It had been a little over two months since the Prince had said those words to Steve. To say he had adjusted would be an exaggeration-for the first week or so, Steve had simply been in denial, refusing to listen as people told him about the world of vampires. Eventually, he had decided to play along, and things were starting to come together, he was starting to make sense of this secret world of the undead. Nonetheless, Steve kept waiting to wake up from this terrible dream, to find out that no, he was still human, it was still 1945, and that vampires were still just a fantastic myth.

At this point, he would even be happy to find out he was dead.

But alas, it seemed that this was his life now-"life" that it may be. He'd grown used to the strange coldness of his body, and the lack of a heartbeat. He was even getting out of the habit of breathing, except to talk. Drinking blood was still a disgusting part of his life, however-he hated the idea of it, but craved it all the same. It didn't taste bad-sure, it had that distinct metallic taste, not unlike the scent, but it was sweet and rich and oh-so satisfying. He wondered if he was just getting used to the it, or if it was just because of his newfound sense of taste, that was so much stronger than before.

Steve wasn't all that surprised to discover that he had powers that came along with being a vampire. It was only fair-to give up things like food and sunlight, there had to be something in it for him. His senses were all heightened; he could count the strands of hair on a person's head from a block away. He could hear a pin drop in the next room. He could tell what someone had eaten by their scent. More importantly, he could now heal from virtually anything-at least, anything he encountered. Not to mention he was stronger and faster and more durable than he had ever been.

And that only scratched the surface.

When Steve started admitting that maybe vampires were real, the ugly creature from before-who he learned was also a vampire, much to his surprise-escorted him to see the Prince on the matter of "clans". Steve had to be instructed on every detail of what a clan even was, but most of it went in one ear and out the other.

What they had been able to figure out was that Steve, based on who he believed had sired him, was a "Toreador". This meant nothing to Steve at the time, of course, but it ended up being something very important. Because he was a Toreador, he was introduced to New York's Toreador "Primogen"-the clan's leader in the city. He proceeded to teach Steve all about being a vampire, and being a Toreador in particular. He taught him about how he could boost his speed to absurd levels, or make people unwittingly drawn to him, or, most interestingly, see auras, to tell how someone was feeling, if they were lying, or to discern Kindred from mortals.

It had been a little over two months.

On a cold December night, Steve found himself approaching Madison Square Garden, which was all lit up for the upcoming Elysium; a mandatory event where vampires met with the Prince, to show that they are loyal to him. Steve hadn't attended one yet, because he was still under the care of the Primogen, but he'd been instructed to dress formally, and so he wore a gray flannel suit, his blond hair combed back and out of his face. When Steve had been in New York, there hadn't even been a Madison Square Garden, so when the taxi let them out in front of it, although he tried to keep it in check, anyone could see that Steve was in awe.

"C'mon, Steve. We're supposed to be there a couple minutes early."

"Sorry, Mr. Jones."

The short-haired, dark-skinned man, dressed in his own gray suit, with a black shirt and a bright red tie, gave Steve a wary, bemused look. "Steve, you've seen nobody but me every day for over a month now. If that don't put us on a first name basis, I don't know what will."

"Sorry...Gabe."

"Better."

The two of them entered the room that had been set aside for Elysium. It was tastefully decorated with potted plants and white Christmas lights, its lamps giving off a dim, romantic air. The room was filled with other vampires, well-dressed and schmoozing each other. Steve looked around the room, still impressed.

"This didn't exist when you were here, did it?" Gabe Jones asked.

"No, this...this is new," Steve said, trying to hide his amazement.

Gabe stared at Steve for a moment, then said, "Maybe we've finally found your True Art."

"True Art" was something that Gabe had mentioned a couple of times-something that would make him freeze in place just to gape at it. Steve hadn't encountered anything that gave him that response, but he was pretty sure this wasn't it. "No...I wouldn't call myself a fan," he said. It was far too modern and fancy for him. All steel and plastic and plexiglass. He liked his buildings a bit cozier. Cheaper, too.

"Well, it's gotta be something. Every Toreador's got one. Just wait till we hear some good jazz and you'll see mine. Trust me, it ain't pretty."

Steve pointed to the ceiling. "Is that not what's playing?" he asked. A speaker system was broadcasting a soft, jazzy tune at a low volume.

Gabe scowled. "What, this?" he asked. "Naw, that's muzak. Elevator music. No talent or art to it, no craft." He scoffed. "C'mon, let's get something to eat."

Gabe and Steve pushed through the crowds and found the bar, where an Asian woman was rinsing out a wine glass.

"Could we get a B-Positive and a-Steve, what do you want?"

"Um...surprise me," Steve said.

"Two B-Positives and rum, then," Gabe said. The woman, without a word, but with a grimace as though she felt this kind of work was beneath her, handed Gabe two glasses full of crimson liquid.

"Not very friendly, is she?" Steve asked as they walked to a table.

"Who, May? Well, she's a Brujah. They're always pissed about something." Gabe sat down. Steve sat down in front of him.

"Yes, but...that's a stereotype, right? I'm sure there are some cheerful Brujah."

"Sure, yeah," Gabe admitted. "But even the nicest, most docile Brujah, if you piss 'em off, they'll fly into a rage like you wouldn't believe. There's just something in our blood, man, makes us what we are. It's why Malkavians are loopy, and why Ventrues have a stick up their ass. It's why you and me got that love of art."

"Well, I love art because it's what I went to college for," Steve pointed out.

"Then maybe it's destiny that Zemo's the one what bit you," Gabe said with a shrug. Steve sipped his blood quietly. He had only brief flashes from the moment he had been sired-the Nazi base, the missiles they were supposed to stop, Bucky...and then he remembered seeing Zemo, standing over him, removing his hood...his eyes, red with hunger, that smile like he had him right where he wanted him...those long fangs...

Steve didn't like those memories. They felt vile, like he had been somehow defiled. He pushed the thoughts away, and instead made small talk with Gabe. "I didn't know there were so many vampires in New York City."

"Yeah, are you kidding me?" Gabe asked, oblivious to Steve's discomfort. "Most populous city in the country, and divided between weirdos and people who are used to turning a blind eye to weirdos? It's the ideal place for our kind."

"Mr. Rogers? Gabe?" someone said behind them. Steve turned to see the ugly man who'd greeted him when he woke up. He's since learned he was one of the unfortunate Nosferatu clan, who were disfigured to the point of barely resembling humans, forced to live in hiding. "The Prince will see you now."

They followed the Nosferatu to the back of the main hall, and then through a door that led into a long corridor, at the end of which was a door, and a man, well-dressed in a purple shirt and jacket, with no tie, short blond hair and sunglasses, was leaning on the wall next to it. Steve at first assumed he was security or something, but as they approached, he stepped forward.

"When do I get to go in?" he asked, everything about his tone and his demeanor reading as confrontational. "I been washing my neck waiting for the Prince to be 'ready'."

"The Prince is very busy," their guide said calmly. "But I'm sure he'll see you as soon as he's ready." The blond man clicked his tongue irritably, then returned to his perch on the wall. The Nosferatu rolled his black eyes, muttering to the two of them, "Caitiffs. Who has time for them, right?" Then he opened the door.

The room was dimly lit, but Steve's heightened eyesight took in wood paneling and bookshelves lining the window-less walls, and a large screen against the left-hand wall. The Prince himself was seated behind a desk, his fingers steepled in front of his face, with the Sheriff, a gruff, red-haired man with a handlebar mustache and a bowler hat, standing behind and slightly to the Prince's right. A single chair was set in front of the desk, which Gabe guided Steve into.

"Captain Rogers," the Prince said. "I can't begin to tell you how excited I am to have you as part of our city."

"The honor is all mine, sir," Steve said.

The Prince turned to his Sheriff. "He called me 'sir'. I like that. More people should get on that." The Sheriff grunted in response. The Prince turned back to Steve. "So, Steve Rogers. You think you've learned all there is to learn from Mr. Jones here?"

"I can't say," Steve replied honestly. "I don't think I've scratched the surface of the things I don't know."

The Prince beamed. "You're a smart one. That's good," he said, quieter than before. He stood up and continued in a raised voice. "In Kindred Society, it's pertinent that everybody does their part," he said as he walked around the table. "If Mr. Jones believes that you're ready to join the world of Kindred…" he paused and looked at Gabe.

"Which I do," Gabe said.

The Prince continued. "...Then I think it's time we give you an assignment. Something to test your mettle, and get your feet wet in the world of the Kindred. A task that we needed done anyway, but we just don't have time or patience for right now. It'll give you an idea of the sort of thing that's to be expected of you as a member of our society. And, once you're finished, you can be on your way to eat, drink, and be merry, until we have need of you again."

Steve was quiet for a moment. "What kind of assignment, sir?" Steve asked.

"Nothing too dangerous, nothing immoral; we got people for that," The Prince said. "I wouldn't want to scare you off before we even get to know each other, would I?" He chuckled, then picked up a folder from his desk. "All we need you to do is check up on a mage for us. We ran most of them out of the city when we took control, but out of the goodness of our hearts, we decided to let a couple of them stay."

"What do you want me to do?" Steve asked.

"Just talk to him. Try to get a feel of what he's up to, see if he's organizing with the others...just make sure he's not planning anything that would threaten the status quo." The Prince held out the folder, which Steve took and opened, scanning it quickly. "Can you do that for us?" the Prince asked.

"Of course," Steve said. "When do you need this done?"

"There's no rush," the Prince said. "We were hoping to get this over with tonight, though."

"I can do that, sir." Steve asked, standing up.

"Thank you," the Prince said. He held out his hand. "I look forward to working with you more, Captain Rogers."

Steve shook his hand, then turned to leave. As they got to the door, the Prince called to them.

"One last thing," he said. "Not that I expect this to come up...but trying to betray me would be...unwise. Remember, I have eyes everywhere." He winked-or at least, that's what it looked like he was trying to do, but the eyepatch made it look like he was just blinking. With that, Gabe led him out of the room.

"What do you think?" Gabe asked as they stepped back into the empty hall. Steve's hesitation must have clued him in, because Gabe laughed. "Yeah, he's kind of a manipulative bastard, but you know he's got the city's best interests in mind."

"Better the evil that you know, right?" Steve said in spite of himself.

"Hey now," said Gabe, his smile fading. "That's the Prince you're talking about. The man deserves some respect."

Steve hung his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "That was...I'll try to be more respectful. It's just...I have a hard time trusting the guy."

"Well, you've only just met him, so I can understand that," Gabe said, his tone and gaze still stern. "But you trust me, don't you?" Steve nodded. "And I would follow that man into the depths of Hell. And, I'll have you know...I've been called upon more than once to put my money where my mouth is, and I've never regretted it."

"Alright," Steve said. He wasn't fully convinced, but if Gabe was so certain, he would make an effort.

"So who are you going after?" Gabe asked. "There's a handful of mages he might be sending you after. I'll bet you're going to the Baxter Building, he's always been wary of those guys."

"Is the Baxter Building in Midtown Manhattan?" Steve asked, opening the folder to the page with the map and address.

"No, it's over by the Brooklyn Bridge," Gabe said, walking over to look at the file. "So that must mean you're going to…" He frowned. "Oh, boy."

"What?" Steve asked.

"You're going to Stark Tower."