[center] [img]  https://potd.pdnonline.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/the-one-point-eight-hawthorne-mall-01.jpg [/img] [/center] 

Bruno snarled at the giant man, as he came stomping out of the darkness, with the stock-still corpse of a lithe woman slung over one shoulder.

The rod of metal sticking out of her chest, like a gleaming totem pole, suggested that she was a kindred that had been staked, and forced into torpor. 

“Still keeping up the gangster bravado, I see.” the enormous figure chuckled, roughly dropping his motionless captive down next to Bruno. 

“[i]Gangster[/i] doesn’t begin to cover it, you brainless gorilla,” he hissed, fury burning in his chest like red hot coals, “when the family finds out where I am, your half baked little rebellion is gonna go down like the fucking’ Hindenburg.” 

“So you keep saying.” the brawny thug murmured, with an amused grin. 

Bruno had found himself in the gutted out carcass of what looked to be an old mall. Dusty, unmoving escalators burrowed down into the ground, akin to shadowy tunnels delving into the depths of Hades, and the grubby ceiling was riddled with ancient, exposed beams. 

The ground was dusty and faded, and ravaged cavens served as the tombs of long-abandoned shops and stores. 

“I’m gonna enjoy ripping that smug look off of your greasy-ass face,” Bruno leered, rattling against the chains which bound him, “right before I smash your head like a watermelon.” 

The giant man turned away from the paralyzed hostage, and stomped over to where Bruno was bound. 

He glanced down at the gleaming golden rolex on Bruno’s wrist. 

“Nice.” the gargantuan figure laughed, before bending down, and snatching it up, with a swift tug. 

Red hot rage exploded inside Bruno, with all the sky-darkening wrath of an erupting volcano. 

“You just signed your fucking death warrant, asshole!” he roared. 

[hr]

Gertrude Aschefeld took a small sip from her flask, relishing the taste of hot coffee. 

She sat behind the wheel of her old, second-hand hatchback, listening to a Sam Cooke CD, and softly drumming along on the dashboard. 

The back of Gertrude’s car was dominated by a messy clump of teaching supplies, and other stray bits and bobs. 

Like her hallowed crusader’s sword, which had one of Saint Lucy’s teeth embedded in the gleaming metal hilt. 

That sword was Gertrude’s most prized possession, narrowly topping the enormous messerschmitt that sat on top of her model cabinet at home, which she had built all by herself, in between sessions of marking English homework. 

Gertrude allowed herself another swig of coffee, enjoying the way it breathed a rush of soothing energy into her brain. She knew some hunters to prep with much stronger substances, but caffeine was more than enough for her, thank you very much. 

All Mrs Aschefeld needed was a nice strong coffee, and a quiet moment of reflection, with a few calming songs drifting serenely in the background. 

The English teacher didn’t care for crystal meth roaring through her veins, or a mind burning with anger.She did not relish bloodshed, as some did, but instead viewed it as a brutal necessity. 

The hunt filled her with pride, but not because of the act of destruction, or the thrill of battle. She was proud of herself for making a stand, and building a better world for her students. 

How many teachers said they would kill for their pupils? Gertrude Aschefeld had, many times, and would continue to do so, for as long as the Lord wished it. 

Trudy had been teaching professionally for fifteen years, and hunting God’s enemies for ten. 

At the small party her church had thrown her, to commemorate her first five years as an educator, some frenzied, bloodsucking monster had broken into the town hall, and killed three people, before Gertrude had thrust an enormous metal crucifix through its mouth, and reduced it to a withered pile of ash. 

One of the victim’s was a young woman called Stacy, who had been due to attend Yale, later that year. Stacy was only at the party to say thank you to Mrs Aschefeld, for staying behind after hours, to help her with English homework. 

On that night, as she watched the sun rise in the distance, and cull the creeping darkness, Trudy had sworn that she would never let those abominations kill another innocent child. 

Mrs Gertrude Aschefeld had become an instrument of God's wrath, and a relentless one at that. 

Once “A Change is Gonna Come” slowly wound down, the English teacher got out of her car, and began assembling her hunting supplies. She fastened her sacred blade onto her back, and slipped the Smith and Wesson - which her husband got her for their seventh wedding anniversary - into a holster on her belt. 

After that, Trudy placed both hands together, and shut her eyes. 

“Bless your servant, O’Lord,” she whispered, “that I may cleanse the wicked from this land, and shield the innocent from the devil’s evil.” 

When she was done praying, Trudy steadied herself, and set about on her mission. 

[hr] 

Vi and the sour-faced man sat lonesomely, like helpless rabbits, locked in the hungry gaze of a leering fox. 

Whatever chains their hands had been bound in, there was some bizarre magic at work, and even a burst of potence couldn’t shatter the mysterious, iron-like metal. 

“These cock-sucking [i]puttanas[/i] are dead,” Vi’s cellmate snarled, his eyes burning with fierce anger, “they’ve got no idea who they’re fucking with.” 

“And who [i]are[/i] they fucking with?” Violetta asked, in her customarily impassive tone. 

“Bad people,” the grim figure promised, “people that you don’t want to cross.” 

Just then, the meek figure of David the thin-blood poked his head around the doorframe, and popped into view.

A stab of icy rage, mingled with out-and-out sorrow, ripped through the ventrue’s dead heart. 

[i]“Pieprzony zdrajca.”[/i] Vi hissed, flashing her pointed fangs, as she cursed in her family’s native tongue. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Vi.” Dave murmured dejectedly, with the hesitant misery of a child who knew they were about to be scolded by their parents. 

“Cut these chains, and we’ll see how likely that is.” Violetta spat, her words seeped in boiling venom. 

Anger was not a foreign feeling to Violetta Kyborowski, but she had grown accustomed to biting her tongue, and letting rage temper quietly inside her. 

This was different. 

Unlife had made a cold, self-reliant woman of Vi, and David was one of the few people that she had allowed to glimpse, even briefly, beneath her rock solid exterior, which she wore like resilient armour, guarding the last vestiges of her sacred humanity. 

She had let David see her as she truly was, and he had thrown it back in her face. 

“The Camarilla can’t stop what's coming, Vi,” Dave promised, “Teach and I have seen things…” 

The thin-blood briefly trailed off, scrambling to find the right words.

“This is an act of mercy,” he explained, with apparent sincerity, “I’m trying to help you!” 

“Is that why we’re chained up, you little [i]rat[/i]?” the sour-faced man growled at Dave. 

The thin-blood ignored him, and focused on Violetta. 

“Nines, Therese ,and every other power-hungry Anarch are going to come crashing down, right on top of Vannevar’s pompous little head,” he pressed on, “there is going to be one hell of a war, like we haven’t seen since MacNeil’s revolt, but all of it will just be one big smoke screen, because something much more powerful is-” 

“I [i]don’t care[/i],” Vi let out a outraged mixture of a dry laugh and a violent snarl, “you sniveling little [i]ślimak[/i].” 

A short silence fell over the room, broken suddenly by a bout of deranged cackling, which exploded out of the sour-faced man. 

David seethed quietly, just as the towering figure of Sheriff Teach strode out of the shadows, carrying himself like a hardened medieval warrior. 

“Dead man walking!” Vi’s cellmate barked, like a frenzied hound, at the sight of the sheriff“you’re a dead man walking!”

“Do you like my new watch, Miss Kyborowski?” Teach asked, flashing a glittering gold rolex, with a shit-eating grin plastered across his broad face. 

The other captive exploded into a hysterical, mouth-frothing string of impassioned italian, displaying exactly the sort of monumental rage that Vi felt searing within her own heart. 

“The only reason you haven’t met final death is because David is adamant that you remain unharmed,” Teach explained to Violetta, “Mister Bruno is untouched because he is going to make [i]excellent[/i] bait.” 

[i]“Va’ a farti fottere!”[/i] Bruno growled back in response. 

A deep, rumbling chuckle rolled out of the towering sheriff. 

“Tell me, Miss Kyborowski,” the goliath kept his gaze fixed squarely on Violetta, “does the name [i]Lubbock[/i] mean anything to you?” 

No sooner had the words left Teach’s lips, then a cataclysmic bang barked through the air, and the right side of his face exploded into sickly red pulp. 

“Holy fudge nuggets!” David shrieked. 

Seemingly without notice, a middle-aged woman, precisely grasping a Smith and Wesson, had found her way into the mall, and the look which gleamed in her eyes told Vi that she very much had a score to settle. 

The newcomer also appeared to have a great big, fuck off sword strapped to her back. 

Her arsenal of lethal weapons was particularly at odds with her long tartan skirt, knitted cardigan, and round spectacles. 

“The lord judges,” the gun-toting matron declared, “I act.” 

Teach snapped around to face his assailant, half of his face reduced grisly jelly. 

The sheriff let out a bestial roar, and flew towards the woman, with his claws unsheathed. 

“Untie us, David!” Vi barked frantically at the terror-stricken thin blood. 

The middle-aged crusader fired off another round, blowing a hole clean through Teach’s abdomen, and stopping him in his tracks. 

With nimble efficiency, she slipped the revolver into its holster, and unsheathed the blade on her back. 

Without warning, a plume of blinding, white hot flame exploded into being, wrapping itself around the glistening sword like a serpent hugging a jungle tree. 

“Fuck me.” Bruno gasped, beneath his lack of breath. 

Even looking upon the glowing blade made every fiber of Vi’s undead being thrum with primal terror. 

“UNTIE US!” Violetta roared once more, glaring daggers at David. 

Fumbling awkwardly, the thin blood rushed over to his captives, clutching a long, thin key. 

A stone’s throw away, Teach took another lunge at the tartan-wearing zealot, only to clumsily leap backward, as a single swing of the fire-glazed blade sent him reeling away, and floundering across the floor. 

Dave dropped down behind the two captives, and awkwardly unlocked their bindings, with a sharp click. 

The pressure around Vi’s wrists loosened, as the magical chains clattered to the ground. 

“Okay, now he-” 

Without missing a beat, Violetta grabbed David by the throat, and hoisted him up off the floor, with the preternatural strength of potence thundering through her veins, like a rampaging bull. 

“You always were a [i]fucking idiot[/i].” she hissed. 

The ventrue spun around, and hurled Dave’s meek form across the room, sending him smashing straight into the unfolding battle between the sheriff and his holy aggressor. 

With a sharp thud, all three figures were knocked to the ground, landing in a chaotic heap on the grimy mall floor. 

“Time to haul ass!” Bruno shouted, making a mad dash for the exit. 

Not waiting to see what happened next, Violetta rushed after the vampire, and the two of them bolted through a dark stretch of deserted corridors. 

They smashed through a pair of mammoth metal doors, and came stumbling out into the night. A long expanse of smooth black tarmac and small, rectangular shops greeted them. 

With a sudden screech, a slick silver car came skidding down the road, and pulled up right infront of the pair of kindred. 

“About fuckin’ time!” Bruno snapped, angrily. 

A blacked out window rolled down, to reveal a pale woman, with short black hair, and large brown eyes. 

“Where in god’s name have you been?!” Bruno demanded. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she replied icily, in a faint dutch accent. 

“Let's not stand around, huh?” Vi prompted. 

The pair clambered into the back of the car, and the driver promptly went speeding away down the vast belt of road, without wasting so much as a second. 

Violetta and Bruno reclined on slick leather seats, as the ruins of the derelict mall vanished into a distant spec. 

She had no idea what fate would befall David, but she hoped that it was a drawn-out painful one. He had hurt her in an intimate way, and no agonizing hell was terrible enough for that treacherous little worm. 

“So,” Vi spoke up, once the mall had utterly faded from view, “who are you guys, exactly?” 

“Bruno Giovanni,” her former cellmate told her, “and this is Franziska, a new member of our little family.”