Zoé pulled herself to her feet and wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth with a finger.

"I want you to know something..." She coldly spoke, her voice emotionless and as frigid as the wind.

Had someone asked her in that moment what it was that suddenly compelled her to explain herself, she wouldn't have been able to explain. Perhaps it was because deep down, no matter how much of a facade she put up, the outburst was motivated by guilt. Guilt for what had been done to him. For what she'd done; The Beast was her, and she was the Beast- one and the same. He was her responsibility. He was her blood.

She'd been mortal once... human. Every Kindred had- some chose to forget, others desperately clung to whatever scraps of their humanity remained.

She remembered those first few nights after the Embrace. Torturous.

There was only the hunger- a cloying emptiness, an unfillable, insatiable appetite for something.

And then there were the dark thoughts. Relentlessly filling her head with sick, twisted fantasies and desires. It had taken her years to accept that these had been her repressed thoughts to a certain degree, and even longer still to understand that nothing had really changed. Everyone had dark thoughts- it was learning to master, control, and overcome them that was the true challenge. It was different for Kindred, of course- those dark thoughts were capable of physically manifesting and taking control. Learning how to reign in those emotions, to subdue instincts that demanded absolute supremacy over all lesser things, required guidance. Something that he'd never gotten. Something that she should've been for him.

Her chest tightened. Her expression devoid of emotion.

"I want you to know... that this is for the best." The words sounded hollow, even to her. But it was all she had. All that she could offer. Sometimes... sometimes words truly fell short.

The young man gave no indication he'd heard her. His head hung close to his chest as it rhythmically rose and fell in time with his shallow breaths. He looked more fragile than ever- pale skin, lanky hair, and tattered clothes soaked in blood.

She knew she didn't look much better. Hell, she felt how he looked.

Worn, exhausted... wounded.

His body swayed with the motion of the howling wind- his clothes whipping against his body.

'I'm putting him out of his misery.'

She was no psychologist, but she understood without a shadow of doubt that tonight would leave him irrevocably fucked in the head even if there was a way to somehow keep him alive without bringing down the full weight of the Camarilla.

She could smell the muted, lingering scent of fresh blood, gunpowder, urine, and feces coming from the police precinct. His Beast had mutilated, killed, and fed on those people. He would remember every moment.

Even if she took the time to explain what had happened, even if he received a modicum of guidance- she doubted he'd be able to reconcile his actions with what he'd become. What he was...

Instead, his reaction would be one as old as the vampiric curse itself: He would deny, wallow, and grieve- gradually succumbing to guilt and crippling remorse. He'd think himself a sociopathic murderer. And why? Because the Beast would not allow him to feel guilty about feeding, about taking another life after a successful hunt. He'd look deep inside himself and discover that he enjoyed killing- draining his prey of their life essence... She knew that fucked up feeling all too well.

Any sane person would pause and ask themselves why they don't feel anything after draining a victim, whether on purpose or accident. And the answer frightens them into denial, into ignoring that question- repressing it. Because when they think about feeding, about killing... it's not guilt that dominates their heart. But satisfaction. Complete, and utter satisfaction. And that feeling... there's nothing else quite like it, and it makes you stop, and wonder... if you're less than human. It makes you question yourself: your motives, thoughts, decisions, goals, aspirations, judgments- everything becomes subject to your own intense scrutiny. Because you know that you're not the same person anymore. And yet you don't feel different. You just are. You question yourself because you know despite not feeling any different that no decent human should ever think these things- should ever want these things. So what does that say about you? Are you even human anymore?

She remembered her own moment when she'd broken down in abject horror- wailing and crying in an abandoned farmhouse while her Sire wordlessly watched. It was an awful feeling. A terrible burden knowing that no matter how strong you once were... you were now an addict. And the only way to survive is to feed- to empower- to embrace that addiction. Some handle it fine, some not. Others thrive, some muddle along. And the rest... the rest are broken- incapable of accepting the bleakness of their new reality. Their humanity completely rejects the Beast- their fragile psychies incapable of adapting to the new resident.

And that's when the dark thoughts seep in through the cracks. Malevolent, fucked-up wants and reactions to people and conversations. You suddenly want to hunt people. Trap, trick, lure, and coerce others into getting what you want- what you need. And you feel nothing from doing so. For most, that's the moment, that disconcerting personal revelation, when they find themselves at a crossroads. When confronted with the bleak, dreary reality that these aren't simply errant thoughts and impulses. They're thinking about it every night, every hour, every waking minute is consumed with immoral, inhuman desires. They begin to think they're monsters. And when they're at their lowest, that's when the Beast strikes- promising them an easy escape from the self-inflicted torture and moral ambiguity.

Give in. Give in and embrace your newfound strength, follow your instincts, fulfill your urges and desires. Consume. Hunt.

Centuries-old vampires found it difficult to control their own well-known urges- let alone master and control their emergence. A newly risen fledgling? He would be all sorts of fucked in the head the next night.

There were enough Malkavians around as it was. There wasn't even a point to letting him try either- it was that much of a forgone conclusion. Maybe, maybe he would've had a chance if he hadn't hurt anyone or done anything he found morally reprehensible. But now?

She was doing him a favor.

Decision made, she was about to approach the young man when suddenly, her senses warned her of danger.

A shadowy silhouette appeared beside her Childer, and another rose out of the snow between them. The closest dark silhouette morphed into a tall, humanoid figure that slowly grew more discernible until she could determine that he was wearing a black trenchcoat wrapped in shifting shadows and an unmarked, gray scarf with one end hanging down his chest.

"Zoé Sauvage?" He inquired politely.

'If it's not one thing, it's another... Who-' Her thoughts came to a screeching halt as her instincts warned her that these two were incredibly dangerous. She closely examined them. It was in their posture- the way they carried themselves. She also couldn't sense that vile, sulfuric stench associated with Oblivion coming off their bodies, despite them clearly being practitioners. This already wasn't looking good. And they knew her name!

'Who-' her eyes narrowed dangerously.

'The Emissary... The Baron... goddamnit all.' She was in no shape to fight, and they knew it. And they knew, that she knew, that they knew it. They'd even gone as far as showing themselves- an olive branch is there ever was one. She'd not seen or sensed them unti they'd made themselves known, which was disconcerting to say the least. And they could've freely ambushed her. The fact that they hadn't suggested this was about to turn political.

She'd rather become embroiled in politics than dead... but not by much.

'I swear Percival, when I get back...' Zoé was dancing on the precarious edge between blind anger and jittery nerves. She was assuming this was political, but she didn't know that for certain and couldn't decide whether to circulate her vitae and strike first, or cede the first move to two strangers.

It was a tenuous, dangerous position that made her want to lash out or run.

"Who's asking?" She kept herself perfectly poised to channel her vitae- her emerald, bloodshot eyes rapidly flicking between the two figures. She was already rapidly imagining the opening moves if push came to shove: her goal would be to expend her vitae to the limit- immediately overwhelming them as fast and brutally as possible before fleeing into the woodlands at the city's edge. It was extremely risky- and she knew it all too well. But the situation had changed too suddenly- it wasn't guaranteed she'd be put to final death for Siring. Prince Walker was as traditional a Camarilla Prince as they came, but he was also an eccentric pragmatist. And they'd known one another too long for things to immediately deteriorate to that extent. But staying here, now? That was guaranteed death.

She would always take her chances with family over strangers.

The nearest newcomer stepped closer- the living, writhing shadows across his face sliding down his neck and wrapping around his shoulders and arms to reveal a pale, handsome face. Thick, long black hair hung across the front and back of both shoulders, he had a heavy five- o'clock shadow and thin red lips. Heavy brows sat over olive-shaped eyes with heavy red bags beneath. The front of his coat was open, with the gray scarf moved aside enough to display some dark chest hair.

Zoé had to make an effort to stop a sneer from spreading across her face.

'What a sleaze-bag.' She thought, hoping that if a fight did break out she'd be able to at least get a punch in on that stupid, cocky face before escaping. He was also giving off some seriously misogynistic energy, so his bruised ego would only be an added bonus. She reigned in her rampaging thoughts, because realistically, her odds were not good. And it took more willpower than she would've like to admit to maintain a calm, expressionless demeanor.

'This night has just been one step forward, and two steps back.' Nothing was going well, nothing! She sincerely hoped that the package The Emissary Whitaker asshole had brought for the exchange hadn't been crucial to Percival's scheming. But based on how things were playing out... she could be deluding herself into thinking family would support her- she was so fucked.

'Keep it together... One thing at a time, you can do this.' Either way, she going to have to wade through a lake of fire and shit after tonight- the key was to keep her head above the flames and the shit out of her mouth. This was doable. She could do this. She was going to get through this.

'Just gotta get the fuck outta dodge first...'

"My associate and I," he gestured to himself and to the other person beside her Childer, "represent the interests of Baron Sever." His hazel eyes flashed. "And he is very interested in you."

"Yeah, well, he can get in line." She automatically replied curtly and dismissively- then wanted to bite her tongue off. Why was she like this? On the outside though she continued playing aloof, keeping her eyes on her surroundings and the other distant figure.

Zoé's sharp eyes noticed a slight frown tug at his lips. Her brusque response was clearly unappreciated.

'Fuck. They respect him... Fuck." Loyal Kindred were such a pain in the ass.

"Rather uncalled for, wouldn't you say?"

"You're the ones stalking me, pal. You tell me."

The man held up both hands- trying, and failing, for a placating gesture.

"I understand how this may seem, but no- you misunderstand. I apologize if we've already given a poor impression. I was told to politely extend an invitation and offer protected escort to the Baron's Elysium in Montreal."

"Takes two of you for that, huh?"

The man cocked a sheepish half smile and spread his hands out.

"What can I say?- Your reputation precedes you, Ms. Sauvage. And, you're not wrong. Intimidation is part of the goal, but so is the hope of impressing you." His easy-going expression fell away, revealing the hardened eyes of someone who'd seen far too much, too soon.

"But the Baron is not a patient man. So, he would be most humbled if you would please accept the invitation and escort to his Elysium. Immediately."

"Or what?"

"Pardon?" The man quirked an eyebrow, actual disbelief coloring his voice.

"I accept the invitation, or what, exactly?"

The man and Zoé stared one another down before he lowered his head and sighed in resignation.

"He told us you would be stubborn..." He glanced up at her- eyes carrying a challenge, some strands of hair hanging over his face, "But he failed to mention you were also stupid."

Zoé's placid expression froze over into a dangerous stillness.

"What did you say?" Her words barely rising over a whisper- swept away with the wind before even leaving her lips.

"I want you to listen closely, Ms. Sauvage, because I'm only going to repeat this once." The man continued, disregarding her question.

"You have a grand total of two options." He raised two fingers.

"Option one, you can kindly accept the Baron's invitation and come with us. You'll be provided an apartment in the city near the Elysium already stocked with a few blood dolls and a complete set of evening clothes for the occasion- you'll be well provided for." He lowered a finger.

'"Or, option two, you refuse the Baron's generous offer. At which point my graciousness ends, and you'll awaken tomorrow to find yourself in Montreal- under less than pleasant conditions."

'It's already Montreal, how 'less pleasant' can it get?' Is what she wanted to say- but instead silently decided that despite the man's conveniently described options, she actually had none. Save for one.

"Actually, I think you forgot about option three." Zoé said, placing a hand up to her chin in thought. The man's jaw clenched.

"Ms-"

"Now hold on- I didn't interrupt you, did I?"

The man went silent- eyes burning holes through her.

"Good boy." She patronized, before continuing, "Like I said, there's a third option- and it doesn't end well for the two conceited asshats who threatened me. Would you like to hear it?" The whites of her eyes preemptively darkening as she carefully channeled her vitae in preparation for sudden, explosive movement.

At this point, the man's mounting anger had graduated into a cold fury- the once writhing shadows around his figure settling into an easy, flowing pattern around his biceps and torso.

"You can save your breath, Ms. Sauvage."

Her instincts flared in warning before he'd even finished speaking, but it was too late. Her knees burst open- dark blood and bone fragments painting the snowy ground as she yelled in pain and surprise while collapsing to the ground on her side. She ignored the burning agony as much as she could and- SCHLUNK!

Zoé couldn't restrain the scream as something sharp rammed into her back and pierced straight through her heart. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she completely collapsed face-down into the snow- paralyzed.

A third shadowy figure stood over her body, while another swept in with the wind as a shadowy blur across the ground, forming into a taller figure holding a rifle. The man in the trenchcoat nodded to the two newcomers and vanished, reappearing beside the final figure, who was closely observing the young man.

"What do you think?" Trenchcoat calmly asked, as though kidnapping powerful vampires off the street was just another day.

"I don't know." Came a soft, feminine voice from within the cowl- her features kept purposefully obscured within.

"Truly?"

"Mm. I cannot read him."

"What about the stone?"

"It could work, then again, it might not. We'd have to bring him."

Trenchcoat mulled over this. The young man was clearly a fledgling- possibly Zoé's given what they'd heard from earlier though they couldn't be completely sure. Normally, Janice should've been able to give them a better idea with her abilities, but without her input, they really weren't sure what to make of this man. They could just kill him- save everyone the trouble of another fledgling running loose. Or, they could bring him along, have him properly read, examined, and then offered a position within the Baron's organization- they could always use more muscle heads to deliver and protect shipments. The real question was one of worth. Was this odd fledgling worth the effort?

"I would like to take him." Janice spoke.

Trenchcoat looked over at her as he was pulled from his thoughts.

"Oh? Something catch your fancy?"

Janice gracefully crouched beside the kneeling young man and pointed at his upper chest, then arms, and stomach- places where his clothing was ragged and torn, or soaked in blood.

"His control of vitae is remarkable for one so young."

Trenchcoat couldn't help but smirk and sarcastically reply, "And here I thought our vitae was supposed to stay on the inside."

Janice stood, some accumulated snow dusting off her shoulders with the wind.

"Joke all you would like, Hjalmer. But this one is special, I can sense it."

Hjalmer crossed his arms, cocking an eyebrow. "I was under the impression you couldn't sense anything about him?"

"Precisely. It is the absence of evidence that is evidence itself."

Hjalmer softly smiled as he shook his head, his posture relaxing as he turned away. "Oh, Janice. Have I ever told you how bored I'd be without your company?"

"All too frequently." She replied without looking, instead crouching once more and going about lightly probing the semi-comatose young man.

"Well someone has to let you know your work and presence are appreciated." Hjalmer spoke over his shoulder before vanishing in a puff of shadows and reappearing in much the same fashion beside the other two men.

Zoé was now laid out on her back, arms at her sides and legs together. She looked like a sleeping angel, beautiful and untouchable. The picturesque vision was rudely disrupted by her blood-matted hair, destroyed designer clothes, and the bloodied end of a wooden stake piercing through the front of her chest.

"We good?" He asked, hard eyes emotionlessly staring at the body- all traces of good-natured ribbing and humor missing.

"All set- but Savio here hasn't fed since last night and still needs to scrub the police station before the next team sweeps through."

"Sorry, didn't know I was rotated to on-call for ops until a few hours ago, didn't get the chance." Muttered Savio, looking at his feet while fiddling with the rifle in his hands.

"Then we won't make it before dawn?" Hjalmer stonily asked, eyes briefly flicking to Savio but otherwise pointedly ignoring him.

"Janice could help?" The other man questioningly offered, waffling his head side-to-side.

"She's taking the kid."

"Seriously?" The other man and Savio exchanged a 'look', then he kneeled down beside Zoé and placed an index finger on her forehead. He closed his eyes. A small blackened vein crawled up the side of his neck before receding the next second. He stood with a sigh- frowning.

"This is going to be difficult."

"That bad?"

The other man rubbed a hand over the top of his hood, then just pulled the thing back with frustration, revealing a pale man of average appearance with sharp bone structure and wavy, wheat-blonde hair.

"That bad. We should call ahead for a blood drop- Savio and I can do this but... we'd need the following night off for damn sure."

"Done." Hjalmer easily agreed, his team was one of the best, and if they needed a night of recuperation he was damn sure going to make it happen.

"Thank you, Martin."

Martin heaved a weary sigh, pulling the hood back over his head.

"Don't thank me just-"

"Pardon me, gentlemen!" A mature, masculine voice spoke from directly behind them.

Hjalmer blurred, drawing a serrated dagger as he dashed sideways- spinning around in a flash of darkness, pressing the blade's edge to the neck of a casually dressed old man standing in the middle of the road.

Martin similarly blurred, pulling two short throwing knives from a belt around his waist as he fell into a low throwing stance facing the newcomer.

Savio disappeared entirely in a cloud of shadows- reappearing on the rooftop of a neighboring office supply store with the rifle shouldered and sighted on the old man.

The old man raised an eyebrow as he looked at Hjalmer- amusement written plain as day across his aged features. He was completely unbothered by the serrated blade pressed dangerously hard against his throat.

Hjalmer's deathly serious expression and cold eyes strongly contrasted with his terrified thoughts.

The old man's amused smile widened as he watched Hjalmer.

"You're more right than you think." He vanished with a wink. The two other vampires flinched, hurriedly looking around the area. Hjalmer slowly lower the dagger- his face blank.

"Well hello, my dear! And who might you be?" came the old man's voice behind the trio once more.

Hjalmer slowly turned and watched the old man casually introduce himself to a wary Janice who stood protectively in front of the young man. A shadowy blur appeared to Hjalmer's right- revealing a wide-eyed Savio limply holding his beloved rifle; a puff of displaced powdery snow heralded the arrival of Martin to his left- the throwing knives held tightly in either hand.

"Do we-" Martin started, only to instantly fall silent when Hjalmer made a motion with his left hand.

Savio made to raise his rifle only for a hand to fall over the barrel and press it back down- Hjalmer didn't look at either man, his gaze riveted onto the old man. Savio and Martin exchanged a glance behind Hjalmer's back before simultaneously stowing their weapons- Martin sliding both knives home into their sheaths at his thighs while Savio switched on the weapon's safety and slung it over his shoulder. The trio then slowly approached the casual, yet entirely one-sided, conversation between Janice and the Old Man.

"Say, you wouldn't mind if I took a closer look at him, would you?" The Old Man politely inquired, gesturing to the young man.

Janice's hood angled to look over at Hjalmer over the Old Man's shoulder. Hjalmer stiffly gave a small shake of his head.

Janice reluctantly stepped aside, "No at all."

"Thank you, kindly." The Old Man inclined his head to her before sidling up beside the young man and lowering himself to one knee with a grunt. He placed a palm over the young man's forehead, and closed his eyes.

"Mm. Mm! I see... well now... presumptuous of her, no?" The Old Man softly mumbled to himself.

Janice was frowning beneath her cowl. She looked to Hjalmer, who was intently staring at the Old Man. She decided to follow his lead and remained silent- choosing to observe, instead of acting as she would have liked.

"Very good!" The Old Man opened his eyes and patted his knee, standing with a huff, "I'll be taking this fine young man off your hands."

"You ca-" Janice started, stepping forward only to abruptly stop when Hjalmer appeared in front of her and soundly backhanded her across the face. She stumbled back a step in shock and confusion- a warm, stinging sensation spreading across her cheek. Once she recovered and realized what had just happened, she snarled and moved directly face-to-face with Hjalmer- their noses almost touching as the ambient street lighting illuminated her small, pale button-nose. Her blood boiled at the insult, but instead of meeting a similarly challenging look from their leader, instead she found his soft hazel eyes pleading with her, his lips drawn into a tight line.

The wind immediately left her sails as she silently stepped back and lowered her head.

Hjalmer didn't even acknowledge her as he too immediately turned around to face the Old Man and bowed his head- chin nearly touching his chest.

"He is yours. We will not interfere."

The Old Man laughed loudly and jovially, the sound dampened and swallowed by the snowstorm in moments. He suddenly appeared beside Hjalmer and draped an arm across his shoulder- like you would when chatting up a good friend or theatrically whispering something into someone's ear in the company of others.

"Now here's a properly raised boy- one with respect for his elders! You don't see it too often these days..." The Old Man glanced back at Janice when he said this, and she, sensing his passing gaze, shrunk in on herself even more.

"Hmph! So stiff, so proper, loosen up would you? I'm not one of your lousey Barons, am I now?" He rhetorically asked, squeezing Hjalmer's shoulder.

"Our wish is to convey respect." Hjalmer calmly answered, eyes tied directly to the ground between his shoes.

"Well, I can't argue with that! Consider me respected." He reappeared beside the still young man and reached into his pant's pocket, mumbling the whole time.

The four vampires stood still as statues as the night air was filled with the soft rambling of an old man.

"Not there, maybe- here- nope- ah?... no, no, how about- ah!" The Old Man had been patting himself down as he searched for something before smacking his forehead in exasperation and removing a plain ring from his right middle finger.

"I swear, if my head weren't attached to my shoulders..." He grumbled as he kneeled beside the young man, picked up his limp right hand and slid on the ring, the hand dropped back onto the snow.

"Anywho!" The Old Man stood and turned to face the group, "It was a pleasure meeting you all- may you never live to see the sunrise!" He chuckled to himself and crouched down beside the young man again, reaching out to touch his chest.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" He looked sideways at the group, "Make sure to speak exactly what I'm about to say to whoever the new Baron is, okay?"

Hjalmer bowed his head even further.

"Good man! Here it is: rex noctis immortales evigilat."

"It will be as you say." Hjalmer promised.

"Excellent, alright then, I'm off- be good kids! And always remember to enjoy your unlives- we only get one, afterall." And with that, the Old Man touched the young man's chest and the pair disappeared- a cloud of misty snow rolling through the area.

The groups visibly untensed after a few seconds of confirming that the Old Man was well and truly gone. But they couldn't remain completely at ease either, because whoever that had been was capable of moving faster than thought and obscured his vampiric aura to a degree that made him seem an average mortal man.

Hjalmer released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding- probably because he hadn't needed to involuntarily breath in over two decades. His shoulders slumped as he turned to his team. He motioned to the police station with a shoulder.

"Go."

"But-" Savio started.

"Now." Hjalmer growled, staring straight ahead.

Savio pursed his lips but nevertheless vanished in a cloud of shadows- reappearing somewhere within the police station and starting the gruesome process of accelerating the decomposition of the police officers and their equipment until all was claimed by Oblivion's hunger.

"I'll um... go and prepare her for transport, then." Martin softly spoke, rubbing the back of his head before blurring to reappear beside Zoé.

Hjalmer remained staring ahead, a distant look in his eyes as he sbsently tracked the movements of the falling snow.

"Thank you." Janice softly said.

"Mm."

They stood in a heavy silence. The wind howling, their clothes fluttering, the snow steadily falling.

"Who was that?"

"I... don't know."

Janice stared at the back of his head before quietly sighing. She wasn't going to press him after he'd possibly saved her life. She was curious, however, about what the old man had said.

" 'The king of the night awakens the immortals' ?" Janice asked, coming to meekly stand beside Hjalmer and similarly watched the falling snow.

"Yes."

"Why latin?"

"I don't know."

"What could it mean?"

Hjalmer exhaled slowly through his nose.

"It means... that the Second Inquisition is about to be the least our worries."