Thirsty. I've never been so thirsty before. I need to feed right away, before the creature living in my skin takes over. I can already feel it itching and wriggling throughout every vein and artery, feeling for a way to the surface. Where am I? What is this place? It's cold and I'm still thirsty. Something drips onto my chest and I involuntarily crane my neck to lick it off, tongue straining and stretching. The tingle of blood on my tongue and in my nostrils brings me far enough back from the void to survey my surroundings without the red mist. The morgue. Again. I don't remember what happened at the climax of my battle with the police, but I'm guessing that it must've turned out badly for me. On the either side of my slab, my two companions lie under the same spell of dreamless sleep that bound me until moments before. Looking up and around to see the source of this welcome renewal, I see Alex, the kook who claims to be a Toreador. He's grinning and squeezing vitae from a plasma bag into my mouth. He's dressed as a hospital porter and beside him stands a cooler full of precious blood. Maybe it's because of the torpor, but it was never like this before. This blood seems both sweeter and more potent than it usually is. Every drop is savoured and contemplated even whilst I'm greedily bursting another bag with my fangs and draining it. I've never been so glad to see Alex before. Our Malkavian ally came through when it counted. I always knew he would. We were warned by the harpies of the Prince's court that no Malkavian could be trusted, a childe of the twisted Grandma Grammar even less so. Even The Bruce himself said that Alex would betray us or toy with us for his own amusement, in whichever form that took, but I'm glad to see that the Prince was wrong. I knew I could trust him. My mind races along, consumed by fires of inspiration and webs of connotation. I mentally review all those who warned against taking this mission. One name resonates and chimes like a church bell when it crosses my mind, so strongly that for a few seconds I swear I can hear it. I look up at Alex, who's grinning. "I didn't hear it either. It's probably just a trick of the light." he says, before I can speak. I unconsciously nod in agreement to his back when he turns to awaken the rest of our brood. Names and faces swarm past the inner viewscreen of my mind. Upon each face I see a word; Liar, Traitor, Megalomaniac. Corruptor. Lord. Envious. Murderous. Manipulator. Judge. Jury. Executioner. I'm seized by a panic when I realise that every one of the Kindred in this domain are out to get me. I'm simultaneously revulsed that it took me so long to realise the truth, angry at the people I thought were my friends for keeping it from me and grateful to Alex for saving my hide before the inevitable visit from a brood of status-hungry neonates who've just received the latest Red List. Wrapping the sheet around my naked body like a toga, I get to my feet and rush out of the room. I can't make out the words of my brood calling out to me, because the mocking laughter of everyone who's been in on this joke at my expense echoes around my head. I don't stop running until I reach sanctuary amongst the shadows of the Necropolis. Standing on a random, crumbling gravestone and surveying Glasgow, I vow not to return to the city unless it's to destroy the conspirators or visit Alex. Crawling into a tomb, I huddle into a ball and try to rest until my head stops spinning. Just as I'm on the verge of sleep, I make out a faint cry, a chorus of whispering voices demanding to know who the new boy is, and that he should present himself at Carstairs Mental Hospital tomorrow evening. -- Moogle