[DFM]

I walk out of the club in a daze. I'm not even sure if what I saw was real. Vampires probably have all kinds of... ways to mess with your head. I don't know why they'd... why she'd... or...

No.

It doesn't matter, I should just forget it. I'll probably need to suppress a lot of what I see from now on, might as well get some practice. Tung's hiding out in an empty oil tank near an abandoned gas station just outside of town. The great Bertram Tung, rival of the Baron of Santa Monica, living out his days in an abandoned oil drum.

I hope that isn't what it means to be a power player in the afterlife. I'm not exactly unaccustomed to squalor, but... I'd prefer not to live in it, if I can help it.

Bad memories.



The walk to the outskirts of town doesn't take long. Sunco. I can't figure out if Tung's being ironic or sarcastic or if there just wasn't anyplace else. The property is fenced off, but the gate's held down with nothing but a padlock. I might be able to vault over the whole thing if I got a running start, but I'd rather not deal with the barbed wire, my twenty grand cloth straps are getting risque enough already.



I pick the lock without much trouble and make my way behind the service station. Only oil tank in sight, that's got to be Tung's place. I don't know if there's a hidden door or a tunnel or just some kind of hole I've got to crawl through. I think about banging on the sides and shouting at him, but I've got no idea how he'll take to that. I prowl around the perimeter of the tank until I get to a relatively large tear in the side.



There's light coming from the inside. Definitely Tung. I hope he's normal, I really do. I don't know if I can take any more crazy. Not even normal crazy, let alone what I've been put through lately.



At least he's managed to wire up some electricity. Maybe he's not doing as bad as I thought.



Well, shit. He's an ugly fucker, too. Who the hell seduced and sired him?



"Look who finally made it. Thought you'd never find me, didn't you, sweatheart?" His voice is gravely and rough, almost raspy, but... there's something about it I like. He doesn't have the twang of superiority all the other vampires I've talked to have had.


Which would be three.





Two.


Three?

"You're Bertram Tung, right?"

"The one and only." It's almost refreshing to hear the charismatic cliche delivered by an uncharismatic voice. "Don't bother with introductions, fledgling. I know who you are."

I'm actually a little surprised.

"You do?"

"News travels down the kindred grapevine like wildfire, sweatheart, and that courtroom spat between LaCroix and Nines Rodriguez is juicy little morsel. With you in the middle, well... I've certainly got less interesting things to watch."

It sounds like I'm already on the center stage of some sort of political upheaval. Not the first place I want to be, but I suppose it's not the last.



It's pretty fucking close, though.

"So, you've been watching me. Then you probably know Therese has Santa Monica firmly in her icy grip again and your inside man is hanging skinless from the ceiling. Figuratively, I mean. Therese didn't actually..."

He looks confused for a moment.



"Wha- Oh. You mean Voermann. That was just silly vampire politicking, cupcake. Ruffle some feathers so everyone knows you haven't gone belly up."

"Therese seemed to take it pretty seriously."

He snorts, almost laughs.

"Yeah, no kidding. Now that the Camarilla moved in to LA, Therese has been running herself ragged trying to get the title 'Prince of Santa Monica'. Guess she saw me as a threat." There's a derisive chuckle. "I wouldn't want to be the Prince of Terre Haute, I'll leave that headache to the Ventrue. Besides, there's like four vampires in all of Santa Monica anyway. Therese can have it."

"The sad little prince on her sad little hill?"

"That's what I'm talking about. Your kind's cut out for that kind of thing. Hmm. Kind of an odd choice for a demolition job, though. Someone must have faith in you, cupcake. Of course they could just want you out of the picture. Interesting choice, either way."

What's he mean 'My kind?'

"You know I'm supposed to take out a... warehouse somewhere, then?"



"Yeah, I've been watching the place. The Sabbat has a bunch of lowlife humans working day and night to move stuff through there. There's some major staging going on, haven't figured out what they're gearing up for, though."

"You mean just humans?"

"Well, as far as I can tell. They seem to know the score from the way they've been talking. I think most of them have aspirations of joining the next graduating class of shovelheads." He snorts. "Ugh, losers."

"Wait, they know they're working for a bunch of monster vampires?"

"Yeah. The Sabbat like everyone to know just who they're dealing with. So if you get in there and have to bust a few heads... don't feel bad. Think of it as... heh, 'upholding the Masquerade.'"

I glance around the mostly empty tank.

"And you can take me there?"



"Yes I can. Just tell me when you're ready and we'll make for the warehouse. Once you're there, though, you're on your own. You'll have to get into the place and plant the explosives in the middle office to take the whole structure down."

"Alright, I need to grab the Astrolite. Probably some other stuff. I'll be back."

"Don't take too long. This isn't really something we planned around your schedule."



I leave the gas station and head back into town. Grab the Astrolite, grab my weapons, head for the warehouse of the damned.



A full on assault is probably out. I've seen well armed squads cut to shreds trying to move in on garrisoned buildings and I don't feel all that super human being dead. Half dead. Sorta dead. Mainly dead, probably.

Maybe if I could get my hands on some hardware and being shot didn't hurt so fucking much I'd consider it.



Coming up now on Santa Monica Suits, home of a handless bounty hunter and a half dead super human.



I hope he didn't turn into an all dead super human.



Mercurio hasn't moved, but he's breathing better. He must have managed to crawl over to the radio and some point, because the evening news is playing.

"-gone wrong at the Surfside Diner only moments ago. Four men, armed with handguns and hunting rifles entered the famous diner in Santa Monica and opened fire on an unknown woman who was eating inside. As patrons and employees dove for cover, the victim retaliated against her attackers with what witnesses described as a 'Samurai Sword', killing all four. Said one witness, 'It was like something out of an action movie. I didn't know real people could do that.' The victim, who was apparently wounded herself, grabbed a rifle from one of the bodies and then fled the scene. Police have no further information on the victim, and the bodies of her assailants have not been identified."

The Elizabeth Dane was found floating-"

I'm awesome.



"Hey, Merc. I'm just hear for the Astrolite."

"You found Tung, then?"

"Yeah, and so you don't get caught with your pants down, Jeanette's dead."

"Shit, really? That's gonna shake things up around here."

"No kidding. I'll see you later, alright?"

"Hey, before you go, you remember what I said. Anything you want, I can get it. Just..."

"Yeah, I know." I give him a smile as I leave. "Not a word to LaCroix."

The man on the couch.

Even if I didn't like him, I'm not going to turn in one of apparently two people in all of California that I can trust.



I grab some newspapers from Mercurio's place before I leave and stuff the explosives as gently as I can into the mammoth purse. No room for anything else, though. I head through the back alleys until I get to my stash of firepower.



If it's gone, somebody's going to have something ripped off. I'll decide what when I get to them.



Good. It's dumb as hell, but the swords worked pretty well so far.



I check the shotgun, pulling the rounds from the chamber. Two. Trip didn't sell any shotgun shells that I could see, and I haven't seen any other place open this late. Damn. I stuff the buckshot back into the gun and set it on the cement. Two shots isn't worth lugging the damn thing around. I wrap the newspaper around the sword and crawl out of my hole.



I hoof it back to the Bertram and tell him I'm ready to go. He takes me across the industrial section of town to a semi abandoned railroad depot. We take an old underground passage that leads up under one of the smaller buildings.

"Up to you now, sweatheart."



He's gone before I can answer. I head up the last stretch of the passageway into the ruined building. Must have been some kind of service station at one point.



I push open the door at the top.



The first low rent shovelhead I see and he's pissing with his back to me. Jesus Christ. No sense shooting him, it'd only alert everyone else. I slip the gun back into my purse and pull the newspaper from the sword. I hold it to my side and creep across the floor, thankful for the first time that I'd lost the heels.





One blade through the spine. And to think, I would've been this easy to kill a night ago. I don't know if I should feel lucky or not.



His head hits the urinal as he goes down, chin catching on the lower lip, lifeless mouth half submerged in urine and grungy water.


I feel a little lucky.



I easy over to the next door and push it slowly open, listening for sounds from the other side.



Nothing, thankfully. The door at the end is locked. I could pick it, maybe, or...



I pry the plywood patch away from the wall. Years of exposure to the wind and rain have worn it down to almost nothing. isn't even nailed to the wall anymore.

If only it was the worst wood I'd ever seen.




I kill myself sometimes.

I crawl the the hole and onto a train platform. There's a homeless man by a barrel fire a little ways away. He hadn't heard me come out. Or he was too far gone to care.



I am kind of hungry... and that blood rush... I could probably use all the help I can get. But... I don't think I'm supposed to turn other people into vampires. I'm pretty sure that's what start this whole mess. I think that means I'd have to kill him, and... I don't really want to do that.

Plus he smells. I mean, really bad. He's probably got small pox or something. And I'd have to... put my mouth on his... skin. God, no. Forget it.



Fuck you, hobo Dave.

I follow the side of one of the trains, listening to a conversation come from somewhere on the other side.



"When I'm a vampire, I'm gonna move to Alaska."

"What? Why Alaska?"

"Geography, man. Winter's just one long night."

"Geography? You even know what Alaska looks like? What the fuck are you gonna eat? Penguins?"



Losers.

I'm out of earshot before I hear the rest of the conversation. I sneak past a few more patrols, whatever heightened senses being dead apparently gives me, they're helping. I make it to the front of the warehouse without anyone seeing me.



Front's too well guarded, I'll have to find a back way in. As I move behind another train car I can hear one of the men on the makeshift observation post.

"There! Did you see that? Something's moving out there."

"Holy shit, calm down. You been sayin' that for weeks and you ain't been right yet."

"I'm tellin' you, I saw something. Gotta be one of those Carmalla... Camilla... one of them other vamps."

"Bullshit. It's probably a bag like it was last time. It's probably not even a bag."

"Fine then, let it eat all of you. See what the fuck I care."



I slip further into the shadows and around the corner. Thank god for the boy who cried wolf.



There's a ladder leading up to the second or third story of the warehouse, just one goon with is back to it. I rush the ladder as quickly and quietly as I can hopping onto it and flying upwards. I'm already over the edge before I hear him turn and start to question what just went past him.



I go to the edge of the tiny attic to a vent cover on the far wall.





I take a careful step out onto the narrow iron beam.



For the second time tonight, I'm suddenly glad I lost the shoes.



None of the guards below seem to be able to hear me. I'm not sure where the 'middle" office would be, exactly, so I head towards the middle of the warehouse, desperately trying to keep my balance.

I was never exactly graceful.



There's a catwalk in the center of the room, just a ways off the floor. I really don't know if I can jump down without being heard. There's a chain dangling just off the beam.



I wrap my hands around it and lower myself down, hand over hand, feet dangling in the air. It's actually surprisingly easy. I suppose even the mildest form of undead strength is enough to outperform anything you'd be able to do prior.



The catwalk ends in a door. I don't hear anything from inside, so I slide it open.



The water cooler by the door gurgles, almost on command.

"What the hell was that?" It comes from one room down.

It's the water cooler you fucking moron. I use some of my power to rush as fast as I can to the nearest cover, a desk near the end of the room, to wait out whoever comes investigating.



Come on...



Leave.



There. This is an office and it's sort of near the middle of the warehouse. If it isn't exactly what Tung meant, it's close enough. I pull the make-shift explosive from my purse and set it under the desk, activating the timer. Three minutes. Two fifty nine.

"Hey!"

I whip around. Someone on the other side of the window behind me, pointing and yelling through the glass. Shit. I grip the sword handle and hurl myself towards the office door, jumping down the stairs.



They're all shouting now. Shots are ringing out everywhere. Shit. I kick open the door.



I have no idea where this goes.



I rush out the door and get funneled down the only exit I can see. I run through the labyrinth of train cars and half ruined buildings, dodging bullets and avoiding all the guards suddenly on the hunt. I leap up onto the deck of the service station just in time to hear a massive explosion and a rush of heat.



I start to turn to admire my work, when I see it running at me across the top of the train.