[img]https://www.zerohedge.com/sites/default/files/images/user3303/imageroot/20170426_riots.jpg[/img] [b]Los Angeles[/b] [b]The Nights of Last Summer[/b] Nines rolled with the punches. These were lessons he had learned well before he had entered the world of the Kindred, but they were lessons he had put to far better use since then he ever had before. Los Angeles was aflame, caught in a civil war between two people he had both considered allies at different stages. Two people who had mislead the Anarch movement from its inception, but ultimately made it possible. For some, that might have come as something of a speed bump. A crisis of identity. Not Nines, Nines rolled with the punches. He dished them out as well. The latest to encounter this last fact was an unfortunate Gangrel Kindred of whome there was very little left. Nines finished the blow which would end the kindred's struggle, for now, before ducking to avoid a hail of fire, keeping low to the ground, he darted across the street. Usually the streets of the city made for little cover from aggressive fire, but such was the devastation around them that he made it across without a scratch, not even having to depend upon the heights of his supernatural ability, moving between the burned out shells of unfortunate vehicles. Awaiting him, a few pensive looking faces. Another pair of Brujah, fellow Anarchs who would follow him regardless of his stated allegiance. None could command the loyalty of the Anarch Burjah like Nines Rodriguez, none perhaps save Smiling Jack, and neither had ever looked for the leadership many had tried to shove upon them. The other face was apart from the others, a slight Ventrue, Rachel was one of Eva's coterie, and spoke to their current loyalty. It had not been hard, while the Kid might command the loyalty of some of the Anarch greats, the old guard, he was also visibly insane, as far as Nines could tell. His rebellion had been a key part of Eva's own. With both Nines and Catlin (Yanci, he corrected himself) urging them to forsake the advice of their embittered elders, the younger, more populous, Brujah of LA seemed to sway in their bulk towards Hollywood's hidden mistress. This was not to say there was not plenty of fighting still to be done. The Sabbat pushing their limits within the city only further complicated matters. "We're in a right hole here. They have us pinned up against the Sabbat, no way we're getting out of here in one group." Nines broke the news to the others. A few last minute changes in allegiance had left them in a rather exposed position once the fighting had started in full. Rachel had been in position to secure key assets for their rebellion, while Nines and the others were sent in to secure Rachel once it looked like a few too many faces had broken their promises to support them against the Kid. Such behavior would be repaid, but only if they lived through the night. "Diego and I will run at their guns, see if we can't get their full attention. Our car's a few blocks away, you two get out of here, regroup with the others, then come get us." It was typical Nines bravado and heroism, but it had never failed him yet. Rachel wasn't particularly self serving for a Ventrue, but she had a duty to perform to Eva, and she couldn't do so dead. Equally, Nines' reputation was hard to avoid, he always survived things like this. It would not go to plan though, not this time. It wasn't a failure on their part, Rachel and her Brujah companion were fast and smart, Nines and his were fast and hit hard, and loud. But these were not just Sabbat they were facing, they were up against those who until a day ago would call them allies, and they knew Nines as well, knew the stunts he would pull, and there was more of them than they thought. [i]More than there should have been[/i] The thought crossed Rachel's mind as she once again, for what seemed like the hundreth time, hunkered down in cover, like a soldier in a warzone, not the exceptional lawyer she was. This wasn't her element, but even then, her mind raced, pulling apart the situation. None of it made sense. There should not have been enough opposition to keep both split parties pinned down, but all physical evidence suggested otherwise. Somewhere, hidden in the equation, was a factor none of them had foreseen. Their assailants were approaching. There was only so much cover a side street could provide, and, assured that the other half of their targets were pinned down elsewhere, they were free to move from their own cover, approaching for a better angle. Rachel had a gun in her hand, that was rare enough, the Brujah with her was equally armed. It would be hard, but they might just make it out. If only she had a few more moments, she could have picked the situation apart better. Then, drifting over the air, drifting louder than fires burning nearby, of the boom and patter of gunfire, was the oddest noise. Music. [i]Sometimes I get my head in a dilly Feeling so lost, ticking you off[/i] She couldn't pinpoint the noise, nor could their assailants. The crack of their suppressing fire diminished, as they tracked the area around them for a new target. Not a large enough window for Rachel to act, but enough for her to note. The music continued on, the chirpy tune anathema to the events it underscored. She could hear the rival Brujah talking among themselves, ordering sweeps of the area, before another voice carried over them. "What a lovely n-" The crack of gunfire interrupted the voice. It had been melodious, even sing song, before it had been interrupted. [i]Baby there's a Shark in the Water[/i] "Now, that was quite rude." The explosion of noise that followed the crescendo of the song exceeded even the improbable blast of the song. The chatter of the Brujah became more eratic, desperate, before they were met with only the occasional scream. Among it all was a powerful void of sound, an efficiency of movement and power that rendered their attack a blind spot to the senses. There was almost a supernatural pull at them, and within the next few moments both Rachel and her Brujah companion could not help but start to leave their cover simply to gaze upon what had occurred. They glimpsed only the final moments of their circumstance, a male kindred, who had moments before been their aggressor, stumbling down the alley. His leg had been shattered, but he clung to defiance, or terror, either way he moved towards them, but there was no hostile intent to his actions. Simply the desire to get away. He did not make it far. There was a crack in the air, and the Brujah toppled forwards. Standing above him, was a Kindred. Young of feature, almost achingly handsome, watching as the gangster-turned-kindred crumpled to the ground, before descending into the ash of Final Death. When the newcomer looked up, he did so with a smile that was hopelessly disarming. "Ah, there you are." He spoke, with that sing-song voice. "Who...who are you, why did you help us?" The words were not Rachel's, she had yet to find her's, although something about the manner in which the newcomer took his next few steps towards them filled her with dread. "Help you? Didn't you hear the song." -------- Pain. Pain was everything that she was. She had possessed a name once, identity, but it was lost in the feeling. She writhed in the darkness, her own mind pulling itself apart, as he took her secrets from her. "Unusual, I suppose. Most of our Kind only rely on their own blood. But you, an adopted little Ventrue childe. It seems the grand-chile is much like her sire, for all his flaws." Those were words that had meaning, she could remember that, but she could not placed them, as she writhed upon the ground. Ground that was slick. The floor, she realised, was awash with blood. Had it always been so? She couldn't remember. As soon as she realized this, the hunger returned, the aches of her body felt worse, almost enough to drown out the pain of her mind. Even as she convulsed, she gulped down the vitae, surprised, and horrified, to discover it was still warm. Once she had done this, her mind returned to its destructive pain. "Fear not, none of what you are will go to waste, all your wasted independence, the folly of your mind, shall be honed to a greater purpose." Despite herself, the words comforted her. She could not remember what it was to not be commanded by him, for what he said must be so. Even as she thought such things, the pain subsided, as if such things pleased the malignant force that consumed her very being. A sob escaped her, a sob of purest relief at the slightest lessening of her pain. Her eyes cracked open, and she looked upon her surroundings. The vitae ran across the ground, but the walls. The walls were mirrors. "An easy trick. I once broke a Lasombra here with the barest effort. Merely allowed them to stare into the abyss that was themselves for an eternity. The Sabbat are even easier than you, mayfly." Again, those words, names, had meaning, but she could not hold them, but it did not matter, the pain was less. She could not see him, the voice was from above, behind, to the side of her, ever out of her vision as she twisted to glimpse the voice. Then it spoke again. "Rachel, wake up." She was herself again, the memories flooded in, meanings, identity. The ghost of the pain remained, and she could not rid herself of it. It was only then that she realized where she was. She had moved. The face that looked up at her was the same from the night. The night that seemed so long ago, still as handsome, still smiling, still without the barest hint of warmth. She was straddled across the man. She could not remember moving, let alone bringing herself so close to anyone. She screamed, and attempted to pull away, but found she could not. The noise, and her effort, seemed only to stir his cruel features further to mirth. "L...L..Lubbock." She managed, with the return of her identity, so came her knowledge, and she connected dots just as fast as she would in any other situation. Hints from Eva, reports of the mad ravings of the Kid. The kind of power he demonstrated in his barest movement, this was everything the Kid had feared and more. "Good, good. " Recognition seemed to please him further. He reclined atop a simple chair, sat at the centre of the same room as before, although the floor was quite dry, and mirrored. She wondered if the other details had simply been the inventions of her failing mind. The fact she was there, atop him, seemed almost inconsequential to him. "Alas, little mayfly, this may have been an entertaining evening, but, you have fulfilled your use." "They...she...will find you." She managed to murmer, once again she felt the pressure of his will upon her, speaking was becoming difficult again, almost as constricting as whatever force held her in place. It was as if his very existence was enough to crush her will to nothing. Lubbock noticed this, and the grin only widened. "Perhaps they will not have to." The elder kindred held something aloft, a dagger, although it seemed to pulse in the air, with a languide motion, he placed it over his own heart, point first, before, slowly, he moved her hands with his own, placing them atop the hilt of the dagger, while he held it steady. "Kill me." The command struck her like a direct blow. Her eyes roamed to his, the unfathomable darkness they held within them, before drifting back to the blade. "Go on, do it. Think of all that you'll save, maybe even yourself, but certainly your allies, friends, coterie," He continued, his voice a full sing-song once more. Internally she strained, screamed, urged herself to do so. The muscles of her arms bulged as she fought to do it. But even as she wished to, even as he commanded, her thoughts clouded with the same miasma as before. She saw his features and witnessed perfection, for every inch of her that wished to slay him, another fought back to simply crawl and bow. "Come along now." She wailed, but she did not no if the sound passed from her lips. Tears ran down her eyes, sobs wracked her as she tried. Tried desperately to press the dagger those few extra inches, to push into his heart whatever arcane relic the dagger was, for it hummed with power. "KILL ME." He roard, an avalanche of noise, as if his patience has run out. In that moment she crumbled, and with another shriek, a true one, found her strength and pulled the dagger up, before plunging it down. Into her own heart. The last thing she heard as the Final Death claimed her, as the vitae that rejuvenated her Kindred form splattered across the man who had shattered her mind. Was laughter. Laughter and music. [i]Baby, there's a shark in the water I caught them barking at the moon[/i]