"Come forward, Initiates!" Anthony moved forward nervously at the sound of the supervisor. "You will all be given your assignments and assigned your quarters." He moved forward, joining the group coming in. They followed the supervisor - a tall, thin man with a balding head - down the halls of this building, one somewhere within the university he had known for several years beforehand.
"Wallace, Anthony." He looked to the supervisor, who gestured for him to enter a dormitory-style room. As he did so, he found that a bed had been prepared for him and it wasn't the only one in the room.
"Ah, so you're another new one, right?" A man with thin, dark features was speaking to him. Anthony found him strangely. . .exotic. Was he of Greek heritage? Maybe some variety of Spanish? "You do talk, right?"
"Oh, umm. . .yes. Sorry." Anthony said, clearing his throat. "Yes, I am Anthony Wallace."
"Haven't been turned long, have you?" The man asked him.
"No, I. . .sorry, I did not get your name?" Anthony asked.
"Robin. Robin Phillips. Apprentice, just like you." Robin said. "I know the Prince allowed more than a few embraces, but I'm surprised. . .they usually don't pull in so many."
"Guess I was lucky." Anthony replied. He certainly didn't feel lucky. He didn't feel much of anything anymore.
"Heh. I'm gonna like you, roomie." Robin snickered.
2018
"Anthony? Anthony? Yo!" Sybil was waving a hand in front of his face. "Are you in there? It's your move!"
". . .what?" Anthony blinked, looking to his Malkavian colleague.
"You zoned out. I was saying some random bullshit to snap you out of it, duh." Sybil said, sitting in the driver's seat of the parked car. They had made it to the address that Oliviera had given them and were seated in a parking lot about a block down from it. A sign outside read Molek's Light. Apart from the image on the sign, a red sun held in a pair of hands, the place seemed upsettingly average for what it was supposed to be. "I'm not getting an 'evil dark cult' vibe from here, are you?"
"Maybe." Anthony said, reaching up to remove his glasses, cleaning the lenses with a cloth from one of his many pouches. "Something definitely isn't right here."
"Besides them needing a new graphic designer. Pretty sure that red star is offensive to someone." Sybil muttered. "Not that the red kings care about being offensive."
"Definitely not." Anthony said.
"They took him from you, didn't they?" Sybil asked.
"What did you say?" Anthony asked, his head snapping toward her again.
"Oh, there she is!" Sybil was looking at a point ahead. When Anthony turned, he saw a familiar Toreador heading toward the place.
"Okay. Grace is headed in."
Grace Penderghast was indeed heading into the building that was marked as Molek's Light, having just been let out of her car by her ghoul, Martin...or was it Mortimer? Either way, she was being let out, and they watched as she crossed the way.
"Grace Penderghast?!" A young woman with a clipboard and wearing a cute little polo shirt met her as she entered the building.
"Naturally." Grace gave a charming smile. "Hello."
"Hi! I mean...hello! I mean...oh, wow!" She was trembling a bit as she watched the Toreador. "Sorry, Miss Penderghast, I am a huge fan! I have all of your albums and I've been to see you perform at the Moon and Star!"
"Thank you, darling, thank you! Always wonderful to meet someone who appreciates my work." Grace smiled. "Miss...?"
"Oh! Umm. . .Emily. My name is Emily. What brings you to Molek's Light?" The woman shifted the clipboard between her hands, giddy and nervous.
"Well, I had heard about this place and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about." Grace said. "I know people have come here to seek enlightenment, am I right?"
"Oh, yes! Yes, of course!" Emily nodded. "The Fathers are always imparting wisdom to the people who have come to seek it! The truth!"
"The truth...right." Grace nodded. "And that is?"
"Oh, it's not something I can tell you, Miss Penderghast. It's something that has to be seen to be believed!" She gestured for her to follow. "Please, come with me...a session is just about to start..."
"Very interesting." Grace muttered, following her from the small foyer into a larger chamber. It looked like a worship hall of a church or a cathedral, though this place hardly looked like any church that Grace had been to. Pews had been set up, helping cement some images that sent an unpleasant shiver up Grace's spine.
"Are you alright?" She turned, looking at a young woman who had come up.
"Oh. I'm fine, thank you." Grace said. The other woman was a young thing, no older than she was. . .or no older than she had been, at least. Young, blonde, buxom. She was twirling a strand of hair in between her fingers.
"No problem." She said. "Do you, uh...do you mind if I sit here?"
"Sure." Grace said, watching the girl sit next to her, twirling a strand of her hair and biting her lip. ". . .is there something on your mind?" She asked her.
"Oh, umm. . .sorry, I just, um. . ."
"Um what?"
"I've never met one of you. For real."
"One of me?"
"Well, you're a vampire, aren't you?"
"I do not think this is in any way a good idea." Marion muttered.
"We are here. This is what is happening." Fabian said. They were on a construction site, one that had been improved drastically since the last time a Kindred was here. The debris from the terrible accident that had claimed the unlife of one Stephen Corwin. Of course, Fabian was one of the few who knew the truth. The Camarilla's official story of the Ventrue elder having suffered an unfortunate accident was misguided, although it seemed that Prince Blanchard had seen through his ruse. . .yet had done nothing to move against him.
Perhaps that was why he'd waited for as long as he had to do this. Regardless, they were here and this had to be done. Now.
"Are you certain that he's even here?" Marion asked.
"I'm certain, matters were arranged as such, Miss Croft." Fabian checked his watch. "Seven fifteen. We should get started."
"In what way?" Marion asked. "Unless you're planning to dig through concrete with your bare hands?"
"Nothing so mundane." Fabian said. "Or brutish." The sound of a truck engine flooded the area, as well as a loud beeping as it backed into the construction site.
"Mr. White?" One of the men holding on to the side of the truck spoke. Like the others, he wore a hard hat and looked rather gruff and muscular.
"Correct." Fabian said, he gestured toward an empty spot. "You and your men can park over there and begin their work over here."
"Yes, sir!" The man said. "ALRIGHT, BOYS! MOVE IT!"
"Are they-?" Marion started to ask.
"Human as you or I." Fabian said.
"Won't they be a little bit freaked out when they dig up a-?"
"They won't remember it." Fabian said. "It's a non-issue." The men soon began to work, pulling various tools and other equipment from their truck and beginning to work on cracking into the cement. For close to an hour, the men chipped away at the layers of concrete that had solidified as part of the foundation. Very soon, something was beginning to emerge.
"Is. . .is that hair?" The leader of the group of construction workers asked.
"Yes. Keep digging." Fabian said, a bored expression on his face.
"Whoa, man. What is this? You said this was an extraction...you didn't say nothin' about no bodies." The lead said, walking over and unfortunately making the mistake of looking Fabian in the eye.
"Dig." Fabian gave his one-word command to the man. The man seized up for a moment, as if he were trying to resist, before he went slack.
"Dig." The man repeated, going back and taking his pick up, resuming the chipping away at the concrete. The other members of his crew looked nervous but, upon seeing Fabian's expression, quickly got back to work. Soon, the head of a man was revealed, or what was left of it. Even in the air-tight space, the body had begun to rot as a normal body would. Nevertheless, Fabian could see the face of his hated sire, locked in torpor.
"What the-?" One of the crew spoke up.
"I said-" Fabian started on him, but soon found the man wasn't protesting because of his own qualms, but because another member of the crew was bleeding from a large wound in his throat. The man gasped, falling forward, and a figure in blackened robes and wearing a mask that looked to be made of mirror glass stood behind him with a large, twisted knife.
"Oh, not again!" Marion groaned as several others were making themselves known, taking out the other members of the crew. She had raised her hands to begin putting her Thaumaturgy to use. However, it seemed that the mirror-faced men, the Glaziers, had no interest in either her or Fabian.
"Wait, stop!" Fabian said, raising his hand to stop Marion.
"Are you crazy? They're gonna kill us!" Marion spat. Nevertheless, the Glaziers did not move toward them. "I. . .what are they doing?" The smell of blood hit their nostrils hard, the indents in the concrete causing it to drip down toward the revealed head of Stephen Corwin, slipping past his lips.
"He awakens..." One of the Glaziers spoke. Indeed, the fresh rush of vitae seemed to get to Stephen. His eyes snapped opened as he sucked down that sweet, sweet vitae.
"What. . .what is this?" The elder Ventrue choked out, his lips stained crimson.
"Be silent." The Glazier closest to him spoke.
"Silent? Who. . .who are you? Who do you think you are?!" Stephen croaked. "Do you know who I am?!" His answer came in the form of a hand being shoved into his mouth. There was the cracking of the musculature and bone as the hand forced its way in, empowered by vitae. Stephen's muffled screams were suddenly ended as the hand retracted, pulling from it a bloodied, familiar key.
"No!" Marion protested, though Fabian held her back all the same.
"Wait! Wait!" Fabian urged her.
"This one is useless now." The Glazier said, turning to one of his subordinates. "Dispose of him." The man nodded, approaching Stephen as scarlet ichor flooded from his body.
"You fools! Do you know who are am?! I'll have your heads for thi-" He was cut off as a blade sliced cleanly through his neck.
"We shall have yours." The lead Glazier intoned as Stephen Corwin's head fell to the rocky ground. Soon, the head and the body it had been attached to had the centuries of unlife finally catch up to it, beginning to dissolve and decay as it would have long ago, finally crumbling into useless dust. "We are done here." The leader turned, seemingly looking at Fabian and Marion before he and his subordinates turned and left, slinking away into the shadows from whence they'd come.
"You idiot!" Marion hissed at Fabian, striking him at the shoulder. "You let them get away with it!"
"Would you prefer to meet the Final Death?" Fabian sneered at her. "What's done is done."
"We need to get out of here." Marion said. "Us being here will raise more questions than answers and I don't feel like dealing with the police."
"In a moment." Fabian said. He raised a hand, calling out, "Mervyn!" A short, squat man came running up from where Fabian's car had been parked.
"Yes, sir?"
"Bring the vacuum. Quickly." He said. Mervyn nodded and returned to the car, returning not long after with a hand vacuum.
". . .you seriously aren't!" Marion looked disgusted.
"I did not care for the man, but he is a Ventrue." Fabian said. "He deserves better than to be left in this place."
"Because a dust buster is so much better?" Marion snipped. Fabian wasn't listening, already vacuuming up the dusty remains from within the crevice where Stephen Corwin had once been. Once finished, he opened the cleaner and retrieved the bag, putting it into one of his suit jacket's pockets.
"What's done is done. Let's go." He said.
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