Chicoutimi, Riverside Residences 1:50 AM

Ye Bao was abruptly startled awake from a restless sleep when his phone started obnoxiously playing his work ringtone. He rolled onto his back with an exasperated groan, draping his right forearm over his eyes and savoring the comfortable feeling of his head sinking into his pillow while the mattress softly adjusting to his new position.

He really did not want to get out of bed. It had been a long fucking week as it was- one of the busiest in recent years. The last contract was completed yesterday afternoon and had taken over five sleepless days and nights; the exhaustion had long ago seeped into his bones- pervading his consciousness. No amount of kinky sex, delicious foods, or naps between missions changed that weariness. He had tried. Many times. What he wanted, what he truly, truly, needed was some extended rest and relaxation. At the very least, three days between contracts instead of less than twenty-four hours, on-call notice.

But it was not up to him. It never was, and it never would be. He was the most pampered slave in history. But a slave, nonetheless.

He continuously told his superiors that if things kept going as they were, he would royally screw up- make a terrible, unintended mistake due to exhaustion and a foggy, lagging mind. That was three years ago.

He never made that dreaded mistake.

His superiors paid no attention to his concerns. But it was always there. That incessant, nagging voice in the back of his mind- whispering.

‘Be careful.’, ‘Double-check.’, ‘Are you sure?’, ‘Is that the best way?,’ ‘Did you do it right?’

Self-doubt. Stress. Loss of confidence. Anger. Frustration. He felt like a frayed rope and was close to snapping. His patience and self-control were already thinned out to the point where his superiors would not even allow him out in public until he was cleared. Ye Bao was even suspecting he may be on the way to developing depression. He wondered if that was possible.

‘They better have a good fucking reason for this shit, or I swear by C-’

A frustrated moan sounded closely from his left, promptly followed by a small, cold hand gently smacking him on the forearm.

“Bao’er...” his wife’s tired tone of voice carried the unspoken promise of retribution.

Ye Bao, grunted- refusing to budge. He had no choice of course; he was going to answer the fucking phone. But it was the trivial things, like making his superiors wait, that produced that single, glorious drop of serotonin.

His wife’s hand stopped slapping his forearm, and instead gently fell onto his stomach with fingers spread and her palm flat against his warm skin.

Ye Bao raised an eyebrow, though his eyes remained closed.

The feather-light touch of a dainty index finger traced up the middle of his lean abdomen and then ever-so-slowly moved further up onto his chest, circling around his left nipple.

A tired smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

‘If only we had-’

Then she twisted his nipple. Hard.

Ye Bao yowled as though he had been scalded with hot water- tucking into the fetal position and flailing sideways hard enough to fall off the edge of his side of the bed, taking most of the sheets with him. Thankfully, his right shoulder took the brunt of the impact rather than his face. Not that it would have mattered either way. It was just that he really did not like when something messed with his hair.

‘She loves me- she is just being cute. How cute was that?!’ His inner positive voice strained.

However, despite his well-maintained personal-growth exercises and collection of anger management books, what came out was:

“What the hell, woman?!” Ye Bao shouted from the floor, his voice pained as he struggled to untangle himself from the sheets tightly wrapped around his lower body.

‘Fucking shitfuck,’ he groused internally, leaning on his side, and reaching around with his free hand to find the edge of the bed sheet hiding behind his back.

‘Who the fuck needs Bola wraps when we have bedsheets?’

His work phone continued merrily playing in the background like some superhero theme song parody. It was surprisingly quite fitting, given the circumstances, as he was currently in a life-or-death struggle against his arch nemesis.

“Fuck off,” Choe Yun mumbled sleepily, reaching around, and patting the mattress near her ankles for more sheets. Not finding any, she gave up and simply turned onto her side, pointedly facing away from Ye Bao, and cutely curling in on herself for warmth.

‘Like a little snake,’ thought Ye Bao, pulling himself up using the edge of the bed. Then he grabbed up the wrinkled pile of sheets at his feet and was about to throw it all on top of her when he noticed her curvaceous, heart-shaped ass staring back at him- a black, lacy thong wrapping around the top of her right cheek and the rest disappearing between them. Fucking goddamn he never got tired of that sight. It did all the right things for him.

His wife slightly lifted her head off the pillow and glanced over her shoulder with narrowed eyes- ignoring the heated look she was receiving.

"And you better not track blood into the kitchen again." She settled back down.

"Asshole." She murmured.

The phone fell silent.

His underwear strained, becoming uncomfortable.

The phone started ringing again.

His wife shifted, sensuously stretching out a long, smooth leg while keeping the other tucked in. Her ass seemingly grew bigger in that position. She was not wearing a bra.

His underwear was seriously uncomfortable now- and his heart was beating erratically as his pulse pounded in his ears. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slowly exhaling.

‘Not now. Fucking ever-loving fuck... but not now.’ He slowly regained control of his rampaging libido. This was not him. He was not beholden to these cravings and urges.

He was already a slave to others; he would not be a slave to himself.

He calmly locked eyes onto his wife’s gorgeous ass- he was going to fuck her six ways from Sunday, but on his terms. However... he decided that he wanted some fun before work. So, he ever so quietly padded barefoot to a better angle, closer to his wife’s side of the bed, raised a hand, and brought it down square onto her right ass cheek. It was her turn to yowl like a cat, only this time, it was slightly muffled as he also threw the pile of sheets directly into her face before turning and fleeing the master bedroom, snagging his phone off the dresser as he did so- the sound of expletives hard on his heels.

Shutting bedroom door behind him, he answered the phone and started walking to his situation room at the back of the house.

“Night Leopard- predict, weep, shade, curse.” He curtly said, his work-voice in place.

“Confirmed.” A masculine voice sounded in his ear.

“New contract. On-site transport in five. Alpha priority- Vermillion. Debrief En route.”

Ye Bao’s eyes narrowed, his handsome features tightening as the seriousness of the situation rested on his shoulders. On-site transportation was not uncommon, but implied that normal emergency response personnel were deemed incapable of containing the situation. The alpha priority designation alone indicated that his superiors considered the situation extremely volatile, and with a high probability of exposure to civilian elements. Tacking on an additional Vermillion specificity meant that the situation was beyond any form of containment, would require considerable efforts from special teams to suppress, and civilian exposure was all but guaranteed. This was a worst-case scenario designation. One that meant his superiors were caught completely off guard and needed to regain control of the situation as quickly and silently as possible, sparing no effort with either manpower or resources. Ye Bao had taken care of three alpha priorities over the years, but never a Vermillion. This was a first that he felt both excited and unprepared for.

“Heard. Gearing now.” Ye Bao replied, swiftly ending the phone call and opening the door to his personal study. He tossed the cell phone onto the wooden desk on his way to the bookshelf spanning the entire length of the back wall. Grabbing the third book from the right on the middle shelf, he pulled it out and reached past the other books, pressing a switch set into the back of the shelf.

Thunk!

The entire section of the bookshelf in front of him shuddered in place, slightly pushing against his body as the lock holding it flush against the room’s back wall was unlatched. Ye Bao stepped back and grabbed the empty space on the shelf where the book had been and pulled towards himself. The entire right, third section of the bookshelf slowly swung open to reveal a hidden room half the size of the study. The walls and floor were the same, except for what was inside the room. Set against the hidden room’s back wall were three limbless mannequin stands displaying different classes of concealable bulletproof vests. And in the center of the room was a large, metallic table, upon which sat five bulky cases with neon-yellow side clasps.

Ye Bao crossed the room to the back wall and lifted the weightless stab proof and bulletproof vest from the center mannequin- this was a concealable ballistic vest rated against the average person's strength behind a stab or slash, and most small caliber firearms such as .22 LR, 380, .45 ACP, with some minor protection from 9mm and .357 MAG. It was his favorite go-to vest. Since he wore the concealable armor directly against his skin, he preferred comfortable plate carriers. Ones lined with moisture-wicking and breathable fabrics that reduced sweating and kept him feeling refreshed and ready, instead of tired and rubbing sweat out of his eyes. It was also a bonus that the vest itself, known as soft armor, provided some protection aside from the actual armor plating. Indirect small arms fire would be fine, and slashing almost never got through, a good stab would though.

His superiors could not argue with the results of his missions, but he was frequently asked why he chose the lightest class of stab/slash proof body armor, considering what he faced. His answer was always the same. Mobility and strength were his bread and butter- there wasn't a need to avoid higher caliber rounds or weigh himself down with Class IIIA+ body armor if he always shot first and never got hit. And if he did? The other person was dead before they could savor the fleeting victory.

Placing the vest onto the table he opened the long, bottom-most industrial metal drawer and removed two hard armor plates of the same rating and closed the drawer, placing them beside the empty vest. He then grabbed the matte-black case and spun it around to face him, grabbing the heavy clasps and popping them open with loud snaps. The case's lid partially cracked open, allowing him to wedge his fingers between and lift it open entirely.

Inside was a completely matte-black Sig Sauer MCX 556 with a built-in full-length top rail, threaded muzzle and tri-pronged flash hider. The stippled SIG grip was made of a black polymer, the trigger was a Geissele super MCX SSA, the charging handle was a Raptor-LT, and a K20 angled forward grip was attached to the M-Lok handguard bottom railing. Beside the assault rifle was a space in the interior casing filled with three, fully-loaded 30-round magazines.

Ye Bao stared the weapon for a moment with hard eyes- memories flashing through his mind. Most were nightmarish. The response was nearly Pavlovian- this weapon was a sign that he was about to be deep in the shit.

Inside the wide case were the additional attachments he preferred when necessary. He considered the situation- and decided that a fully-kitted weapon would surely slow him down somewhat, but with how many unknowns he was stepping into, he would rather have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. With that thought, he removed the assault rifle and set it down onto the table, then removed a SIG telescoping/folding stock, a Gen II-E 1-6x24 riflescope, a super precision scope mount, and a light-grey sling out from the case. He applied all the additional attachments within forty seconds.

With his primary weapon assembled, he opened the second drawer in the table and removed a plain-black, long-sleeved underarmor shirt, a silken, loose black turtleneck, a weighted pair of black bulletproof cargo pants, and a pair of thick socks. After quickly donning the new clothes, he inserted the armor plates into the vest's front and back carrier pockets before also slipping it over his head and allowing its comforting weight to settle on his shoulders. Then he slipped the turtleneck over the bodyarmor, and made sure to adjust the neck part that always somehow managed to suffocate him for the first few seconds. He then selected a pair of black boots from among dozens of other pairs and walked back to the central table where he scooped up the Sig Sauer and looped the sling over his head before adjusting its position and allowing it to comfortably hang against his chest. The three additional magazines went into the thigh pockets of his cargo pants.

He stared at the pristine M1911 still sitting in the case. He waffled on whether to take it, then simply decided against it- the odds his Sig Sauer would not get the job done were already in the low double digits. The idea that he would run out of ammunition, and be close enough to use a sidearm made his temper surge. He closed his eyes.

'Easy. Easy... Preparation is not cowardice. Retreat... is not fear.' The mere thought of the word 'retreat' made him want to lash out at something. He breathed deeply. This was not good. He was losing more and more control with each day- and it felt completely random. Somehow this, and not considering which attachments to bring, ignited his short fuse. He needed to have a discussion with his superiors about this- not that they would listen. Or care. He opened his eyes after slowly exhaling for the third time.

'I can do this. I can do this. Choe Yun is waiting for me- this will be over with before sunrise.'

Prior to leaving the room, he assessed himself in the mirror set into the right wall to make sure everything look right and proper.

Tired, black eyes set into a small face stared back at him. Standing at 5'11'', and with his straight eyebrows, double-eyelids, slim nose, full lips, pale skin, and athletic physique, Ye Bao could have been the lead singer in a K-Pop band. If that lead singer also doubled as a contract killer. Other than the bags under his eyes, and the assault rifle dangling in front of him, his clothing and hair were normal- nothing out of the ordinary. A passing glance would not merit any response from a civilian.

A muffled ringtone echoed into the hidden room.

Ye Bao nodded to his reflection and exited the armory, sealing the bookcase closed behind him before answering the call. The masculine voice again.

"Ten seconds." The call dropped.

Ye Bao pocketed the phone into a spare pant's pocket and hustled through his large home, passing a spacious, contemporary living room, floor-to-ceiling windows showing a dark, snow-covered backyard, and a modern kitchen. He went through the front door, making sure to lock it behind him before fast-walking out into the powdery drive way.

Tires crunching snow.

A modified police Interceptor cruiser sped down the suburban street, sliding a few inches to a stop beyond his driveway. The back side door opened.

Ye Bao hustled over, making sure to hold the Sig Sauer and place it between his legs, barrel down, as he hopped into the back seat and slammed the door shut. The cruiser was already moving before the door closed. The partition between the back passenger seats and the front was currently up.

"Ready and able." Ye Bao emotionlessly stated to the person on his right. This was one of his superiors, a burly, olive-skinned man with curly, medium-brown hair, small ears, and a hooked nose. He went by the moniker: November.

"Good. Ten minutes to target- so listen close." November's deep, husky voice reverberated in the small space.

"Approximately fifteen minutes ago one of our radio teams received an emergency response team's Breach Beacon signal."

Ye Bao's brow furrowed in thought- was this all a misunderstanding? That's all the evidence they were working with? Emergency response teams were all veteran strike teams of two-three highly trained individuals who operate at an 80% success rate for suppression, containment, or eradication of supernatural forces. They weren't the best- not by a long-shot. But they were quick and effective. And sometimes that's all you needed in a crisis situation. However, in the event that an emergency response team's leader deemed the situation beyond their control, they were to immediately activate a signal transponder that alerted special teams and command cells that a supernatural event had progressed past the point of simple containment. But it was not uncommon for emergency teams to overestimate the threat.

November saw Ye Bao's reaction and grunted, "I'm not finished am I?"

"We lost the two-man team's vitals shortly thereafter."

Now that was actually concerning Ye Bao admitted to himself- that admission caused excitement to unwillingly bubble in his chest.

'This was going to be-' He blinked.

Control. In. Out. In. Out. He exhaled.

"The transponder is still broadcasting. Which means whatever threat the team encountered didn't notice them activating it- or did, and is incapable of higher thought or critical thinking."

"And the location?" Ye Bao asked.

"The downtown Saguenay police precinct."

"Fuck." Ye Bao, muttered. He was sorely regretting not bringing his higher grade armor plating because if whatever supernatural presence was rampaging in a police precinct had opposable thumbs, it also probably had an assault rifle or shotgun.

"Truly." November gravely said, "We may be dealing with nothing you can't handle, or... we may have the start of a complete Masquerade breach on our hands."

"We have a backup in case I'm ineffective?" The words caused another surge of anger, only this time he managed to suppress it with nothing more than clenching his jaw. November's eyes silently regarded him.

"We've alerted the local Camarilla."

"You what?"

"It was necessary. You think I enjoyed it?" A snarl creeped into November's voice.

"We're completely blind going into this, with a high expectancy for civilian involvement. I'll readily admit that they...those things, are impeccable at mass deception." He sighed, "At the very least, if we succeed and manage to catch one of the fuckers out scouting the situation we can interrogate them since we already have you out there."

Ye Bao nodded, it did actually make sense. He was curious though about how they had managed to contact the local Camarilla.

'A spy? Or maybe they used a channel they knew the vampires had already tapped into and used an old code. That would only work once, but it may be effective.' He was broken out of his musings when his nose twitched as the muted scent of copper filled it. His pupils dilated.

"I know what I'm about to ask isn't easy- only God knows everything you've suffered through for our cause." said November, holding up a capped vial of dark red liquid.

"You've already received your weekly supplement. But I was authorized to offer you more for this particular situation." His eyes stared into Ye Bao's, whose gaze was locked onto the vial. Some measure of sadness flashed behind November's eyes.

"Are you willing?"

Ye Bao blinked.

'I don't need it. I'll survive until next week. I know I don't need it.'

The car bounced over some larger patches of snow. The blood in the vial climbed up the sides- staining them.. slowly flowing back down. He needed it.

Ye Bao nodded and took the vial, popping the cap and downing the contents in front of November, who watched expressionlessly, a steely look in his eyes. Ye Bao offered the now-empty vial back as the blood settled like a rock in his stomach, heat spreading out through his body like he'd swallowed a hand warmer. He couldn't help the sigh of satisfaction that escaped his mouth. He cracked his neck from side to side.

"How do you feel, Agent?" November cautiously asked.

Ye Bao looked at November, who unflinchingly matched his gaze with questioning eyes.

A predatory smile slowly spread across Ye Bao's handsome face.

"Ready and able, sir."