Chapter 1

The Man and the Prisoner

The underground hallways of the timeless mansion echoed with the footsteps of their master. The moss-covered brick walls whispered of the being that had wandered them for untold hundreds of years. To him, these halls were his home; he knew them better than he knew himself.

But then, he mused, when one lives for centuries, one finds more of himself to know than he can imagine, or wants to imagine.

He had no real need for lighting down here, but his servants didn't know these corridors as well as he did. To accommodate, he had lights put in, replacing the torches of long ago, but to exercise the superiority he enjoys over his hirelings, he left the halls dimly lit, as though it were only the light of the moon, or that of the occasional torch that was guiding the wary or unwary traveler through these dark hallways.

He stopped at a great steel-bound door, where one of his human servants awaited him, armed with only his shotgun.

"Open it."

His commanding voice echoed through the halls, hanging with air of absolute control. He knew that he had all of his servants under his heel, and enjoyed making them squirm at will.

The human shuddered at the thought. The one they had brought in the previous night for questioning was more than a handful. He actually wondered if this titanium-reinforced door could possibly hold him back.

"Do not make me repeat myself."

The human nodded, bowed and quickly opened the giant door. He did not want to displease his master again. He remembered well what happened last time.

The man walked through, commanding the human to close the door behind him.

After the boom of the door being closed and locked subsided, the man was aware of the sound of Ashley's persuasion techniques. He had to hide a satisfied grin. Ashley was his best persuasive underling yet. She could beat, rather, get information out of anyone. He was happy with his selection.

Passing the remains of a few of his former informants, their gore lining the chamber walls, he came upon the cell of his newest captive.

He pushed the steel door to the cell open. Apparently, Ashley had used her bare knuckles. Not a technique she normally used. She had lots of playthings that she knew how to use in ways he had never imagined. She only used her fists when she was frustrated.

This should prove interesting.

As Ashley moved away from the prisoner, bowing her head, he saw that she had hardly done any damage to him. Oh, various persuasion tools were littered all over the cell, blood covering every one of them, but aside from the massive scars across his face, the prisoner was barely harmed.

The prisoner was interesting enough, though, in his own right. At first, the man thought he was going mad. His highly-trained nose picked up the smell of the prisoner's blood immediately. Although most blood smells relatively alike, the kind of which that this prisoner's was, was unidentifiable.

The blood alone is not what made him think that he was going mad. He looked upon the prisoner and noted that every hair on his body was a bright blue, with a slight purple hue, almost translucent; a myriad of colors swirling across this man's body.

He also made mental note upon the fact of this man's size. A little short of eight feet in height and muscle-bound to suit, this man, or whatever he was, would make a valuable lackey.

The prisoner looked up at the man with great hatred. This must be the leader of these peons. Dressed in some sort of black, tailor-made suit, complete with red-trimmed cape and shoes that were almost reflective, he looked the part of the arrogant leader to these useless biddies.

"Finally, after all this wasted bullshit, the Big Fish appears." The prisoner spat a bloody mass on the man's shoe.

The man bent at the waist, his hands on his hips, and brought his face inches away from the prisoner's, a look of disdain painted across his features, his silver eyes digging into the prisoner's own steel-blues.

"What are you?"

The prisoner smiled a satisfied smile. "Ah. That one's a little hard to explain."

"We both seem to have a few centuries on our hands, I'm sure you can sum it up in that time." With that, the man snapped his fingers. An unseen retainer produced a dragon-capped walking cane, a chair and a tin of Alexandrian cigarettes.

The prisoner sat back in his chair.

The man sat back in his.

"What do you want to know?" The prisoner asked.

The man sighed. This was going to be tedious. This man was going to have to be picked apart. A giant; the only way to be taken down is piece by piece. He considered for a moment to call forth one of his Ventrue servants to Dominate this prisoner, but he had a feeling that this was going to be fun.

Opening the tin with a flick of his left wrist, he drew out a cigarette, tapped off any excess tobacco, and put it to his mouth.

"Well," he said, while pulling the cane to the tip of the cigarette and using the lighter concealed in the dragon, "let's start with what you're not."

The prisoner smiled. This was an obvious waste of his time, but he hadn't the ability to let anyone know what he was yet. He was anxious to tell this pompous asshole, and look into his face as he squirms.

"You are obviously not human, and if you were Kindred, I would have been able to smell it in your blood, although you seem to have the healing abilities of any vampire I have ever met."

"You're getting closer."

"Well, you're certainly not Fae, and you're not a Hunter, because they're human,"

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious."

"You're also not dead. That rules out Mummy or Wraith."

"You're just a ball of knowledge, aren't you?"

The man ignored the comments.

"You could be a Were-creature of some variety, but if you were, you would have broken your bonds long ago."
"Not if I were having fun.

"You don't know what I am, or what I'm capable of. Admit it. You're about as smart as that boob that brought you that fancy chair. Let me see if I can figure out what you are not. You are not intelligent, you are not…"

The prisoner was struck from the side by Ashley.

"You will not speak of my master that way."

The prisoner growled and looked up at her, but otherwise remained silent.

"Well, where was I? Ah, yes. And, since you are not human, you can't be a Mage, can you?"

The prisoner started, anger showing as lightning in his eyes.

Duly noted, thought the man. Duly noted.

"Well, what does that leave us?"

"I don't know. You tell me. You seem to know about everything in this World of Darkness that we live in. Seems to me that you should have figured it out by now. So, what am I?"

"Oh, I'm sure you know. Whether or not you want to tell me is completely up to you, but remember," he crushed out his cigarette slowly and leaned ever so close to the prisoner's face, a mask of evil covering his fine features, "I can keep you down here a long, long time. No one will know where you are. My castle is secret, and this vault is over a mile underground. No one will hear you scream for blood. No one will even know that you existed. I will wipe your existence from this planet, and maybe your mother will remember you, but even that is doubtful. Do you understand?"

The prisoner snapped his jaws at the man, and then grinned, showing his oversized canines.

"Well," the man said, leaning back into his chair, acting very debonair as he lit another cigarette, "Let's start again, shall we? I am a vampire, one of the thirteen major Clans of Caine. You, sir, are not a vampire, but neither are you mortal. This is something I have not come across yet, so I ask again, what are you?"

"Have you ever been to Japan?"

"You know, it is rude to answer a question with a question, but I will humor you. Yes, I have been to Japan once. I will never go back."

"I see, then, that you have met the Kindred of the East? If you have any knowledge of them whatsoever, then you have heard of the race of vampires known as Dhampyrs."

A look of utter horror drew itself across the man's otherwise placid features. He recoiled inward, almost as though he were shown the business end of a cannon.

He dropped his cigarette.

"You don't mean to tell me that you are of the Kuei-jin? A Dhampyr? Impossible! Dhampyrs are legend. They don't exist. Tales made up to tell to neonates and fledglings to keep them in line. They don't exist." He said, with much more determination than he felt.

A Dhampyr: half human, half vampire. No. This can't be. He must be lying.

"No," the prisoner said, satisfaction dancing in his eyes, "the simple idea of being a Dhampyr would be too easy. They are weak, dull, and otherwise useless. I am not a Dhampyr, but neither am I human or Kindred. I am the only one of my kind. I am simply Shadeart."

Nothing could have prepared the man for this new information. He had been tracking this Shadeart by his kills alone for months. Now, he has gotten somewhere. He quickly re-composed himself, drew his tin again, and opening it, offered one to the prisoner, who accepted the offer gratefully.

After lighting his own, he laid his cane across his lap. Time to change tactics. His mother had always told him that flies like sugar more than vinegar. Since vinegar wasn't working, he had to switch to sugar.

"Now, Shadeart, let's start this again, only in a civil manner."
"Never mind that I am still chained."

"That cannot be helped. You are too dangerous for me to just let you go."

With that, Shadeart pulled the manacles from the wall, broke his bonds and sat in his chair like a king, smoking his cigarette.

Un-amused, the man said, "Well, I guess that solves that problem for you. As I was saying, my name is Rahab Alexia. I am king and Prince of this castle and all the surrounding holdings. I hail from eastern Arabia, but you couldn't tell from my accent. I spent hundreds of years traveling the globe, learning new languages and new cultures. As my knowledge of languages grew, my accent became more mottled."

"You sound retarded. Enough about your crappy, fake accent; you are a boob, and like all other boobs, you want to make yourself feel superior to all others that you consider beneath yourself. You travel, and tell everyone about it. You, Mr. Rahab," Shadeart made a mock bow, "are the biggest waste of blood I have ever met, and I am sorry that I have spent this much time here." The prisoner stood to leave, but Rahab held up his hand, smoke dancing from the cherry of the cigarette.

"Fine, you have made your point. Why don't you tell me more, but this time from the beginning? I am interested to hear your tale. Remember that I could have had you Dominated, so think of this as an honor."

The prisoner smiled to himself. "Dominated." He chuckled. "Okay. I'll play your game, but only because it suits me to. I will remind you that I can crush your puny little body to blood soup if I wanted to, and these little servants of yours won't be able to do a damn thing. Are we at an understanding?" Rahab nodded. "Good.

"My name when I was born was Vincent Techoncy. You, sir, may call me Vincent." Rahab noted, too, that the head of the Technocracy's name was Techoncy, a vile, evil Mage that enjoyed genetic experimentation. "I was born into wealth and power, but after I found out my father's political standpoint, I deserted my family, and became a contract killer.

"Many years later, my father saw fit to abduct me. After many, many genetic enhancements, I awoke in a tank full of blood. I was what you see me now; half-human, half-vampire. Not quite a Dhampyr, but not either of the other races.

"Now, I hunt. Vampires are the scourge of the planet. I also hunt the Technocracy. My father is still their head, but he has seen to it that I know nothing of where they are.

"Now that you know what I am, I am leaving. You are of no use to me. You have no contract, and I do not make pacts with Kindred."

"Well, then." Rahab said, holding the now-dead cigarette, "You are most certainly something. I do have one question, though. The Brujah named John North. Was he your first contract?"

"Who are you babbling about?"

"The Brujah with two feet of table leg sticking out of his chest?"

"Ah, yes. That one. He had a name? Hm. He never introduced himself. No. He was a barroom brawl. An accident. He and I shared differences of opinion, and I showed him that mine was right. That's all, although he was my first kill since my," a hint of sorrow played itself in his eyes for a moment, but was quickly replaced with almost reflective coolness, "since my transformation."

"I see. Well, then. That answers my next question. Well," Rahab stood, looking Vincent squarely in the eye, "I have some good news. I feel that you are more valuable to me alive than dead. You can leave if you want, but you will be dead long before you get out of the complex. Better to be my lackey than dead, eh?"

"I am no one's 'lackey'."

"Of course not. You will be, um…my best contract killer. A person of your obvious ability and stamina could be of great service to me."

"Do I get to kill you in the end?"

"Perhaps."

"Good." And Vincent started for the door.

He was stopped short at the threshold by a thin sword blade suddenly flashing across his face. He followed it to see that it was Rahab who held it, the dragon of his walking staff acting as the handle.

"Do not make me regret this decision. Although you may be stronger than me, you would still die from having your head become no longer an attached part of your body."

Never stopping his stare into Rahab's eyes, he grabbed the blade with his left hand and snapped it like a dry twig.

"Let's get one thing straight, and let's get it straight right now. I do not like you, and I do not trust you. I only follow you because I live by a simple aphorism: 'It is better to keep a viper at arm's length than to let it go and not know where it will strike.' You are a dangerous viper, and the only way to know where you are is to work for you."

Vincent started down the hallway, leaving Rahab to only stare after him, his jaw agape in wonder.

No one can break a folded blade.

"Oh, by the way," Vincent said over his shoulder, pausing in his walk, "I'm right-handed."