Mithias gave a long look through his "borrowed" shades at Adam. To the elder vampire, Mithias looked like lowlife shit. His cheap, stolen clothing was torn, stained with blood, and he had done absolutely nothing to his hair. And swords? Really? Even if he had any skill to add to his vampiric strength and speed, couldn't a vampire of any class have more modern equipment? Something explosive at least. Regardless of his apparent lack of pride, there was a worthy, regal aire about him. His stature, and he way he stood perfectly still... he couldn't have been that old to still be caught playing the dirt with humans, nor could he be that smart for having been here at Freelancer. What was to be made of him?

Mithias found this tale of The UK being secretly run by vampires highly intriguing, for in fact, he knew who those vampires were, personally. The part about them framing the Purge could have been true, possibly, but Mithias wanted to hear more.