What is the price of failure? Is it your life? In a way perhaps. But to demand payment of your life was too easy. A life which was worthless was wasted by death. But a life which once had meaning... To take that meaning away? That is the punishment fit for such failings. And now as the suited man twitched upon the floor, his face pale and lips trembling, another sat in his seat. There the human's body convolved in pain, wracked in the immediate transformation as his will was drank dry. Two punctures to his skin, sharpened fangs that pierced deep the mind as the last moments of life slipped away. Without the days of rest between the feedings it was a gruesome process to watch, like slowly dying spider writhing its legs in jerky motions. It was a battle of being paralyzed within your own mind, your free will being wrestled away by the call of blood. It was a tug of war between freedom and enslavement, a battle that tore the psyche apart before fitting it back together. Yet neither the chair nor he who sat in it would budge for the doomed man. [i]Who are you James?[/i] The message from the other end, whomever it was that Agent Rodney had sent communications too was indeed curious. in the corner of the computer screen a young man's face, with scarlet hair and wild green eyes stared intensely into the camera. Did he not know he was being watched? But alas, the old knight was not too well versed in this mode of communications, as these magic boxes were beyond his understanding. Yes, let it be said that Lord Bedivere was the typical geriatric folk when it comes to most means of modern technology. Planes, trains and automobiles, the beginnings of the era of industry was still fresh in his memory. As such agents such as James were useful in acquiring information. However this magic black book resembled a typewriter of sorts and as such Bedivere treated it as so, hoping that this boy would receive his telegram as his fingers found themselves searching for the keys to spell out his message. [b] James is currently indisposed of. This is his superior. Tell me, what has happened to Mithias. James overdue report here appears to tell us he is missing in action. And he was supposed to keep me updated on Lord Varomere's activities in SOLIDER. His report also states you are a SOLIDER agent assigned to Mithias Varomere. Perhaps we can help each other.[/b] The reply came, despite Bedivere's long-winded paragraph of text. In all honest mastering the art of internet communications was difficult for a man used to verbalized commands and orders. Eloquence was not the way of the web, and as such, his continuance to type as Lucan stared bewildered at the screen as words magically appeared letter by letter. To which the Red-head replied back, frantically typing away underneath before Bedivere completed his introduction. [I][b] Taken away to a hospital after a carbomb, I can't find him, SOLIDER has retracted his files. They are sealed behind a protected password. Now how can you help?[/b][/I] [b]Gabriel.[/b] Bedivere smiled at the chosen password. SOLIDER and their silly games, to pick that name of all names. Sure it was the selected codename for the operation, to which as Lucan typed in those seven letters, access was granted to the files. And one smiled, but the other frowned as they read the information on the screen. Vindication at last, as Bedivere massaged his temples and looked down at the still-squirming James. "Good work old boy, but now I am afraid you have earned yourself a tighter leash around your neck. Next time I want this report sent in earlier..." And with that the Vampire lord stepped out of the Agent Rodney's hotel room, walking a few paces towards the elevator and pressing a button to go up. A rather lovely place, the elder amused himself as the waited for the elevator doors to open. For in his awake, a dead cleaning service lady, unceremoniously dumped into the trash bin of her cleaning cart with the rest of the refuse. He did after all ask her politely for her room card. --- Deon? Who was this Deon? And what did it have to do with SOLIDER? SOLIDER the group who Mithias worked for, now betrayed him? Setting up that bomb and selling him out? Betrayed by his own people? Stupid. Stupid humans. Pitiful whelps. Lucan swore to himself he would tear them apart limb from limb from limb for doing this to his Mithias. His sire would know what a good and dedicated servant he was. Yes, whoever this stranger was who replaced James, must have been some top agent or something. Someone important, possibly even a vampire by the way he had addressed his master as 'Lord Varomere' for only vampires did this, and often those old enough to know the common respect there was with old blood. But yes, he knew were Mithias was now. Or he did after some research and chasing the dog down the alley. Information was a wonderful era to be in as he prepared his gun. Yes, a gun which he had used earlier, and would use again. A deranged thrall desperate enough to consider going as a one-man army to rescues his dearest master. But wait, who was that knocking on the door at this hour? A visitor? Here? Now? Of all timing, Lucan pulled his gun to the door, ready to shoot the thing which stood between him and his Mithias. "I hope you know how to drive boy. And wipe that blood off. Then we shall find Mithias." A tall pale man greeted him, dressed in a silvery-white three piece suit one which matched his long mane of hair as it draped down his back like some video game character Lucan recognized from his younger days. And yet even as the red-eyed elder vampire nearly broke his wrist in a hold to wrench the gun free from Lucan's hand, the red-headed thrall couldn't help but stand in awe of the power before him. It was not like his master, but yet still worthy of praise, down the moon-like shimmering bowtie tied perfectly around his neck. Who was this vampire lord? Obviously a lord of course. Held in his other hand a black umbrella while a hotel pool towel seemed to hang off his arm as he threw Lucan back into the room and threw the white Egyptian cottons at him. To argue with this man, who suddenly appeared at his doorstep moments after talking with him over the computer? And bearing a freshly folded and scented towel with an insignia and logo from the Boston Harbor Hotel? Boston was at least a few hours away getting here this was fast... "Do not keep me waiting boy. James kept me waiting, an action he now regrets."