From: BigJobbs and Friends A night in Phoenix. This is a set of stories, written on IRC by 5 of us the other night. They are all linked, if only by the fact that they all happened on the same night, in the same city. --- Phoenix, Arizona. October 25, 1994. --- The moon is perched high, blood red. The wind is chill, quick, but sullen. It is mostly quiet in the world. We all, each one of us, look into the sky, at the stars and the moon, and we see...something. The night shall unite us, the same stars, the same moon. But what we see in them shall be our own. Clouds drag across the night sky as though pulled by the unseen sun. The moon waivers upon the horizon, seeming larger now than when at its height. A light fog is settling over parts of the city, and decent folk have taken to their beds. Indecent folk scrabble to make a living. The city still pulses with the life of a million people going about their routines.. A million people pulse with the blood of life in their veins. Their meaningless lives, idle and busy at the same time. Mindlessly bending themselves to entropy. --- Dragondazd's Story. Dragondazd turns away from the high vantage over the city, a nameless city for all it mattered. She shivers, brooding over trivial things, or are they? *Daze, stop it. Think of other things.* "But Shade, I hurt..." *Over nothing. Turn your eyes back to this world. There are things worth doing.* Dragondazd walks down abandoned streets aimlessly, guided by vague feelings. "Where will we go now? Does it matter?" *No, we must wander. Something will come.* Dragondazd looks up. Yes, let the stars lead us. She hears something flapping and a movement in the corner of her eye. She whirls around and with her slightly unfocused eyes, manages to barely glimpse the wing of a bat. "Odd; is it a sign, Shade?" *Possibly. Be prepared. But there are always things to be wary of at night.* Dragondazd nods out of habit and trudges on. She somehow comes to notice two bright red stars on the horizon. Odd, those weren't there before... Suddenly there is a sudden spray of dust and as it clears, a man appears before her. "You! How did you see me?" the man said as her shadow's wings come up protectively. I-I just did... She backs up The creature of red eyes, revealed to be a vampire, blinks once , and then suddenly begins to cackle. "I see now, who you are, and what follows you. A shadow of a hope, but one nonetheless. DO not be afraid. At least, of me." Dragondazd 's shadow stares for a long moment, then lowers his shadowy wings. Who are you, that you know? _how_ do you know? "HAHAHAHA! That does not matter. isn't it enough that I _do_ know?" "Look, look at that one star over there. You thought it odd that I appeared at first as two burning coals? See that bright blue one over there? " he said pointed with a slender hand. "Even you, of many, imperfect eyes that yet see so well, can see that light." Dragondazd nods slowly, eyes glistening at the thought... "That, dear childe, is where your companion resides. At least, viewed from this realm. It does not look anything like that inside, does it? No, I thought not. That is yet another sign of hope. Remember this sight well. It will not ever shine as brightly again, and sometimes, not at all...until they are free." Only her shadow saw the mysterious being slip into the night. Dragondazd looked back to find her odd companion had vanished. She began to look around but then she heard a chuckle in her mind. She that was not that of her shadow, and for some reason, she doubted that even he could hear. **Don't forget to look up. Keep your hopes, dear childe, and trust in him always. For you have long to go before you reach your fate, whatever it may be.** And then she could sense his presence no more. *The sun approaches, Dear heart. It is time to change.* Yes...it is time to wear another mask again.... Dragondazd turned around and headed back, her shadow changing her shape, her form, her being, into a human again to face another day. --- Ukolovik's Story. The youngish looking boy strolled down the busy city street, thoughts flitting rapidly from one subject to another. It'scoldtheworldneedsmorediscoineedmorepantslookatthatdon'tseethateverydayseewhatnothingtoseeifyoudon'thaveanyeyeseyesaren'treal He narrowed his stream of consciousness down and thought about what he was going to do tonight. Maybe he'll go see a friend. He took a taxi to an up scale apartment complex and walked inside, flipping a dishevelled looking boy outside a penny. He took the elevator to the 4th floor, and knocked on the door to room 421. "Wait a sec, I'm busy," a feminine voice called from inside. The door opened a few moments later, revealing an immensely attractive woman, half-black and half-white. "Hey, jam!" he said. "Okay, first, it's Jamelia. Second, Get the fuck outta here! I don't want the cops raiding the apartment again like they did the last time you were here!" "Aw, come on, Jammies, that was a whole month ago! Your sheep got out of trouble, didn't he?" "Yeah, so? It still cost him a bundle, and I haven't gotten any new clothes in 2 weeks thanks to you." "Bah. It's not my fault they traced the car." "Alright, look, just leave. I'll talk to you some other time." "Okay." The young vampire strolled back outside the building and loitered a bit. Noticing that Excitement wasn't going to find him, he decided to look for it. He walked to where he knew a local gang met up in the evenings, where he let his thoughts wander again. Geeherrightovertherewouldlookgoodnicepagerihatethiscitywasbuiltonrockandrollallnightandpart-SHIT! Picking himself up off the ground, he cursed the large rock that he'd tripped over. Then a bullet winged the space previously occupied by his head. Then another couple dozen bullets followed it. "DRIVE-BY!" someone shouted as the young vampire reached inside his pants, hoping he remembered to stick a gun there earlier in the evening. He was in luck. The drivers of the car, members of a gang, had been looking for this particular person all night, ever since he'd sold them some doctored guns AND cut the brake lines on all their cars. They were pissed at him. The vampire managed to shoot the tire of the car, sending it to a screeching squealing stop, half-wrapped around a light pole. Many civilians were hurt, but the vampire didn't care for them. He didn't care about much of anything, really. Least of all his own life. He ran quickly to the car, disposed of everyone inside with cries of "Got my gat, muthafuckas!", out of sheer spite. He noticed a line of fuel leaking from the car, and shot that. Realising he'd be in the blast if he stayed in his current position, he decided he didn't want to become a barbeque tonight and almost made it out of harms way before the car explode in a rather disappointing fireball. Picking himself up off the ground, he angrily dusted himself off. He was then thrown to the ground again by several rough racist police officers. "On the ground, spic!" they shouted at him, whereupon he grew several large pointy spikes from various parts of his anatomy, making life uncomfortable for the cops. He noticed that this was his most blatant violation of the masquerade yet, and started giving thought to relocating. obfuscating and running off, he was soon distracted by some people playing basketball. Forgetting he was obfuscated, he tried to join, but gave up when they ignored him. Just another boring night. --- Omnicynic's Story. I stand on the mountain, one foot resting against the painted A, large, concrete letter bolted to the mountain's stones. It is the symbol of the university, Arizona State University, below. It is red and yellow during the day. It's grey and darker grey at night. I do not know what called me here. Ever since the dreams and warnings, I have not had the time to be introspective. To watch. I was caught up in the concerns of my own life, that of my ward, gathering allies, preparing for the coming storm. But now I am here, alone on a mountain, with the valley below me. I look down upon the lights, the traffic. Freeways, roads, rooftops. I can clearly see the Stadium which hosted Superbowl 30; it cost far more than the police station nearby. I can see the people. Their meaningless lives, idle and busy at the same time. Mindlessly bending themselves to entropy. These people, this; my city. We are one, of course, connected by need and hope and fear. Not the same ones, perhaps, but the emotions are deep enough. Even still, they mean something to me, these emotions. If I can't show them, I can at least know they are there. A train sounds in the distance. It is moving away, it won't need the tracks that lay silent some fifty metres away from me. Good. It is a time for silence. I look up, away from the streets, the world, my world, and I see the night sky. It is clear, and my eyes are far more adapted to the darkness than any mortal telescope or sight could be. Blue-black and shimmering, it seems so cold and lonely. But peaceful. The moon is there, of course. My vision traces its contours, floats across the craters and marks and seas of the glowing sphere. I know in my mind that the moon, Luna, is only a chuck of nickel, iron, and silicates some 3500 kilometres in diameter, spinning 385,000 kilometres over my head. I know in my mind that men have walked upon it. I can almost, almost, see the flags, a footprint. Maybe, some day, before the war times and the hell, before my death or worse, I shall walk on that sphere. My reverie is distracted by the sounds of fear. Instantly, I scent its source, the odours strong in this light, chill breeze. Two men, beggars, transients, garbage, are fighting. No...one is attacking the other. A knife, blood, and the loser limps away to collapse under a thin, scraggled bush. The winner picks up a can from the ground, and laughs to himself. Briefly, I look up to the moon again. It is calm. Peaceful. My eyes close, I shake my head. No, I will not walk on the moon. The heavens should remain pure. I come back to the waking world, and let my vision probe the homeless man, the murderer, he who would kill for a can of corn. The man never even sees me. He is unconscious before he can even gasp, the can, its contents spilled into the dirt, is still grasped by his hand. Let the heavens remain pure. Leave purgatory to the tainted. --- BigJobb's Story. The night was cold, and the wind was chill. The alleyways of the city were dark, and they stank. They stank of the rotting garbage that infested them, and the homeless who inhabited them. Tonight, as the people huddled together for warmth, and waited for the dawn, a man appeared in their midst. BigJobbs had seen death a thousand times in a hundred cities, but this was the worst way he had ever seen a person die. The death of a starving man bespoke of the death of hope. The blankets he shared around were patched and worn, but were still snatched up greedily. The people crouched together, their eyes shining with simple gratitude to the stranger who helped keep them alive. None of them even knew his name. He handed out the last of the food he had brought with him to a woman who looked close to death. She would once have been moderately attractive, he thought, but her face was haggard and thin, her long auburn hair matted and greasy, and her body was emaciated. He gave her his jacket. As he turned to leave, however, he noticed a fight break out between two of the men. A can of food was being fought over. One of the men already had a loaf of bread, but he also had a knife. The other man merely had the fear of starvation behind him. It was not enough. The knife thrust forward, and the unarmed man dropped and crawled away, clutching at his throat. The man with the knife threw back his head and laughed, and started to open the can of food. BigJobbs turned around, and started to walk deliberately towards the man, fists clenching. But he was too late. A form blurred into the alleyway from a side street, and the man was down before he could even scream in terror. BigJobbs studied the form, even as he shrank back into the shadows. The man started to gasp. BigJobbs smiled. So, the form that had attacked the man wasn't Death. That was good. This was not a job for the taker of lives, but a special job for BigJobbs. He casually walked up to the man, and picked him up. He looked the man straight in the eye, and then calmly and deliberately tore his throat out. The people in the alleyway would not remember seeing anything. They would remember only the figure who brought them hope, not the figure who would kill out of pure greed. BigJobbs looked at the woman who huddled in the corner of the alleyway, trembling with the cold. She must survive. No, she must be reborn. The city was named Phoenix, and this wretch in front of him would arise from the ashes of her existence into a new life in this city. He motioned to her, and she accompanied him arm in arm down the street. Death might possibly visit that alleyway again that night, but BigJobbs knew that the woman would be safe from his clutches for a time yet. The city breathed on... --- Ticktockman's Story. I frowned over the chessboard in silent contemplation of the arrangement of squares, paying as much attention to the empty spaces as those occupieD. Without a motion from my steepled fingertips, my black queen's rook glided across two squares, finally resting by the Queen's bishoP. "Sicilian Defense, Ticktockman? You haven't played *that* defense since our first matcH." My opponent's eyes regarded me, a smile curling at his thin, chapped lipS. It seemed I had been caughT. "I thought it somehow appropriate, Taylor," I said evenlY. "Aha!" he cried. "Trying to unsettle me with sentimental symbolisM. Well it shall not work; I know your gameS." He coughed badly, trying to restrain a chucklE. When he removed the kerchief from his lips there were traces of blooD. The countdown continueD. "Your move, TayloR." I said, my eyes locked firmly on the boarD. "What, no concern for my health, TicktockmaN?" he chided, the wheezing of his lungs echoing audibly through his wizened framE. I stared at him hard; a part of me was surprised that his trifocals did not cracK. "Were you more concerned, I might be winning this gamE." "Oh, enough of it alreadY. You and I both know what's going to happeN. No need to dwell on it like some school girl dumped by her first boyfrienD." He looked down at his side of the board, paying close attention to the positions of his pawnS. So many players paid them so little attentioN. Taylor Abell was the only opponent to defeat me in twenty yearS. "There is recoursE..." We had been over this before, but I had to trY. Didn't I? His knight took the bishop I had offered, was in turn taken by my rooK. The board flowed like waR. He remained silent as white took black took white to castle and check and still the pieces moved in silencE. "Taylor, listen to mE-" "No, /vampire/, listen to mE. What you offer is...incrediblE. I'm deeply moved and flattered and such, buT-" He descended into a fit of coughing that spilled slain chessmen over the edge of the mahogany tablE. His king, the archangel Michael, fell upon its rook, balanced precariously on Gabriel's shoulderS. "I have so few...companions, TayloR. Ghouling is a simple thinG. You will be healthY. You will live far beyond mortal yearS. You wilL-" "I'll be *old*, TicktockmaN. I don't want to live on an old maN. Difficult enough dying as onE." He scratched at his rough beard, looking for more blooD. To my eyes it seemed his entire flesh was flecked with iT. In his aura I could see the numbers, counting dowN. "Besides, you have that girl, the screameR." He righted his king, moved the bishop Uriel to put Lucifer in checK. "Anomi is... I've taught her Scrabble, but she'll go no fartheR." "I am a chess player, Taylor, and so are yoU. Remember the matches, the game, the perfect blend of art and strategY. There are no others tO-" "It's a game, TicktockmaN. Perhaps life is, too, if you choose to look at it that waY. But death is noT. Death is cold, and grim, and-" "Avoidable, TayloR." "No, Ticktockman, it's as inevitable for you as it is for mE. Just takes its own time with your kind is alL." "CheckmatE." I looked to the boarD. Lucifer was bounded by white on all sides, angels ready to finish what the Fall begaN. I noddeD. The argument was at its enD. "Have to be going now, TicktockmaN. I enjoyed the gamE. As did I, Taylor Abell, as did I." His name sounded odd, coming from my lips, as though I had spoken the name of someone long deaD. Perhaps, to my vampiric senses, I haD. ---