[b]Later[/b]...

Tony was not a guy with a car thief skillset or any particular comfort in playing the role of some sort of kidnapper, but other people in the bunker clearly had the skillset. 

So they got their hands on one of those full-sized vans that a plumber might use and some other sundries and then parked themselves near the Rusty Steak Knife, which was an awful name for even a seedy looking bar like this. That was the exterior, anyway. Vampires enjoyed their melodrama and what looked like a seedy joint was actually meticulously designed to be seedy. Inside was a nightclub that'd rate with anything one might find in the richest part of the city, designed to be as chic and ultramodern and unbelievable as possible. 

It was a place where the vampires brought their new thralls, or people about to be enthralled -- blood dolls, muscle, government officials and businessmen that they were trying to subvert. It was a busy, bloody little beehive of activity, especially as Nemsemet took the gloves off on creating more vampires and enthralling more mortals.

Vampires did so adore to hide in plain sight. The number of couture'd people mingling nearby, however, as well as the presence of thralls in somewhat cheaper suits and wielding radios gave a bit of a lie to that. Sure, it was in the ghetto, but vampires didn't fear mortal gangs. In most cases, they had control of them anyway and what they didn't control they could wipe out pretty quickly enough -- it was a simple matter of supplying rivals with guns moreso than slaughtering outright. No one screwed with the operation, as a result. The security wasn't there because they were worried about mortals -- they always had the mortals in the palm of their hands. It was the great advantage of vampires.

The vampires, moreso than any other group that existed in the society of the Courts, were masters of subverting mortal institutions -- their blood was addictive, they looked very human. They had the advantage of being human once, and knowing the system more thoroughly. A predator who was once the prey knew all the prey's vulnerabilities, given sufficient thought.

Moreso than any in the Courts, they adapted to the modern world and thrived, only held in check by the rules that kept them from breeding too many, too fast and endangering their existence. And apparently, Nemsemet played upon the right ones with their frustrations at living in the shadows, promising a better day. 

It was headache-inducing to think about it. Sure, the Court was messed up -- the tithe alone was onerous taxation, kept high so as to ensure a steady pool of servants and keep the Courts nobility in plush luxury. It created the resentments that led to so many supporting Nemsemet in dismantling the system, even if it meant throwing mortals to the wolves. And some of them were the wolves, so that idea was made even more appealing.

Tony was in the driver's seat, wearing mechanic's coveralls -- he figured he was black and that made the whole disguise credible, but he had to stay in the car with a good bit of air freshener because vampires could smell him; their sense of smell was acute too. It meant he couldn't do the snatch, but that was okay, because he didn't want Rivike doing the driving anymore anyway. 

Theirs wasn't the only vehicle, but this was the snatch-van. "Okay, guys, I'm coming up on it," he said as he parked the van nearby.