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Chapter Text

The man with the long white cloak, wearing a similar wide-brimmed hat that framed the sunglasses he wore between the brim and the collar like two dark holes amidst a vast snowy landscape, carried an umbrella that he kept pointed towards the windows as he walked the halls of Hope's Peak Academy. He had found recently that this school, which was supposed to be postsecondary education for the most promising and capable students from around the world, was extremely lacking in security. Unless there were hidden cameras, which he frankly doubted, the most security this building possessed was a small cadre of security guards who were rather effortlessly done away with. It stood to reason that nothing would stop him from accomplishing his mission under these circumstances, and as he found an upper-floor vantage point, he looked for his next step.

It was lunchtime at Hope's Peak Academy, and that meant that arguably the greatest collection of talent and natural ability in the world short of the Olympics was gathered into one room. He narrowed his focus on a couple of students he saw who were clearly dating. The one with white hair and the gloves must have been Kyoko Kirigiri, one of the Ultimate Detectives and the daughter of the school's headmaster. Her intellectual capabilities were appealing to the man in the long white cloak. Still, her status as the headmaster's daughter would make her too much of a liability for his goals. She was chatting with another student who wore a hoodie and had messy brown hair. The man couldn't recognize him, so he figured that this boy was a non-starter. Nearby was a more familiar set of faces; the Ultimate Fashionista, Junko Enoshima, whose bombastic personality and immense beauty were obvious even from such a distance, stood next to an athletic, short-haired girl who must have been her sister, Mukuro Ikusaba. Rumors of their familiar relations and Mukuro's abilities abounded on the Internet, but Junko was too famous, and Mukuro was too much of a wildcard. They seemed to be bullying a scrawny, pale student whose demented smile never left his face, even when he was put into a tight headlock by Mukuro. That must have been Nagito Komaedea, the Ultimate Lucky Student. He had a substantial fandom on the Internet, but for the man in the long white cloak, Luck was also too much of a wildcard. He scanned the cafeteria a little harder. Two students, a guy, and a girl, both dressed very 'punk,' were working on guitar chords. Some people would value a musician for this mission, but not the man. The harder he looked, the more they all looked unsuitable for one reason or another. Perhaps he was too ambitious to assume that he could get away with using a Student of Hope's Peak for his plans. 

He turned around to leave, only to find a peculiar young woman standing before him. She was wearing an elegant, elaborate dress that reminded the man in the long white cloak of art he had seen back in the nineties of 'beautiful' young European vampire girls. Black stockings and red high heels added to the overall effect of her look, although a red tie, possibly mandated by the school or something like that, somewhat detracted from the elegance. Her face, which was so powdered with makeup that she might have passed as white to some people, was framed by massive, swirly twin-tails that bounced around as she tilted her head like a dog to take a better look at him. 

"Excuse me, I must be on my way," he attempted to curtly inform her as he began to walk, but she took a long step to the side to block his progress. 

"Excuse me," she replied in a light yet peculiar accent. "I don't seem to recognize you. And with such a unique sense of fashion, you simply captured my interest." 

"That's very nice, ma'am. Now, will you please move?" he replied, although much to his shock, this young girl didn't seem phased by his statement at all. 

"No, I do not think that I will." Her dark eyes scanned over him like she was somehow reading him, and her light smile, which was most likely meant to make him feel at ease, was much more effective at making her seem deeply uncanny. "I can't help but notice that you were watching my classmates so closely from that vantage point. Perhaps you possessed some kind of interest?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh yes, forgive me; I simply assumed you were a pedophile hiding your identity behind a horrific outfit."

"Fuck you," he replied, although something peculiar happened. In order to make the  Fu  sound of the expletive, the man's top six teeth pressed against his lower lip. Celestia, who was watching his face closely to gauge if he responded to an accusation of pedophilia with rage, indignation, or some other emotion, saw that two specific teeth in his mouth seemed abnormally sharp and long. 

"Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but would you happen to be a vampire?" she asked as neutrally as she could.

"Fuck," the man sighed before lunging forward and taking a handful of Celestia's hair.

Makoto Naegi and Kyoko Kirigiri held hands as Makoto looked over the website on his phone. 

"It's a circus," he explained as they looked over the photo gallery. "It's normally touring in America, but they're in Japan for the next month. Sayaka and Leon already got their tickets, and so they said we should come too."

"I would love to go," Kyoko replied with a smile. "I must admit that going to a circus intrigues me. I can't say I know of anyone who has been to one."

"Komaru felt the same way when I told her," Makoto remarked as he put his phone away. "She told me to take as many photos as I could."

"Why would you not just take Komaru?" Kyoko asked.

She could almost hear the dial-up noises from Makoto as he wondered why he wouldn't invite his little sister. "I mean, I kind of thought it was a double date?"

"Did Leon and Sayaka say that it was?"

"No?"

"Then I would invite Komaru."

Makoto chuckled as he blushed a bit. "I guess you're right, I'll text her real fast." 

Kyoko smiled at Makoto as he sent the text message. Every time she was near him she felt like she couldn't find the right ways to articulate how much she truly loved him. Being the Ultimate Detective and having the past that she did, it was easy to appreciate the smaller things in life, like how Makoto from day one treated her like just another person at Hope's Peak instead of the Headmaster's daughter, even if it came from something as trivial as a college relationship. He sent the text and smiled back at her and she felt like her heart would melt as she took his hand into hers. Some day soon she'd find the words to express these feelings, although some part of her assumed that Makoto already had them and was waiting for the right moment. He was always better then her at that. 

The door of the janitor's closet was flung open, and Celestia let out a yelp as she was tossed inside. The man in the long white cloak followed her closely and slammed the door behind them as he closed his umbrella and turned the light on. 

"What do you know about vampires?" he demanded as Celestia stood up.

"First, fuck you," she replied, her accent slipping a bit as she rubbed her back. "Second, I happen to be a big fan. Ever since childhood, in fact."

The man felt his anxieties cease. This was simply a high school goth girl with some kind of fetish or fixation, and he had overreacted. That was better than some of the other alternatives. Before he could speak again, Celestia continued.

"You just manhandled Celestia Ludenberg," she said as if he should know who that was. "And you did so in a place with many hidden cameras. I believe you have much explaining to do."

God fucking damn it, he thought. Of course, the cameras were hidden. "Okay, let me illustrate this in terms you will understand. If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you. Got that?"

"And now you're threatening to murder me? After you're clearly on camera pulling me into a janitor's closet? For no reason? How curious. Would you care to elaborate?"

There was something interesting about this girl. She had assumed that he intended to kill her, and yet it still seemed like she was trying to get something out of him. In spite of his best efforts at sneaking around the school, she had not only found him, but she resisted his Dominate enough to continue antagonizing him. She was undoubtedly remarkable in a few ways, and as much as she clearly thought that she could get something out of the strange man before her, he knew that he could get twice as much out of her. 

"Okay," he replied as he took off his sunglasses. Celestia could see that his eyes were an ominous yellow. "Yes, vampires are real. I am one. It is very important that you both believe that and that you never tell another soul." 

"Excellent! I demand that you make me a vampire."

Although some part of him expected a goth girl who idolized vampires to want to be one, it was still always surprising to think of mortals who'd desire to be one. "Okay, to start, it's called being 'Embraced.' That's the vocabulary. Second, I'm not going to do that, and you shouldn't want that." Indeed, if he wasn't opposed to the idea of making Ghouls altogether, he'd much rather have this woman as a Ghoul than as a fellow Kindred. It'd be far better to string her along, leave her satisfied, then go away and never return to this building. 

So he turned to leave, only to find his arm in her grasp. "With all of the respect that you are due as a creature of the night," she told him. "I demand to be Embraced, and I fully intend on doing whatever it takes to make that happen."

He rolled his eyes as he put his sunglasses back on with his other hand. "Oh yes, I'm sure. You'd just leave behind your family and friends."

"Indeed I would. That would be an acceptable cost."

She sounded oddly serious about that. "And your life here at the school? You must be one of these Ultimates. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"It means nowhere near as much as this opportunity. Besides, I would be the Ultimate Gambler with or without this silly scholarship. The chance to obtain immortality? Magic power? To live on the fringes of society with power that some would kill for? Yes, I would gladly give a lot to obtain that."

He couldn't understand why she thought that way, but he could appreciate an opportunity. He had come to Hope's Peak Academy to obtain a Ghoul, a Blood Bonded human ally. But perhaps a Childe would serve him more effectively in the near future. Especially a Childe who was so glad to be Embraced that she would be immensely grateful, and that gratitude would turn into that value that was so elusive from Kindred to Kindred; loyalty. 

"My name is Brenton," he introduced himself. "So, you wish to be a fellow Kindred, correct?"

Celestia nodded with perhaps more excitement than she intended. 

"Then you will meet me at midnight outside of the school. I will make sure that you're worthy of the Embrace."

Celestia gave what seemed to be the first genuine smile she had given since they had met. "I thank you deeply, and I will be there promptly."

Brenton nodded before Celestia let go of his arm, and then he opened the closet door. Celestia watched as he unfolded his umbrella and pointed it toward the window before he was engulfed in blue light. Before her very eyes, he moved with supernatural speed, vanishing as if he had been drawn onto one frame of reality and then erased from the very next frame. 

Makoto Naegi stood in front of his bathroom mirror, applying a bit of aftershave and wincing when he realized that he absolutely cut himself attempting to achieve a perfectly clean shaven look. He was still going to wear his usual jacket, but he had decided on a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans to go with it. He was trying not to overthink what was meant to be a fun outing with friends, but it was in his nature to worry. What if Kyoko thought he was ugly? What if Komaru felt that he looked like a dork (She always thought that he looked like a dork, but it was about mitigating her ability to make jokes at his expense.) What if he embarrassed his friends? All of those thoughts swirled around in his head until he splashed some cold water on his face to make them go away. 

He felt guilty when those thoughts got to him. Hope's Peak had easily been the best thing that had ever happened to him. For the entirety of his life, until he received that acceptance letter, he was mediocre Makoto. The kind of person who fell into the background was nice enough that nobody was suspicious of them but neither remarkable nor interesting enough to be in their thoughts for more than a moment. He couldn't count any friends he had kept for more than a few days; all of his hobbies were as light and uncommitted as they could be. His grades were so average that they had to have been some kind of statistical anomaly. When he first received that letter, he didn't think things would get much better. As opposed to Nagito Komaeda, who was the Ultimate Lucky Student because the universe had decided at some arbitrary point to turn him into its plaything, Makoto was the Ultimate Lucky Student because he won a raffle. How pathetic could you get? He was a recipient of affirmative action for mediocre people. It reminded him of a post he once saw about how the Olympics should include one unremarkable person in each event so that the spectators could understand, through that person's seeming ineptitude, how exceptional everyone else was. 

But after spending months preparing for four years of mediocrity and loneliness, something exceptional happened. He supposed it happened when he met Sayaka Maizono, who he knew so long ago that it felt like a dream. Despite being a famous Idol singer, she wasn't just happy to see him, she was eager to rekindle their friendship. And it wasn't just one person; everyone Makoto met seemed to at least like him. Even Junko Enoshima, who could be both an angel and a demon in the same conversation depending on whatever amused her enough, remarked that Makoto was 'interesting' and maintained a 'normal' relationship with him. But the most important person to Makoto was his girlfriend, Kyoko. The ice-cold daughter of Jin Kirigiri initially had as little interest in Makoto as she had in everyone else; he was a walking case study to her rather than a distinct person. But soon, they were in the same classes, running into each other in the hallways and unconsciously finding each other throughout the day. Makoto was drawn to her elusiveness and how, beneath her seriousness and cold nature, was someone with a pure heart and substantial affection. If he could peer into Kyoko's head, he'd see that she'd value how earnest and kindhearted he could be, a bit like a puppy, and how he never judged her or pushed her to a standard that only he wanted. Just thinking about her warmed his heart and made him that much more excited to get to the circus. 

Makoto finished brushing his teeth and grabbed his wallet, his phone, and his keys. He pocketed everything except for the keys, which he used to lock the door to his dorm before putting them on his belt loop, and then he set off. The carnival was in the ideal area, where it wasn't too far to walk, and the route consisted mostly of sidewalks and then a stretch of dirt road. That meant that Makoto got to use the bike he had recently purchased for such a trip.

It was a black cruiser with blue accents on the wheels that he kept locked to the bike rack outside of the Academy's front doors. He kicked up the kickstand, hopped onto the seat, heard the rush of wind, and felt a dim recognition that something heavy hit him in the back of the head before he fell off his bike, unconscious. 

"It'll do," remarked a scrawny, pale man with red eyes, who dug the shovel into the ground and chuckled. "A bit skinny, but he'll do."

Celestia never saw what happened to Makoto because she hadn't come out to the front of the Academy until midnight. She had changed out of her elaborate dress into something more fitting the chilly evening air; a more modest black dress with thicker black stockings, a pair of red dress shoes, and a fur jacket. Although she did her best to look natural while standing out there, waiting for a vampire, a part of her couldn't help but feel self-conscious. Although every indication had been given that Brenton was a real vampire and that he intended to meet her, there was always the possibility that Celestia had been left holding the bag in some way. Perhaps he was some kind of extremely capable fraud. His super speed wouldn't make any sense, but there were stranger things in the world then blue lights and running fast. Maybe he intended to leave her there? Admittedly, she didn't have much to offer Brenton at the current moment, and perhaps in the world of the 'Kindred,' as he referred to them, Embracing someone carried more weight than she expected. Or, worst of all, maybe he was using her for some kind of plot. Perhaps he arranged a duel between a 'representative' and another vampire, and some creature of the night was on its way to slay her right at this very moment. Celestia closed her eyes and took deep breaths. When you're at the blackjack table, it's much easier to imagine every circumstance where you lose all of your money and much easier to imagine every circumstance where you win it all and never have to play again than it is to look at the odds neutrally and make the objectively best decision. By the time she opened her eyes, she was calm again and ready to take the night as it came. 

"You came," a familiar, gruff voice came from behind. She turned towards the doors and got a better look at Brenton. 

The voice was the only way to properly identify him. His outfit, which looked more like something a professional wrestler would don than an outfit of a proper creature of the night, was done away with. Now, he had a white t-shirt with a denim vest over it and a pair of workman's pants. Now that the hat was gone, his messy blond hair hung off his scalp and framed a stoic, upset expression. In the dimness of the night, his yellow eyes were much more piercing, reminding Celestia of a cat in more than a few ways.

"Why, of course I did," Celestia replied with a curtsy. "An honored guest should be no inconvenience to her host." 

"Save it, we both know that this isn't some kind of rich person's playdate," Brenton replied as he stepped closer to Celestia. "Ya feelin' scared yet?"

Celestia's smile grew wider. "Of course not; I know that I can handle myself." To punctuate her point, she pulled a large silver crucifix necklace out of her top. "See? This is my insurance."

Brenton chuckled, reached out, and gripped the crucifix. Her hands started shaking as he rubbed the surface and smiled at her. "Is that so, Celestia?"

"Well, that was… an unexpected development," she chuckled as she wrenched it from his hand. "I had assumed that such an artifact of the Lord would act as sufficient protection against creatures of the occult." 

"It can be," Brenton conceded. "But somebody who begs to become a 'Vampire' doesn't have enough Faith to make it worth a damn. You'd be better off trying to stab me with it than expecting me to be afraid of it. Don't worry. It's not like I'm here to hurt you. You said you wanted to be Embraced, right? You have a lot to learn before that happens, but lucky, lucky you, I'm a very generous teacher."

Celestia bowed again, but the light chuckle she let out conveyed more fear than she ever would've liked to reveal. "Anything you show is welcome. Thank you, Brenton." 

Brenton looked over the strange young girl and smiled. "Alright, the night isn't getting any younger. Follow me, Celestia. Let's see what you really want." 

Chapter Text

  “I think we should call the police.” Kyoko’s comment broke up the awkward silence that hung around herself, Komaru Naegi, Sayaka Maizono, and Leon Kuwata. 

“Yeah,” Komaru agreed. “It’s weird that he’d be this late.”

The group had gathered by the ticket window for the last hour, waiting for a Lucky Student who wasn’t picking up his phone. In fact, it went to voicemail before ringing, which meant that it was turned off, on airplane mode or any kind of general do-not-disturb, or damaged in some way. That was odd because Makoto never turned off his phone. 

“Maybe he went to bed?” Leon suggested. “Or he forgot. Either way works.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Sayaka replied. “Maybe he meant to cancel but couldn’t tell us?”

“No,” Kyoko replied. “I’ll call the police. You three go inside, I’ll handle things from here.”

“I want to stay!” Komaru insisted. “I’ll help!”

“It wouldn’t be right of us to go inside,” Sayaka added. “We’ll stay here with you, Kyoko.”

Leon was about to speak, but he remembered what his counselor said about being mindful of other people’s feelings, and he kept his mouth shut. And so the four of them waited while Kyoko dialed in the number for the police. 

When Makoto Naegi was conscious again, it was so dark that he couldn’t even tell if he was awake or not. In fact, the surrealism of transitioning from getting on his bike to waking up in a place that smelled like earth and where there was no light, part of Makoto wondered if he was dreaming. Is it possible to wonder if you’re dreaming inside of a dream? He had heard of some people with such great control over their dreams that it amounted to spending time inside of their own mind as a reality warper, but Makoto never had anything like that. The last prominent dream he could remember involved hiding from something in a grocery store, and that probably didn’t help him with this situation. Makoto tried to call out for help. “Hey, help! Help!” he called out, and the way that the sound reflected made it clear that wherever he was trapped was tiny.

The worst part was the feeling of hunger. How long had he been out to feel this hungry? It wasn’t just the usual pains in the abdomen that was the body’s best attempt to tell him that he needed to eat, it was more like something was actively tearing apart his insides in an attempt to find some kind of nourishment. He reached up and felt what seemed to be wood. Was he seriously in a coffin? Had he seriously been buried alive? What kind of sick joke was this? Makoto didn’t feel panic so much as he felt anger and indignation. He was starving, and somebody buried him. He needed to get out because he needed to feed. He scraped at the wood and felt his nails dragging against the wood, and he didn’t have the presence of mind to wonder how that was possible. He couldn’t wonder why he wasn’t running out of oxygen either or even ask the broader question of why this was happening to him. As he felt his hunger driving him mad, he gave an experimental punch to the wooden coffin, and he felt some kind of give. Emotion overtook Makoto as he began punching and punching at the wood until he heard it break, and a pile of dirt collapsed onto him. His mouth filled with dirt, although the only thing that registered was that there was an uncomfortable presence filling his mouth. It felt like it took hours, even though it only took him minutes at most, to escape, and he burst from the dirt in the ground into the night air. 

In a dingy bar in the middle of Tokyo, Celestia Ludenberg stumbled out of the front door first. She turned to meet her ‘teacher,’ Brenton, walking out behind her with a bottle of cheap wine. 

“So you’re saying you can outrun a car?” she hiccuped before letting out a cackle. “It’s a good thing that the Olympics are during the day, huh? Otherwise, all of you would expose yourselves.”

“Indeed,” Brenton replied before taking a long sip from the bottle. Celestia watched as he set it down, hacked, and spit out a long stream of wet ash. He cleared his throat as Celestia laughed again. 

“What a trick!” 

“Not a trick,” Brenton shot back. “It’s a part of the curse.”

“You call it a curse?” Celestia replied.

“Could it be anything else?”

“I would assume that something that makes you immortal and strong enough to crush rocks with your bare hands is a blessing.”

“That’s a load of bullshit,” Brenton spat before motioning at the ash on the ground. “You’re looking at this like how a little kid looks at war. All of the ‘cool’ shit about my condition is just a way of living with it.”

“Well, maybe if I became a Kindred, I’d see your point,” Celestia replied unsubtly. 

“C’mon, I have something to show you first.

When Makoto emerged from the ground he found that he was in a plot of soil nearby a massive parking garage. That, and it turned out that he was not the only person in the same predicament. All around him, dozens of people were rising out of what must have been their own makeshift graves. Before Makoto could even wonder why that was, he could hear gunshots. Someone is shooting at them, he realizes as he watches one of his fellows rising out of her grave take a bullet through the skull; where she used to be is a pile of ash, and Makoto can barely figure out why that would be. Something dark inside of Makoto tells him that he has to fight; he has to find who’s shooting at him and make sure they can’t shoot at him anymore. But as the thought travels along the neurons in his brain, in a feat of divine intervention, the line of logic shifts. Despite the best urgings of this dark voice, Makoto realizes that he is Makoto Naegi, somebody who is not used to being shot at. Somebody who most likely does not have any experience with guns or gunfighting should not be fighting the people with the guns, especially when he’s so hungry and scared, and confused. He looked around at where the gunfire was coming from, which seemed to be from down a nearby street, and he ran towards the parking garage at a pace that he never would’ve imagined that he was capable of achieving. 

He dived over somebody’s car and tried to hide behind it, but he couldn’t hold himself still. Makoto could hear gunshots and screaming and yelling, and he was still so hungry that he could kill himself over it. But before he could get his bearings, he was interrupted yet again.

“Coward!” somebody shouted, and Makoto stood up to see that someone had followed him into the parking garage. They were a tall, pale man holding a shotgun, and his face was twisted into a demonic sneer. “You disgrace the Lasombra!”

Makoto had no idea what any of those words meant. He couldn’t even register that they were intelligible words. In his manic, hungry state of mind, he only recognized the threat of the gun and the threat of somebody being aggressive toward him. 

“The only weak Lasombra are ash. Let me show you!” the man declared as he racked the shotgun and pointed it at Makoto, but before Makoto could reply, he saw a bolt of red light smack into the man’s side.

He turned and pointed the gun down the hall, but by then, it was too late. A second bolt tore the shotgun from his hands, and Makoto saw a woman plant a knife inside the man’s chest. There was a momentary pause as if the man had to recognize that he had been stabbed before he felt it, and Makoto watched him glow and turn to ash. The woman exhaled, brushed herself off, put the knife away, and then turned to Makoto.

“What’s the matter? Aren’t you going to attack?” she asked.

Makoto didn’t know what he was going to do. He was still sitting on the ground, leaning against the car, only able to recognize that he was hungry and scared. She smiled at him.

“You seem different, a shovelhead who isn’t completely psychotic. This could be useful.”

Makoto still couldn’t register what she meant even as she grabbed him by the jacket and lifted him off of the ground.

Celestia and Brenton stood on the roof of the parking garage, witnessing the chaos below. Celestia saw dozens of men and women rise from the ground and attempt to attack a small group of what Brenton told her were Kindred, who effortlessly slew the ‘shovelheads,’ as Brenton referred to them.

“Those were the poor folks who got Embraced by the Sabbat. You can think of them as the ‘bad guys,’ or at least, I do. I’m not one of them, so obviously I don’t like them, but it’s shit like this that makes my blood boil.” Brenton explained as the battle wound down. “It’s so useless.”

A small cadre of Shovelheads escaped the battle and were trying to assuage their thirst by preying on some homeless people in the alley, only for one of the Kindred from before to effortlessly dispatch them with a pistol. By the time he was done, and it looked like all of the Shovelheads were defeated, the sirens had become deafening. The police were here. The group of Kindred who had won left, leaving behind just ash and empty shells in their wake.

“That was both an ambush and a culling,” Brenton continued. “Those folks who won are the Camarilla, they’re assholes, but not as bad as the Sabbat. The Sabbat and the Camarilla hate each other, so the Sabbat set up this whole plan to try and take them out. The Camarilla won pretty handily, so I guess it’s back to the drawing board for whatever poor guy thought up of this, ain’t it?” 

“I would suppose so. Are you saying this is just politics for the Kindred?”

“One could see it that way. I see something a bit more profound. What you just saw down there is the natural state of the Kindred. You see, being one of us puts The Beast inside of you. The Beast is the curse. It’s what makes us who we are. Those Shovelheads were what happens when the Beast rules you. They’re savage, they don’t care who they hurt, and all they want is blood. But it’s more than just that. Being one of the Kindred puts you on a totem pole. Those Shovelheads were the very bottom of the pole, and those Camarilla assholes were the next step up. Above them are their masters, and those masters have masters, and it goes so high up that you need a telescope to see all of the bullshit. Being one of the Kindred is getting as high as you can on the totem pole before you realize how much of a rampaging animal you really are, and then someone higher than you puts you down.”

“Reminds me of business,” Celestia casually remarked. “Sounds awfully human.”

Then it’s decided, Brenton thought. If that doesn’t scare Celestia, then she’s either incredibly stupid or incredibly self-confident. He hoped that it was the former, but the latter could be useful in its own way. “Alright then, I think you’re ready.”

Celestia let out a yip of joy. “Excellent!”

“Not so fast; me being your Sire because I Embrace you means you will be my Childe. That means you listen to me.”

“Sounds an awful lot like indentured servitude. Could it be that you have a fetish?”

“Well, you could say no, in which case I’ll throw you over this edge right here,” Brenton replied as, for emphasis, he grabbed her by the hair, making the woman freeze in place. “And if I Embrace you, and you fuck me over at a later date, then I’ll just throw you over this very edge again. Sound good?”

“I agree. For someone who spoke so negatively about that totem pole, you seem to be very excited about my place on it compared to yours,” Celestia remarked as Brenton let go.

“It’s awfully useful,” Brenton replied before he wrenched her head to the side and sunk his fangs into her neck. 

The Kiss, as some would refer to the act of a Kindred feeding upon a person, was one of the most potent sources of ecstasy possible. Brenton and Celestia were intimately aware of the pleasures of the flesh, alcohol, love, and everything else one could propose, which was good. The Kiss was better than most of them, and it gave most of the others a run for their money. Celestia let out a moan and had to balance on the tips of her toes as, suck by suck, Brenton drained every drop of blood from her body. When he was done, sucking on a dry artery while feeling for an absent heartbeat, he let her drop to the ground. He pulled a pocket knife out of his pocket and made a cut on the back of his hand. Once the cut was deep enough to sufficiently bleed, he crouched down and forced Celestia’s mouth open with his other hand so that the blood could leak into her mouth. The Vitae from Brenton dripped until Celestia came to unlife with a jolt, as mad and hungry as she could ever recall being.

Chapter Text

The Kiss felt just as wonderful when Celestia was drinking from the neck of a woman who Brenton had purchased for an hour out of some alleyway. The newly Embraced girl could feel herself losing all care in the world in favor of pleasure, until she was suddenly yanked off of the artery. The woman passed out on the ground as Celestia outstretched  her nails and tried to scratch at Brenton, growling and hissing animalistically as she attacked him for depriving her of blood. 

“Calm down,” he chastised her before dragging a second girl over to Celestia. “There you go.”

Celestia hissed again but did as Brenton wished, drinking from the second girl with as much vigor as she drank from the first girl. Brenton sat in a chair beside the bed of the cheap motel room he rented for the both of them and watched Celestia feed. The first few times were always the most pleasurable for any Kindred, and he could see evidence of that in Celestia’s eyes with every suck on the girl’s neck. For a moment he wondered if he wasn’t making a mistake. You could tell, sometimes. People got Embraced and immediately began acting like animals, or worse. Brenton supposed that he should have expected such things, after all, Embracing Celestia was the type of gambit that Kindred made in their sleep; but he still had his apprehensions. 

Finally, Celestia seemed appeased, and the second girl passed out while Celestia rolled over and stared up at Brenton while wiping some blood off her lip with her sleeve. “What was that?” she panted, conscious and rational thought returning to her mind again after a long absence. “It was… so strange. So… dissociated. It was like I was in the backseat in my own mind, watching as my body was piloted. And yet… at no point was I scared. It felt right, somehow.” 

“Frenzy, it’s a thing that happens to Fledglings a lot. That Beast I mentioned? Blood keeps it fed. When the Beast is hungry, your Humanity is the first thing to go. If you hated feeling like an animal, then make sure to keep yourself well fed. It does everyone a favor. The Kindred who adore the Beast usually wind up either trying to kill nice folks like me, or running off into the woods and spending their unlife howling at the moon in confusion. You and I are the kind of Kindred who need to stay very closely in touch with our Humanity.” 

“I feel so powerful,” Celestia commented as she looked at her hands. “Like a God among Men.”

“That’s what everyone feels like after they feed. It’s a nice combination of being well fed and knowing how much power you hold over the average person. But I’d be more careful about that feeling, you’re not nearly as tough as you think. After all, the sun is coming up in an hour.”

“So are we staying here?”

“Not a chance. Lemme take you back to my place.”

The woman who had abducted Makoto threw him on the ground outside of an alleyway. “Alright buddy, go get your fill.”

Makoto quickly recovered from hitting the concrete and got to his feet. He heard the sound of somebody vomiting and looked down into the alley, seeing a dirty old man vomiting what smelled even from a distance like alcohol. Makoto sprinted down the alleyway at a pace that would have been unimaginable even to the athletes of Hope’s Peak and tackled the man to the ground with enough force to likely shatter a few bones, and he barely registered the protests and panicking as he sunk his teeth into the man’s neck and began drinking. Makoto was operating off of pure natural instinct, after all, if he even thought about it he’d wonder why he wanted a man’s blood and not normal food. Makoto fed as much as he could until the artery he was sucking on went dry. He tried desperately to get more blood before he finally lifted himself off of the man’s neck and looked down at him. He was dead. So completely drained of blood that he had probably been gone for a while at this point. Makoto felt numb as he put his back against one of the alleys’ brick walls and stared down at the corpse that he created.

“You don’t even know what you are, do you?” the woman asked Makoto. He turned to look at her. She was an attractive woman, with short black hair and a stylish businesswoman’s outfit that made the obvious pistol and knife holsters she had that much more confusing to Makoto. “That’s a common thing with Shovelheads.”

“W-w-what I am?” Makoto stammered. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a vampire, kiddo. We call ourselves the Kindred.”

Makoto looked down at his hands. Vampire? No way, he thought, there’s no way. Vampires aren’t real, they’re mythology and pop culture. Vampires weren’t a thing that somebody could become, especially not if they were just going out for the night and didn’t even know that vampires existed before they evidently became one. 

“Drinking blood like that is a big part of your new life,” she continued. “Normally you want to avoid killing your food, but it’s important to get as much blood as possible when you’ve just been Embraced, so I let it slide. Besides, nobody’s gonna miss the drunk bastard.”

Her words barely landed for Makoto. He still just stared at his hands. He really killed somebody. It was terrifying that he could say that and that not only was it true, it felt fine. It landed with all of the impact of saying to himself “I forgot to lock the door before I went to bed last night.” Things like this weren’t supposed to be as acceptable as it was to Makoto, and when he thought about how unusual that was, it was reinforced to him that this woman wasn’t lying to him. This wasn’t some kind of prank or dream or hallucination. Vampires were real, he was really a vampire, and in probably less than a day of becoming a vampire he already had a body count. 

“Y’know,” suddenly the woman’s voice was so much closer, like she was standing right beside him. “Usually Kindred feel amazing after their first feeding. I wonder.”

She grabbed Makoto’s head and forced him to look at her. She forced his mouth open and ran her finger over his fangs, then she felt on his chest for an absent heartbeat, then she spent a moment looking deep into his eyes.

“Odd, you’re not a Thin Blood, but you still feel like shit. And even when you were a Shovelhead I could tell how unique you were. I’m not one for the paranormal, but somehow our meeting feels like the long arms of Fate in action. What do you feel?

“Scared,” Makoto replied with an honest exhale. “I don’t know what’s happening-”

“How interesting. You might be of interest to me. Follow me.”

With that statement, she grabbed Makoto by the shirt, and dragged him back out of the alley. He didn’t fight back. 

“It’s not very nice, but it’s home,” Brenton commented as he unlocked the door of his apartment. Celestia followed him inside of his little chunk of America in the middle of Tokyo.

It wasn’t just the flag that he had inexplicably hung on his wall, as if Brenton had somehow forgotten that he was an American and needed a periodic reminder. Everything about the place, from the choice of furniture to the decorations to the way it was maintained felt distinctly American to Celestia. How terrible, she thought. All of the horrible parts of Western culture under one roof, and when she saw the Pulp Fiction poster on the wall she felt all of the blood she had drank earlier miraculously turn into bile seated at the base of her throat. 

Brenton made sure the curtains were shut and the blinds were drawn. Celestia watched as even duct taped the blinds down to ensure that no ray of light could enter his Haven, and when he finished, he began turning on the lights around the house. She tried to follow him, but he motioned for her to stay in the kitchen. At that moment, as he left to turn on lights in what must have been the bedrooms and the bathrooms, she felt a sudden, reasonable urge to grab one of the kitchen knives placed in the open so she could gut him. A reasonable payment for the disrespect of making Celestia Ludenberg wait in the kitchen like some prostitute waiting for her client to finish washing himself, she thought. But she maintained restraint. After all, she thought, I am a fair woman, and my Embrace was an act of business on his part. To betray him so early would be uncouth on my end. 

“What do we do during the day?” Celestia asked as Brenton returned to the primary living space.

“We sleep,” he replied. “You should rest up, because tomorrow, you start your new job.” He then laughed a bit. “Funny how not even becoming one of God’s Damned makes you free from work, huh?”

Celestia sat down at his kitchen table and ignored his vague anti-capitalism. “What am I helping you with?”

Brenton marched off towards one of the bedrooms. “You’ll see. The story is long and probably doesn’t make much sense. The room across from mine is yours, make yourself at home.”

He slammed his bedroom door shut and Celestia heard it audibly lock. How charming. To be fair, she had been thinking of stabbing him just mere moments before, so perhaps he was more clever than his Masculine-American nature would allow Celestia to assume him to be. But at least he was kind enough to leave Celestia alone with her thoughts. And what thoughts she had. There was undeniable elation, that was for sure. She was one step closer to her life goal of living forever inside of a fashionable European castle, surrounded by supernatural and immensely attractive, European butlers who did all of her work for her. She suddenly realized that she’d be able to drink from them whenever she wanted and they wouldn’t possibly be able to say no. Free use blood bags! The thought made her swoon. But more pressing matters were at hand. She needed to find a way out of Brenton’s control as soon as possible. Whatever he had planned, she absolutely was not interested in it, and the thought of spending any amount of time helping him with his personal projects was both boring and disdainful to her. After all, even if she was immortal, ten years spent in this man’s presence, being his errand girl was ten years she was not in a European Castle with a handsome blond-haired, blue-eyed butler named Johann who referred to her as a Goddess. But there was a different thought in the back of her mind. What did being among the Kindred mean to her?

She stood up and tried to remember the bits and pieces that Brenton told her. Mostly it was the bad stuff, and maybe that was intentional on his part. If she didn’t know her full strength, that made her easier to control, and make no mistake, he intended to control Celestia. She walked towards the kitchen and tried to remember what her favorite books told her before she dismissed that thought. If the crucifix she still wore wasn’t going to protect her, then what else had she been lied to about? She opened a kitchen drawer and took out a butter knife. She pressed the edge against her palm and pushed it down, and watched as it bent until it snapped. Super strength, that wasn’t something she had expected. Celestia found herself smiling as she analyzed the snapped metal. This was definitely the right decision.

Chapter Text

At some point Makoto had stopped letting himself be dragged and started walking, through what felt like half of Tokyo, until they entered some building that only registered as a block of concrete and glass amid other blocks of concrete and glass to him. The woman who had taken him pulled him into a dim elevator, and once it reached the bottom floor, she pulled him into a dimly lit room where several other people were waiting. There was someone dressed like a punk, she almost looked like Ibuki, and a guy with normal clothes. Besides them was a girl who was short and wore a hoodie. She seemed somehow normal compared to the other two.

One of them pulled out a wooden chair, and the woman who’d taken him sat him down in it. 

“Keiko, who is this?” one of them asked. Makoto focused and counted the woman who’d taken him and three others. 

“This is a new friend of ours. He’s a Shovelhead-”

“No, no way,” one of them, the girl with the hoodie, objected. Three girls and one man, not counting Makoto. Every time he tried to get his bearings it was like the thoughts escaped him. 

“Yeah, Keiko, this is fucking ridiculous,” the guy said. 

“Hear me out, you two,” Keiko replied. “Notice how this Shovelhead is behaving itself.” 

“Yeah?”

“You see, this little fella only went a ‘normal’ level of Feral. I gave him some blood and now he’s normal.”

“You seriously took the time to feed some random Shovelhead some blood?”

“Look, I said ‘hear me out.’ We need some good PR right now, and isn’t this the perfect opportunity? After all, we’re here to maintain order, not decimate every Fledgling we find. It’s a good opportunity for the Camarilla.”

“I dunno,” the man said. “This still seems like a dumb idea.”

The other ones nodded in agreement, and Keiko sighed. “I take all responsibility if it goes south.”

That seemed to appease her allies, or friends? Makoto wasn’t sure. Whatever they were, they were pacified enough to leave, which left just him and Keiko in the basement.

“Can you please let me go? I need to get home,” Makoto tried to offer. It was probably a stupid idea, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

In response, Keiko laughed. “Buddy, you're Kindred now. There’s no going home for you.”

“Kindred? Is that-”

“Vampire, you’d call it. You’re a vampire now.”

“That’s impossible! There’s no such thing!”

“If you really think it’s impossible, I can take you back to that alley, where there’s an old man drained of blood lying in his own vomit. If vampires aren’t real, it’s sure weird that you bit his neck and sucked on it until he died.”

Makoto remembered that moment well, and he couldn’t reply. 

“You were turned into one of us by a group called the Sabbat. One of them knocked you over the head, sucked all of the blood out of your body, then put a little of their own inside of you. Since you have quite a bit of Humanity to you, I’m guessing it was a Lasombra, but even that’s being generous. Pretty shitty of them, right?”

Makoto nodded, but none of this felt real.

“Well, I’m part of a group called the Camarilla. For all intents and purposes, consider us the people who really want the Sabbat to not do that to people. Sorry we couldn’t help you beforehand, by the way. They intended for you to die fighting us.”

“I feel like I should cry, but I can’t,” Makoto remarked.

“Some would call that shock, but being among the Kindred is about what you lose and what you gain. Your emotions and thoughts are stunted, you can’t eat or drink normal food, fire and blades hurt you as much as the average person, and obviously you’ll never see your family or friends ever again. But, on the other side, the Beast inside of you gives you amazing endurance, strength, and a lot of powerful magic. Give and take, that’s how the world works.”

“This is too much,” Makoto protested as he tried to turn away from her. “I can’t do this.”

“You would do better than to disrespect me,” Kieko fired back as she grabbed his shoulder and yanked him around. “I saved your life. If I wanted to make things simple, I’d throw you outside and let the sun take care of you. But I didn’t, did I? I see something in you, something useful. Something that can make this whole shitty situation worth it to you. Do not fuck me on this, and I’ll make sure things work out alright for you.”

Makoto frankly didn’t care if she threw him outside or not. In fact, some part of him wondered if that wasn’t the best ending. He remembered a manga his sister had about vampires; when the sun touched them they exploded into ash. It looked painless enough. But still, he nodded. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

“Thank you too,” Keiko replied with a warm smile. “Now, I’m with the Camarilla. You can think of us as the ‘good guys.’ I have a lot of jobs, but as far as you should be concerned, I’m the person who intends on helping you get your revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“We’re Kindred, kiddo. The closest thing there is to a cop in this world is someone like me, and we don’t use prison or anything like that. Someone fucks you over, you kill them. Someone fucks you over real bad, you make them wish you killed them. It’s brutal, but it’s simple. Now, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Getting to find the bastard who did this, and all of his buddies, and making them pay?”

“I guess?” Makoto replied. He was normally of the belief that a kind of targeted retribution of the likes that Keiko was suggesting was an unhealthy, dangerous exercise. But maybe it was the Beast inside of him, or maybe it was the fact that the injustice done to him was, at this point, still inconceivable, but the thought of simple revenge was welcoming. “Yeah, actually. I think that would be nice.”

“Then listen to me. You help me out, I help you out. Give and take, like I said.”

The next morning Hope’s Peak Academy went wild with grief. Panic and fear and concern covered the student population like a heavy fog, and Kyoko Kirigiri’s meeting with Shuichi Saihara was in part to try and escape. Escape in her own way, of course. The fact that her boyfriend was missing was still frightening and deeply stressful, but when she got to utilize her Talent in the matter, it was like she was regaining control of the situation.

The pair of Detectives stood in Makoto’s dorm. “We found his phone,” Shuichi began, taking a small plastic bag with a cheap cell phone out of his shirt pocket. “We’ll check it out later.”

Kyoko nodded. “And what else?”

Shuichi let out a long sigh. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“No security footage, DNA, suspects, witnesses; nobody I’ve spoken to can fathom anyone either wanting him kidnapped or him wanting to run away. Makoto Naegi wasn’t a particularly famous student of the school, and some cursory checks of online communities shows very little evidence for an obsessive fan being the cause.” 

Kyoko gritted her teeth. “Right. Anything else?”

“No…” Shuichi trailed off.

What scared Kyoko was how familiar it felt. You didn’t have to be some true crime fanatic to recognize the story. Someone goes missing, is never seen again, and that’s all it is. A shitty, terrible story that happened too often to too many people. And now it was happening to her and she had none of the resources needed to make sure things ended happily. Kyoko didn’t realize she was crying until Shuichi grabbed a paper towel and handed it to her. 

She dapped away the tears running down her cheeks and nodded her head towards the other Detective. “Thank you. My apologies.”

“It’s fine!” Shuichi replied as he took the paper towel from her to throw it away. “I know how… personal the matter is to you. But I promise you, I’ll work just as hard as you, and we’ll find him.”

Shuichi smiled at Kyoko, and she smiled back, but it was out of formality. Kyoko was too smart to have hope like that. At this point, Makoto Naegi was likely either out of Japan entirely or dead. Kyoko just wasn’t sure which one was worse to her. 

Chapter Text

Celestia and Brenton sat at his kitchen table with two half-emptied blood bags between them. The sun was dimming outside, and for a long while, neither of them spoke. 

“So, I should probably tell you a bit about who I am, shouldn’t I?” Brenton spoke up. 

Celestia nodded. “If you would wish.”

“I’m an Anarch. Our little group consists of Kindred, who believe in freedom, democracy, and all of that happy-slappy bullshit. Some friends of mine with more authority than me put me here to spy on the Camarilla, our enemies. That’s supposed to be the entire reason that I’m here in Japan. But you and me, we’re working on something much more important. There’s a group of folks who are like us but not exactly like us. They’re called the Kuei-Jin. They’re more common in places like Japan than the Kindred are. One of them was in America, and they killed my Sire. I’m gonna find this guy, I’m gonna kill him, and then our deal is done.”

“I’m glad that you’ve laid out those terms because I have no particular interest in whether or not you get this revenge.”

Brenton was taken aback. “That’s quite the thing to say to the guy who gave you this ‘blessing,’ as you like to call it. Still, at least you think you know how to look after yourself. Just a word of advice, though, stay away from those Camarilla folks. They’ll use you like slave labor if they get the chance. The Anarchs have their problems, but at least they’ll pretend to respect you.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Celestia replied.

Brenton stood up. “That’s good because you’re going to accompany me tonight. Even in a place like Tokyo, the nightlife is dangerous for a guy like me, let alone a Fledgling like you. That’s why, if you leave this apartment, it’s going to be by my side.”

Celestia nodded and stood up, but inside, she began fuming.

Makoto rubbed his eyes as he walked into the bathroom that Keiko pointed him towards. Vampires? He was a vampire? No matter how much he ‘accepted’ this reality, it still felt like one big joke. And not a particularly funny one. He needed to clear his head, and he figured the best way was to bend over the sink, splash some cold water in his face, and look into his eyes in the mirror. 

So why couldn’t he see himself?

When he stared at the mirror he saw an empty bathroom, and when he reached up to touch his face, he could feel the skin beneath the tips of his fingers but all he saw was still the empty bathroom. 

“Lasombra, huh?” came a voice from behind.

Makoto turned to see a short Japanese girl with pink hair dressed in a ‘punk’ outfit that matched her wide smile. “Huh?” he asked.

“Yeah, that looks like the curse of their Clan,” she commented. Makoto recognized her as being one of the people that Keiko had spoken to earlier and considering their less-than-positive reception, he felt at least a little fear rush through him as she entered the bathroom and walked up to him. Her reflection showed up normally in the mirror, and when she put her arm on his shoulder and used him as a rest to lean against, it looked as if she was leaning against thin air. “Lasombra have more pride than even some of the most egotistical humans, but they can’t see their own reflection. Digital photography works, though, so most of them are addicted to their iPhones.” 

Makoto nodded in agreement even though none of that made sense to him. Then again, none of this situation made sense. Vampires didn’t exist, so it should’ve made some sense that something as equally impossible as his reflection vanishing should’ve been possible as well, but Makoto still felt like it wasn’t true or right. 

“Name’s Xiu,” she said as she leaned away from Makoto and stuck out her hand for a handshake, which he took gently. “Keiko tells me that I’m taking you out on patrol tonight.” 

“Patrol?”

“Yeah, once a week, we go out in pairs to do a little recon. We just walk the streets and see if we hear or see anything odd.”

Makoto shrugged. It was not like he was finding any answers sitting in his new room. “Okay, let’s go.”

Brenton and Celestia stood outside of an office building. “Here it is,” he told his Childe.

“Looks… dull,” Celestia commented. “Japan has such beautiful architecture, and yet, every corporate building is a depressing concrete block. Do they make you hate art in order to get a business degree?”

Brenton couldn’t help but chuckle before he continued. “Word on the street is that the Camarilla have an announcement to make tonight.”

“Announcement? I didn’t know that vam - Kindred, I mean, felt the need to give each other breaking news.”

“Usually we don’t, you’re right. But the Camarilla are some smart jerks. A lot of Kindred in the world aren’t Anarch, Camarilla, or Sabbat, but they’re just handling their own little slice of immortality as best as they can. The Camarilla tries to appease them, with PR and favors and what little help they’re willing to give, so that when they show up to places they’re not immediately chased out. Japan is probably the most Westernized country on this continent. Still, the majority of the supernatural population here isn’t even Kindred, let alone Camarilla. They need to play the PR game as much as they can to survive out here, and that’s a weakness.”

“Do you have any idea as to what they’re going to say?” Celestia asked.

“No, but it’s a good thing that you seem curious because you’re going to walk in there and see what the Camarilla want tonight.”

“Oh? Won’t they know that I’m with you?”

“How could they? After all, you’re a wealthy independent from Europe who’s just visiting Japan.”

Celestia and Brenton smiled at each other with mutual recognition. “I’ll be on my way,” the Gambler asserted.

“Two students in as many days, which is obviously deeply concerning,” Jin Kirigiri finished reading off of a piece of paper that lay across his desk. The Headmaster of Hope’s Peak Academy was flanked on both sides by local police officers, and across the desk sat his daughter, Ultimate Detective Kyoko Kirigiri. “There are no leads at the moment as to where they have gone, which means they arrived at their current location, any individuals who would be involved, and whether or not they are even alive or dead. Is that correct?”

Kyoko nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

“And that is in spite of a full search of their rooms, yes?”

“Indeed. Celestia Ludenberg left her cell phone and purse behind in her room, which was in an extremely neat state. There is no evidence to suggest that Celestia was forcibly abducted. No classmates have any idea as to where she has gone, and there was no substantial change in behavior prior to her disappearance. As for Makoto Naegi, his cell phone and wallet were missing but have not been found. Although his room was not as neat, it’s more likely that it was the standard state of his room rather than any evidence of an altercation. Just like Celestia, no change in behavior prior to disappearance is noted by his classmates, and none of his classmates have any idea as to where he could be.”

“Disappointing,” Jin opined to one of the officers. “It’s the perfect crime, isn’t it? Someone abducts two students from Hope’s Peak Academy, and we’re completely lost.”

Kyoko interjected. “At this moment, I wouldn’t say there’s evidence of any abduction. It is equally likely that they voluntarily left, although it would be unusual that no member of Celestia or Makoto’s family had heard from them.” 

“Look at this,” Jin replied with more than a hint of disdain. “We’re back to splitting hairs. I think it’s obvious to anyone that there was an abduction here unless you want to suggest that your boyfriend decided to elope with someone.” 

“Right,” Kyoko replied, looking down at her gloved hands.

“I was hoping that an Ultimate Detective would be of assistance, but even two of them haven’t turned up much,” Jin told the officers. “If you can, send the case higher up. This is a serious case; if somebody is targeting Hope’s Peak students, then that’s of national, no, international interest. Understood?”

The officers nodded and departed, leaving Jin and his daughter behind in the office. 

“And as for you, Kyoko,” he began. “Keep looking. Look in every nook and cranny. If we don’t find these two, it’s going to be a major problem, and there’s no reason for you to fail me here.”

Kyoko stood up. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down, sir.” 

As soon as she left her father’s office, she started running. She thought it was in the direction of her room, but it didn’t matter. Anywhere that wasn’t there was fine with her. If she was trying to keep herself from crying, it didn’t work; in fact, she had to duck into a convenient bathroom so she could grab a paper towel to keep the mucus from streaming down her face as the tears flowed freely. When people cry, it’s rarely because of a singular feeling of sadness, but it’s more of a soup of emotions that are so toxic that not releasing them as tears becomes hazardous to her health. Unlike most people, Kyoko had the gift of being able to itemize these emotions. There was disappointment that she was the Ultimate Detective yet had managed to be stumped by such a simple missing person’s case. There was anger at her father, who couldn’t muster the love in his heart for his daughter at the best of times but managed to seem outright hostile at a moment when she felt more vulnerable than she could ever remember feeling. There was a longing for Makoto because normally, when she cried, she found him and felt better. There was fear that Makoto was trafficked, dead, or had voluntarily left without a trace for some reason that he didn’t feel like telling her. There was fear that her father was right, that Makoto and Celestia were having the times of their lives at their expense. Then, there was self-hatred for being willing to think of Makoto that way. Then, every thought turned into a painful static that blanketed her in misery while she rubbed paper towels at her face and tried to keep herself from making too much noise. 

Then, out of all the people to encounter at this moment, Kyoko could recognize heavy yet elegant footsteps from behind. She rubbed down her face one more time and turned to see Mukuro Ikusaba. It was better than some of the people that Kyoko could’ve encountered in the midst of a bathroom breakdown, but Mukuro wasn’t very high on the list. Although Mukuro herself was rarely a problem, she was never very far from Junko Enoshima, who was a tar-souled bundle of ‘fun’ on a good day, and Mukuro had an unfortunate tendency to enable her sister on her bad days. Still, nobody was laughing or asking any loaded questions, so Kyoko could let herself relax a bit as she became conscious of her running makeup and the faint concern and sadness that lay in Mukuro’s eyes amidst her facial neutrality. 

Whatever Kyoko expected out of the soldier, a hug wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. People were afraid of Mukuro. She was a killer who had done things that’d mentally ruin most grown men when she was a teenage girl, and there was very little evidence that she wasn’t perfectly okay with doing similar things to other people if Junko so much as suggested it. Kyoko recalled one rumor she had heard her freshman year when she had noticed Teruteru walking around with a cast. The story went that Teruteru had told Junko that he wanted her to model for a cooking blog, and when Junko expressed the barest amount of interest, he went into a small lecture on the kinds of food-themed lingerie she’d be wearing and the extremely fetishistic situations she’d find herself in. It was around the time that his nosebleed became apparent that Mukuro, apparently having picked up on Junko’s dissatisfaction with this scenario, broke three of his fingers with a single motion. Kyoko clenched her hands as Mukuro’s chin rested on her shoulder and the soldier’s hands clasped around her lower back. The Detective really wanted to push Mukuro off of her, but she was also cognizant of the fact that Mukuro could probably kill her in a dozen different ways from such a simple hugging position. 

The hug felt like it lasted for years, but eventually, Mukuro let go and took a step back before bowing slightly before Kyoko. “My apologies if I made you uncomfortable.”

Kyoko laughed. “No, Mukuro, you’re fine. But why did you hug me?”

“I saw you crying, and I assumed that you were upset about Makoto. I didn’t know what to do, so I hugged you.”

That made Kyoko laugh again. Mukuro Ikusaba, who could probably annihilate this school if she wanted to, was, at the end of the day, a bit of a socially awkward weirdo. It made sense, but it was still an odd disconnect. “Well, I appreciate it, thank you.”

Mukuro smiled. “If that is all, I will be using the bathroom now.” 

Kyoko chuckled to herself as she left the bathroom, and she found that she felt better again. She felt good enough that there was some confidence peaking its way back into her thoughts. Back to work, she resolved. 

Whatever Makoto Naegi might have expected patrol to be like, he didn’t expect Xiu to so obviously have fun with it. In fact, the more time that Makoto spent on his toes, trying to be prepared for whatever threats may come, the more he suspected that this ‘patrol’ idea was just Xiu’s way of getting to know him.

“Hope’s Peak?” she exclaimed for what must have been the dozenth time in the last hour. “I can’t believe it. That must have been so cool!”

The capacity for Xiu to be so happy yet so insensitive should have been studied in a lab, Makoto thought. “Yeah, it was nice,” he replied as neutrally as he could. 

“I mean, shit, I heard some news about that Mukuro girl,” Xiu continued. “I mean, I was military before I was Embraced, but that girl would kick my ass so hard it’s not even funny.”

“Wait, you were military?” Makoto inquired as he looked over a girl who, with all due respect, looked more at home at a cosplay event. 

“Greater East Asia War,” she replied with a shrug as they passed through an alley.

“I didn’t know they let-”

“They didn’t. My brother had passed away a few weeks into the Manchurian campaign, so I stole his papers, wrapped my chest, and went to war. I did well enough that when my commander found out, he just told me to not let anyone else know.”

“That’s amazing,” Makoto replied, and Xiu started laughing. 

“It’s also total bullshit. I was a nurse in the SDF, I didn’t even know what a gun felt like until I was Embraced.”

Makoto frowned at Xiu as they walked further and further into the dimness of the alley. “It’s not nice to lie to people, y’know.”

“Yup, but it’s fun as fuck. I was actually Embraced by a patient. Turns out he was interested in making some play involving the SDF, but he got staked to the ground and left out for sunrise before I ever figured out what it was.”

Makoto exhaled. “You know, it seems like every vampire, I mean, Kindred, has a story like that.”

Xiu shrugged again. “Something about The Beast turns us all into conniving little shits. Not you, though. You seem kind of innocent.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, most Kindred are already making big plans even as a Fledgling. Not you. Either you’re better at hiding what you’re thinking than most, or you just genuinely don’t know what to do.”

“I miss my family, I miss my friends,” Makoto admitted as he rested against the side of a building. “I guess I’ve been mourning.” 

The punk-looking girl smiled at him. “Cute. Any ideas on what you’re gonna do when you stop feeling sorry for yourself?” 

“No,” Makoto groaned. “I guess I’ll just be listening to Keiko.”

“That’s a better fate than most of us get,” Xiu acknowledged. “Keiko is fair. That’s not a quality that most of us possess. Wait.”

Makoto froze in place as Xiu motioned to a nearby dumpster. Makoto noticed what she was motioning for immediately and kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. An old man, wrapped in old, torn clothes was laying in a pool of his own blood. He had obviously been homeless prior to his demise. Xiu waved her hand forward while making a shushing sign with her other hand, and Makoto crouched low to the ground to follow her to the site of the killing. From a distance away, Makoto could only see the man’s left side and part of his front, which made the reveal of what was on his right much worse. His throat was torn out so severely that it looked as if his spine was severed, and his head was only attached to his body by a thin strip of skin that might’ve torn if either of the Kindred examining his corpse so much as breathed on him incorrectly. 

“That sucks,” Keiko flatly analyzed. “What do you think did this? Ooh, ooh, let’s play a game. Werewolf, serial killer, or Kindred?”

Makoto stared blankly at Keiko. “You want to make this a game?”

“Yeah, c’mon, it’ll be fun. I’ll give you a present if you’re right.”

“Kindred?” 

The pair heard a scream from deeper down the alley, although Makoto didn’t feel horrified until he saw Xiu’s face contort into an expression of joy. “Let’s see what this is about, c’mon!”

They sprinted down the alley, with Makoto doing his best to keep up with the obviously faster Xiu until they reached what looked to be an impromptu homeless camp. There were tents, trash fires, and stray trash arranged into a scene that Makoto felt entirely unfamiliar with. This was only compounded by the arrangement of devastated corpses left strewn about like they were just another category of trash alongside the cigarette butts and broken bottles. 

“This is recent,” Xiu analyzed as she paced between two tents, almost admiring the grisly scene. “Whatever is doing this definitely isn’t human, and it’s fast as fuck. Feel like hunting, Makoto?”

“I guess that’s what we’re here for, yeah,” Makoto replied. “Do I get a weapon?”

Xiu’s smile only grew. “There’s that bloodlust. All of us have it. Here, take my knife.” She tossed the weapon, a large hunting knife with a stainless steel blade that glistened in the moonlight after it was released in the air and landed in the hands of the younger Kindred. Xiu followed the gift by pulling out her own weapon, a small, almost jury-rigged-looking pistol. “Let’s go slowly, no telling what’s gonna ambush us. I feel like I have an idea, though.” 

Makoto followed Xiu as she seemed to pick a trail she liked, taking them further into what proved to be an urban maze. Makoto wasn’t the most familiar with the backstreets of Tokyo. Still, he never imagined that a simple alley could lead to something so expansive and foreboding. The buildings seemed to leer over him as if they were watching and judging him for what he was. He clutched his knife close as he spoke up. “So, what do you think it is?”

“One of you, a Shovelhead,” Xiu replied. “I imagine you weren’t the only one to get away from that parking garage fiasco, but whereas Keiko picked you up, this poor guy has probably just been hiding in the sewers and eating anything he can find.”

“But those people were torn to pieces. Why would this, err, Shovelhead do that?”

“Well, Makoto, every Kindred has a certain level of Humanity to them. I’m about average, at least, I think so, but you have a fair bit of Humanity in you. This guy has been doing nothing the past few days but murdering homeless people, I imagine. If he’s not a Wight yet, he’s close.”

“A Wight?”

“It’s what happens when a Kindred loses its Humanity completely. The Beast takes over and never lets go, and at that point, you’re just a rabid dog. I like putting Wights down; if there are any bastards who deserve it, they do.”

“But if the Beast has taken over, doesn’t that mean that they’re not responsible for what’s happening? And is it true that it can’t be fixed?”

“Even if it could be fixed, and even if they weren’t in control, you don’t get to that point without doing some seriously fucked shit. I’m talking the kind of shit that your own mother would want to see you shot over. Shit like, for example, spending several days of your existence brutally murdering homeless people. God doesn’t like that, or, at least, I don’t think he does.”

“I see,” Makoto trailed off as he tried to focus on where they were going, although at this point, all of the buildings became walls of the maze of terror they were locked in. 

“Wassail,” Xiu stated. “That’s the last Frenzy you get before the Beast takes over.” Her voice lowered as if talking about such a subject was forbidden. “You’re lost forever if you get to that point. You seem like a nice enough Kindred, Makoto, don’t let me down, okay?”

Makoto nodded. “I won’t. Thank you, Xiu.”

They rounded a corner, and Makoto was met with a baseball bat to the face. His body tensed, and he fell backward, smacking the back of his head on the asphalt as Xiu stepped between him and his attacker. In what was probably some miracle even by the standards of the Kindred, Makoto was both physically and mentally capable of standing up again almost immediately, and he got a good look at his attacker. 

He was a short, stocky man with a wild look in his yellow eyes that made Makoto shiver. Blood caked around his fingers and his mouth, and he wore nothing more than a pair of tattered jeans. His wooden baseball bat was smeared with blood as well, and Makoto barely got any more information than that before Xiu stepped out of the way and he was smacked upside the head with the bat again. This time he stayed standing, but he still had to hold up his arms to try and deflect a volley of swings towards his head.

“This is what’s called a learning experience,” Xiu declared as she sat on top of a nearby dumpster. “Let’s see how you handle yourself in a fight.”

“What?” Makoto cried out before the Shovelhead jammed the bat forward like a spear, making contact with Makoto’s sternum and sending him onto his knees.

“I’ll watch and see how you deal with this guy,” Xiu replied as Makoto was smacked over the top of the head, forcing him to the ground. 

The Fledgling tried to push up against the ground so he could stand up, only to find himself being beaten over the back. Blow after blow to his torso would’ve sent the wind out of a mortal, but in Makoto’s state, it did nothing more than hurt. After every attack, he could try to push himself up, only to find himself brought back down. The vicious game of ping pong between the bat and the asphalt ended when the Shovelhead grabbed his hair and lifted him shortly before throwing him against a nearby wall.

Before Makoto could let out a groan, he looked up to see that the Shovelhead had jumped into the air, holding the bat high above his head. For the briefest of moments, Makoto wondered which would break first; the bat or his skull. Could a vampire survive without its brain? He wished that someone had explained that to him. It would’ve been easier to make a choice in the few milliseconds he had left. Makoto blinked, and when his eyes opened, he saw the Shovelhead from a different angle. It had slammed its bat on the ground and was looking around in confusion, and Makoto could look down on him as if the Fledgling was eight feet tall and this Shovelhead was five feet tall. 

“Oh shit, Oblivion!” Xiu cried out, and Makoto tried to turn to look at her, only to find that ‘looking around’ felt like he was on some kind of swivel.

“What?” Makoto tried to say, but nothing came out as the Shovelhead turned to look at Xiu.

“It’s the signature Discipline of the Lasombra. The ability to merge with the shadows, among other things,” she explained as she jumped off of the dumpster. “Clever way of getting out of that jam. That hit definitely would’ve killed you.”

The Shovelhead held up its bat and let out some kind of battle cry, and in one smooth motion, Xiu drew her gun and fired. The Shovelhead stumbled backward and turned into ash, which drifted away on the thin breeze before it even hit the ground. Makoto tried his best to ‘escape’ the shadow that he must have been attached to, and sure enough, he felt like he was falling. He caught himself and managed to land on his feet and spun around to see his own shadow being cast onto the wall.

“Yeah, it’s a pretty neat ability. Most Lasombra use it to set up ambushes, but using it to dodge a hit like that was pretty smart,” Xiu commented. 

“I can’t take credit for that,” Makoto replied as he walked over to her side. “It just kind of happened.”

Xiu smiled at him and patted his back. “Either way, the fact is you’re still here and that asshole isn’t. Ain’t that something to be proud of?”
“I would say so, yeah,” Makoto nodded.

“Just one word of advice, Makoto,” Xiu replied as she put her gun away. “I’m not always gonna be here to bail you out of your fights. You’d better start learning how to handle yourself.” 

Chapter Text

Boston wasn’t in the right place to be. Brenton Smith had assumed that for a while now, but he was sure of it now. He sat out the war while he studied at university, and those were the last years he could recall where Boston seemed like the kind of place he’d like to spend his life. Now it was 1946 and everything was different. Everyone was having kids and nobody important seemed to be thinking of how the city would grow. The economy was nice, but unstable. Although maybe none of that was right and Brenton was just upset that he was spending another beautiful summer day in the mailroom of his father’s business, sorting papers and mail. Brenton’s mood had a way of souring when his hands were so occupied with repetitive sorting that his brain became free to wander in any such direction that it pleased. 

Then the phone rang. By the second sound Brenton had picked up. “Brenton Smith speaking.”

The voice from the other end was gentle, and clearly aged. “Son, are you sitting down?”

“Yeah, Dad, what is it?”

“I just got the notice, but,” it sounded like Brenton’s father had to inhale deeply. “Robert has passed.”

Brenton gripped the phone tighter. “Wait, how? Did something happen?”

“Nothing like what you’re thinking. Some kind of sickness that’s more common over there than here.”

“Damn it, are you sure?” Brenton demanded to know as he stood up out of his chair, still clutching the receiver against his ear. “I mean, for Christ’s sake, he was in Tokyo! You don’t get tropical diseases in a city like that.”

“Son, don’t spread conspiracies, and don’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” Brenton’s father chastised him. “It’s unfortunate, and especially coming so soon after Mirabelle’s passing. But we accept that it happened, right?”

Brenton took a deep breath. “Yes, father.” 

“Besides, don’t let this news get you down so quickly. It’s not as if Robert would want you to be so upset on a date night,” his father laughed. He didn’t know that just two weeks ago Brenton went to Emily’s house with a bouquet of flowers and she told him that if he came around there again wearing his rosary then her dad would shoot him, and she was real sorry that things had to end that way but there was nothing to be done. 

“Yes, father, I’ll tell her you say hi,” Brenton replied irregardless. “How did the meeting go? With the investors?”

Another pause. “‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy path.’”

“That bad, huh?”

“It remains to be seen. I love you, son.”

“I love you too, father.” Brenton hung up the phone. 

Celestia entered the tea shop and found that, predictably, it was filled with Kindred. Their pale skin and bestial eyes gave it away, but when they talked, she could identify the fangs. There was also one that had gray skin and more bumps and boils and other skin deformities than God could possibly allow a human to live with, so that made things a little more obvious. Curiously, some of them were substantially more haggard than Celestia had expected the refined-sounding Camarilla could be. These must be Anarchs, because they were grouped together, and Celestia would assume that ‘Independent’ Kindred would attempt to maintain their, well, their independence. But if Anarchs are here, then why would Brenton feel compelled to send Celestia in his stead? She made a mental note to investigate the rationale for such a decision later as she approached the most well-dressed people in the shop. 

“Hello, my name is Celestia Ludenberg,” she introduced herself.

The first one to look at her was a taller woman wearing a business uniform. To Celestia she absolutely reeked of money. The shorter girl was dressed like a punk. To Celestia she reeked of bad news. And then there was a muscular, average-height man wearing street clothes. To Celestia he seemed useful. 

The punk replied with a wide smile and a bounce before sticking her hand out for a shake, which Celestia reluctantly gave her. “My name is Xiu! It’s truly a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Celestia replied. “I recently moved here from Hokkaido, although before that I was in Europe.”

“Right,” replied the one in the business suit before her and the man walked to another part of the room. 

“Shoot, gotta go. See ya around!” Xiu added on before she followed them.

Celestia stood in place for a few moments before exhaling. Rejection is hardly an uncommon one for a ‘newcomer,’ but being brushed aside so casually was like a stake through the heart to the Fledgling. It was one thing to suffer disrespect from an American moron like Brenton, but for the elites of this new world to treat her like some adoring fan? That hurt. Either Celestia would have her revenge, or they would feel like fools for this, and she did not particularly care which one came first. But then she paused herself. She needed to be smarter about this then she would have to be with Brenton. She was sure that he was a moron, who would either be easily manipulated or done away with. Thankfully, her spiral was averted by the businesswoman tapping a glass loudly. She cleared her throat and Celestia took a seat at the far end of the room from the counter, where she and her two companions were presenting from. 

“I am happy to report to my fellow Kindred that an attempt by the Sabbat to cause chaos in the local area was averted by the Camarilla.” She paused for a moment, as if expecting some kind of applause or praise, before plowing forward. “I must mention that the local Anarchs played no role in the discovery of a Sabbat plot, or in stopping it once it was put into motion, but we will not fault our weaker, more misguided companions for their flaws at this moment.”

How odd, Celestia thought as she looked towards the poors. Insulting the audience? Yet they didn’t seem upset. Perhaps they were Independents? Celestia kicked herself. Anarchs and Camarilla seemed to be mortal enemies, of course they wouldn’t show up here. They’d boycott or bomb or any other similar actions. 

But someone from that group did seem to take offense. “When did it become our job to jack around with these Sabbat guys?”

The man in street clothes pointed in response. “You might as well be joining them, jackass!”

The punk girl reached over and yanked his hand down as Keiko replied. “The Sabbat are a threat to the Masquerade, and thus, a threat to all of us. If the Sabbat are allowed to act unimpeded, our existence will be discovered, and Humanity will make short work of us all.”

Celestia smiled. A clearly well-rehearsed plan. These Camarilla people knew their stuff, it seemed. 

Another man from the crowd spoke up, although he was quieter. “Maybe the Sabbat would treat us Thin Bloods better.”

The businesswoman glared at him. “I can assure you that they wouldn’t.” In spite of the forcefulness of her response, she still looked back at the punk, who gave her an expression Celestia knew well. A look of ‘Things are going awry, end the show.’ She wondered what a Thin Blood was, or why such a sentiment would be so upsetting. Perhaps it was some kind of Vampiric Racism?

“The last announcement we have is that the Camarilla have taken in a Childe who was abandoned by their Sire. If you know of any other such Childe, please bring them to my attention. Let it be known that the Camarilla are gracious when approached for such issues.”

The meeting dispersed, and Celestia was among the first Kindred to leave. Keiko and her partners went to the storage room. Daisuke was pushed against the wall, and Xiu stood off by the door as Keiko spoke.

“You were entirely out of line. Because of what you said, a Thin Blood decided to pipe up and open that wound again. Remember that you are there to make sure no one in the crowd is trying any funny business, and that is it.”

Daisuke inhaled and exhaled. “Well, Keiko, I’m sorry that I think your PR bullshit is, well, bullshit.”

“What was that?”

“I think you should be spending more time cracking heads and less time making speeches. Is there a problem with that?”

Keiko’s brow furrowed. “Yes, Neonate, I do have a problem. I act on behalf of Tokyo’s Prince. A contention you have with me is a contention that goes up to her. Is that understood?”

“Yeah, sure,” Daisuke sneered. He pushed Keiko back and marched off, leaving the other two behind in storage.

“I’m sure he’s just angry in general,” Xiu offered. “He doesn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“He would do best to keep a lid on it, but for now, I’ll accept that,” Keiko replied.

“That’s all?” Brenton asked as he sat down across from Celestia at his kitchen table.

“Indeed. It was, frankly, quite boring.”

The American sighed and kicked his shoes up onto the wooden surface. “That sucks. You’re one-hundred percent sure that you didn’t hear anything about Kuei-Jin?”

“No, I don’t recall being informed as to what those are.”

“We’ll get to it later,” Brenton replied dismissively. “But wasn’t that such bullshit?”

“What do you mean?”

“Them taking in that Childe. It’s bullshit.”

Celestia’s head tilted to the side. “How is that? It seems quite magnanimous to me.”

“That’s the point. It’s like when some rich actor adopts a kid. The kid’s gonna be treated like shit, but you can’t call them out on it, ‘cause ‘they saved that kid,’ y’know? It’s PR bullshit.”

“I see,” Celestia replied. 

“The Camarilla loves doing that shit. They set you up for success and treat you like an angel until they don’t need you, then they toss you out.”

“You sound familiar.”

“You could say that.”

“Oh?”

“Yup,” Brenton replied as he stood back up. “Maybe someday I’ll tell you all about it. For now, you’re off the clock. Enjoy the night.”

For the first few days Makoto Naegi slept on the floor in the basement. “Security,” Xiu told him. He didn’t mind entirely. He’d never had much trouble sleeping, but now that he was a Vampire, it felt like daylight came and he passed out almost immediately. But after a few days of resting on top of his jacket on the cold stone floor, Xiu came down.

“Hey, Makoto!” she started with the usual bounce in her voice. “I set up a room for you. C’mon.”

“Really?” he replied. 

“Yeah! I told Keiko that putting you down here every night was wrong, and she agreed! She’s a great boss like that. Follow me.”

Something about that story felt scripted, but Makoto had no room to protest. He followed Keiko into the main floor of the tea store, into the back, and up a set of stairs. She took him down a narrow hallway, opened the door on the left, and showed Makoto a small room with a bed, a dresser, and not much else.

“Ta-da!” she presented as if he had won a house. “I know it’s basic, but it’s sure nicer than down there, huh?”

“Yeah, it is,” Makoto agreed as he took a step inside. 

“Keiko’s Ghoul runs this shop, so we have run of the place night and day. Just don’t make much noise if you’re awake during the daytime and you’re rock-solid.” 

“Thanks, Xiu. I’m going to go to bed now.”

“No probs, Makoto. Sleep well! See ya tomorrow!”

Makoto shut the door, and he heard Xiu scamper off downstairs. He found himself wondering where Xiu got that joy from. Maybe her life was much worse before she was Embraced? He’d have to ask her at some point. For now, he was more curious about the room.

A cursory exam revealed that the room was just as humble as Makoto expected it to be. It truly was just a tiny dorm with a bed and a dresser. Something about it warmed his heart. Maybe they did intend to treat him right? The thought seemed surreal. He had honestly expected to be executed, or something along those lines, at this point. The thought of having any happiness like this after losing what he had lost felt almost disrespectful, but Makoto would take what he could. 

On a curious whim, he opened the heavy curtains that hung over a small window. A ray of sunshine flashed, and he withdrew his hand in a flash as he closed the curtains. A thin red line of scorched skin stretched across his palm. The sensation reminded Makoto of putting his hand on a hot burner, and yet, the pain had something unique about it. For a moment, Makoto wondered what it would have been like to open the curtain entirely and let the sunlight bathe his body. He had heard before that severe burn victims eventually felt nothing after the nerves were devoured by the heat. Could piles of ash feel pain?

He shook his head and marched over to the dresser. It was three junk drawers, but he found something useful in the middle drawer; duct tape. He pulled out the thinning roll and marched back to the curtain, where he taped it completely shut. Now, if he wanted to even peek through it at night, he’d have to pull off half a roll of duct tape. With that secure, he flopped over to bed and attempted to get some rest. 

Chapter Text

Daisuke reminded Makoto of Taka a bit. He had that same sense of rigid duty and morality. But Taka was loud and boisterous, and even when he spoke his mind, there was a kind of formality to it. He had a sense of fierce loyalty and duty, too, and similar thick eyebrows. It wasn’t a perfect comparison; Daisuke definitely seemed like more of a thug than Taka ever could have been, but perhaps connecting these strange people and experiences to what he already knew would help him adjust better. 

The pair was on patrol, walking the same path that Makoto had come to know well. He didn’t know this part of Tokyo before his Embrace, but Daisuke did. It seemed like he had a new piece of trivia or some kind of story to tell on every block. He finished a particularly lovely story about a girl who slit her wrists in an alleyway after her boyfriend cheated on her with her sister when he stopped and motioned for Makoto to do the same.

“Say, kid, how are you… y’know, taking things?”

“What do you mean?”

Daisuke turned to face Makoto and shrugged. “Just, y’know, how things are going.”

“It feels like everyone wants to know that,” Makoto replied as he leaned against the wall of what looked like a printer’s shop. “To be honest, Daisuke, it’s going terribly.”

Daisuke frowned and walked over to Makoto’s side. “Well, wanna talk about it?”

Makoto inhaled deeply before he began. “I miss my old life. I miss going to school. I miss my friends. I miss my family. I miss eating real food, heck, I even miss doing homework. I’m not sure what I’m doing with myself anymore.”

Daisuke gave him a pat on the back. “Hey man, I know exactly how it feels. Trust me, I’m not just saying that. For the first few years after I was Embraced, just about every single day I felt like that.”

“The first few years?” Makoto asked. The fact that Kindred were immortal meant that the passage of time felt odd to them, but Makoto hadn’t adjusted to that fact enough to not find the time frame unusual.

“Yup. When I was first Embraced, I kept tabs on all the people from my old life. Friends, family, had a guy I liked, hell, there was even this local baseball team I went crazy for. One by one, they all went away. One friend moved to America, another got cancer, another got stabbed by some mugger. My dad died, my mom went up north, and my sister, last I checked, had moved to England. Baseball team went under. Every Kindred experiences that, but usually, it takes longer. I’m nowhere near old enough to know how it feels to see technology change, see the culture change, y’know? But when I lost everything I cared about, I turned to the one thing I still had: the Beast.”

“You embraced the Beast?” Makoto inquired. 

“Not necessarily. Hey kid, have you ever heard of this dude named Marcus Aurelius?”

“No?”

“I have this book by him, it says he was an Emperor or some shit. He’s a smart guy; “If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it, and you have the power to revoke it at any moment.” Y’know what that means?” Daisuke asked, and before Makoto could open his mouth, he continued. “It means that all of this shit that’s eating you up, well, it’s not real. It’s not like you’re being stabbed in the neck or you’re having a heart attack. You’re just sad. And you can stop being sad whenever you want. I stopped being sad, and I looked at myself, and you know what I said? ‘Dammit, you’re a beast of the night, Daisuke. A god-damned monster. And you’re going to be the best Kindred that’s ever existed because that’s what you have the opportunity to do.’ Does that make sense, kid?” 

“I think so. You accepted that you were a vamp-one of the Kindred, and now it doesn’t hurt that you’re one of them?”
Daisuke clicked his tongue. “Yeah, that’s about the cut of it. But, of course, that’s just step one. After all, what is it really to be ‘the best Kindred that’s ever existed?’”

“Being powerful?” Makoto suggested. “I mean, if you’re powerful enough to not be scared of anyone - I guess that just seems like as good of a goal as any.”

“Some think that. But me? To me, being a good Kindred is serving the Camarilla.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s nothing better than fighting for a cause you believe in, and I’m all in with these guys. Even if it was just Keiko and everyone else, I’d still die for these people. But the Masquerade is important, and the Elders are one of the only things making this life liveable.”

Makoto wasn’t that knowledgeable about the advanced details of the organization that he was now a part of, so he tried to dodge that part. “It seems like you’ve thought a lot about this, Daisuke.” 

Daisuke couldn’t help but beam with more than a bit of pride. “I’m a Brujah. We’re thinking warriors. A pen in one hand, a gun in the other - that kind of thing. I was never a very smart guy, so I’ve been trying to read more. Think more. After all, all smart people are are the people who read and think more than you.”

“Yeah,” Makoto nodded like he understood. 

“If you don’t take anything else away from this, Makoto, listen to me when I say this; find the thing you believe in. I hope it’s the Camarilla too, but the bottom line is this: you will never have a life worth living unless you figure out what you believe in.”

“And I have to be willing to fight for it, is that right? Die for it?”

“Everyone has to fight for their lives, kid. From the richest guy on Earth to whoever we feed off of tonight, everyone is fighting. I’m sure you had to fight, at least a little, right?”

Makoto thought about it. Honestly, he couldn’t think of how. The first thought he had was his first few months at Hope’s Peak. Still, even then, he was so well-liked that any conflicts he had were usually resolved by the end of the day or never stood the chance of hurting him in the first place. He was a privileged individual in many ways. He just never fully understood until these last few nights. “Less than you’d think.”

“Well, that’s no good,” Daisuke exhaled. “Tell you what? How about when we finish this patrol, we do a little training?”

“Training?”

“Yeah, combat stuff. I’ll show you some pointers.”

Makoto felt nervous, but he nodded. “I’d be thankful for that.”

Daisuke gave the younger Kindred a firm handshake before pushing off of the wall. “Alright, let’s go!”

Brenton’s apartment smelled less like mold the more Celestia stayed there, probably because of the candles she had set up. On this night, he left to do some business relating to his Anarchs, and Celestia decided that she wouldn’t spend her evening plotting or doing any other related nonsense. Instead, she had some materials she had stolen from the tea store. Tapioca pearls, black tea, warm water, milk, syrup, the holy ingredients! And just how long had it been since Celestia had acquired such heavenly goodness for herself? She mixed everything together just like how she used to do it, poured it into a mug of Brenton’s that she had run through the dishwasher three times just to make sure that his filth didn’t corrupt her drink, and then took a big sip. 

Ash. It tasted like ash. Celestia spat up into the sink, and what she spat up was clumps of wet ash. Right, she thought. You are a Kindred. No matter. She was much more clever than God, after all, and knew exactly how she’d triumph over this minor obstacle. 

She set the mug on the table and went to the refrigerator, opening it to find Brenton’s collection of blood bags. She took one out and returned to her mug before depositing enough blood into the drink that it began to look more like tapioca pearls floating in blood. She took a quick sip of the blood before returning it to the fridge, and then she took another drink from the mug.

Ash. It tasted like ash. Celestia spat up into the sink, and what she spat up was red clumps of wet ash. Right, she thought. You are a vampire. 

Celestia ran the sink and washed her mouth out with water, and as she did so, she tried to remember the taste of milk tea. She remembered how to brew the tea, the ratio of milk to tea, the right syrup concentration, the ideal number of pearls, and yet, the taste of the mixture remained elusive. The more and more she tried to focus on recalling that lovely feeling on her tongue, the more and more distant and elusive it became, like trying to remember what clothes she was wearing at her first birthday party.
As a tinge of sadness came, she just as quickly shot it down. ‘So be it,’ she thought as she turned the water off. ‘A necessary sacrifice.’ 

Komaru Naegi fiddled with her guest pass with one hand and clutched the handle of her bag a bit more tightly as she walked the walls of Hope’s Peak Academy. Technically, she no longer qualified for one; Makoto Naegi had been declared dead the day before, and she couldn’t prove a substantial enough relationship with any other student to get past security, but nobody was going to tell the grieving little sister of the Ultimate Lucky Student that she couldn’t visit her brother’s former friends. And with it being so soon after the funeral, the man at the front desk decided he’d rather get lectured by Jin Kirigiri than see the lovely young lady cry. 

She was there to see Kyoko Kirigiri, whose dorm door she knocked on gently. It took a few moments, but it cracked open. 

“Yes?”

“It’s, uh, it’s Komaru.”

The door opened fully, and Kyoko was revealed to have answered it in her pajamas. Komaru was frozen for a moment, mainly because it didn’t exist within her range of imagination to envision Kyoko looking unprofessional. As far as she knew, her brother’s girlfriend slept, showered, and relaxed in either her school uniform or something of similar rigidity. The room was also unlike any Komaru would’ve imagined. The bed was neatly made, and the workspace next to the dresser was fine enough, but the floor was absolutely buried in empty sports drink bottles, empty cup ramen containers, some still containing the slightest pile of old, cold broth, and various snack food wrappers. A PC at the workspace was lit up with a search engine that seemed to have been stuffed so full of tabs that it’d be a miracle if anything else loaded.

“Hello, Komaru,” Kyoko replied with that same monotone that she always had. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too. Can I come in?” Komaru asked even as she wondered where she’d even try to stand.

“My apologies, it’s a bit messy,” Kyoko replied as she stepped back inside, having a certain grace about her even as she stepped in a manner that prevented her from dirtying her feet with any real mess while also being wholly arcane and alien to her visitor. 

Komaru took a step forward, felt something wet touch her shoe, and decided to dramatically dive onto the bed instead. If Kyoko had minded the action, she wouldn’t say anything. “It’s fine, we all let things get a bit out of hand sometimes.” 

“What is it that you needed?” Kyoko asked as she sat back down at her computer to read something. 

“First, what are you doing?” 

“Reading.”

“I can, err, see that… but what are you reading?”

“Komaru, do you believe in vampires?”

The younger girl couldn’t help but laugh. “I mean, no? But I love reading about them, too. Have you ever read The Eminence in Shadow? It’s so good, it’s about-”

“I’m serious.”

“What?”

“I’m being serious.”

Komaru poked at her cheek and stared at a spot on the wall that wasn’t Kyoko. “Well, I mean, hehe, they’re fascinating, but they’re not really… real, right?’

Kyoko sighed and spun around in her chair. “I am aware that I may sound insane for saying so, but in recent days, I have developed a theory.”

“Hehe, yeah! Yeah, real funny!” Komaru chuckled. “And a werewolf ate my brother, right?”

“No, a vampire.”

“Right, we’re on the vampire thing.”

“There are factors at play in his case, and recent information that I’ve found, that suggests to me that there is the involvement of, how should I say this… ‘supernatural humanoids.’”

“Look, let’s stop there,” Komaru replied as she got off the bed. “Kyoko, you can’t be serious. I mean, Makoto told me you were the smartest person he knew.”

“I know that it’s crazy, but Komaru, listen to me-”

“No, Kyoko, I’m not going to. Look at your room, heck, look at you. You’re not sleeping enough, I’m pretty sure, and now you’re going delusional. I know how torn up you are; believe me, I know just as well how torn up you might be, but this is just… it’s just…”

Komaru didn’t know what to say next, so the words died in her mouth, but she saw Kyoko stare at the garbage and it seemed reasonable enough to think that they both understood what the former sister meant. 

“But I’m not crazy,” Kyoko whispered.

Komaru frowned and held out the bag. “I came here to give this to you. Take it.”

Kyoko did as she was told, and before she could reply, Komaru was already stepping out. After the door slammed, the Ultimate Detective opened the bag and took a look inside. There was one of those hearts you could buy from the grocery store, filled with a variety of chocolates. Next to it was a plain white envelope, with “Kyoko” written on the front next to an ornamented heart drawn with a gel pen. Kyoko sighed and set the items back in the bag before retrieving a garbage bag from her closet. As she began to clean, the first thing to go in the bag was the envelope. 

Chapter Text

It was a sunny day in Boston. September of 1946, Brenton remembered the month, but the day had long since slipped into obscurity. He was standing outside of his father’s house, leaning against the door, while a police officer took notes. The odd part was that Brenton could no longer recall exactly what he had seen in the home, but he could recall explaining it to the officer perfectly as if the conversation was more real than what had caused it.

“He was supposed to meet me at the office at eight,” Brenton explained. The last question had been what led Brenton to visit the family home, he remembered that. “And when I called, he wasn’t there. So I walked here and… well, I found him.” Brenton’s voice was stilted as if every word required deep thought, and each word was delivered in a painful monotone. “He’s in the living room.”

The office was nodding as he took notes as if he understood. Still, Brenton felt the anxious need to explain himself further as if that would absolve him of some feeling of guilt that lay in his stomach. “I thought it might happen. That’s the horrible part. I never thought it could, but I somehow expected it too.”

That was when the officer pocketed his notebook and looked Brenton in the eyes for the first time. He was a kindly, older man, an officer who looked more fit to patrol school crosswalks than anything else that law enforcement was meant to do. He even waddled to Brenton’s side, as if iron pins were the only thing holding his hips and legs together, and placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

Brenton couldn’t recall his exact words, but he remembered what he took away from the message. It would take a while to set in, and when it did, Brenton would feel more miserable than he had ever felt before. But he was a young man, a bright man even, and he would find a way to rise above this. He would make something of himself, and he would succeed where his father had failed. 

The Anarchs met at a local park. They were technically trespassing, but one of the few consistent members, an older-looking Kindred named Botan, had made sure that security wouldn’t disrupt any meetings. Brenton appreciated that kind of foresight from Botan. He was someone who thought of the bigger picture and thus avoided the common pitfall of Anarchs when they became so ideologically motivated and passionate that every action became a purity test rather than a step toward tangible results. That was why Brenton made a deliberate effort to bring Botan to his side as he stood up on a stone bench and motioned for silence. He hoped that it would help a bitter pill go down for their younger, more angry members. 

“You are not doing good enough. We are not doing good enough,” Brenton asserted. It was maybe too confrontational of an opening. Still, Brenton wanted to make sure that everyone understood exactly what he was saying. “And I’m sick and tired of us collectively deciding to sit on our hands and wait for someone else to make the first move.”

It was a gamble that paid off. Everyone’s attention was grabbed, and even better, they knew that something big was happening. Every Kindred gathered in this park knew that they were the underdogs; Kindred were already a form of ‘minority’ in Japan when the Kuei-Jin were factored in, and most Kindred were only in Japan in the first place as part of Camarilla efforts to replace recent losses in the Americas with a firmer grasp on Asia. And when a group recognizes themselves as the underdog, they know that they need to fight to change that, and the scent of blood was in the air as Brenton raised his voice.

“Some of us may have heard, but for those who haven’t, the Sabbat attacked Japan in recent nights. The Camarilla want to sit there and tell us that they have everything under control and that they know what’s best for us, but all they can do is wait until someone dies so they can play clean-up!”

“The Camarilla does nothing.” That was a classic line of attack. It helped everyone get on the same page before Brenton continued. 

“But I made a plan, and I know exactly how to get both of those big bunch of assholes out of here!”

He paused for a moment, and a light cheer broke out. Maybe it was the wrong move, but hey, might as well try to play the crowd a little.

“We ally with the Camarilla.”

In speeches, just like in Chess, the first blunder is what sets up the second, worst blunder. Brenton’s plan was controversial at best, and he laid it out as plainly as possible. There was no spin, no flair, and even the build-up was inadequate; he had built up everyone’s hopes just to suggest what was, most charitably, capitulation and, at worst, a flagrant public defection. He immediately saw his mistake in the eyes of his audience and moved to counter.

“We act as a parasite; we burrow into the Camarilla and help them get the Sabbat out of Japan, and that’s one group taken care of. But while we help them, we gather information. We make plans. We lay out a roadmap that we can follow as soon as the Sabbat are taken care of, and we deal with the Camarilla in the same breath!”

It was an admirable plan but poorly presented. Despite Brenton’s themes of taking a proactive as opposed to reactionary stance, the fact remained that his plan required a lot of watching and waiting while helping Anarch opponents. Although most of the Kindred gathered before him admired Brenton and knew him well, what he suggested was as appetizing to them as offering prostate exams on a street corner. Some of the younger, more vocal members accused him of treason, racism, and counter-revolutionary action in that order and left. A few more level-headed ones explained why they opposed that idea and left before Brenton could argue. By the end of the hour, Brenton and Botan were the only ones left.

“Some bright idea,” Botan snarked. Brenton sighed.

“Yeah. I noticed that Hana wasn’t here.”

“Busy, but I already spoke with her. She’s on board.”

“So you’re telling me that our group is only three people now?”

“Looks like it.”

Brenton let out a longer, louder sigh. “Awesome.”

Makoto had never been really punched before that night. He’d been hit a few times, smacked, he had fallen over, and one time in elementary school, he got into what had been generously described as a ‘slap-fight’ with a kid who made a particularly offensive ‘yo mama’ joke at him. But a real punch, he had never experienced that until Daisuke offered to spar with him. They went to a spot behind the tea shop, shook hands, and stepped a few paces apart. Daisuke told him that the first person whose back hit the ground lost, and Makoto agreed. Daisuke counted down from three, reached zero, and lunged forward. Makoto held up his forearms to block as if he were in some kind of fighting game, and Daisuke sent a hook around the defenses. The larger man’s fist fit perfectly against Makoto’s cheek, and the follow-through carried Makoto a solid foot until, upon stopping the motion of his arm, Daisuke watched as the Fledgling slammed onto the hard ground. The supernatural endurance that Makoto’s condition gave him meant that such a blow didn’t immediately render him unconscious, his jaw wasn’t broken, and the fact he landed on his side meant that he still hadn’t lost. Some part of Makoto recognized this and tried to lift him off the ground, but a kick to the center of his torso sent him rolling over onto his back.

“Five seconds, I’d wager,” Daisuke commented as Makoto wheezed. He’d be fine, and Kindred couldn’t have the wind properly knocked out of them, but his face, neck, and torso felt like they had been split open all the same. He hadn’t even recovered before Daisuke took a handful of his messy hair and forced him to his feet. “So, what did you do wrong?”

“I don’t know!” Makoto replied. That question felt like a hawk leering over the mouse it had already devoured, interrogating it on the circle of life even as it digested. How was Makoto supposed to fight back? 

“Wrong answer. We’ll go again,” Daisuke replied as he pushed Makoto back. “Three.”

The younger Kindred took a deep breath and steadied himself. “Two.”

He shook off his hands and cracked his neck. “One.”

Makoto suddenly felt like he was going to die. “Zero.”

Daisuke lurched forward once more, and Makoto sank into the shadows. Daisuke’s fists clobbered a section of air that used to contain one Kindred, and he looked around to make sure that Makoto hadn’t merely dodged. Unfortunately, the feeling of such an odd Discipline still disoriented Makoto, and he stumbled out of a shadow cast by the tea store’s wall just in time to get caught in the stomach by a thrust kick from Daisuke. The blow sent him doubling back and forced him to bend over, at which point Daisuke slammed his fist into the back of Makoto’s head. He landed face-first on the concrete, followed by the rest of his body, at which point Daisuke used his foot to tap his defeated opponent over. 

“Ten seconds, and you even used a Discipline. You’ve really got your work cut out for you.”

“I know!” Makoto protested as if acknowledging his failure somehow made it go away. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” Daisuke reassured the defeated Fledgling while he, exercising more gentleness than before, picked Makoto off of the ground. “Sorry about that, I assumed that you’d… well, I assumed that you’d do better.”

“Sorry,” Makoto apologized, a little stunned at how fast he seemed to be recovering. 

“No problem. Get back inside, and we’ll start from the basics next time.”

When Brenton returned to his apartment, he immediately noticed what was unusual. Celestia seemed anxious. There was a bunch of tea stuff in the trash where he deposited the notes for his ‘speech,’ and the sink still had ash in it. 

“Food experiments, huh?” he asked, and Celestia seemed to resign.

“Yes, food experiments.”

Brenton had to laugh a little. He had done the same thing when he was first Embraced. A hot dog, as he recalled. But the fact that this was coming from Celestia, who had all but begged on her hands and knees to be Embraced, certainly made the situation funny. “Starting to regret things a bit?”

Celestia pointed a finger at him and almost snarled. “Absolutely not! I just, well, wanted to see.”

“Wanted to see what?” 

Celestia paused for a moment. “Never mind. I’m being gracious enough to clean up after myself, so your concern should end there.”

Brenton couldn’t help but smile again. She really was still a teenager in some ways. “Yes, thank you so much for the immense effort of cleaning up your own messes.” 

Makoto returned to the tea shop after Daisuke already left. His legs just felt so weak, and he was so out of breath that the short walk around the building and to the entrance felt like the longest hike he could’ve ever chosen to have taken. When he entered, he expected the building to be empty, but instead, there were two people on the sales floor. Makoto recognized Keiko, but the man she was talking to was unfamiliar. He was a tall, young-looking man who sat with his legs crossed on top of the front counter. Although Keiko was explaining something to him, he seemed like he was sleeping through the explanation, and if the closed eye visible through his messy black bangs was any indication. At some point, he raised his hand, opened his eyes, and got off the counter as Keiko finished talking. He nodded once and then slipped out of the back door.

“Who was that?” Makoto asked as Keiko turned to face him.

“Ah, Makoto. That was a friend of ours. A new friend.”

“A new friend?”

“He’s a Kuei-Jin. Without getting into specifics, they’re like us, Kindred, but they’re not true Kindred. Usually, they’re hostile towards us and quite powerful in their own right, but this one is agreeing to help with a certain Camarilla issue. Treat him with respect if you meet him. His name is Hijirihara.”

Makoto nodded. Hijirihara—he couldn’t recognize the name, but something seemed off about the man. He moved with unusual grace as if something was suspending his body and assisting his motions. His thoughts were distracted when Keiko spoke again. 

“I must run an errand. Do well with the rest of your night, Makoto.”

He gulped before replying. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

She gave him a warm smile and walked past him, out of the store and into the night. Makoto could feel himself relax as she passed, at least enough to sit in his room for the rest of the night.

The neutral meeting point was by a storm drain outside of the city. An uncomfortably long walk for Keiko, but nothing unbearable. When she arrived, she saw a fellow Kindred holding a large knife and standing next to a tree beside the drain. She gave him a curt wave to draw his attention before speaking.

“You must be Botan, is that correct?”

He nodded and planted his knife into the tree. Presumably, it was some kind of dramatic gesture meant to indicate that he wouldn’t be pushed around, which Keiko found somewhat laughable.

“You got it. You come alone?”

“If you did.”

That answer seemed to satisfy the man. “I’ve been overhearing some rumors that you’re having Sabbat problems.”

“‘Problems’ is a word that implies that they continue to exist. I assure you, the Sabbat is more than under control.”

Botan clicked his tongue and stepped towards Keiko. “You see, that’s where the problem arises. My friends and I don’t want the Sabbat ‘under control.’ We want them gone. Turned to ash, if it can be managed. That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

Keiko crossed her arms. “Is that so?”

“The loyal Anarchs of Japan have come to the conclusion that the Sabbat are more of a danger than anything else. It took some convincing, but everyone came around to agree that working with you people is preferable to letting those freaks run around. And I suspect that you feel the same.”

Keiko couldn’t lie; it was an enticing deal. In fact, she could probably shunt most of the work off onto these people and kill two birds with one stone in that regard. “Tempting, but I’ll need to consult the Prince about this matter. I’m sure you understand.”

“I know bureaucratic bullshit all too well, but I’ll take that back to the guys as a yes. Shake on it?”

“No.”

With that curt rejection, the both of them headed back to their respective factions for the night. 

Chapter Text

The sand of the Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park had a bit of a misleading name. For the average person, when they saw this lovely place in person, these ‘pink sand dunes’ were more of a vibrant orange. Maybe it was the influence of the red sandstone cliffs, but the fact was that each grain of sand in this park had grains of hematite that gave it an orange coloration. It was at night when the name made sense. The sun set over the hills and cliffs, and the darkening shades of the state park turned the sand into rows of orange and pink that stretched on for as far as the eye could see. 

Handfuls of this sand were strewn about the miniscule apartment. Calling it an ‘apartment’ seemed a bit inaccurate as ‘apartment’ implied a place of home where one lived and did normal things. By and large, it was an entryway, a closet, a miniscule kitchen, and a small bedroom. There was no furniture except for a stained wooden table in the kitchen and an office chair beside it. In the bedroom, there was a bed, a dresser, and a long wooden desk covered in monitors, PCs, and keyboards. Given a cursory glance, the apartment seemed to be lived in by an extremely dedicated, almost ascetic computer programmer or other such digital professional. But a closer look at the apartment revealed greater, darker secrets.

The walls had eyes. They were miniscule, even painted over in some cases, but they were eyes nonetheless. Snakes, cats, dogs, and birds, with some expertise, could be identified as being mounted into the wall as if they were some kind of grout. But they were alive. In spite of all known laws of biology and natural mercy, anyone who stood in this apartment would be assaulted by not just the feeling but the knowledge that they were being watched from every angle. And if someone were to tear open the drywall and look inside the walls, they would find pipes, wiring, and long stretches of nerves wound between each inch of ceramic or metal. The nerves would all lead into a thick stretch of ‘cable’ that came back to the bedroom and connected to a monitor at the far end of the desk. 

The fridge had something inside of it. It was only one thing, but to describe it with a single word would require inventing a word just for the occasion. It was a pillar of meat, too rigid to be truly fleshy but soft and warm enough to obviously be skin wrapped around something firmer. Several strange bags of meat hung off of it, although most would be able to identify them as hearts. The hearts beat rapidly as if staving off the cold of the fridge only through exertion, and from them stretched numerous veins and arteries that fed in and out of this organic machine. If you could cut it in half and open it, you would find that it was a means of keeping blood fresher than any bag could. A hole in the top would allow you to put the entire mechanism together; this machine was a rudimentary vascular system that blood was deposited and then drank from. 

The bathroom was locked. You wouldn’t be able to open it, and when you rattled the door and heard the noises that answered, you wouldn’t want to.

Inside the bedroom, resting on the bed, was a man. The room always had the door closed and locked, and the windows had been covered with sheets of metal that had been bolted into the walls, so he would only ever be lit up by the monitors on his desk. His features were so human as to be unnatural. His jawline was the first thing someone might notice, looking as if Antonio Inoki had somehow extended his chin and shaped it to be even sharper. His skin was ghostly white and unnaturally smooth as if it had never been dirtied by even unclean air. The nose was unobstructed yet pointed, only becoming pronounced when viewed in profile. He had prominent cheekbones with deep dimples and a flat forehead topped with greased-back black hair. His eyes were a deep scarlet, and he had a body so perfectly proportioned and sculpted that it was as if someone had built it. 

He rolled out of bed and exited his room just as the sun set, which allowed him to move around his apartment freely. He always tried to keep the windows open, both for the security of being able to see outdoors and to admire the moon. He pulled a small coffee mug out of a cupboard that had fur on the outside and a small wagging tail at the base of the handle, deposited some blood from the device in the fridge and returned to his room. From there, he sat down at his desk, one by one, powered on by each computer, and got to work. 

He called himself ‘4a6f686e,’ 4A for short. It was short for John, and the whole name was meant to be a red herring. If anyone figured it out and attempted to research him, first, they’d waste time looking for a Hex-to-Text translator. Then, they would left with that generic name. A more substantial name had been left behind in Kane County, along with the rest of his humanity. 

4A led the Sabbat of Japan, which was a bit like being the Captain of a Recreation District Football League. You had authority and resources but nothing substantial, and any achievements you made were along the lines of “That’s good work, but it’s still only low-level work.” It suited 4A perfectly. He was a man who enjoyed being left alone, and he enjoyed working by himself, and this Japan assignment suited him perfectly. Although he was ostensibly there to be on the lookout for signs of Gehenna coming from Asia, the real duty was to mess with the local Kuei-Jin and whatever Kindred were attempting to settle in the nation. Another perfect opportunity came when he was checking his email inbox. 

One of his many Ghouls had a status update. He managed to overhear news about a presentation from the Camarilla to any local Kindred, so he stopped by and noted the location of the tea shop they were inside. It was likely that the Camarilla were using this as some kind of center of activity. 4A had to laugh at how simple it was. To be fair, it wasn’t likely this location was of much importance, but after how badly the parking lot plan backfired, it would be nice to get back at them in some way. 

Makoto looked down at the dry-cleaned tuxedo he had been brought. “I’ll be wearing this?”

“You’re meeting the Prince,” Keiko replied as she adjusted a bracelet on her wrist. She was wearing something more elegant than her usual wear; a long purple dress and her hair tied up into a tight bun. “And the Prince likes to keep things as graceful as possible.”

Daisuke, next to her, wore a button-up, khakis, and blue suspenders. “It fuckin’ sucks, but whatever.” 

“A Prince?” Makoto asked as he picked up the outfit.

“The Prince is the ruler of a domain, usually a city. As a member of the Camarilla, you are bound to listen to what they have to say. We’re going to visit the Prince because I have a personal conversation, but also every Kindred is supposed to stop by and make themselves known to the Prince. You have not done so yet.”

Makoto looked down. “Will they be okay with-”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Keiko cut him off, taking his hand and giving a reassuring smile. Makoto hadn’t expected such warmth, as evidenced by the blush on his face. 

Daisuke also slapped Makoto’s back, a much more familiar form of Kindred affection. “So get dressed, buddy, we’re taking a trip!”

Celestia woke up late, and when she went into the living room, Brenton had a visitor. She was a short woman, wearing casual clothes, and her only distinct trait was obviously bleached hair. 

“-this bullshit over Richard has to stop,” she ended what seemed to have been some lecture. “It’s completely fucking over what we need to-”

Brenton cut her off by smacking the coffee table with his fist. “You’re not talking me out of this, Hana, so save your breath. I’ll take care of it, and then we’ll review the main mission. Understand?”

“Bullshit,” Hana huffed before she turned and saw Celestia. “Wow, you actually got a Ghoul to help you with this?”

Before Celestia could reply, Brenton did. “Actually, she’s my Childe.”

Hana rolled her eyes, although a look of anger came across her face. “Really? Of all times? You drag someone else into this bullshit out of all the bullshit you could’ve involved someone in?”

“Actually, I asked him,” Celestia replied. She already didn’t like this woman. She reminded her too much of people who thought they could order someone like Celestia around just because of their inflated self-importance. “And I am well aware of what I am involved with.”

“Yeah, and besides, there’s a distinction between my personal business and my Anarch business,” Brenton seemed to chastise Hana. “In fact, let’s discuss the latter somewhere else. Good night, Celestia. Stay here.”
With that curt finisher, he practically dragged Hana out of the apartment, leaving Celestia alone again. 

The Fledgling felt like she could stab someone. First, that Hana woman acted like her very existence was an inconvenience, and now Brenton seemed to want to keep her cooped up in his apartment for another night, doing nothing. She was sick of this. Being a vampire was supposed to be romance and adventure and power, but being Brenton’s Childe was sitting at home trying to find evidence for her own existence on the Internet. But then, an idea came to her head. She waited an hour, at least long enough to make sure that Brenton and Hana were far away, and then she ran out of the apartment as fast as she could.

It was Xiu’s job to guard the tea shop. Mekuru was asleep upstairs, so it was just Xiu, an empty shop, and a LEGO set she had managed to order without setting off too many alarms from Keiko. Keiko was a nice lady and a great boss, but she could be so anal about security. And besides, it was only about two hundred pieces; it was as inconspicuous as could be while still being fun as hell. At least, that’s what it was supposed to be until there was a knock at the window. Xiu had been on watch before, and every once in a while, a belligerent homeless or drunk person would knock on the window trying to buy something, but this was something unique. Xiu recognized it as the girl from a few nights ago but dressed differently. She still wore a tasteful black skirt and a plain shirt, and her hair was still in those large curls, but she seemed much less formal in general. She seemed nice enough, so Xiu opened the door. 

“Heya! How are ya?” 

“I am doing fine, thank you,” Celestia replied as she entered.

“What is it that you need tonight? Something to report?” 

“Actually, I was hoping to officially join the Camarilla.”

Xiu beamed. “Oh, that’s lovely! What gave you the bug? Sick of scraping on by yourself or something?” 

“Actually, it’s because I am, at the moment, an Anarch, and I am hoping to defect.”

Xiu’s face dropped. “Oh… oh…” 

Chapter Text

Something about the office of Richard Anderson made Brenton’s skin crawl. It was an average office in a nondescript office building, bearing nothing more than a desk, some bookshelves filled with what looked to be reference books of all kinds, two diplomas from out of state universities hanging on the wall, and some stationary, but the sight of it made Brenton want to vomit. He couldn’t stop his palms from sweating as he picked up the papers that Richard had given him.

“A fine enough deal, I would suppose,” Richard commented. He looked older than the trees that paper had come from. As he spoke his thin gray eyebrows curled up far enough that they almost touched the brim of the black derby that concealed his baldness, forming an inverse arrow above his pale blue eyes that seemed to reflect off of his deathly pale skin. “An orphaned bachelor such as yourself could surely find a use for this much money.”

Brenton tried not to snap as he studied the six-figure total repeatedly. Richard wasn’t lying about the total, but he notably failed to bring up the human cost for Brenton. He certainly didn’t need the reminder of his now orphaned status. “I don’t think I can do it,” Brenton managed to stammer. 

Further and further did the eyebrows curl. “You surely don’t intend to run this enterprise by yourself, do you? I would hope a young man such as yourself would know better than to take on a task for at least three experienced gentlemen.”

Brenton had prepared for this moment for almost a week, but it still somehow felt so far away. He opened his jacket and reached into an inside pocket. In an instant, Richard’s face changed from concerned amusement to what almost looked like fear as Brenton pulled out a small revolver and leveled the barrel between the old man’s eyes. Richard opened his mouth to speak and Brenton squeezed the trigger as hard as he could manage. A piercing pop filled the office. Brenton had his eyes open the entire time, but he still couldn’t believe them. Richard was taken back, but he sat up straight once more, with a bullet lodged between his eyes. A trickle of blood began to run down his nose, but he pulled out a handkerchief to dap away the viscous red substance. After that he used the same cloth to pull the bullet out of his skull, letting it drop to the desk right before Brenton’s eyes.

“Well then,” Richard chuckled. “Things have become much more complicated, have they not?

The trio of Makoto, Daisuke, and Keiko waited in an elevator for the PH light to turn on, granting them access to the highest floor of the building they were in. 

“I hate this damn thing,” Daisuke replied as he fiddled with his suspenders, a bright red pair that wrapped around the shoulders of his white button-up and connected to a pair of black dress pants. “The Prince told you to make us wear these?”

Keiko sighed. She was wearing a flowing green dress that looked like something out of a ballroom scene in a movie. “Yes.” 

Makoto piped in. “Do you normally have a dress code for these events?”

“Yes,” Keiko replied. “The Prince is… picky. About a lot of things. The fashion is deliberately Western, except for myself.”

Makoto looked down at his own tuxedo. He understood how Daisuke’s fashion was Western, he looked like some metropolitan American, but his outfit was fairly neutral, and Keiko’s looked Japanese enough to him. The light turned on and the elevator lurched to life, sending them up dozens of floors at a crawl.

“So, what are we talking to the Prince about?” Makoto inquired, before quickly adding - “If that’s okay for me to ask.”

Daisuke nodded in approval at his conduct as Keiko spoke. “There’s been a proposal from the Anarchs for us to work together.”

“That’s good, right?”

“It can be,” Keiko replied cryptically.

Daisuke stepped in. “Stuff like that is never just good or bad. It’s about what you make of it.”

Finally, the elevator stopped at the top floor, and the trio stepped out. Although Makoto had been to Hope’s Peak Academy, this building reeked of wealth in a much more tasteless way. He didn’t get the impression that there was grace or honor here, but there was certainly enough money to make people forget that. The supply closet that Keiko pulled them into was so expansive, and stocked with high-end equipment, that he almost didn’t register that she had pulled them into a supply closet at all. On top of a shelf was an ancient cell phone, the kind of thing you’d see praised as the ‘device of the future’ back in the 1980s, and he watched as Keiko picked it up and dialed a number. The device rang for a short period of time before someone picked up, and their voice was so loud that Makoto couldn’t tell if the phone was somehow on speaker or if they were simply violating laws of sound with their volume. 

“Keiko!” it rasped in a voice that evoked the sight of phlegm being spilled from the throat. “Thirty-eight seconds early! Commendable!” Keiko merely nodded, as if the Prince could somehow hear her. “It’s been one month, tell me everything that’s happened,” the Prince continued, emphasizing ‘everything’ with the tone of a gossip columnist. 

“I am proud to report that the Camarilla have gained a new member in the last month.”

“Oh?”

“His name is Makoto. He was a student turned Shovelhead, but there are numerous oddities about his case. He’s a Lasombra, and fully retained his sanity, as far as I can tell, even during the heights of his bloodlust. He retains a stunning amount of Humanity, and lacks any particularly useful skills, but we believe that his presence helps the PR of our situation.”

Makoto couldn't help but feel hurt by the comment about him lacking any particularly useful skills, but she was right. That was how it was back at Hope's Peak, too. Makoto Naegi, Ultimate Lucky Student/Ultimate Unemployable Lottery Winner. The voice on the other side growled, or at least, that’s what it sounded like to Makoto. “Disappointing, but acceptable.”

The trio let out a collective sigh of relief before Keiko continued speaking. “Additionally, we have…” Keiko took another deep breath and ran a hand through her hair, as if confused on how to continue. “An offer. From the Anarchs.” Silence. Keiko paused and waited for a response, but when nothing came, she continued. “As you know, the Sabbat have attempted to gain a foothold in Tokyo, likely as a means of targeting Osaka in the future. The Anarchs don’t like this idea as much as we don’t like this idea, so they sought me out and proposed a kind of temporary alliance.”

“We don’t need,” the Prince sounded like they were gagging on the other line before they continued speaking. “Westerners and degenerates to handle them! What disgusting people! But, I suppose if they’re stupid enough to turn their back on us, we’ll oblige them. You’ll agree, but as soon as the opportunity arises, you’re going to stab them in the back. I want results! Even if you don’t fully finish off the Sabbat, getting the Anarchs out of the way would be absolutely perfect.”

Keiko nodded. “Understood. That is all.”

The phone hung up. Daisuke chuckled as Keiko put it back. “That went well.”

Makoto let out something like a wheeze. “What? That was well?”

“Is there a problem?” Keiko replied.

“I mean, it’s just… they really want us to betray them?”

“They do, and Hakari is our Prince. That was an explicit instruction. We will obey to the letter, no more and no less.”

Makoto nodded in understanding, and the trio exited.

Brenton and Hana stood on a bridge, overlooking the moon spread out across the water. Hana's newly dyed, mint green hair gently bobbed in the breeze as she watched the man. Brenton had a handful of flat stones in his hand, which he used to skip the length of the river as best as he could. Hana scoffed at the first throw. 

“Half-assing it, huh?”

“Shut up,” Brenton couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I guess I should tell you the real news,” Hana replied after a moment. “I took some initiative.”

“Is that so?” Brenton replied with clear interest. 

“I did. I didn’t know if it would work, so I didn’t tell you, but I think that everyone will be very happy to hear of it once it’s done.”

“There’s enough suspense,” Brenton reviewed.

“The Camarilla were surprisingly easy to find, so I sought out one of their leaders and proposed a kind of alliance…”

“Huh,” Brenton replied flatly.

“Look, the Sabbat could be a huge friggin’ problem, and I don’t think we have the guns to take care of that ourselves.”

“And when they inevitably stab us in the back-”

“Us. Capital ‘U.’ Only you and I are going to show up, everyone else will be safe.”

“That works for me, but why do you even care? I’d think that letting Cammies and Sabbat throw men at each other only benefits us in the long run.”

Hana smirked. “Well, I can’t help but think that maybe, if you help them out enough, they’d be willing to help you find someone in particular-”

A stone crashed into the water at a velocity hard enough that the both of them reckoned that it must’ve been shattered. “That’s a dirty trick to make me go along with whatever it is you’re getting at.”

Hana raised her hands defensively. “There’s no end goal other than making sure there’s not a bunch of freaks in Tokyo… aside from us.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” Brenton replied.

Hana frowned as she watched Brenton. His eyebrows furrowed and he was throwing the stones like he was trying to hunt fish now. “Y’know, I’m hoping you get that guy as soon as you can.”

“Yeah?”

“Because every time he comes up you turn into a real dick.”

“Well, sorry if I have hobbies,” Brenton snarked at her, to which she replied with a roll of her eyes and a loud sigh.

“It’s starting to impact the rest of us. Anarchs might not have real leaders, but someone needs to be the ‘center’ of a group. That’s what you are. And we can’t get anything done when you care more about some guy than the rest of us.”

“Is this some kind of intervention?” Brenton replied. “I just have one piece of business that needs to be taken care of.”

“And I hope you take care of it soon,” Hana shot back. “Because we need you a lot more than this bullshit needs you.”

“No shit?” Xiu replied with a laugh. “It’s that simple?”

Celestia tapped the table. “More or less. If you can accurately predict the odds of what’s happening, you make more informed decisions. Poker is a game of luck, that never goes away, but how you act within the constraints of that luck is what separates an exceptional player, like myself, from the average individual.” 

“So what you’re saying,” Xiu began with a hint of mischief. “Is that if I memorize all of the numbers, then I can be just as good as you?”

“No,” Celestia replied, with the thought that she never would be as good as someone like Celestia in any way. “It’s more complex than that.” But Celestia still gave her fellow Kindred a warm smile. “But you’re on the right track.”

In response, Xiu hit the table. “Damn it! Well, thanks for explaining.”

“No problem, now, in exchange for answering your questions about myself, may I ask about you?”

Xiu smiled back. “Of course! Ask away! I’m an open book… as much as I can be, I guess.”

“How is it that you came into, well, undeath?” Celestia offered. There was probably a more elegant way to word such an inquiry, but she couldn’t think of one fast enough. Xiu’s smile dimmed a little but her mood seemed to remain bubbly.

“Well, I was actually the drummer for a band out near Osaka. I was short on money, so I started doing some favors for people, and long story short, here I am.”

Likely story, Celestia imagined. If Kindred like herself were widespread enough to have an entire society, without this society being public enough for someone like Celestia to find it with hours upon hours of Googling, then it made sense it existed in the ‘underbelly’ of the world. Still, it couldn’t have been that easy. “And what kind of work were you doing?”

“I’d rather not say.”

Prostitution, Celestia concluded. “I understand. And was your Sire with the Camarilla?”

“Was. He’s gone now.”

“My condolences.”

“Although it’s a loss, I’m happy about i-Watch out!”

As soon as the panicked statement left Xiu’s mouth, the door of the tea shop exploded. Celestia and Xiu stood up from their seats just in time for Celestia to get knocked across the head with a piece of glass; causing a deep gash that smeared a thin layer of blood across the side of her porcelain skin. The younger Kindred recoiled as four men entered the door. 

Celestia had to admire Xiu’s bravery as she charged towards two of them, quickly getting into a brawl that reminded Celestia of that trashy puroresu that some of the guys at Hope’s Peak liked. That left two men charging towards her, which she gracefully avoided by tumbling backwards over the sales counter and praying that they didn’t follow her. That was her thought, at least, before one of them dove over the counter and landed feet-first on her sternum in such a way that surely would’ve destroyed her ribcage were she still a human. “Fortunately,” all it did was fill her abdomen with pain and leave her vulnerable. The man who landed on her lifted her in the air, letting her see the distinct orange tint of his eyes and the bared canines. Based on the animal nature Celestia picked up from him, she guessed he was a Shovelhead. At bare minimum, she hoped that a ‘real’ Kindred who cared about their Clan affiliation wouldn’t be randomly bursting into stores to kill people. It clashed with her vision of things.

He punched her in the face and her thoughts returned to the moment. Celestia vaguely recalled some self-defense advice she had heard once and attempted to drive her palm into the man’s nose. It worked like a charm, and he let her go as he recoiled with a clearly broken nose. However, Celestia forgot that there was a second man in the situation, until a clubbing blow was sent into the back of her head. Celestia tumbled forward and planted herself against a wall, only for another punch to force her skull between the hard knuckles and the unforgiving wall. She spun around and yelled the first word that came to her mind; “Stop!” And to her surprise, he did. He stood there for a moment, looking confused, before sense came back to him. In the brief moment between his mind recovering from the sudden Dominate and him attempting to move, Celestia raked her nails across his face. Flesh and stale blood flew off of the man’s skull and he tumbled backwards, falling over his recovering friend and sending both of them colliding into the counter. 

Celestia leapt forward and planted a foot on one of their heads, crushing the skull beneath her foot and immediately turning the Shovelhead into ash. After a brief moment of respite, she did the same thing to the second one, leaving nothing behind but a dirty floor. She looked up and saw Xiu, clearly exhausted, standing on the other side of the room by herself. 

“What was that?” Celestia couldn’t help but yell, relieving some of the sudden adrenaline with the sound. 

“I don’t know!” Xiu yelled back. “Sabbat? I guess?”

“Well,” Celestia exhaled, before taking in another deep breath, and slowly letting it out. After that, she began walking towards Xiu. “Let’s assume that is the case. How do they get here?”

“I don’t know,” Xiu admitted. “But if that was a real attack, it was kind of pathetic.”

“Perhaps it’s a warning,” Celestia proposed. “Or something more like a scouting raid.”

Xiu hissed. “I don’t like that you might be right-”

Chapter Text

At night, in the darkest alleys of Tokyo, a name haunted the shadows. To say ‘Killer Killer’ was like tempting fate, at least, to those who knew the stories. It told of an immortal demon, who killed for killing’s sake, and couldn’t be stopped by man or beast, bullet or fist, by faith or courage. What few Kindred who stayed in Japan knew was to avoid this name at all cost, and even the most foolhardy could only find it within themselves to ask around a bit before the repetitions of “Stop if you know what’s good for you” drove them off. The Kuei-Jin, as secretive as they were, also seemed to know very little about the enigmatic figure, although he was allegedly of their kin. All anyone knew was to watch their backs when the sun set.

Eventually, a long time after the sun had already set, a trash can lid was lifted up and thrown to the ground. From outside of the empty aluminum can emerged a tall, scrawny man with messy black hair and deathly pale skin that was pulled tight against his youthful face. His eyes were lidded, as if he was sleepwalking out of the can, and as he stepped out of it he looked down the alleyway he had rested in and saw a middle-aged man, clearly drunk, pissing against the wall. 

Hijirihara approached the man from behind, making not a sound as he got closer and closer. Once he was within grappling range, he gently put a hand over the man’s mouth and yanked him backwards, sinking his teeth into the man’s neck so he could draw out his blood. Hijirihara lapped the bloody stream up with vigor, holding the man tight so he couldn’t escape as the Chi from his blood diffused around the Kuei-Jin’s body. 

“I don’t suppose you’re an artist, are you?” Hijirihara asked the delirious man, who merely responded with a pained gurgle. Killer Killer rolled his eyes. That was on him, for trying to start a conversation with an inferior. 

The taller man grabbed his victim by the shirt, lifting him in the air and arcing him in such a way that he subsequently landed on the ground with the parietal bone. The force of the swing resulted in his head cracking open and mulching against the ground, which had the unique side effect of balancing him on his shoulders even in such a state of death. Hijirihara let himself smile at the sight. It was a lovely little statue, wasn’t it? A tribute to murder for murder’s sake. 

But, as nice as the thought was, it was still disappointing. He had done the exact same thing to someone back in 1996, and back then they were kicking and screaming on the way down and he had to really angle them to make the effect work. This felt lazier, and substantially less inspired. The inspiration was the issue, he was sure of it. He loved murder in a way that no other being, supernatural or otherwise, did, but that love had grown routine. Where was that fire that burned so brightly for so long? Could it even be rekindled again? Hijirihara sank to a crouch and watched the blood run along the concrete, but he felt so little. 

“You’re a hard man to find,” a voice informed him. He looked over to see an obvious Kindred, from her manner of dress and attitude, wearing a fancy dress. Toreador, perhaps? They were the only people he thought of who’d be stupid enough to seek him out in dress clothes. 

“I would hope so.”

“I’m with the Camarilla. We have a job that we believe would be particularly well-suited to your talents.”

“I don’t doubt you could pay the price,” Hijirhara sighed as he stood up. “But I do doubt that you have anything that’d interest me.”

“Indiscriminate mass murder.”

“I would be wrong, it seems.”

Daisuke kicked the counter hard enough to shake it, but miraculously, it stayed standing. “Son of a bitch!”

“I know it looks bad-” Xiu admitted.

“It looks bad,” Makoto interrupted, wincing even as he did so.

“How does this happen?” Daisuke demanded to know. “Somebody fucked up! And whenever that person is found out, Keiko is going to be a very unhappy woman!”

Makoto and Xiu both raised their hands defensively. “I don’t know!” they replied in perfect unison. Daisuke sighed and rubbed his temples.

“Okay, well, somehow, some fuckers found out where we are. It can’t be Anarchs, because they were wanting to work with us-”

“That’s wrong!” Makoto interjected. “Maybe they’re not acting with perfect unity.”

“He’s right!” Xiu added on. “It’s likely enough that some of them were unhappy about the idea of working with us, so they decided to attack!”

“You said that they seemed to be Shovelheads,” Daisuke pointed out.

Xiu paused for a moment. “To be fair… I’ve never actually met a Gangrel.”

Daisuke sighed again. “Look, let’s look at the most likely solution. We’re working with the Anarchs to fight the Sabbat. Sabbat wouldn’t like that, so when they find this location, they send some Shovelheads to test our capabilities.”

Xiu and Makoto had to admit that that sounded more likely.

“So,” Daisuke continued. “How do they find this place?”

Xiu immediately pointed at Makoto. “Dueling loyalties.”

“What!?” Makoto screeched as he stepped backwards. 

“Care to explain, Makoto?” Daisuke asked him.

“That’s insane!” Makoto replied. “All I know about those people is that they ruined my life! They’re the reason all of this is happening to me! I would never help them!”

“That makes sense,” Daisuke replied, before turning to Xiu. “So why would you make the accusation?”

“I dunno, just throwing out ideas,” Xiu shrugged.

Makoto frowned. “That’s not very nice…”

“Alright, bullshit aside, what do we tell Keiko?” Daisuke continued. “Because her first thought will be that Xiu fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Xiu admitted as Makoto’s shock at the situation only increased.

“How? You were ambushed.”

“Well, I was technically supposed to be patrolling the perimeter, but we had a guest come by.”

“Four of them,” Daisuke pointed out.

“No, not the Shovelheads. It was an Anarch who’s hoping to change sides.”

“But,” Makoto interjected. “Aren’t they working with us?”

“Anarchs don’t have conventional leadership,” Daisuke explained. “Sure, some people call the shots, but you’re much more free to come and go with them then you are with us. Maybe she’s trying to blackmail someone, maybe it’s extortion, or maybe she’s just genuinely changing her mind and wants to be with people who aren’t complete and total losers.”

“And she was really smart, a professional gambler from the sounds of it.”

Makoto’s interest peaked. “Do you know her name?”

Xiu winced. “I didn’t get it.”

Daisuke scratched the side of his head. “Maybe the alliance is an excuse for all of them to jump ship. It’s not like there’s a ton of them here in Japan. There’s not a lot of us either, but we have money and leadership and all of that nice stuff.”

“Do you think Keiko will take her?” Xiu asked.

“No,” Makoto replied. If it was who he thought it was, she would’ve been a little less than intelligent to accept the girl.

Daisuke and Xiu turned towards him.

“I just think that, well, everyone is already spending so much time on me, maybe she doesn’t want someone else like me?” Makoto offered, turning up the self-deprecation a little bit for effect.

“Oh, you’re fine,” Daisuke laughed. “You didn’t get the shop broken into.”

“It’s not my fucking fault!” Xiu protested.

As the trio continued debating their situation, Celestia opened the apartment window and sank back inside, only to find Brenton sitting on the couch.

“Sit,” he stated, pointing to the chair. Celestia sighed and did as she was told. “Where were you?”

Celestia gave her Sire the most sickeningly sweet smile she could. “Running an errand.”

“I didn’t recall telling you to run any errands.” 

“I was getting blood.” Brenton nodded towards the fridge. “I wanted something more gourmet.”

The American sighed and leaned back against the couch. “You don’t leave this place unless I say. I was under the impression that we had sorted that out.”

Celestia made a show of thinking for a moment. “I don’t recall. Although I must say, for aligning yourself with a faction that values ‘Freedom’ so much, you seem intent on being a real tyrant.”

Brenton laughed. “Let’s get one thing straight, this isn’t an exchange between equals. I Embraced you for a specific task, that you agreed to, and until that task is finished, you’re mine.”

“I don’t suppose this is your fetish?” the girl replied as innocently as she could.

He rolled his eyes in response. “This conversation is done.”

Celestia watched him stand up and storm off, probably retiring to his room for the day. How pathetic, she thought. A manchild with the powers of a Vampire? It was disgraceful. At first she had thought she’d abandon this pathetic tyrant and never see him again, but the sheer level of disrespect he held towards her forced her hand. She was Celestia Ludenberg, damn it! She deserved respect, and adoration, preferably reverence if she could get it. And anyone who didn’t give her that could get stuffed as far as she was concerned. 

So what would she do about Mr. America there? Her first thought was to bust into his room during the day, throw open the curtains, and incinerate his ass in one go. Of course, that would probably result in her incinerating herself, and one of the many strange parts of being among the damned was that Celestia found it nearly impossible to stay away for any length of time after the sun rose, even if only the clock told her that the sun would be out. So maybe she’d stab him in the back at some point? That didn’t seem smart, he was undoubtedly more skilled in combat than those two savages at the tea shop, and her winning there felt, as much as she hated to admit it, like the product of luck and superior nerves rather than any real prowess on her end. She hated moments of uncertainty such as these; it was comparable to playing Roulette. All you could do was move from round to round, placing your bets and letting whatever twisted deity controlled Luck guide you. Of course, she had won every round of Roulette played in her life, so that should’ve been comforting. Still, she resolved to lie in wait for the perfect chance to get back at that bastard. And how lovely it would feel to watch him regret every condescending word he had ever directed towards her. 

4A sat in his room, with all of the monitors he could trained on one spot. That damned tea shop. Four shovelheads created just that night seemed to have been fought off by a skeleton crew, which was far from the optimal signs he needed. And if the ears he had planted around the area picked up information right, the Camarilla and the Anarchs were going to be working together for the sole purpose of destroying him. At this rate, why not bring the Kuei-Jin too, he thought with more than a hint of exhaustion. 

Of course, emotions never helped in a situation like this. What was needed was logical ideas that created results, preferably, with minimal investment of time and resources. And, luckily enough, 4A had just the plan. It was expensive, but he could easily make the money back. What was more important was that it was sophisticated, it was multi-levelled, and it practically guaranteed the destruction of every unfaithful Cainites in Tokyo. At times like this he wished the Lasombra was still here, if only to shoulder the burden, but that was fine too. After all, that limp excuse for a Cainite couldn’t do anything that 4A couldn’t do more efficiently.

Chapter Text

Marko got bored down there so easily. They only had one captive human down there to share, so he had to get creative; not only with how often they fed in order to ration out his limited blood supply, but what he did with the blood itself. Recently he had been experimenting with force feeding the girl the strongest iced coffee they could afford to retrieve from the local supermarket, then feeding on her after she had drank it. That resulted in him being able to stay awake during a few hours of the day. But then again, all that was good for was reminding him of how easy it was to open the door and end it all.

“Come to America,” he remembered Andrei saying. Boston was weak, filled with impotent and complacent Camarilla and an Anarch population who’d undermine their enemies so effectively that any competent Sabbat would be able to dump the whole rotten infrastructure in the bay and replace it with something purer, and truer. And Andrei was right, to a degree, that much had to be admitted. Except for those two. They single handedly ruined the entire operation. Millions of American dollars wasted, dozens of beautiful Cainites destroyed, and now the remnants of the Boston Sabbat, a mere half a dozen Fledgling Neonate and their leader, spent their days hiding in a one room house in the suburbs. 

He wanted to punch the walls and bring the whole place down. He could lie to the others, convince them that everything was okay as they slept the day away on the floor, faithful that everything would turn out in their favor in the end, but Marko could not lie to himself. The situation was dire, and he couldn’t see how to turn it around. They simply lacked the resources to do much of anything. Experience was so lacking that nobody could be trusted with a scheme to make back their money, be it a bank robbery or a scam. No money meant no weapons or other supplies, which meant any attempt at an organized attack would collapse. No manpower for espionage, and no prior information to get a foot in the door, meant that they couldn’t wage any kind of guerilla war. At best, maybe they’d kill those two when they inevitably showed up, but they were simply too far behind to recover that way.

Then there was a knock on the door. Marko turned towards it, curiosity and fear welling up in his stomach. A harder knock. He stood up. The door flung open, and sunlight filled the room. Marko had barely registered the radiance of the Sun before he was gone in a flash of ash, and the six Sabbat behind him went in their sleep. 

Two men entered the room, one standing tall and the other hunched over and hobbling. They wore long white jackets, thick gloves tucked into the sleeves, and wide brimmed hats angled towards the east, where the morning rose over the horizon and beamed directly into the room. Behind them, covering what few spots on their neck risked direct exposure to the Sun. The pair had parked their car on the lawn, a scant few feet from the entrance, and had rushed forward to bash down the door so they could get inside. Their backs and necks were singed, but they were alive, and they rushed to close the door and immerse themselves in the darkness that the Sabbat had kindly put up for them.

Brenton threw the umbrella to the floor and reached towards his back, as if rubbing it would dispel the agony. “Sire, that was incredibly risky-”

Richard chuckled as he gently set his umbrella on the table. “I guess your Fortitude isn’t quite at the level to do that one as much as I can. My apologies.”

“Right,” Brenton frowned, before looking at the scattered ash across the living room. “I would guess that’s the last of them. Kind of sad, how they wound up.”

“Sad?” Richard inquired as he looked at his Childe. It had only been a decade, but Brenton was a quick learner, and a surprisingly dedicated Childe. Richard had spent the first five years anticipating the inevitable betrayal, after all, he had only ever sought to embrace Brenton out of curiosity as to how such an angry young man would fit into this dark world, but it never came. Brenton hated Richard enough to shoot him in life, but in death, they had the bond of a student and their most beloved professor.

Brenton tipped the toe of his boot into an ash pile, watching it move and displace around the spot. “Well, they thought they’d be kings. There’s something pitiful about that.”

“It’s the fate of all Kindred,” Richard replied solemnly. “We all die reaching towards the Sun, if you want to be poetic about it.”

“So that’s the last of them, right?” 

“Not quite. Just up north, Canada is infested with Sabbat. They’re more active in Mexico, and winning, unfortunately. America is mostly safe, for now, but over the next few decades we’ll be surrounded, and the fight becomes much harder.”

“It never ends,” Brenton lamented as he kicked the ash. 

“Indeed,” Richard observed. “But we’re in luck. The assignment after this is much simpler.”

"I don’t suppose we’re grocery shopping for the Prince?” Brenton offered.

“No.” Richard replied bluntly. “There’s a group of Kuei-Jin who have made their home in Boston. We’re going to clean them out.”

“Kuei-Jin?” Brenton replied.

“They’re from Asia. They’re not quite Kindred, but there are a lot of similarities. If I’m being completely honest, I’m not fully aware of the details, so I’ll do some research.”

“I’ll do it!” Brenton piped up. Richard smiled and nodded in approval.

“Of course, I’ll let you handle that then. From what I’ve heard, they can be deathly clever, and that’s the most important threat.”

Hijirihara stood on the roof of a nearby building, looking down at the warehouse. It was a simple enough find for how sophisticated these Sabbat were supposed to be. All he did was peruse the abandoned buildings around Tokyo until he saw Kindred, and then he observed. He could tell that the strange man accompanying the mortals was a Tzimisce based on his unnatural looks; far beyond what plastic surgery could achieve. The fact he worked openly alongside so many normal humans was strange, however. Ghouls? Some kind of agreement? Hijirihara couldn’t fathom at the moment. The work they engaged in was even stranger; they were taking large bags of flour, soaking them in some kind of mixture, and then drying them inside of the building. Killer Killer’s best guess was that they were constructing the base of some form of bomb, but as to the details he couldn’t imagine. He was partially envious over the state of mind required to commit murder from such an unusual origin point, but that needed to be pushed aside. He likely had more than enough information to bring back to the other Kindred.

For a moment, however, he wondered if he couldn’t solve the problem itself. The warehouse was very large, with two parking lots on its north and south side and roads to the east and west. There was a kind of natural isolation to it created by those structures, reminding Hijirihara of a trap. He could easily sneak inside. Once there, he could use the sheer size of the structure to conceal his movements as he removed every human in there until all that stood was himself and the Tzimisce, who would undoubtedly be an easy removal. Or, perhaps he could jump off this building, acquire some kind of firearm, and engage in a firefight from cover in the parking lot. But did he truly think that he could achieve this kind of feat? For the briefest of moments, Hijirihara wondered what it would be like to lose. To kick open that front door, get off two shots, and be shot down in return without even realizing he had missed someone. To be found in a corner, trapped, and struck down without a second thought. He tried his best to push the thought out of his mind as he turned his back on the warehouse and departed.

Hunting sucked. Objectively, the process of looking for humans so that Makoto Naegi could drink their blood and sustain more nights of this wretched life was terrible. Some part of him wished he could stay at the tea shop until hunger finally overtook him, but the process of starving until he Frenzied and then being put down by people who ostensibly supported him was hardly appealing either, and he also couldn’t deny that the act of feeding in of itself was pleasant. 

Waiting sucked. Objectively, the process of waiting outside of some dingy building so that Brenton could finish discussing Anarch business with another piece of Japan’s mediocrity was terrible. Some part of Celestia wished she could just shoot him on his way out and be done with this entire charade, but the thought of him surviving and choosing that exact moment to beat her into a bloody pulp so thoroughly that she’d be reduced to crawling inch by painful inch to escape from the encroaching rays of the sun was hardly appealing either, and she couldn’t deny that the calm could sometimes be good for her.

Makoto rounded the corner of the latest in a long line of nondescript concrete blocks used as either parking or some kind of office space only to find the first familiar face he’d seen in a long time. Even more shocking was that Celestia Ludenberg smelled like Kindred. She looked over at him and smiled first, seemingly completely unphased by the realization that another one of her classmates had fallen into this life.

“Celestia!” Makoto called out, his voice cracking as her smile only widened.

“Ah, Makoto. I would never have expected to see you like this.” 

“L-like this!?” Makoto stammered. “Celestia, what are you doing here?”

“I believe I could ask you the same thing, but I won’t. After all, it doesn’t really matter. We’re here, right? That’s all there is.”

“Have you seen anyone else from school?” 

“I can’t say that I have. It appears as if we’re the only two who’ve been blessed from that particular institution.”

“‘Blessed?’” Makoto repeated. “It’s a curse! Everything about this has sucked…”

“I disagree, I’ve rather enjoyed my time in the night. So far, at least,” Celestia giggled.

“My family is all gone, my friends are gone, I can’t eat anything but blood,” Makoto began rattling off his list of grievances, which Celestia found remarkably similar to her personal list of benefits. “And everybody in the Camarilla treats me like I’m worthless…”

That part made Celestia twitch. Makoto Naegi, in the Camarilla? Sure, he was a decent enough person, but that status seemed ill-fitting for an entirely normal, if lucky, individual like himself. “That’s curious, I was actually planning on joining the Camarilla in due time.”

“That seems like a bad idea,” Makoto replied. “There are so many weird rules and everyone treats it like it’s the SDF or something and-”

Celestia held out her finger, gently shushing the boy. “Relax, Makoto. I have a grand plan. And I trust you, I’ll let you be a part of it when I join. If you stay with me, you’ll be treated very well, and you’ll stay protected as you are now.”

Makoto nodded in affirmation but his skepticism soared. Celestia was never a benevolent person, and the Beast would hardly make itself known by turning her into a charitable benefactor for someone like Makoto. “Thanks, Celestia,” he replied as neutrally as he could, before deciding to lean into her a little. “I really appreciate that.”

Celestia’s smile only grew in response. “Good boy, Makoto~”

Keiko was always the first person in the tea store to awaken when the sun set. Her Ghoul would go to bed and she would arise at nearly the same moment. The usual morning routine after that was to leave behind a bag of her blood in one of the fridges for Mekuru to consume, then she’d consult her PC for any messages from the Prince, and then she’d figure out the day from there. On this day, she skulked down the stairs and immediately recognized that the lights inside of the tea shop were turned on. That was odd, Mekuru always turned them off when the store closed; and the store should have been closed for hours by then.

After a minute or so of searching, Keiko found her answer. Behind the counter was Mekuru, her most loyal Ghoul, splayed out across the ground. Her shirt had been ripped off, and carved on her stomach was a wheel with each spoke reaching out to as far as the crimson line could go before reaching her back, with the uppermost one becoming an intricate sword design that went up from her stomach, between her breasts, to the top of her throat.

Chapter Text

One night, while Breton was gone, Celestia decided to visit Hope's Peak again. Despite her best efforts, she had nagging thoughts of the 'home' that she was willing to acknowledge. The Kindred could never imagine herself returning to the place where they would still call her Taeko, and besides, her classmates were a greater stepping stone to opportunity than her family ever had been. It helped that it was a simple enough trip by night that could be easily justified, for once, just by being honest. Brenton already thought of her as weak-willed and mournful over her fate, despite how much she made it clear that he was off the mark by a substantial amount, so if she told him that she went to visit Hope's Peak he'd assume it was a pang of regret and return to his duties with that smug kind of self-satisfaction he seemed to get from knowing more than others. 

Security was always pitiful at Hope's Peak. Once you learned where the cameras were, there was nothing to stop you from moving around completely unimpeded. To be fair, that was Celestia's impression as a student. To an outsider, or a threat, the risk of meeting a student like Sakura Ogami or Mukuro Ikusaba was more than enough security. That was why Celestia decided to flex her Vampiric nature. Instead of entering through the roof, as would be the most efficient option, which she knew from experience she'd rather not disclose, she pressed her fingernails against the glass of the first window she found. There was an odd squeaking sound as she twisted her hand, slowly carving a circle that she could pop out of the mirror. Then, she pushed her arm through the hole and snapped.

Unless the layout of the entire school had changed since Celestia had last been there, this was a freshman room. And surely enough, after some stirring, someone sat up, looked over at the arm protruding through the hole in their window, and panicked. Celestia didn't recognize the freshman, with messy, long blue hair that bounced as she slid backwards on her bed and heavily lidded eyes that implied glasses even in the depths of her grogginess. The pair of girls made eye contact through the glass and Celestia spoke up. "Do not scream. Do not run away. Open the window."

The girl looked clearly conflicted, but the Dominate worked. She stood up off of her bed, dragged her feet over to the window, and slid it open. Celestia smiled at her in the friendliest way that she could as she stepped inside of the room.

"Who are y-" the girl began to speak before Celestia grabbed her head, wrenched it to the side, and sunk her teeth into the girl's neck. After a few moments to ensure full penetration, she began to lap up the blood that oozed from the wound. Pleasure descended over the both of them as the Kindred got her nightly fix off of the student, a process that made her feel like, if it wouldn't have killed the girl, she would have done it all night. 

Celestia pulled her mouth off of the girl's neck and watched as her head tilted to the side, her mind clearly fogged over by the power of the Kiss. Celestia grabbed her hair and forced their eyes to meet yet again. "You never met me. This never happened."

With that command, Celestia pushed the girl backwards into bed, leaving her groggy and under the conflicting influence of numerous supernatural forces bearing down on her senses and memory. The Kindred took a moment to look around the room, somewhat amazed by how much of a pathetic otaku this woman was, before taking her leave.

Celestia's real goal was the Pet Lab. It was a part of Hope's Peak reserved for students whose Talents involved any kind of animal. At times more of a zoo or aquarium than any kind of place for 'pets,' it had been revitalized just before Celesta left by a student she vaguely recalled being named for some anime that she was above watching. In fact, she couldn't imagine how much his parents must have hated him to give him such a repugnant name, but she digressed. Getting inside was easy enough; every creature was locked up so tightly that she scarcely had to acknowledge them as she made her way to the interior office. Chancing some kind of alarm going off, she checked the sturdiness of the wooden door to the back office for a moment before putting her foot through it. The blow knocked the thing off of its hinges, and allowed her to effortlessly step inside. From there she busted open a few office file drawers until she found what she was looking for. 

Student pet records, alphabetized from the beginning to the end of the alphabet. She fingered through them until she reached L for Ludenberg, and pulled it out. 

Grand Bois Chéri Ludenberg

Age: 7 years old.

Weight: 24 kg.

Description: A noticeably overweight gray feline with dull eyes. Heavily pampered, including a puffy collar that it does not seem to mind. Docile and kept care of in the Domestic Felines section of the Pet Lab.

Status: Due to the disappearance of Celestia Ludenberg, her cat was rehoused off of Hope's Peak grounds.

 Celestia sneered at the report, crumpling it and pocketing it as she did. It didn't matter. She told herself that it didn't matter.

"Five years," Brenton declared as he stood up. Hana frowned and looked up at him. The pair had ostensibly met to discuss plans, but it had quickly turned into a friendly visit; with one of Brenton's favorite movies playing on the television and Hana partaking in a glass of blood from the table. "I told myself I'd stay in this country for five years. That was seven years ago."

"Not this again," Hana sighed, before adopting her own impersonation of his gruff, flat affect. "'I miss Boston. I wish the people were just as rotten as the Kine again. It makes me feel less bad.'"

Brenton narrowed his eyes at his partner before brushing her off. "You wouldn't get it. You were born here, weren't you?"

"I was, but I wouldn't mind going elsewhere. Maybe you can take me with you."

"Oh, so now you think Boston sounds alright?"

"For a vacation."

"Vacation?" 

"Yes, a vacation. Six months at most."

Brenton smiled at her as he walked over to his refrigerator. "You know what my favorite part of America was?"

"The alcohol?"

"Been too long to remember what that tastes like. It was the driving."

"Really?"

"American roads... I've been around the world but there's nothing like them. In the dead of the night you can move faster than any other thing on Earth and cut through the dark like the sun. And if a damn cop pulled you over, you could just yank him in the car and drain him a little and leave him standing on the side of the road all dazed and confused until the sun came up. Well... you used to be able to. Too hard to do that nowadays."

"Charming. I'm shocked you never flipped one."

"Not for lack of trying, I assure you. Richard used to tell me that I was going to kill myself before I could kill anyone who needed it."

"And yet he's the one that died."

Brenton sighed. "Okay, fine. Proud of yourself?"

"I've never seen a Childe so dedicated to their Sire. It's uncanny."

"Some of us still have a little of their Humanity. That's something to be proud of."

"Not for you," Hana shot back. "You're Human in all the wrong ways. All the petty bullshit."

Brenton had to laugh at that. "And Kindred aren't petty?"

Hana waved him off. "You wouldn't get it. You don't care enough to get it."

And that was the last of their meaningful conversation for the evening. And yet, when Brenton eventually did relax on his couch, his thoughts were of Massachusetts once more. The neon when it's cold outside. And the highway when it's late at night

Makoto and Xiu passed by Hope's Peak Academy one night while exploring the outer stretches of their patrol routes. Makoto tried to avoid eye contact with the massive building, but of course, Xiu wouldn't be swayed.

"Makoto, look! Your school!"

"I know," Makoto replied bluntly, dragging his feet as he picked up his pace to try and put it behind him as quickly as it could.

"We should go inside! Think about it, the bullies, the girls you liked, you could just drink from all of them! It's a whole buffet in there!"

"I'd rather not," Makoto replied with complete honesty.

"Well, I'm gonna-" Xiu began before Makoto reached out and yelled at her.

"No! You can't!"

The fellow Kindred stopped, but she still flashed a mischievous smile at her partner. "Aww, is Makoto still sad about his friends?"

He had to ponder the question for a moment. Yes, he was absolutely sad at the idea of his classmates becoming cattle for his 'new friends.' But if he showed that, they might just do that solely to mess with him. "No. They'd kill you."

That confused Xiu. "What do you mean?"

"Like, one of the students there is Mukuro Ikusaba," Makoto began to explain. "The sixteenth student in my class, I think? She was the Ultimate Soldier. That meant she was very good at killing people."

Xiu scoffed and waved her hand. "Big deal. We're not people."

"Last I heard she sleeps with a grenade launcher." Sorry Mukuro, Makoto thought. "Literally sleeps with it."

That made Xiu laugh, but there was an undercurrent of fear. "Oh shit. That kind of crazy?"

"Yeah, that kind of crazy."

"I see your point-" Xiu admitted as she began to scuttle away, beckoning for Makoto to follow her. "Let's find some students, though! Young blood is good blood!"

Makoto winced as he followed her. Something about that just felt inherently wrong, even by the dark standards they were held to.

Chapter Text

Mekuru Katsuragi clutched the sides of her hood, pulling it closed over her face as if it could somehow hide her from the rest of the world. She hadn’t even noticed that the sun had set.

All she did was drop out of college. That should have been reasonable enough! It was stressful, and ruining her mental state, and for once in her life she was putting herself first. Most parents would understand, but of course, not her’s. They kicked her out. That was their first step! She couldn’t fathom hating your own child that much, of course, she had to acknowledge that they were never around much in the first place. If she was never around ever again, not much would change for them. She couldn’t hate them that much, probably because she never loved them enough in the first place; that hatred was reserved for the ‘friends’ who wouldn’t let her stay with them. Nobody in this city could spare a couch, apparently. Part of her wondered if it wouldn’t be best to just roll over and die right there, on the cold concrete, rather than figure out how to pull herself out of homelessness and the years it would take off of her life in more ways than one.

Then, something tapped her side. She looked up and saw a woman dressed in something that looked like it belonged in a boardroom more than the streets. Her smile was friendly, but lacked any and all warmth. She was holding out a hand, which hung in the air for a moment before she finally spoke up. “Hey, what’s the matter?” 

A few years later, Mekuru lay dead in the tea shop that Keiko owned, and Keiko was throwing a bench at the nearest wall. Xiu, Daisuke, and Makoto watched the freak-out like you would watch it if you were trapped in a cell with a similar rampaging beast. 

“Do you know how many years-” Keiko emphasized the last word as she picked up another bench and chucked it against the same wall, where it vaporized into a cloud of splinters and fibers. “It takes to get a worthwhile Ghoul!?”

“Several?” Makoto proposed, and before Xiu and Daisuke could shush him, Keiko launched a flowerpot at his head. Makoto easily dodged it, but he was still shocked at the response.

“A long time!” Keiko ‘corrected.’ “And in case you can’t tell, I am very upset right now.”

“Yes ma’am,” the trio said in unison, with Makoto lagging slightly behind Xiu and Daisuke.

“So let me tell you the new plan,” Keiko began to explain as she picked up a chair, thought about it for a moment, and then set it back down. Instead, she began to walk towards her subordinates. “Every Sabbat in this country dies. No ‘driving them away,’ no complex and stupid webs of double-crossings and plotting, just simple genocide. As clean as we, and those useless Anarchs, can make it.”

“Isn’t that a little rash?” Makoto replied. He thought that his thought process was simple enough. Why would the Sabbat bother to kill someone’s Ghoul? Petty evil was a legitimate response, but it wasn’t hard to see an approach that entailed getting Keiko to make a decision just like this, presumably to lead her into a trap. However, before he could explain that, Keiko pushed Xiu and Daisuke out of the way and wrapped her hands around Makoto’s throat. Kindred didn’t breathe, so choking one of them wasn’t exactly practical, but it still let Keiko feel the visceral thrill of throttling something that was bothering her while Makoto could detect the depths of her rage.

“Would you like to be first, Fledgling?” Keiko asked with a tone approaching glee, before Xiu rushed forward and separated the two.

“Stop, enough!” Xiu shouted, and the room froze around the girl. “Keiko, Makoto is very young, and stupid. Please have patience. Makoto, shut up. When Hijirihara finishes his work, we’ll do exactly what you want Keiko. In the meantime, please stop trying to detonate this group.” 

“Then I suppose I’ll apologize,” Keiko replied, before holding out her hand to Makoto. 

Makoto did his best to not glare at her as he accepted the handshake. 

The next night was the meeting. Having deemed that the tea shop was no longer a safe point, and unable to find a place where a neutral meeting could be held, it was begrudgingly agreed that the event would take place at Brenton’s apartment. Brenton and Celestia waited in the living room, and the first Camarilla to arrive was Keiko. Brenton gave her a cursory greeting as behind her came Xiu, who couldn’t avoid awkward eye-contact with the pleasantly smiling Celestia as she made her way to her leader’s side. Keiko chose to stand by the entryway into the kitchen, where she could watch Daisuke and Makoto follow. Makoto and Celestia made eye contact as well, and this time Celestia even took the time to wave at him, which clearly prompted some curiosity from Brenton.

“We went to school together.” Brenton’s eyebrows raised a little. “Ultimate Lucky Student, if I recall correctly.”

“Small world,” Brenton commented as Makoto and Daisuke stood next to Keiko as well.

After them came Hana, who only made eye contact with Brenton as she rushed to sit down next to him. 

“Is that everyone?” Brenton asked, turning around awkwardly to look at Keiko. 

“There’s one more,” Keiko added.

It took a few minutes of nobody saying anything for the guest of honor to arrive. The door opened slowly, and a tall, thin beast entered. Brenton immediately stood up.

“You,” he growled, and Hana rushed up to grab his shoulder.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Hana stressed as Hijirihara laughed.

“I’m sorry, I don’t seem to recall; have I upset you in the past?”

Brenton pushed Hana to the side. “You have no fucking id-”

He was stopped by Keiko, who stepped between him and the Kuei-Jin. “Killer Killer is working for us. He’s just as welcome as we are.”

Brenton took a moment to grit his teeth before begrudgingly hissing “Fine” and sitting down. Keiko smiled a bit to herself before motioning for Hijirihara to follow her. 

Instead of returning to the standing space by the kitchen, the pair walked to the center of the living room, in front of the couch, where everyone could see them. Brenton walked back to his couch and sat down, but his glare never left Hijirihara, who ignored him. 

“Hello, everyone,” Keiko began. “We are here because we have a common problem. A Sabbat problem. Hijirihara here, who is in my company-”

“Some company,” Brenton couldn’t resist sneering, although Keiko ignored him. Celestia also glared at her Sire, mostly because, to her, what he did set a bad impression on the Camarilla, which made things harder for her.

“Has uncovered a substantial base of operations for these demons. At the end of this meeting, each of you will give me your phone number, or some other way of contacting you, and you will be contacted in the near future with a date, time, and address. We will meet again at that location, and proceed to this base of operations; which will be destroyed through our combined effort.”

“Sounds fishy-” Hana began.

“We’re in,” Brenton concluded.

“What?” she shot back.

Brenton shrugged. “Yeah, it’s fishy, but I don’t expect it to go any other way. We’re in.”

“I, for one, concur with this decision,” Celestia added, but nobody cared.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Keiko replied with a smile. “If there is nothing else, we’ll take our leave.”

“That fast?” Makoto whispered to Daisuke.

“She likes to keep things brief,” Daisuke answered.

“I just have one thing I’d like to add,” Brenton continued. “During whatever operation you have planned, we split into pairs. One of us, with one of your people.”

“Done,” Keiko stated. It was simple enough logic to everyone involved; less backstabbing if they were broken into little pairs that required collaboration to be successful. 

“Actually, two things. I want him,” Brenton added as he pointed at Hijirihara.

“Denied.” Keiko bluntly stated, as Hijirihara couldn’t help but smile. “Hijirihara is working alongside us, but not under me. It falls to him.”

“No,” the Kuei-Jin said.

Brenton glared at the beast, but Hana stepped in. “That’s fine. We’re fine.”

“Then there’s nothing further to discuss,” Keiko replied, and following her lead, one by one, the Anarchs departed. Celestia made sure to wave to Makoto as he left, and he gave her one back.

Chapter Text

Jia was a nice guy. That’s what he was known as around Boston. He was a strange immigrant who only ever did things at night, but he ran a decent little Chinese restaurant, donated to a few local charities, and people who did meet him at his establishment in the closing hours remarked on his kind smile and aura of authority. None of them ever could have imagined that thieves would rampage through his shop in the midst of the night, executing the workers as they closed and leaving him missing. Fewer still could have guessed that Jia wasn’t his real name. And even fewer would have guessed that he was a fearsome Kuei-Jin who, in the last moments of his unlife, was reduced to sitting on his knees, desperately spilling his heart and soul just for the chance that he’d get another night on this Earth.

“And that’s all I know! It’s all him, it’s all that… that Killer Killer!”

“I think that’s quite enough,” Richard replied with a gentle smile. “Brenton?”

Another gunshot rattled off the walls of the walk-in freezer. Chen Liang, who fell in 1944 at Nanking, only to find a second life in his old body, and who had spent the next decade training and meditating on how to ascend past his state of cannibalistic beasthood into something more refined, and the next thirty years after that fighting on behalf of his brothers, suffered his Final Death. Were he conscious he would have found his soul thrown into the Thousand Hells. Brenton kicked his body to make sure it wouldn’t move again.

“Last one, I think,” Brenton informed his sire. He double-checked the bullet count of his revolver as he spoke. “Want to get going before the cops show up?”

“A few minutes. I want to see if there is any more evidence of this gentleman they call-”

Richard’s words were interrupted by the sound of a door crashing. The older man spun around, and Brenton leapt forward to place himself between his sire and the door. After a few moments of the pair waiting in anticipation, a tall, pale figure of clear Asian descent stood in the doorway. His hair hung loosely, covering the right side of his face, and his expression was neutral. He wore a nice enough suit, and in one hand was a long katana. 

In the modern day, 4A had finished moving everything he needed into the warehouse; which mostly meant his PC setup. It was positioned in a corner office on an upper floor, giving him the perfect view of the interior even without his cameras. Dozens of young men, all of who knew exactly who they were serving, carried out the final ‘renovations’ of the place that would be needed before the bulk of their work began tomorrow. It still stunned 4A how easily humans would fall for the “Do work for me and I’ll make you a vampire” schtick. Were they that hopelessly naive about his intentions? Did they already know but were willing to make the gamble? Fascinating questions, were they not applied to base apes. 

More fascinating questions were directed towards his opponents. He knew they’d strike this place soon, he simply couldn’t imagine them not knowing both where he was and having a plan together. But how would they handle his latest experiments? Long pale fingers danced across a keyboard, working a 3-D modeling program that allowed 4A to envision his grand plan. Humans were tools of the best kind, and tools frequently become weapons with the proper modifications.

“I insist on attending by your side,” Celestia repeated. Brenton sighed.

The pair of them sat next to each other on his couch. The news played on the TV as Brenton rubbed his temples. “No.”

“As an attendant of the meeting, I think that I-”

“Before I Embraced you, a gift on my part, if you recall, how much combat experience did you have?”

Celestia couldn’t help but pout. “See that as it may-”

“I have half a mind to sabotage the entire thing. Working with a bastard like that,” Brenton grumbled, his eyes never wavering from the television.

“Awfully dangerous decis-” 

“I don’t recall giving you the right to speak.”

Celestia was quiet, but at that moment, whatever sympathy she had left for her fellow Kindred ended. She looked upon him with eyes that couldn’t hide their contempt. If he left, she’d follow. If he turned his back on her, he’d find a knife in it. And if, God forbid, he should decide to do anything that would sabotage her opportunities with the Camarilla, then she would bring the vengeful hand of that very same God down upon him. Of course, for the moment, all she could do was sit there and watch TV, but it was the thought that counted.

Makoto and Keiko sat watch in the lobby of the tea shop. Since the location was compromised, but they had no other place to go, it was decided that pairs would keep watch; and patrols would be put on hold until later that week, when the warehouse attack was set. As a result, Makoto had nothing to do but watch Keiko meticulously clean a small pistol. 

“I’m sorry about your Ghoul,” he finally spoke up.

Keiko didn’t make any physical changes, but she did speak. “Thank you.”

Maybe it was presumptuous, but Makoto was fishing for some kind of apology for her outburst. He knew better than to outright ask for it, but if she wouldn’t voluntarily give it, then that said a lot about her, didn’t it? 

He decided to change topics. “I’m worried about later this week.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not sure I can contribute as much as the others. I’m worried that I’ll hold everyone ba-”

As Makoto spoke, suddenly, Keiko pointed her pistol at him. Makoto let out a yelp and sunk into the shadow on the wall behind him. For a moment she held her gun towards the shadow, before putting it down. Another moment passed, and Makoto melted out of the wall. He was clearly panicked, but expectant; likely because he watched Keiko set the gun back down.

“If you can do that, then you have nothing to worry about. Just do your best.”

It was admittedly a fair piece of advice, but Makoto couldn’t help but yell back harshly enough that his voice cracked. “What was that?”

“A simple demonstration of your ability.”

“You pointed a-”

Keiko snapped her fingers. “It was a lesson. I am showing your ability to contribute. You were worried that you couldn’t. Thank me.”

Makoto frowned, but did as she said. “Thank you, Keiko.”

Keiko smiled in response. “Thank you, Makoto.”

Chapter Text

Rain tapped along the asphalt outside of 4A’s warehouse. The building was imposing, and likely expensive, which only meant that the pair standing outside its front would delight even further in wrecking the place. Alongside the patter of the light precipitation were the heavy footsteps of Brenton and Keiko, who stopped under the awning of a smaller shop right across the street.

“I’m surprised you brought your Childe,” Keiko spoke up.

“As am I,” Brenton replied. “She’s strong-willed like that. And I suppose I’m a weaker being than I expected.”

Keiko hummed a bit. “We all are, in some way.”

“Philosophy aside, why are we here at the front door?”

Keiko bent over and picked up a small rock off of the sidewalk. “Two reasons. The first is that we are the distraction. As soon as someone steps out of that door, we’re going to begin the engagement. Then,” Keiko pointed her thumb at the shop window. “We’ll dive in here as they will surely return fire. Breaking the window will trigger the silent alarm, which will prompt the police to come around the front. When the police arrive, hopefully getting caught in the crossfire, we’ll evacuate. In the meantime, everyone else will approach from the sides and the rear entrance. Their approaches will be more tactful.”

Nodding as he pulled out his gun, Brenton voiced his own opinion. “I like it. What happens if they just bunker down in there?”

“If we have no engagement on this side by the time the police arrive, we’ll march inside and take the fight to them.”

At the same time that Brenton and Keiko were planning, Makoto and Celestia sat on a rooftop of one of the taller buildings nearby. The pair had binoculars, which they used to monitor the situation, and behind them sat a cooler filled with blood packs.

“And if we see anything suspicious, we give them a call,” Celestia finished explaining. “As simple as can be.”

Makoto nodded, more focused on the situation on the ground. “And we’ll bring first aid too, right?”

“Sure, yes, absolutely.”

To the rear of the warehouse, by its loading dock, Daisuke and Hana hid behind a fence. Their location brought them no protection from the rain, but it gave them the perfect view of the entire loading dock. This was in spite of the many parked trucks that could conceivably act as cover along the way. 

“My gun’s gonna jam,” Hana lamented. 

“In this rain? How shitty is it?” Daisuke couldn’t help but ask.

Hana glared at him. “Shut up.”

And lastly, on the east side of the building, in the parking lot, was Xiu and Hijirihara. Just by looking upon the scene, you wouldn’t be able to tell that Hijirihara was there. Xiu had to kick the nearest trash can to make him appear. The lid of the chromed cylinder raised, and a pair of eyes looked at her with curiosity.

“Don’t tell me you’re just gonna sit in there the whole time.”

The trash can lid slowly lowered shut.

“Coward…”

On the brick wall behind them, a brown eye buried in the brick flickered.

4A couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he clicked from screen to screen. All of them arranged so obviously, and yet they thought themselves so clever. He could even see the cooler, presumably filled with blood packs, that the Fledglings had brought to the rooftop. A bit of movement paused his celebration as he zoomed in on Daisuke and Hana. Hana waited at a distance as Daisuke slunk towards one of several dozen warehouse workers, who was taking a step outside for a cigarette. 4A couldn’t quite make out his face, but Daisuke was confused. The guard seemed unusually sluggish, almost ‘drooping’ in a way that he couldn’t quite describe. It was as if lifting the cigarette to his lips was draining him somehow. 

Daisuke walked up behind the man, stood up, and planted his hands on the poor man’s head. It was only a moment before Daisuke twisted his neck, killing him on the spot. At that moment, through a mechanism combining both biology and mechanics in a way that only a being like 4A could understand, a canister inside of the man erupted into flames. He lit up into a massive fireball, and Daisuke was only spared a painful death through a reflexive leap backwards that was only achievable due to the natural physical gifts of his kind. 

“Fuck!” Daisuke exclaimed as Hana rushed forward, crouching along the ground to try and stay hidden even as she rushed over to Daisuke’s side. A piece of his shirt caught fire, but the rain quickly put it out. 

On the other side of the building, another man stepped outside, and Keiko chucked a rock at his head. The small stone sunk into his skull like it was made of cloth, and he lit up in a similar fashion.

“Fascinating,” Brenton commented as they could hear yelling and clanging from inside the warehouse.

“Disgusting is what it is,” Keiko sneered. “The Sabbat are disgusting creatures.”

“As much as Kuei-Jin?”

“No comment,” came the reply as Keiko spun around and dived headfirst through the shop window. The glass shattered loudly, and Brenton followed her to take cover. 

“That guy exploded!” Makoto exclaimed as he put his binoculars down. “It’s too dangerous, we have to get down th-”

His attempt to stand up was arrested by Celestia, who yanked him back down by his shirt. “Please, Makoto, remain calm.”

“What are you doing, let go!” Makoto protested.

“Be intelligent about this. We are unarmed. We’d do nothing. However, if we wait until someone gets injured, and then rush down with some ‘first-aid,’ not only do we help in a practical way, we even look heroic in the process. First impressions are important.”

Makoto narrowed his eyes at the gambler. “Fine, but you’d better hurry when that happens.”

Two men from the warehouse rushed into the parking lot, hoping to flank the attackers near the entrance by rushing out around the side of their building. One of them looked to the side to see his friend receive a crossbow bolt directly through the neck, which caused him to detonate. His friend stumbled backwards, and before he could fully process what he had just seen, gunfire rang out. A bullet tore through his ear and exited the side of his skull, and he erupted just as he stumbled against a nearby car. The temperature of the fire caused the car’s windows to explode, which prompted its alarm to begin blaring.

“How artless,” Hijirihara lamented.

“Hey, not to interrupt, but any idea how we’re gonna get out of here if the cops show up?” Xiu interjected.

Hijirihara hummed for a moment. “We shoot them too.”

Xiu squeaked. “O-oh? Really!? That’d violate the Masquerade!”

Hijirihara turned towards the Kindred, his eyes leering down upon her. “And?”

“N-nothing! Great idea! Keiko chose you for good reasons, yes, great reasons even!”

—

“Thank you for your time, but to kill you now would be too simple. I am leaving. Do not follow me.”

Those were the last words the strange Kuei-Jin gave Brenton and Richard before it departed. The both of them sat in what remained of the Chinese restaurant; wounded, disarmed, and thoroughly defeated, but as alive as any Kindred could be.

The both of them sat against a battered wall, sharing a feeling of shock, until Brenton spoke up first. “What was that thing?”

“Kuei-Jin. They’re-”

“I know what the fucking thing is! How did it do that!?”

Richard huffed. “I don’t know. I’ve never quite seen any combatant like that. To be fair, I’ve never been much of a fighter before these last few years, so my experience is la-”

“We need to find the damn thing!” Brenton punctuated the statement by forcing himself to stand up. Blood leaked from a stab wound in his stomach, but it was hardly lethal. In fact, it was probably the most debilitating injury you could give a Kindred without risking their death; a kind of deliberation that only further terrified the pair. “Kill it!”

“I concur, but I’d advise patience,” Richard replied as he instead used a Blood Heal before rising once more. “As you can see, we are desperately outmatched.”

Brenton sighed. “We are. Any ideas?”

“I would suppose that the next time we meet him, we attempt to make it some kind of sneak attack. Something he can’t see coming.”

Chapter Text

They found the demon a few weeks later, stalking along the turnpike. The pair of Kindred had other plans, but they immediately took a detour to slam their car into the beast.

That was about thirty minutes ago. Brenton was laying on the hood of their Roadmaster with a hunting rifle in hand. The rain soaked through his clothes as he peered through the scope. Richard, crazy old man that he was, decided that getting into fisticuffs against the Kuei-Jin was a smart idea. Then again, Richard was a smarter man than his Childe, because it was somehow working. The bastard even looked like he was on the defense, although it was so back and forth that it made Brenton’s head spin. 

He was trying to get a bead on Killer Killer, but their movement made things difficult. Kuei-Jin that he was, he was even clever enough to keep his front towards Brenton, putting Richard between them. Then, things went drastically wrong. Richard attempted a kick, swinging his foot around the side to try and get some damage in on Killer Killer’s ribs. Instead, it was caught, and the Kuei-Jin dropped to the ground and shifted his body. The action yanked Richard’s ankle down at an awkward angle, rolling it and sending him crashing to the ground. At that point, it was easy for his opponent to crawl over his body, wrap an arm around his neck, and yank him upwards. The pair forced themselves to their feet, and Brenton locked eyes with Hijirihara through the scope. 

“Shit,” Brenton spat as he threw the hunting rifle to the asphalt and rolled off the hood of the Roadmaster. 

“This is taking too long,” Brenton asserted as he hopped the shop window.

“What are you doing!?” Keiko cried out as Brenton rushed towards the front door. 

Brenton didn’t reply, but he did aim his revolver precisely enough to blow the head off of an unfortunate soul who poked his head out from the entrance. He too burst into flames, and from the rushing sound that followed his death, he caught a few friends in the crossfire. Keiko sighed and jumped the window, rushing to Brenton’s side as he pinned himself to the wall to the right of the door. Keiko stood behind the man, content to let him try to kill himself leading the charge if that’s what he truly desired. After a few moments of relative silence, Brenton spun around and darted into the warehouse, and Keiko followed close behind.

There wasn’t enough time to register what the entrance looked like before Keiko felt something like a strong punch to her abdomen. She stumbled backwards against the wall as the sound of gunfire rang out. She slumped down, trying to move. It must have been a shot to her heart, because nothing she thought or did would move her body off of the ground. 

Daisuke and Hana had just reached the loading docks when one of the doors slammed open. He had unnatural features, even for Kindred with glowing eyes and poor skin, and for a moment both were frozen by the shock of something so odd so confidently approaching them. Their surprise only grew as both of them realized it was holding some kind of mess of fleshy bags in its arms. 

“Ah, I’m so glad to finally meet you both,” the figure declared as he pointed the mass at Daisuke. 

Daisuke rushed forward, and out of the mass some kind of viscous spray erupted. The substance coated his front, and Hana watched as he stumbled to the ground and let out a cry of agony. He rolled over and Hana could see the skin bubble and melt off of his body, mixing with puddles of rainwater on the ground. He held out a shaking hand to Hana as the substance ate through his eyes, and she gulped before attempting to aim at the figure. In response, another spray was ejected towards her, and it was only through luck and reflexes that she was able to roll out of its way. 

She didn’t bother to do anything other than run away, diving underneath a car, rolling, and slinking through the maze of vehicles in such a way that 4A would’ve had to meticulously scan the parking lot just to have a chance to find her. The Sabbat recognized as much, and huffed as he marched over to the crumpled body on the ground.

“Good night,” he quipped as he raised his foot, before slamming it down onto Daisuke’s neck. The attack ripped through the weakened skin and bone and separated the Kindred’s neck from his body, quickly reducing him to mushy ash in the water. 4A took another look around to ensure that Hana wouldn’t attack him from behind, before spinning around and reentering his warehouse.

It didn’t take Brenton long to reach the interior of the warehouse, the ‘production line’ specifically. Anyone who was left on 4A’s side had retreated as far as possible, hoping to turtle up and load anything that walked by with steel. As far as they were concerned, their attackers could have anything else. Fires roared across wood, foretelling an imminent disaster inside. The leader of the Anarchs scanned the place for a moment before he heard a voice call out.

“Hey!” Xiu cried as she, walking beside Hijirihara, approached Brenton from behind. “We just came in through the roof, where’s everybo-”

In one short, sharp motion, Brenton withdrew his revolver and fired on Xiu. Just like Keiko before, he aimed for her heart, resulting in her becoming paralyzed on the ground. She wouldn’t die just from that, but it was likely the fire, or one of the workers, would do that for him.

Hijirihara grinned. “Betrayal? I knew you people played politics, but this-”

“Fuck you,” Brenton spat back as he began to fire on the Kuei-Jin. Hijirihara frowned and sprung to the side, only being grazed by the revolver fire. 

Brenton began to reload as he rushed backwards as well, jumping behind a crate to take cover. Surely enough, he heard the sound of rushing air, and watched as a crossbow bolt flew over the crate and bounced off of the metal wall nearby. He laughed to himself, before another bolt exited the crate a mere several centimeters from his head. 

By that point, Makoto and Celestia had arrived at the warehouse. 

“Why did they do that!?” Makoto panicked. “Why are they exploding!?”

“I don’t know, shut up!” Celestia screeched, her accent dropping for a moment. “Let’s get inside first.”

They had both agreed that the front would be far too dangerous, so they decided to go through the loading dock. But as they passed by a car, someone called out to them. They both turned to see Hana sitting down, clearly panicked.

“What’s happening?” Celestia inquired as they rushed to her side. 

Makoto began to look his fellow Kindred over for damage as Hana laughed. “I don’t fucking know.”

“What?”

“There was this gu-Look out!”

Hana scrambled back, and Makoto lurched after her, as Celestia turned around to see 4A. “So predictable,” he chuckled as he fired upon Celestia. 

Hana rolled under another car as soon as the attack began, and Makoto sank into the shadow of another. That left Celestia, who dove over the roof of one. 4A’s attack caught her ankle, which immediately began to rot. This meant that, when she landed, that leg gave out on her, and she crashed to the ground. 4A stepped around the vehicle and looked down on her once more, chuckling even louder in the process. “Let’s make this fast, shall we?”

Rain battered the warehouse’s windows as Brenton rushed behind a forklift, and another one of Hijirihara’s crossbow bolts bounced off of the metal frame. “Boston!” Brenton cried out. “Remember me?”

Hijirihara pondered the point for a moment. “Ah, you.”

This caused Brenton to hiss. Did this bastard seriously not remember him that well? One adventurous worker went out to investigate the source of the noise, poking his head out of the doorway that led to the stairs that led to the second floor offices. Brenton noticed him, and quickly blew his brains out with nary a thought. “You murdered my Sire. For that, I will murder you.”

“A motive,” Hijirihara exclaimed, as if he was happy to hear such a claim. “But revenge like this is so simple. Too simple. Twelve out of one-hundred. Your passion is lacking.”

It was a game to him, Brenton thought. A silly game. The Kindred let out a roar as he stood up and moved out into the open, ready to end Hijirihara in a fit of roaring justice. This earned him a crossbow bolt to the shoulder, which sent him tumbling to the ground. Another worker, following behind his friend, poked his head out of the same door. This earned him a crossbow bolt from Hijirihara, pinning him to the door as a warning to everyone else to not interfere with their business. 

“You’re only making this more tedious,” 4A sighed as Celestia rolled under another car. At some point he’d simply peek under a vehicle and spray down there, but for now, he was curious to see if this obvious Fledgling had any tricks up her sleeve that he should be aware of. This time, he leapt on top of the car, and looked down on her as she emerged.

“Stop!” Celestia screamed, a desperate attempt at Domination fueled by the reluctant thought that she was most likely going to die begging for her life. Elegance left Celesta as she resorted to trying to crawl backwards, as if she could inch her way out of range of the strange fleshy weapon.

4A winced. “Nice try. Unfortunately-”

His attempt at a rebuttal ended with Makoto emerging from the shadows behind him. The other Fledgling grabbed 4A’s ankle and yanked it out from under him, resulting in him taking a stiff tumble onto the hood of the car that nearly crushed the entire interior. 4A spun his head towards Makoto and hissed, before spinning himself and kicking the boy in the face. Makoto reeled back, crashing down to the concrete against a previous car.

4A slid off of the top and landed on the ground, only for Celestia to roll back under the car, sewing needle in hand. She reached out and planted it in the same ankle that Makoto had pulled on, which caused him to cry out and collapse onto one knee. She rolled out again, this time right by 4A’s side. He had just enough time to look up at his attacker before she pulled out a second sewing needle, which she jammed into his eye. The sharp instrument froze against the back of his skull, and he turned to ash around it; leaving Celestia holding a bent sewing needle as her front was stained with ash. 

For a moment, Celestia was frozen. At that time, Makoto stood up and stumbled over to her side. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she flatly remarked as she looked down at her ankle. 

Makoto handed her a blood bag, taking it out from inside of his jacket. Mercifully, those remained intact. “Take this, and let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Keiko sat slumped against the wall inside of the warehouse. She didn’t expect to survive. In fact, at this point, she expected the entire operation to have failed, and for someone to be on their way to execute her. Probably that Sabbat bastard, that would fit her luck. First she couldn’t protect her Ghoul, and now she can’t protect herself. This level of self-loathing was unbecoming of someone of her stature, but what else could she do? She couldn’t even move her eyes to look at who was coming to kill her. All she could do was feel the footsteps and listen for any sign of who it might be.

But her death never came. Something plastic pressed against her lips, and then a spurt of blood flew into her mouth. The fluid trickled down her throat, and slowly feeling and motion returned to her body. Life and warmth returned to her, and she turned her head to see Brenton’s Childe, and crouching closer to her, feeding her blood, was Makoto. 

“What happened?” Keiko asked, unable to hide her relief. 

“Uhh…” Makoto stammered, before Celestia interrupted.

“Hana is outside. Injured, but alive. Daisuke has presumably died, my apologies. Xiu, Hijirihara, and my Sire are unaccounted for.”

“Thank you, both of you,” Keiko replied as she stood up. “Let’s get inside.”

Celestia suddenly stepped in front of Keiko. “I’ll go inside. You and Makoto go outside and meet with Hana. She’s undefended out there.”

For a moment, Keiko was frozen. This Fledgling had no right to order her around. Yet, something in her eyes… confidence, perhaps? Some kind of strength. Keiko nodded. “Indeed, but be quick.”

For the third time in his life, Brenton had gotten close enough to Hijirihara to touch him. Hijirihara had traded his crossbow for a sword, and all Brenton had was his fists. But something deep inside of Brenton was guiding him through this battle. Hijirihara found him to be like water, shifting and shaping around his sword without ever being truly cut. 

“I’m going to kill you!” Brenton repeated as he finally got a lucky shot in, landing a punch to Hijirihara’s ribs as the Kuei-Jin missed yet another slash. Killer Killer laughed and stumbled backwards.

“Let’s see you tr-” his words were interrupted by another punch, this time to his face.

Hijirihara stumbled backwards as Brenton grabbed a length of rebar out of a bundle. Hijirihara had barely recovered from the last punch before another one sent him stumbling to the ground. All the Kuei-Jin could do was struggle to shake the fog out of his mind as Brenton stabbed him through the ribcage with the rebar. Hijirihara screamed as Brenton began to twist it, wrapping the end that went into Hijirihara around his wrists to leave him pinned to the floor and bound.

“Very few stupid bastards will understand what being in this much pain does to you,” Brenton spat. “But I know. And if you didn’t before, now you will.”

Brenton leaned down to speak to Hijrihara. The flames were rapidly spreading throughout the warehouse, igniting construction materials and electronics in equal measure. It wouldn’t be long until the entire place was brought down, but Brenton couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You don’t seem to know who I am, and maybe that’s because I have become a monster since we last met. I became a monster so I could kill a monster like you.” Brenton reached for his revolver to finish the Kuei-Jin.

But he didn’t find it. Brenton figured that he must have dropped it in the fight, so he turned around to look for it. There, he found Celestia, holding his revolver. Not just holding it, but aiming at him. He was practically deafened by the gunshot, and blinded by the flash, and anything else he could have felt was overridden by the sensation of a bullet ripping through his neck. 

Brenton fell to the ground, and Celestia wasted no time. She leapt into the air, and landed on his ankle with as harsh of a stomp as she could manage. The bones shattered and he let out a choked scream, muffled by the blood pooling in his throat, and he only screamed harder as she did the same thing to his other ankle. The worst part was the laughter he could hear from her as she sat on his chest, holding his face in both hands and forcing him to look at her.

“You stupid, old man. I’m a snake. And the greatest trick this Devil will ever pull was convincing you that she didn’t exist.” Celestia laughed in his face, a cruel, mocking cackle that terrified him. “You should have respected me so much more than you did. But I’m a vampire with a soul. Instead of letting you live the rest of your life regretting what you did, I give you… five minutes, give or take a bit, before these fires end your miserable existence.”

She laughed again as she dropped the revolving just out of his reach and stood up. Brenton’s screams turned into desperate attempts at vitriol and profanity as he desperately struggled to shift himself enough to reach his gun. In the meantime, Celestia ran to Hijirihara’s side. For a moment, she pondered whether or not to take the Kuei-Jin, before deciding it’d look even better if she managed to get him back too. So, with more difficulty than she would’ve liked, she unwrapped the rebar from around his hands, before picking him up and beginning to carry him. 

“Wait,” Hijirihara suddenly interrupted her. “There’s another one here. That Xiu girl.”

Celestia closed her eyes and sighed, and went back for her as well.

Keiko and Makoto had brought Hana around to the front, and all three of them watched as Celestia emerged from the burning building with two bodies draped across her shoulders. She panted and dumped both of them rather unceremoniously on the concrete, and Makoto rushed to treat them both. Hana and Keiko both approached the fancily dressed Fledgling. 

“Celestia, what happened?” Hana started. “Where’s Brenton?”

“Brenton is about to die because he shot Hijirihara and Xiu. I almost died saving them both, and it wasn’t because of the fire,” Celestia replied.

“What?” Hana and Keiko replied at the same time.

“She’s right!” Hijirihara called out as Makoto treated Xiu. “Before my eyes, he betrayed us all. Tragic.”

Keiko let out a soft hum. “And I never saw who shot me when I stepped inside. I find it likely that Brenton took myself and Xiu out so he could get at Hijirihara. I don’t suppose his helper knew anything about this, did she?”

“Right, well-” Hana trailed off before turning tail and sprinting away as quickly as she could. Keiko sighed and rubbed her temples. No point in chasing after her in their condition. In fact, she should probably thank some sort of deity that not only was she saved, the betrayal tonight seemed to be confined to one particularly stupid Anarch going into business for themselves.

“And you sided against your own Sire?” Keiko asked Celestia.

“He fired upon me first,” Celestia lied. “I had no choice but to.. well…”

“Celestia,” Keiko sighed. “It seems as if you’re without a Sire and we have been betrayed. I can’t guarantee anything, but would you appreciate a position-”

“I would and I thank you for it.”

“Do not interrupt me,” Keiko sternly replied. “But we are glad to have you. I’m sure that Makoto will appreciate-” Keiko turned to look at the boy, only to see just Hijirihara and Xiu. “What the fuck is Makoto!?”

Xiu pointed towards the door of the warehouse.

Brenton finally got his hands on his revolver, but he couldn’t do much of anything else. All around him was fire, growing in heat and intensity. He couldn’t stand, just raise himself up on his hands while trying to look for a way out. He knew that he had mere moments before the thought of being trapped in a flaming building would trigger him to Frenzy, and in this state, that would effectively mean his death. He couldn’t let that happen. Hijirihara walked free, and that was all that mattered to him. He needed to fix that before he died. 

Then, he felt something grab him. He looked back as he was wrenched off of the ground by that Fledgling from the Camarilla. To his mind, the short, wimpy looking bastard who they only kept around because nobody worth their weight would show up to bat for the Camarilla in Japan.

“Let’s go,” the Fledgling exhaled as he began to look around for the nearest way out.

“Let go of me, fucker!” Brenton roared back as he tried to struggle free. “I’d rather die here than go with you people!”

Makoto just sighed as he began dragging Brenton towards one of the side doors. It didn’t help that the older Kindred was thrashing and waving his arms around as best as he could, but Makoto just hooked his hands under the man’s armpits and dragged him along the cold concrete floor until they were outside. Soon after, as Makoto dragged him through the loading bay, the warehouse collapsed. The Fledgling found himself frozen to the spot as the entire building caved in, and dust and rubble filled the air just as he could hear sirens in the distance getting louder.

“Where are all of your friends?” Brenton broke the silence. “All you Camarilla fu-”

“They’re not here. I’m not with them,” Makoto replied as he continued carrying Brenton away. It took Brenton a moment, but he understood.

Hijirihara almost fell off of the turnpike after the first punch. That allowed Brenton to push him so that he was dangling off the side. 

“End of the road, buddy,” Brenton couldn’t help but laugh. He could hear Richard approaching from behind, presumably to congratulate him. The only reason he didn’t kill this Kuei-Jin right in that moment was because he was sure that his Sire would have questions for the being.

That moment of hesitation was all that it took. Hijirihara grabbed Brenton’s wrists and yanked downwards, intending to take both of them to the ground off of the turnpike. To compensate, Brenton pulled back, yanking Hijirihara back upwards. From there, it was simple for the Kuei-Jin to forcibly spin Brenton around and lock an arm around his neck. It moved so quickly that Brenton could hardly respond as Hijirihara reached down to his waist and took out his revolver. Brenton watched in horror as Hijirihara raised the firearm, trained it on Richard, and fired six times.

Bullet after bullet ripped through the elder Kindred so quickly that Brenton couldn’t respond until the man was already ash. The moment was so shocking that he didn’t reply as Hijirihara held his revolver against his head and attempted to fire it, only to be disappointed with the click of an empty chamber. Deciding to cut his losses, the Kuei-Jin pushed Brenton forward, and then leapt off the side of the turnpike himself.

Brenton landed in a puddle of water and his Sire’s ash, so numbed by what he had seen that for several minutes he laid there and wondered if it had even been real. It took the sun almost rising for Brenton to raise himself and rush to the Roadmaster, burying himself in the trunk and sleeping until the next night, where he could begin his vengeful journey.