their direction. This held their interest long enough for him to pull his next trick. Derrick has spent an entire month creating a resonance point. This allowed him to send any object or objects directly to this point without fail regardless of the distance. Of course this point happened to be at the bottom of the Marianas Trench, the deepest point on the "surface" of the Earth, seven miles underwater. It tended to be Vulgar, but it was worth the Paradox hit. Using his palmtop he activated the rote, which needed a few seconds to get a lock on its targets. The feedback loop provided those seconds, and then POP, they were gone.
Time to get the hell out of Dodge. In case he was being followed, he decided not to use his regular exit point; he'd use the one for the Chantry in Omaha. The next question being was this random or was he targeted? It was not unheard of for the Xer's to dump Hit Marks in the Web to try and catch a Tradition mage unawares. But given his latest activities why take the chance. Of course if they were targeting him, Derrick was insulted that they only sent two Hit Marks.
He reached the exit point and dumped out. To the surprised faces at the Chantry, Derrick's only response was "Who's got the caffeine!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TBC