Pain.

     Flashes of sound.

     The smell of cupid.

     Hunger.

     The taste of cold.

     Dredd suddenly bolted upright, the images of the dream still echoing behind his eyes.  Lights flickered overhead and a rapid beeping filled his ears.  A broken light fixture was swinging back and forth a few feet away.  Lifting his arm, he saw tubes of red liquid.  A small clamp on his finger blinked in time with the beeps, and to his left he saw a green pulse monitor.

     127 heartbeats per minute?  That was high, wasn't it?

     He heard distant gunfire.  The surgery room appeared empty.  There was a set of double doors and one wall dominated by a long mirror.  A shattered mirror.  He was on some sort of metal table, tilted at nearly a 45-degree angle.  He was wearing only a pair of green hospital pants.  There were brackets at his wrists and ankles, but they were open.

     Then, quite suddenly, he smelled it.  There was blood.  Looking down among the flickering light, he saw the bodies all around.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:58, Fri 23 Dec 2016.

It was the blood, of course.  This is what claimed his attention the most, and for some reason he did not understand, he stared at it for what must have seemed an inordinately long time.  Could not seem to tear his eyes away from it, which seemed both absurdly morbid, and naturally fascinating at the same time.  What is wrong with me? was the thought that came to mind, and as soon as it did, he was able to tear his gaze away and really take note of his surroundings.  A hospital room, medical equipment, dead bodies; presumably doctors of some sort because they were wearing scrubs and such.  What he was doing in a hospital, he could not say, but it was certainly something to get to the bottom of once he fully got his bearings.

With a shake of his head, not to clear it, but rather to further understand what was going on, he raised a hand to rub the top of his dome and was reminded that his finger was still attached to a finger clamp and his arm to some tubes.  He shook the clamp off and gingerly pulled the tubes from his arm, not caring if it was the right thing to do or not.  He was here for a reason, he assumed, but he felt fine, more than fine, so he would not worry about it for now.  Besides, he noticed, for the very first time, that he had somehow acquired tattoos.  That in itself was almost the strangest thing, because he was never a tattoo kind of guy and would never have considered getting one.  He could only hope it was not the permanent kind for, even though they looked good (a kind of tribal, ritualistic pattern) were not his deal.

Still, his gaze brought him back to what lay before him ... a pile of dead bodies.  Not really a pile, more simply bodies strewn all over the immediate space.  Looking around again, he caught site of the shattered mirror and small glimpses of himself as he stood to full height, the flickering light above adding to the surreal effect.  He also heard the beeping coalesce into a long, uninterrupted sound, which paled in comparison to the second round of gunfire coming from outside somewhere, presumably one of the corridors.  This one caused him to instinctively crouch into a defensive position and, looking around, he reached for something he thought he might be able to defend himself with before moving to the double doors and peering out slightly to survey what might be ahead of him.

     The lights in the hallway were flickering as well, but apparently deserted.  There was another set of double doors directly across the hall, and an elevator at the far end.  The other way led to another set of double doors with small windows.  There were bloody footprints all around, and bloody drag marks leading out of the opposite doors and toward the end of the hall.  There were no footprints around the elevator.

     The walls were mostly bare and there was no equipment in the hall.

Crouching where he was by the door, he took another brief second to ascertain when he should be moving, but then decided simply to move.  There was no way to tell, not in this situation, when or even if there was a best time to scoot, so he might as well get going.  It was a shame he could not hang back and try to find some kind of information either about the place or who worked here, but getting out was the priority.  In that micro second of thought, he believed he could hear sounds as if from far off, but it must be the situation getting to him.  As well, he could find nothing with which to defend himself if he got attacked, so that put him a little on edge also.

Fully poking his head through the double doors, he looked left, then right, and took another second to stare at the elevator before moving as quietly as he could through those doors and towards the contraption.  However, rather than press the button and wait for it to arrive, he searched for a different avenue of escape, one which involved stairs and a possible exit.  Tight, enclosed spaces were not the best things to be caught in when some mysterious people had automatic weapons.

[Private to GM: 18:50, Today: Secret Roll: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 24 using 1d20+12.  Perception.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:59, Fri 23 Dec 2016.

     There was a door next to him, and he had passed a few others along the hallway.  The elevator call button lit up and he could hear the mechanisms moving inside.  There was nothing to indicate what floor he was on, or what floor the elevator was on.  He could tell the elevator was coming down.

     He noticed a bit of blood on his arm.  It seemed like it had come from a cut on his bicep, but there was no cut there.

He glanced over at the door at about the same time the elevator lit up, indicating it was either on the move or about to be.  Hurrying over to the door, he listened closely for any sounds beyond.  That is when he noticed his arm ... and the blood.  Looking at it, it seemed as if he was being pulled into it's inky hue, the darkness of the red almost blinding in a polished, artistic kind of way.  Again, for however long it took him to notice he was simply standing there staring at blood, he had been drawn into a space where only he and the blood existed, where the only sounds were his own breathing, and the blood itself, calling out in a silent whisper which drew him to it in a way he could not understand but, ultimately, did not care to.  If the blood called, he would listen ... always.

Suddenly, the sound of the elevator broke his focus and made him once again aware of where he was and the situation he found himself in.  His hand waited on the doorknob as he listened.


[Private to Omni-Tent: I am assuming this is a door with a window of some sort, which will allow Dredd to peer through.  If not, he will simply make his way to the bottom of the stairs, if this is, indeed, a stairwell.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:52, Wed 28 Dec 2016.

     Hearing nothing inside the room, he moved inside and found a metal stairwell leading upwards.  There were no windows or signs, and the lighting on the side of the wall was also flickering.  A broken camera was hanging limply from it's bracket in a corner of the wall.  The stairs only seemed to go up one level.

     Behind him, the elevator dinged and the metal doors opened.  The elevator car was a good size and had another door on the far side.  It was at least big enough about a dozen people, almost like a cargo elevator.

     He heard a blood-curdling scream from up the other end of the hall and beyond the double doors.  A dark shape shifted across the intermittent darkness beyond the door's windows.

He would have been on the move if not for two things: the first was the elevator door opening.  He wanted to get a look at someone, anyone who was still alive in this place, purely to gauge what he might be up against.  Second was the scream and the dark shape, which is what had him staying put for maybe a bit longer than he should have.  It truly was a difficult position for him, but he decided getting out had to be the utmost priority.  That had not, could not change so, he followed the stairwell upward as quickly and as quietly as he could, all the while regretting he did not have a bit more time to hide, watch, study, observe.  Then again, if he made it out of here and got away, he would be making certain he knew exactly what this place was, what it was called, the address and locale, and anything else which would make it easier to find for his return, because if he knew one thing, it was that he would be returning, and not as some experiment.

     At the top of the stairs were two doors, one marked as an emergency exit with an attached alarm bar.

     Peering through the other door, he saw a hallway with a few branches, and windows at both ends. There was also the elevator door, and another door on the far side of the elevator.  The floors were tile and the walls were beige, decorated with various posters in French that seemed to be about dental health.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:27, Thu 29 Dec 2016.

This place seemed to be a maze.  No matter where he turned, there was no simple way out and every potential exit seemed fraught with peril of some sort.  With an almost knowing sigh, he looked at the bar, then all around the door, taking the time to see if the bar could be pushed or lifted  without any bells or loud ringing sounding out, or if he could find some way to find the actual alarm and deactivate it in some way.  He understood he had nothing on his person with which to disarm an alarm, but choices, even if it was one more than zero, were always a better thing to have.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 16:48, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 15 using 1d20+12 ((3)).]

     The emergency exit had a push bar on it that said 'Sortie d'urgence seulement, L'alarme retentit,' and it had a small speakerbox on one side.



     He heard movement downstairs and the elevator pinged before it started moving up again.  He still didn't see anyone, and the halls up here were completely clean and spartan.  The window on the door was painted black so he couldn't see outside from here.

His first reaction was to ball his hands into fists, then to hook then into claws as if he was going to go straight for the bar in an attempt to rip it in two.  In the end, he simply stood there for a few seconds clenching and unclenching his fists before the sounds of movement reached his ears.  Deciding to move, he opened up the door and chanced his luck, even though he had heard not one sound up here, stepping into the hallway and moving past every door and window he could find in order to be able to see something, anything outside.  However, his general direction was towards the end window furthest from him.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 19:09, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 21 using 1d20+12 ((9)).]

     Dredd passed the wide hallway, noticing two doors on either side, and double-doors at the end with no windows.  He passed the elevator doors and another door on that same side, then came to a long wall of separated windows.  This hallway had only one door opposite the windows.

     Parting the blinds, he saw a red brick building nearby, and some other taller office buildings in the distance.

https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/...mp-post-71370196.jpg

     Glancing back the way he'd came, he saw that he had left a trail of bloody footprints.  He heard heavy footfalls coming up the stairs and the elevator dinged as it's doors opened.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:09, Mon 02 Jan 2017.

This was the last thing he needed.  As far as he was concerned, freedom was right outside that window, if he could but open it, yet he had given himself away by not checking what was behind him while running away.  With another quick glance at the window to see if he could spy some sort of outside stairwell knowing her would not be able to make it right now, so he had a decision to make and acted quickly because in his mind, he had to.  The door to his left seemed to be his only option but, rather than walk to it, he jumped, hoping to push it open and dive through.  He also hoped that would mean his blood trail could not be followed, though he was not foolish enough to believe that whoever was behind would not be able to figure out where he went.

Strangely enough, when he caught the sight of the blood trail, nothing seemed to draw him to it like when he had seen the blood in the 'operating theater' and on his arm.  Maybe the fascination had something to do with the fact they had given him some kind of strange drug, but that was all speculation.  All he knew was he did not want to get caught, and that he had to get out of here.


[Private to Omni-Tent: Not going to roll here, just going to let it play out.]

     Dredd dove through the door, leaving only a slight smear from the remaining blood on his feet.  Quickly closing the door behind him, he could see from a single permanently illuminated overhead light that he was in an exam room.

https://www.womenshealth.gov/f...ns/patientrooms3.jpg

     There was a bed counter with drawers underneath, a desk and cabinet station with a chair and computer, and a portable blood pressure and heart monitor next to the bed.  The walls had posters of women giving themselves breast exams, but the text was all in French.  There was no window on the door.

     He heard slow footsteps outside, and saw a shadow visible just under the door.  There was a brief pause, and the door handle began to turn.

He had no idea what he was expecting to see in this room, but what was here was definitely not it.  He had been expecting to run through to maybe another door on the other side, but now he was stuck here, in an enclosed space with no where to run.  Taking a very quick look around, he wanted to find something with which to wipe his feet with so he would not be trailing any more blood, but there was no time for that as he heard the footsteps, then saw the door handle begin to turn.

Very quickly, he grabbed a chair and tried to hide (as best he could), in whatever space was appropriate so that the person coming through the door would not be able to see him initially.  He did not want to be fighting, but he did not want to get shot, either.


[Private to Omni-Tent: Just to say, he does not have the chair raised above his head, it is on the floor but his hands are on it in such a way that he can swing it at whomever.]

     The door pushed open slowly, and he saw a dark figure push it's way in.

     "I know you're in here, Daywalker.  Just come quietly and we can make a deal," a rough, animalistic voice said.  The figure was backlit by the lights in the hallway.  It had a long muzzle, pointy ears above it's head, and looked to be covered in fur.

Her had to look twice to make sure what he was seeing was what he was actually seeing, and if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing, then what the hell had happened to the world?  He would have liked to have pondered this some more, but the creature (was that a werewolf?) had called him something.  Daywalker!  Who or what the hell was that, and why address him that way?  Was the creature even talking to him?

This was turning out to be one hell of a day.  First, he wakes up in some facility with no idea how he got there.  Then there are the dead bodies all over the place, with more shootings and, he can only assume, more killings.  Next is the stalking of himself, for he can only call it stalking considering the look of the creature, and now it was offering him a deal?  Alice in Wonderland had nothing on this, and though that reference meant something to him, he had no idea why.

Deciding to continue remain silent, he gripped the chair a little tighter.  Either they would talk, or one of them was going to get hurt.  Maybe both, considering the earlier gunfire.

     As soon as he gripped at the chair, the creature's head turned his direction.  "Dead or alive you're coming with me!" it bellowed.

     He took two big steps forward and swung a clawed hand at the chair.  His claws only raked the foam backing of the office chair, leaving it fully in Dredd's grip.

Even though he had seen movies about werewolves (or so he believed he had, must have done), it was still something of a surprise to be hearing one speak, much less seeing one in front of him.  However, all of the amazement quickly slipped away when the creature attacked.  So much for wanting to talk and make a deal.  He had no idea what he was going to do, but something seemed to kick in, instinct taking over, he supposed, and he suddenly found himself swinging the chair at the werewolf man with all of his strength.  He had the feeling that, even if the wolf man had broken the chair, he still would have attacked the creature with his bare hands.  It simply brought home, more than ever, the need to find out just what the hell had happened to him ... and why.

[Private to Omni-Tent: 09:23, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 23 using 1d20+11 ((12)).]

     The werewolf raised an arm and the chair shattered against it.  The animal snarled in response and swung with his opposite hand.  Off balance from the chair, he misses and falls at Dredd's feet, wide open for a follow up attack, or distracted enough to allow escape.  The door was wide open behind the creature.

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: If he attacks and hits normally, he gets an automatic critical (but he could technically miss).  If he doesn't want to roll to hit, he can have an automatic hit, but no critical.  Or he can try to escape.]

Seeing the werewolf man miss and fall to its feet, he was quick to seize upon the opportunity presented.  Moving so swiftly that even his own mind did not fully register what he had done until he had done it, he reached down and attempted to grab the creature by one arm and pin that painfully behind its back.  With his other hand, he will simultaneously attempt to clamp a hand around the creatures muzzle so that it did not scream out, either in pain or alarm.

He was fully aware of the situation and how it looked.  Here he was, facing down a werewolf man, no less, and not even really batting an eyelid in consternation or uneasiness.  Yes, he could put it down to the fact his life was in danger and he had to react, but most people would lose it as seeing an actual real life werewolf in front of them.  He knew, now more than ever, that he had to get some type of answers, so it was a good thing the wolf man could talk.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 09:19, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 27 using 1d20+11 ((16)).]

     He moved faster than he thought he would have been able to, and considering the size of the werewolf creature, he would have thought it would be stronger.  It grunted and struggled, but Dredd easily kept it in a half-nelson and clamped it's mouth shut.

That was the same thought which rang out in his mind, that and the fact that he could restrain this creature with seemingly little or no effort at all.  Just what in all of Hades was going on here?  Time to find out.  He purposefully moved the creaturesarm up its back a fraction more to inflict just the right amount of pain, and to let the wolf man know that, if he so chose, he could rip the arm off without thinking.  Then, when he was sure the werewolf got the message in its entirety, he chose to speak, marveling at how his voice sounded to him, which was rough, kind of gravelly, but most of all ... dark.

"I have many questions to ask, but no patience for bull.  I hear you're lying to me, I even suspect you're holding back on me, and I will rip something off you each time starting with your arms.  Do you understand?" he said and asked, but did not wait for an answer.  "Good, then let us begin.  Who are you?  Why are you after me?  Where are we?  What has happened to me?  Who am I?  Why do you call me Daywalker?"


[Private to Omni-Tent: Of course, these questions are not just blurted out one after another. Dredd will give the wolf man creature time to answer between each question.  It just saves some time doing it this way.]

     The creature was clearly in pain and soon stopped struggling.  The annoyance was clear in his voice.

     "I am Mordred.  You are the latest threat to my clan.  This is a Cerberus Labaratory.  You were experimented on, and changed.  You're no longer human.  Surely you feel the hunger?" he explained.

     Out in the hallway beyond, Dredd could hear more footfallsa.  The Werewolf smiled.  "My brothers have finished downstairs.  They will find me ... And take you down," he growled.

He frowned at the answers, all of them.  None of them made any sense, but then again, neither did the whole situation.  Why would these creatures do anything like that ... to him?!?  And if he continued along those lines of thought, he would need to sit down and catalog them in a database, because there were about a million more questions he could think to ask.  Except, from the sounds of things, he was not going to get any or much more time alone with Mordred here.

"Why?  Why me?" was all he could think to ask right now in that dark and gravelly voice he still struggled to believe came from himself.  Whatever the answer, he would have to be gone from here, but more questions came to mind: what to do with the wolf man?  Was he a killer?  Could he take a life, no matter the fact the creature seemed as if it would gladly take his?  He hated this, but again, there was only one way to find out.

     "Cerberus wanted a Daywalker to fight for them, so they made you," Mordred said with a grin.  "I don't know why you were chosen, but we can't let Cerberus have you."

     Then he started stomping his foot rapidly in an attempt to pull the attention of his brothers.

     The door out of the room was still open, with the row of windows visible across the narrow hall.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:41, Sun 29 Jan 2017.

He again had no idea how it happened, or even when the idea popped into his brain, but before he knew what was happening, he attempted to slam the creatures' head into the nearest wall in an attempt to knock it out.  One wolf man he knew he could handle.  A few of them would put him in a position he did not want to be in, and a situation where he did not want to find out one way or the other.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 16:26, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 20 using 1d20+11 ((9)).  Trying to stop myself from posting more.  Had to hold my action to just this one, which makes the post seem rather small.  Still, one step at a time.]

     Mordred tried to resist, but Dredd was clearly too strong for him.  The crash into the wall dazed him, but did not knock him completely out.

     He turned to bite at Dredd's arm.

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: 14:23, Today: Omni-Tent, for the NPC Mordred, rolled 13 using 1d20+7 ((6)).

Roll Strength to avoid damage.]

He somehow saw what was coming and had time to draw his hand back and away, but that something in him, perhaps that more or less than human thing in him, was making him do things he would never normally do.  So in one, smooth motion, he pulled his hand back, then clenched it and attempted to strike the creature in the face, and all the while, that voice at the back of his mind was saying "You need to get out of here ... now!"


[Private to Omni-Tent: 20:10, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 22 using 1d20+10. Strength.  20:10, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 15 using 1d20+11. Unarmed Combat.]

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: 15:40, Today: Omni-Tent, for the NPC Werewolf, rolled 16 using 1d20+5.  Parry Attack.]

     Mordred seemed to see it coming too, and blocked the punch with his arm.

     "You're green and untrained.  You don't understand how powerful you are!" he barked.

     He sprang out of a crouch with teeth and claws bared.

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: 15:46, Today: Omni-Tent, for the NPC Mordred, rolled 18 using 1d20+2.  Power Attack (-3 attack, 10 damage).]

The situation was not ideal, but at least the creature was backing off ... but no, it was not.  It seemed he had not twisted the wolf man's arm enough, for its block and lack of damage taken had emboldened it somehow.  Now, it was attacking, and he was looking right at it as it sprang off its haunches directly at him.  Again, however, just as before, something in his mind kicked in and as the werewolf rose into the air, so he simply tucked and rolled underneath in an attempt to dodge out of the way of what he assumed were those sharp razor claws and teeth.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 21:02, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 30 using 1d20+11.  Dodge.  This was more of a Defensive Roll.

I have to ask, even as I'm looking at the book, but can Dredd take an Improved Grab or Move By Action as he Dodges past?  Is the Move By Action the only way he can do Two Attacks, like a One-Two Combo?  Thanks.]

     Deftly dodging the creature as if it were going in slow motion, Dredd slipped aside as the werewolf flew past.

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: Yup, sure.]

With the creature in mid-air, he shot a hand out to grab its foot or leg, whichever he could get a hold of so that he could drag it down to the ground with a bang.  Of course, he understood this would more than give away his position to the others of this ones clan or pack or whatever they were called, but leaving it bouncing around like that would do the same thing with bells on.  He only hoped he could one: actually grab the leg/foot and bring the beast crashing down.  Two: either knock it out, wind it badly, or even do some serious damage to it when (if) it came crashing down to the floor.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 21:26, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 28 using 1d20+11. Close Combat.  Not sure if this is what I should be rolling for the Grab.]

     Dredd grabbed the creature easily.

With the creature in hand, he attempted to continually bash it into the floor, again hoping to knock the wind out of it, knock it out, or just do as much damage as possible.  He was painfully aware that time was ticking away and that those footfalls he heard earlier were probably on their way here right now.  He wanted to be long gone by the time that happened, but this wolf man was being a nuisance and then some.  Something had to give way, even if it was just his temper, which briefly flashed the question in his mind: did he even have a temper?


[Private to Omni-Tent: 23:09, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 13 using 1d20+11.  Close Combat.  Terrible Roll.

Just so I know, a Grab is just a Grab, right?.  I can't yank the werewolf down like I intended and do damage that way, can I?  I have to punch/attack to do Damage?  Can I have Dredd swing it around, bashing it into something to cause Damage?  Is there any other way to cause Damage from any position besides straight punching/kicking/force beams or what have you?  Thanks.]

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: Sure.  Spin, squeeze, toss.  Whatever you like.  How you describe the damage is secondary.  The main effect is that damage is done.]

     Slamming the werewolf into the ground, it let out a dreadful wheeze and went limp.

That was a sight to see, and one which brought much relief, but only for a short while.  As he watched the wolf man's body for any signs of feigning it, he also listened out for those same footfalls he had heard earlier.  Were they closer?  Had they stooped?  Could he tell which direction they were coming from?  He desperately needed to know, for he had to get out of here, had to find somewhere quiet where he could just think.  Sit by himself and contemplate ... everything!

That would likely prove impossible, at least the sitting quietly bit, for he already had a head full of questions which would not allow him to stand much less sit still.  First things first, though.  Slow the breathing, calm the frayed edges, settle the mettle, and remain still while he listened out for any noise just outside this room or in the corridor.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 00:03, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 16 using 1d20+6. Perception.]

     He heard movement behind the walls.  There were muffled voices and footsteps.

     Suddenly, another werewolf, this one with lighter fur and wearing a vest, appeared in the open doorway.

     "Mordred?" it asked, coming into the dark room cautiously.  His body filled the backlit doorway.  His gaze fell on the crumpled creature in the middle of the room, and his fur bristled with anger.  He sniffed the air and growled.

     "Daywalker," he snarled.

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: You get to go first because you heard him coming and he didn't immediately notice you in the shadows of the room.  He's in the doorway, so you'll have to barrel past/over him or attack him to get out.]

The footfalls outside sounded loud to his ears, but not so loud it was overpowering or deafening.  He very briefly wondered if that had to do with this experiment they had conducted on him, but it had to be oh so very brief, for another of these creatures was now standing in the doorway.  He crouched (much as Mordred had done a few moments earlier) as the second wolf man entered, however, as it said "Daywalker" he was springing into action.

He shot out of his crouch as an athlete on the starting blocks, gaining traction and momentum both, and ran straight for the werewolf blocking his way.  It occurred to him that there might be others out there also, but he could not think about it right now.  He had bested one with a little difficulty, if he stayed to fight them all, things might not go so well for him.  With that in mind, he drew both arms back, then shot them forward and into the wolf man's chest when he was close enough.  Of course, his intention was clear: shove the beast so hard it would not only lose balance but leave him with a clear line of sight of the outside.  Whether he made it out or not was going to be a delicate balance of luck and sheer determination.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 09:17, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 18 using 1d20+11. Close Combat.]

     While he seemed to be both ready for attack and very strong, Dredd barreled into the Werewolf, shoving him back into the hallway and causing him to stumble backwards.  Shaking it's head from the powerful blow, it lashed out wildly with a claw but missed Dredd completely.

     It began to howl.

The shove did not go as intended, as witnessed by the attempt on himself by the wolf creature, and the subsequent howling, but it seemed as if this was going to be as good as it got for him.  No matter how far away this one's "friends" were, he could not spend more time trying to shut it up or trying to knock it out.  Besides, relative freedom was right outside that window, he just had to land safely and outrun/outdistance a freaking werewolf.  That being the case, there was only one thing for it.

He steeled himself for but the briefest of mili-seconds, then stared for and attempted to crash through the window in front of him.  If this experiment had made him something other, not human, now wasn't exactly the time to find out just how much he had changed, but he had no other choice in the matter.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 11:40, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 19 using 1d20+11. Athletics.  11:48, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 11 using 1d20+10.  Strength.  Tried to break through the glass, but that's a fumble, I assume?]

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: No critical fumbles on skill checks, only attacks.  But you can critical succeed a skill check.]

     Dredd plowed through the window, feeling it shatter as his body went through it.  He landed easily in an empty parking lot, but in front of him was a four-story office building.  The building he'd just exited was a lone one-story building with a rather large parking area surrounded by trees.  There was a fenced lot to the North and a divided road to the south.  Cars and trucks of all sizes drove by.  It was overcast in the middle of the day.

Standing to his full height, he quickly looked back at the window he had jumped out of, then around him at his surroundings.  He did not have a lot of time to weigh his options, but it did not matter, for he had decided already.  There was a fenced area to his right which he could clearly see and that was enough for him, especially as he had to keep his amazement in check at actually landing on his feet without injury after jumping out of a window, no matter how high up it was.

With a destination in mind, sort of, he started to run as fast as he could for the fence, looking back every so often to see if any of the wolf men creatures were in pursuit.  He was free of them for now, this Cerberus Clan or Pack or whatever they were, but he had no idea how long that would last.  Werewolves were supposed to be fast, weren't they?  Perhaps his saving grace would be the fact it was daylight and they might not want to be see during these times.  He could only hope.

     Taking off in a full run, he found himself moving faster than he ever remembered.  Rushing up on the wooden fence, he threw his arms up protectively and found himself smashing right through it and into an empty construction site.  Startled, he lost his footing and face-planted into the dirt, sliding to a stop among the piles of bricks and girders.

     Glancing behind where he'd come from, he saw a werewolf jump out of the window and immediately face him.  As it started charging, another came out of the window after it.

     There was more fencing on the far side of the lot, but it seemed to be against another street.  He was barefoot and wearing only a pair of loose green pants.

The speed was more his worry than any lack of clothing, especially with the wolf pack now chasing at his heels.  No longer human, huh?  Well, he was at least glad he could move fast ... really fast, and if that was a byproduct of the change, what else had they changed in him?  Time to ponder that when he had the luxury to do so.  Right now, these wolf people did not want to give up their little prize, but there was no way he was going to make it easy for them.

With no time to wipe himself down, he didn't even bother trying to get up, just launched himself into a run from his prone position.  At the fence, he would test what else his body could do, like leaping or vaulting over the obstacle?  And if he couldn't do that, he could at least jump high enough to clamber over and continue running when he dripped down.  Where he was going was anyone's guess, but it was another thing he did not have the luxury of figuring out just yet.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 21:08, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 15 using 1d20+11. Athletics.]

     Dredd's jump caught him by surprise.  It launched him a dozen feet into the air, easily clearing the fence and landing him in the middle of a two-lane road.  A taxi screeched and swerved to avoid him, hitting another oncoming car with a crash.

     As he continued up the road at blazing speed, he whipped in and out of traffic as if it were standing still.  After about a minute, he glanced back and saw he wasn't being followed.  At least, not that he could see.

     Slowing a bit, he caught sight of the Eiffel Tower over a low building.

He was surprised by the leap and just how far it took him, but at the same time, it was if he was getting used to being ... no longer human.  What that actually meant, he had still to find out, but the things he could do, that he knew of, were certainly coming in handy, and in more ways than one.  These thoughts, as well as avoiding traffic, were paramount in his mind, but as he slowed he caught sight of what he believed was a landmark of some sort.  He knew it or of it, his brain was telling him, but it was not registering as it should.  It was like that déjà vu moment when something occurred but you were certain it had already happened.

He studied the monument for a while longer, then came to the realisation (once again), that he was wearing very little.  If he recalled correctly, and his memory was not filling in those blanks as quickly as he would have liked, being almost naked in any city was frowned upon.  So, taking stock of his options, especially as he seemed to have time to think without being chased own, he needed to find clothes, then a safe place to ponder everything that had happened to him so far as he understood it.

     He was in a low-rent part of town, with some apartment buildings, stores and gas stations.  One way or another, without any money, he'd likely have to steal something.  Should he try a clothing store, or check the back alleys for clotheslines?  Maybe he could find some other penniless vagrants and seek their assistance?

     He didn't like the look of the clouds.  They seemed to be getting darker.

The clouds seemed an ill omen, but he could not worry about them too much for now.  Looking around at his surroundings, he was guessing he would find something, anything at all in bins, maybe in or near a rubbish dump, or perhaps he would get lucky and find something relatively clean just lying there on the streets or in plain view somewhere.  The thought of stealing something never actually occurred to him, but he might have to if he was getting desperate.  So, he walked and, as he did, he looked, making sure he took the time to do so.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 09:10, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 26 using 1d20+6. Perception.  My first Crit.]

     By a shocking coincidence, there was a Thrift Clothes store nearby, and searching around the back, he found a bin full of discarded clothes.  They were either stained with paint or torn awkwardly. Not suitable for resale but not unusable.

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: Feel free to describe the particular appearance of the clothes you take.]

Rummaging around in the bin, he was constantly looking over his shoulder to see if anyone might spot him and say something.  The clothes might not be usable to some, but maybe to others, like himself, they were as gold.  Still, it was not something he could afford to think about too much, for that would take time he believed he did not have.  He quickly held up as many pieces of clothing as he thought would fit, placed some against his body if he was unsure, and believed he had an ensemble he could be happy with.

So, he ended up with a worn pair of navy jeans with a few rips and tears, and threadbare in at least four or five places.  A yellow button down, granddad collared shirt with missing buttons, frayed at the cuffs and collar.  A green rollneck sweater with holes under the arms and string coming loose from the bottom.  A well worn pair of multi-coloured derby shoes with laces which did not reach the top of the holes and were at least a size and a half too big for him.

His saving graces were twofold.  A navy blue woolen trench coat that had holes in every pocket and a few pockets actually missing.  It would at least cover the rest.  And a black, pork pie hat that he could wear in such a way that, when tilted, the upper parts of his face would not be seen, especially if he kept his head low to his chest.  With these items, he was happy, or happier.  Now all he had to do was find somewhere to change, then try to make sense of his situation.

     Garments in hand, he went up the alley and found a niche between two dumpsters.  The clothes fit well enough, even though the jacket was way too big for him.  Once dressed, he felt confident he could walk the streets without being overly conspicuous.

He did not mind being mistaken for a tramp, hobo, or homeless person.  He guessed those types of people would be here, in this city too.  The main thing was, he no longer stood out as much as he did and, though he assumed he might get harassed by the local police, again it was better than being chased by werewolf men ... maybe.  Now, he needed time to clear his mind, process everything that had happened to him since he woke up on that table back there, including the words of the wolf man, Mordred.  After all, it was not every day you were told you were not human because someone had experimented on you.

The strangest part about that was, Mordred had said he was their number one enemy, so why change him into what he was now in the first place?  He thought about that and shook his head.  Surely the strangest thing had to be there were actual werewolves in the world and they were not just tales of myth and legend.  This was a lot to take in, but his mind seemed to be holding together enough that he could do it without falling into some kind of depression or despair.  In fact, hidden from most of the world in this little alley, he decided he would stay here for a bit, see if any of the pieces of the puzzle made any more sense than a few minutes ago.


[Private to Omni-Tent: I forget how Trance works, and don't have the time to look it up right now.  Is it possible Dredd could induce it knowingly or not, to aid in thinking?  Thanks.]

     Dredd settled his mind, using the meditation techniques he had learned in college.  After a few minutes, the noise of the city faded away, he tried to remember all that he could from before he woke up on that bed.

     A woman's face flashed in the quiet darkness.



     A redhead with striking eyes.  She was laughing.  Then holding a gun.  He heard a gunshot and felt a stab of pain in his back.  He was gasping for air, struggling to keep running.

     He jolted back to reality, still gasping.  The panic subsided quickly and he could still remember her face.  It was Sarah Collinsworth, owner of Collinsworth Inc. and his employer.  He'd only been with the company for a few months, but had experienced a meteoric rise in status after having met her at a company party.  She always praised his work and said she was keeping an eye on him.  Then he had come home to find her sitting calmly in his ransacked apartment ... With a gun.

     With a wicked grin, she had told him to run, and he had.  Chased through London streets like a dog, she had caught him with supernatural speed and he'd been shot.  Then he collapsed and everything went dark before ... Awakening here.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:00, Thu 23 Feb 2017.

That was it!  The memory he had been waiting for.  Nothing had made sense up until then, not even his name or who he was.  Now, with the face of the woman, Sarah Colinsworth, fresh in his mind, he was starting to piece together some of his life.  He still could not remember his name, but some semblance of his former existence was starting to make itself known.  More faces, names, occupations, all of this was slowly making its way to the surface and he felt as if he could now connect with something solid.

What he had to do now was figure out who and what these werewolf people were, and how they were connected to Ms. Collinsworth.  Of course, all sorts of theories and speculation were entering his mind, but tangible evidence was what he had to go after, but where to start?  He was now in France, and judging by the landmark he was in Paris, but he did not speak the language so the start of his journey was going to be difficult.  Unless he could find somewhere English was readily spoken and he could make a start.  Maybe a library where he could check up on this Cerebus Laboratory?


[Private to Omni-Tent: 12:12, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 23 using 1d20+6.  Perception.  This would probably be more along the lines of a sense of direction from observing where he is going.]

     He moved out of the alley and moved down the sidewalk, taking in the buildings around him and the people all around.  Most paid him no mind, except to avoid him.  He was in a downtown business district, surrounded by historical buildings and a few modern constructions.  The area seemed to be full of tourists as well.

     However, as he moved along, trying to blend in and search for useful information, he caught sight of a car with darkened windows that seemed to be following him.  It had already circled past twice, and was coming up behind him again.

This was not coincidence, not by a long shot, and he wondered just how long they had been there.  Not that it mattered.  What mattered was that he had spotted them and could now try and evade them.  He wondered if they were possibly with with these were-people, or perhaps this new face, this Collinsworth might be behind it?  Perhaps the two were linked in some way he could not possibly connect?  It did not matter.  What mattered now was blending into the crowd, biding his time until he found an escape route, then ghosting on out of there without them noticing.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 00:00, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 22 using 1d20+10. Stealth.]

     Now that he was aware of them, he seemed to be able to effortlessly slip in and out of the crowd, taking advantage of shadows and alleys to slip out of sight.  Within a few minutes, he lost sight of them and never saw them come around again.

     He was now in an industrial part of town near the train tracks.  He saw all manner of boxcars, cranes, trucks and containers.

He now had no idea where he was, no idea how to get back to where he had been, and no idea where to go from here.  Signs would not help him, and neither would asking for directions, however, he still needed to get to that library.  As he strode past equipment and vehicles, he contemplated the two names he had, and wondered if they would even have information on Cerebus, much less Collinsworth.  Still, he had to try, because his life was not now his own, and to get to the bottom of it all, he had to start at the top somewhere, some kind of surface shell he could then dig beneath.  It would not guarantee he would get his life back, but it might lead him to some semblance of vengeance.  As he moved, he kept watch to see if maybe he had not slipped the car as easily as he had thought.

     He didn't see the vehicle or any sign of being followed.  Crossing over the train yard, he eventually found a new commercial district and recognized the word 'Bibliothèque' on a sign, directing him to a small public library.  Surely he could access the internet from there to figure out how long he had been unconscious and more information about Cerebus and his former employer.  Maybe he could even reach out to someone back in London for help?

Doing his best to seem as though he belonged, regardless of how tattered his clothes were, he walked into the library as if he owned the place, or at least, as if he had been here many a time before.  He did not ask for directions or ask anyone at all, simply looked around quickly for a computer so he could start several searches.  It was unfortunate he still could not remember what his name was, but that was not important right now.  First things first:

1: Find any and all information on this Cerberus group or organisation
2: Find out what he could about one Sarah Collinsworth
3: Find out anything he could about modern day werwolves and, as an afterthought
4: Find out just who the hell he was or might be


[Private to Omni-Tent: 19:26, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 20 using 1d20+5.  Technology.]

     He found the computers and suddenly realized that everything on them was in French.

Berating himself slightly, he got up from his chair and sought out one of the librarians, hoping like hell they were able to speak English, if only just a little bit.  Of course, he had tried finding the translate feature, but he was not going to risk changing it to some other language entirely.  Anyway, if none of the librarians spoke English, surely there would be at least one other person who did?  He would find out eventually.

     He found a younger-looking librarian behind a nearby desk.  She glanced up and hesitated before speaking to him, forcing a smile.

     "Oui monsieur? Puis-je vous aider?" she asked.

He smiled back and shrugged apologetically.  He hoped what he said would work, but that would depend if the woman spoke any English at all, and there was no guarantee of that.  "Bonsoir.  I only speak Englais, I am afraid.  Do you perhaps speak some, too?" he asked, and immediately felt silly doing so.

     The woman's mouth made a flat line.  "Oui, monsieur.  I speak Anglais.  How may I help you?" she asked, seeming a little annoyed.

Looking a little annoyed himself, he decided to let it go and continue to focus on what needed to be done.  Forcing himself to keep a pleasant visage, he replied to the woman.  "I am trying to locate some information on your computer systems, but everything is in French," and here he gave a shrug as if to say "obviously" before continuing.  "and I wondered if you could help me find out how to translate it all to English, please," he said.

     PM

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: Presence check, please.]

P M

[Private to Omni-Tent: 10:37, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 6 using 1d20+1. Presence.]

     The woman glared over her glasses at him.  She slowly rose, as if he had asked her to give him a lapdance.  "Oui, monsieur," she said dismissively, moving around the desk and over to the computer he had been using.  She bend over, and after a few mouse clicks, straightened up and motioned to the computer with an exaggerated flourish, like she had just performed a magic trick.  Without another word or look, she returned to her desk.

     Sitting at the computer, he saw it was all in English.  He began by searching for the Cerberus group, but came up with nothing but an American finance company headquartered in New York City.  Looking up Sarah Collinsworth, he found her profile page for the Collinsworth Incorporated, headquartered in London.  Any search for werewolves only lead to TV shows, movies, and books.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:54, Mon 10 Apr 2017.

It was annoying and frustrating both for him, but what did he expect while making a search for werewolves.  Still, the other two searches at least revealed something and, though not seeming to be of any use when looked at separately, there might be something between them, some connection of what he was looking for one, and that is what he did.  He tried all sorts of searches, which combined the American finance company, with Sarah Collinsworth, with Collinsworth Incorporated.  If there was a connection between them, however small, that would be good enough for him as it would be another place to start.

[Private to Omni-Tent: 11:39, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 24 using 1d20+5.  Technology.]

     Hard as he tried, he could find no connection between Collinsworth Inc. and Cerberus Capital Management.  Collinsworth had her hands in lots of deals, from fiber optics to iron mining, but her company had it's own financial division, and didn't need any aid from an American financial group.

     It occurred to Dredd that the name 'Cerberus' might not refer to a corporation or business, but to some kind of secret society.  One that perhaps didn't advertise it's existence on the internet.

The very thought did, indeed, occur to him.  If he remembered correctly, and he was remembering more and more now, Cerberus was some kind of three-headed dog, but he could not remember if it protected the entrance to the underworld, or if that was some other creature of myth.  Still, a little more curious, he tried to find out if there might be something close to some sort of 'society', secret or not, with the name Cerberus that he could maybe look up.  It was at times like these he wish he understood if he was the type to capture and torture a creature, or simply break a few bones to get the information he wanted from said creature.  Irrelevant now, so technology would have to do.


[Private to Omni-Tent: Would you like another Technology Roll, or can we simply move on?  Thanks.]

     He only found the names of a few sports teams, a dance group and several ships.

     Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder.  Looking back, he saw a man in a dark blue suit and sunglasses.  His other hand was behind his back.

     "Please, come with me, Mr. Bloodkin.  Don't make a scene," he said seriously.

He was annoyed with himself that he looked back and did not react to the hand on his shoulder in a manner befitting someone invading his personal space with such familiarity.  However, he was in a library, in France, so someone speaking English might (or might not) be a good thing.  On the flip side of that coin, when someone had their hand behind their back the way this one did, it tended to indicate they had one thing back there, so for now, he would do as asked.

"Who are you?  What do you want?  And why do you call me by that name?  Who is this Mr. Bloodkin you speak of?  Surely you are mistaken or have mistaken me for someone else?" he asked quietly and smoothly as he rose slowly from his seat.


[Private to Omni-Tent: Dredd Bloodkin is the name he will give himself once he knows exactly what he is.  However, if this guy knows what has happened to him, perhaps it is the name he/they? have given him and he adopts it.]

     The man lowered his eyebrows a moment, then pulled a folded piece of paper from behind his back and glanced at it.

     "Sorry, Mr. Bluestin.  I represent your employer, and they are happy to know that you are unhurt after the ... Incident.  Now, if you would come with me.  I have a car waiting," the man said.

He stood stock still for a moment or three, studying the man before him.  Blustin?  Employer?  Representation?  Incident?  He did not know this man or what he was talking about, but it sounded like the man had some, if not many, answers for him.  Yes, it could have been some subtle ruse, but he would put himself in such a hazardous position if it meant life, as he currently knew it, became a little clearer.

Eventually, he spoke.  "I shall, but I have many questions that need answering, and I do intend to get some during the ride, so be prepared to talk ... a lot," he said, and indicated for the man to lead on with a nod of his head.

     "I'm only a delivery man, Sir.  Please, don't make a scene," he said, motioning to the exit.  A black sedan was waiting outside on the curb.

He sighed deeply.  Just as he thought he was getting somewhere, this one turned out to be just a messenger.  It was at this point he thought about throwing a hissy fit, but that would do him no good.  Instead, he did as asked and headed for the exit, walking briskly to the car that waited outside.  If this one had no answers, there was no need to talk to him further.

     The man in the suit opened the back door for him and then climbed in after him.  The back seat was very spacious with a mini-bar in the center console and video displays built into the back of the seats.  But then Dredd realized that there were no front seats, and no driver.

     Regardless, the car pulled away from the curb smoothly and blended into traffic.

     The man in the suit sat quietly with his hands on his knees.

     The video displays turned on and a woman's face appeared.  She looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn't think from where.



     "It's good to see you in one piece, Mr. Bluestin.  Just relax and the car will bring you to our Paris affiliate," she said pleasantly.

There was that name again and, as it was directed at him a second time, he was assuming that it had to be his name.  With an imperceptible shrug, he looked back at the face on the screen impassively, waited a few moments, then replied.  "It is good to be in one piece," he responded, then continued.  "However, you have me at a disadvantage.  You seem to know my name, but I have no idea about you.  I would relax a whole lot more if I knew who you are, who you are working for, and why I find myself in this current predicament," he said.

     The woman's eyebrows lowered a moment.  "I'm sorry.  Has your memory been affected?" she asked, seeming to glance away from the camera for a moment.

     "This is ... Unfortunate.  Well, rest assured we are here to help you.  My name is Jazmine and I'm the Lead Researcher for Collinsworth Inc.  It was my work that lead to your ... Transformation.  How are you feeling, by the way?" she asked with concern.

His face showed just a touch of animation at the revelation, the arch of an eyebrow indicting this and a little more.  So, there were answers to be had, but more than that, there was the "why" of it all, which needed to be discussed.  "I have little memory of who I am, although bits and pieces have been finding their way into my consciousness.  Needless to say, the full presentation of all the facts would greatly help in that respect.  As to how I am feeling?  Well, as far as I can tell, I have no issues ... except for being chased and almost killed by ... creatures from tales and legends who should not exist.  Did you "transform" them as well?" he asked.

     The woman seemed to sigh with some relief at first, then shook her head in shock.

     "Oh, no!  Of course not!  The Lycans are some kind of ancient cult, hiding in the shadows for centuries.  When they started interfering with our business, we were terribly surprised by their existence.  But we can't just fight them openly, hence the Daywalker program I developed based on information I acquired from our partners in America ... But I digress.  I will make sure you get a full debriefing once you arrive.  Simon will take care of you until then," she said.  The man in the suit grumped.

He almost smiled then.  Almost.  It had to do with finally being on the path to getting the answers he needed, and that he had not, in fact, lost his mind ... yet.  Leaning back in his seat, he looked over at Simon briefly, then back at the screen.  "Well, Jazmine, I look forward to all the information you have to give.  However, I do have just one question ... ," and here, he paused again, taking a moment before asking it.  "Just who, exactly, am I?" he asked.  He was not worried about not getting the full information about everything else, but this was the one thing he needed.  How could anyone be any kind of a person if they had no sense of self?

     Jazmine chuckled.  "Your name is Drew Bluestin.  You're one of our employees, hired specifically for your genetic pre-disposition.  You volunteered for the Daywalker program and ... Well, to be blunt, you're now half-vampire," she said.

     Simon grunted.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:01, Sat 06 May 2017.

So, his name was Drew, an employee of this Collinsworth Inc,. but why did that not make any real connections with him?  He tilted his head a little as he looked back at Jazmine, and his brows furrowed .. deeply.  "I ... volunteered ... for a program called Daywalker, and now I am a ... half-vampire?  Why would I volunteer for such a thing?" he asked, a look of total bemusement on his face.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:51, Sat 06 May 2017.

     "I identified you from certain genetic markers you hold.  You have all the powers of a vampire, but none of their weaknesses.  Long life, enhanced strength, maybe more.  I can't wait to start running some tests," Jazmine said eagerly.

     The car came up to a gate in a long fence.  As the metal gate creaked open, Drew could see a three-story, modern-looking facility inside.

     "Oh, you're here.   I'll meet you downstairs.  Look forward to seeing you in person," she said, and the screen went dark.

     The car pulled up to a covered entrance and stopped.  Simon climbed out of his side and the door next to Drew opened on it's own.

     A pair of glass doors slid open and Jazmine walked out.  She was a leggy brunette in a black pencil skirt,  turquoise top with matching wedge heels.  She was holding an silver tablet that matched her dangling hoop earrings and watch.

     "Welcome back, Mr. Bluestin," she said, glancing at his clothes curiously.  "I ... I apologize for what the Lycans did to you.  Our security at that facility was woefully inadequate."

Drew noted that his question had not actually been answered, but let that go for the moment as the "benefits" of being a 'creature of the night' became apparent.  Not that it made him any less sceptical about all of this.  Though he would like to know what potential he held, he did not like the sounds of having tests run on him, so if they got out of hand, he would decline to do any more.  All of these thoughts and more were running through his head as he climbed out of the car and met Jazmine.

He noted her look at his clothes, but it bothered him not.  Clothes did not maketh the man.  They certainly helped to make him look good, but it was thought and deed which ultimately defined him.  Drew nodded back at her welcome, but his head tilted to the side a little when she mentioned the facility.  That, explained a lot.  "How did they find out about it?  About me?" he asked.

     Jazmine bit her lip nervously and seemed to blush.  "I'm not sure.  We're looking into that.  But it's hard to gather intel on the Lycans.  They're very good at hiding," she explained.

     She lead Drew down a hallway through a few sets of secure doors that she opened with a fob on her keychain.  "Would you like to get cleaned up or rest at all?  I'm eager to get started on the tests, but I know you've had quite an ordeal," she asked as they entered a large hospital room.  There was a bed, couch, large screen TV, private bath and a wardrobe.

Drew looked at Jazmine as if he was studying her, trying to gauge whether or not he could trust her and, indeed, the organisation.  It mattered not that they had "saved" him, it had more to do with the fact that they had made him into what he currently was, and that was something he had to think about for a bit.  Finally he made a decision, but he had a few questions first.

"What kinds of tests do you need to run?  Surely you did all of that when you were turning me into ... this," he said, and very theatrically waved his arms out in front of himself, indicating his very self, Drew Bludstin.  If that was his actual name.  Sounded really silly to his ears.

     "Physical tests, mostly.  Your procedure had only just been completed with the Lycans attacked.  They must not have sensed you were alive at first.  If my predictions are correct, your heart beats much slower than normal, but you should have increased physical strength, enhanced regenerative abilities, increased reflexes and perhaps even extra-sensory perception," she explained.

     "Why don't you clean up and get changed.  I'll be back in a few minutes and then I'll take you to the gym," she said, backing out of the room with a smile.  The door didn't close completely behind her.

Drew raised a brow at that. Of course, he knew he had some abilities, as witnessed by him jumping over that fence and outrunning werewolves, but the other things?  That sounded impressive, even to his ears.  He nodded at Jazmine rather than reply, then watched her leave before finding somewhere to clean up and maybe even change his clothes.  All the while, his mind was split into two camps: the first was distrust for an organisation that could experiment on people like this, but the other being really impressed upon hearing what he had the potential to do.

     The bathroom was well stocked with shampoo, soap, lotion, washcloths and towels.  The image in the mirror was familiar, but clearly unkept.

     He found various sizes of undergarments, and several 'one size fits most' clothes like sweat pants and shirts.

     By the time he was dressed, Jazmine had returned.  "Feeling better?  We can get you better fitting clothes later, if you prefer," she offered.

     "Are you ready to see what you can do?" she asked, motioning back to the door.

Drew looked in the mirror and of course, did not recognise who was looking back at him.  It would take some time to get used to who he is, and who he was, probably less to get used to who he will be.  Deciding to shave, he got the urge to shore his head as well, and did so, nodding back at himself when he had finished.  He chose sweat pants and top and, when Jazmine returned and asked him if he was ready, Drew simply nodded and made his way to wherever the gym was.

     Leading the way, Jazmine headed down another hallway and entered a set of double doors.  Inside was a gymnasium-sized room full of various exercise equipment, from rings to uneven bars to a trampoline.

     "Now, we'll just pull up your baseline statistics and then run you through the exercises again.  Just like last time," Jazmine said with a grin.

Drew did not smile back, for he had no idea what he did the "last time" and how it would be just like it.  He still could not believe he had volunteered for something like this but had to admit that, in its way, it was both disconcerting ... and fairly cool.  He simply nodded back at Jazmine, indicating that he was ready for her to proceed, though something told him she knew that already and was going to continue regardless of any objection he may have had.

     She fitted him with some stick-on monitors and started him out on a treadmill.  Starting at a light jog, Drew had no difficulty.  She slowly started increasing the speed and he easily match it without even breaking a sweat.  Jazmine looked both shocked and intrigued at the same time as she tapped at her datapad.

     Drew finally glanced at the speed indicator and it seemed he was running at 25 miles per hour, and he wasn't even winded.

     "Wow!  Do you want to see how fast you can go?" she asked.

"I already have an idea," he replied, thinking back to when he outran the werewolves, and glanced again at the indicator.  "But, if I'm truly going to find out what I can do, then I have to go as far as I can.  From now on, don't ask, just do," he finished, and the look on his face was not so much determination, as a stoic, resolute defiance.

     Jazmine raised her eyebrows, seemingly impressed.  "Very well," she said, dialing up the speed of the treadmill.

     Drew picked up the pace, but quickly found himself straining.  The speed got up to about 55 mph before he really started having trouble.  Noticing his difficulty, Jazmine slowed down the advance.  The numbers ticked a little higher, and he got up to 59 mph before he stumbled.

     He shot off the back of the treadmill and into a pile of padding that had been positioned there for just such an occurrence.  The machine powered down and Jazmine ran to his side.

     "Are you okay?" she asked.  He was winded, but not hurt.  "How did it feel?"

Drew looked up from hooded lids and replied a little gruffly.  "Like I've just been hurled from a treadmill into some padding."  He noted the concern on Jazmine's face, so tempered his mood somewhat.  "However, I'm fine.  Not as fast as I thought I might be, and the lungs are not as sturdy as I would have hoped, but I'm sure we can improve both stamina and endurance given time.  So ... what's next?" he asked as he gained his feet.

     Jazmine raised her eyes at his comments.  "Nearly 60 miles per hour and it wasn't fast enough for you?  Aren't you the over achiever?" she quipped.

     She guided him to a device that looked like a bench-press machine, but it was connected to a bank of computers and two large canisters. "These hydraulic pistons allow us to simulate lifting up to two tons.  Where would you like to start?" she asked.

"Somewhere I don't break my arms trying to do too much," Drew quipped back, looking at the machine.  "Two tons, huh?  I'm guessing I'm strong, but that sounds like a bit of a stretch, even for me in this ... form.  How about we go with what's normal for a "normal" human being, then see where we go from there," he said.  It was obvious he still had some doubts about how they had changed him, and what they had changed him into.

     Jazmine nodded and set the machine to 150 lbs.  When Drew lifted it, it was surprisingly easy.  He could sense the weight, but it didn't cause any fatigue.

     Jazmine started increasing the amount slowly, but it caused no clear change in his performance no matter how high she went.  He could hardly tell it was even getting heavier, but no matter what he was able to handle it.  After a few final reps, Jazmine told him to stop and came out.

     "Um ... You peaked out the machine.  Two tons," she said in shock.  Drew hadn't even broken a sweat.

The initial look Drew gave Jazmine was one of "you're just messing with me now, aren't you?", but when he saw her expression, he had to raise a brow ... again.  "Are you sure the machine was set correctly?" he asked.  "Two tons is a lot of weight, and I was barely feeling any of it.  Could you check again, just so we both know it's not a fluke or a faulty machine," he said.

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: 10 Strength means you can lift 25 tons.]

     "Yes, I calibrated it this morning.  I'm happy to show you the settings and go over the inner working of the equipment if it will convince you.  Or, I could take you out back to the loading dock and you could lift a truck or something," she suggested.

Drew shook his head in the negative.  If she was certain, then she was certain, no use going over it, especially as it seemed like he could lift a lot more.  "I could lift a truck?" he asked, almost rhetorically, his brow furrowed into serious thought.  "You really believe I could lift that much?" he actually asked, but waved the question off.  He did not know the math, but it seemed to him that trucks weighted less than two tons (depending on the truck).  "Sure!  Let's give it a shot.  Maybe I can actually lift two trucks ... at the same time," he quipped, but wondered if he could possibly do such a thing.

     Jazmine chuckled.  "I highly doubt that from a structural and leverage point of view," she said, leading him down a hall and into a warehouse area where there were several stacked shipping containers and one parked semi truck.

     "According to my statistics, that truck weighs nine tons.  Why don't you start by trying to lift one end," she suggested.

Not only did he feel like a lab rat, Drew felt as though he were being treated as one.  Not Jazmine's fault, as she was only doing what she must to determine what he was capable of, but he did not like it at all.  Still, he had to know, too, so when he entered the warehouse and was directed to the truck, he simply looked at it for a few moments, then stalked over and attempted to lift whichever end he came to first.

     Squatting in front of the truck and gripping under the bumper with both hands, he lifted with his arms and legs.  The truck groaned slightly from being lifted in such a manner, but Drew still felt like he was lifting barely more than a golf cart.  He easily lifted the front end to a full extension over his head.

     "Wow.  How ... How does it feel," Jazmine stammered.

Drew shrugged at the question.  Just how did it feel?  Well, it felt like he was lifting something, that was for sure, but did she mean how does he feel, or how does lifting the truck feel?  Turning to look at Jazmine, Drew shrugged again.  "Feels like I'm lifting a truck," he responded.  "What else you got?" he asked.

     Jazmine just blinked in shock and took another few notes.  She then glanced around at the various cargo containers in the room, then shook her head.

     "I think that's enough for now.  Just set it down gently, if you can," she asked.  "Your strength is higher than any we've rated.  It's really incredible.  I say we just move on to a few more tests and then you get some rest."

Letting the truck down as gently as he could, Drew simply shrugged at the news and walked over to Jazmine.  "Which tests do we move onto now?  I say we get them all out of the way as soon as possible before I get any kind of rest.  The sooner I know what I can do, the sooner I can get information on everything that is going on.  The who's, the why's, the when's, the what's, and the where's," he replied.

     Jazmine raised her eyebrows and nodded.  "Okay, let's do all we can," she agreed, leading him back to the gym.

     All and all, after about three hours of various physical and mental tests, they discovered he was very quick, almost like The Flash, he could regenerate slightly, he could leap dozens of feet, and he could see in the dark.  Additionally, his hand-eye coordination, stamina and balance were all way above that of normal humans.

     However, as time had gone on, Drew was feeling a strange gnawing in the pit of his stomach and the back of his brain.  Whenever he got close to Jazmine, he could swear he could hear her heartbeat and his eyes always seemed to fall on her neck, where he felt he could see the blood pumping in her arteries.

     "Are you okay?" she asked, actually startling him.  "You keep staring at me."

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: Character sheet is added to your profile.  You should be able to edit it.]

Drew shook his head at Jazmine's words, more to try and clear his mind than anything else, but that feeling in the pit of his stomach was like nothing he had ever felt before.  "Sorry.  I hadn't realised.  Didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable," he said in reply, and tried to turn his head away from her neck but found it very difficult to do so.

Drew decided to try and change the topic of conversation.  "So.  This place.  This organisation.  This programme.  What was it all for?  Why was it started?  What need could anyone possibly have for a ... vampire?" he asked.


[Private to Omni-Tent: Thanks.]

     Jazmine raised an eyebrow at his response before turning back to her datapad.  She finished entering some information before glancing back up to answer his questions.

     "Oh, Collinsworth Inc. is a mutli-billion dollar corporation with offices all over the world.  It started as a shipping company, but eventually started brancing out into manufacture, publishing and research.  Once Mr. Collinsworth started seeing how poorly some businesses were being run, he felt obligated to step in and take them over for their own good.  Miss Collinsworth took over when ... He died," she said.

     "The Daywalker programme was started in order to develop better ways of hunting and combating the Lycans.  They're mostly like a rival corporation, but with fangs," she tried to joke.  She cleared her throat.  "Miss Collinsworth herself noticed their attempts to undermine our business, and they revealed their true nature by trying to kill her.  She lost five bodyguards that night."

     She sighed.  "One of our investors, a group of ... Vampires ... Told us about a man named Blade in America.  He was born from a vampire, but wasn't a vampire himself.  They called him the Daywalker, since he had many powers of a vampire, but could walk in the sun.  They hypothesized that the process could be duplicated or even improved upon on someone with the right genetic markers.  And here you are," she said with a smile of triumph.

     "You'll be able to take the fight to the Lycans and stop them from interfering with our business," she insisted.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:37, Tue 08 Aug 2017.

Although Drew had asked the question, he was only dimly aware of the answers being given.  They were registering in his brain all right, but not as much as the vein in Jazmine's neck, the one that was pumping blood through it right now, pulsing with precious life.  It was only as Jazmine mentioned talking the fight to the Lycans that he managed to pull himself out of his 'trance' and look her in the eyes.

"Take the fight to the Lycans?  And what about these vampires?  Where did they come from?  What do they want?  What is the bigger picture here?" he asked, instantly suspicious now.

     "The vampires never tried to destroy our interests.  They've been perfectly proper business partners since the beginning of our corporation.  We didn't know they were vampires then, of course.  But it seems there are several groups of supernatural beings out there, co-existing with us humans and just trying to survive.  Lycan numbers and interests have been on the rise lately, and it's getting dangerous.  We have to protect ourselves," she explained.

     She yawned.  It was getting late, and humans needed their rest.

Drew frowned again, very heavily this time.  Several groups of supernatural beings?  What the hell was happening in the world he thought he knew?  Whatever it was, he did not like it, and was suspicious of all of them.  About to say more, he caught Jazmine's yawn and, somewhat reluctantly, held back.  There would be plenty of time to ask his questions tomorrow.

Nodding his head as if in acceptance of what she had explained, Drew simply stared back at her and, if there was nothing more from her, would simply shrug as if to say "sure".

     As if noting her own weariness, Jazmine asked Drew how he was feeling.  Was he tired at all?  They didn't have much information on the sleeping habits of the Daywalker in America.

Drew frowned, trying to understand and explain what this feeling was deep inside, but no matter how much he attempted to isolate and explore it, it kept slipping away from him.  All he knew was ... something was wrong and he could not express what that was.  How could he if he had never felt it before?  "Not tired, just a little out of sorts.  Takes some getting used to, both mentally and physically, I guess," he replied.

     Jazmine agreed that it might take him some time to get used to the changes in his body.  Yawning again, she directed him back to the room where he'd changed clothes.

     "I've got to get home to my girlfriend," she said sleepily.  "Get some rest and I'll come get you tomorrow around 9 a.m.  Then we can talk with Miss Collingsworth."

     She then handed him the fob that opened his door.

Focusing on her neck once more, Drew's eyes were only drawn away from it by Jazmine handing him the fob to his door.  He tried to ask himself what was wrong with him, but that question did not want to be answered or even acknowledged, it seemed.  Something deep inside was troubling him, but maybe a good night's rest would ease whatever was going on.  Did pseudo vampires even need sleep?  He took the key, nodded his head, and turned to find his room with a "See you tomorrow," tossed over his shoulder.  Somehow, he had a feeling this was going to be one long night.

     Finding the room as he left it, he tried to settle in.  The events and revelations of the day were still running through his mind, and the discomforting hunger in his gut was still there.  It wasn't like being hungry for food, which he wasn't, but it was something else.  Being he knew he was half-vampire now, he started to wonder if it was exactly what it was likely to be?

     He could watch TV, surf the internet, get a shower, and/or try to sleep.

Drew stalked off to wherever the shower room was and took a fairly long one.  All the while the water washed off of him, he was thinking about why he was feeling the way he was.  It was turning into an all consuming obsession where he could think of nothing else, which put him in mind of medical conditions that people have or think they have, but are not able to pin point what they think it may be. Drew had heard that you can get all kinds of information on the internet, so after the shower, that's what he did: searched the internet trying to find out why he was feeling what he was feeling and why.

     The internet was indeed full of things.  There was vampire art, vampire literature, vampire porn, vampire illustrations, vampire fanart, vampire slash fiction, vampire movies, vampire cosplay, and much much more.  If he was going to find anything useful, he would need to be much more specific with his search, but would he know what information to trust?

Drew abandoned the vampire themed search as that was not what he was looking for.  Simple or ordinary medical conditions was what he was interested in, for at his core, he still saw himself as a human being.  He had yet to grow into this vampire thing.  Concentrating on what he was feeling, he did his best to describe it in a way a computer search would understand so that he could get some kind of idea of what it might be.



[Private to Omni-Tent: 10:23, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 14 using 1d20+5. Technology.]

     Searches came up with various indigestion, irritable bowel, celiac's disease and other gastro-intestinal conditions related to pain in the gut.  Combined with his feelings of interest in Jazmine's neck, it really felt like a sort of 'hunger.'  Some sites even pinged on pregnant women and their bizarre cravings for things like dirt and chocolate-covered pickles.

Drew continued to look at web sites and pages for perhaps another hour before deciding to turn off the computer and for the next hour, he wondered if maybe it wasn't just hunger after all.  Now that he was half-vampire, or whatever it was he was supposed to be, perhaps the human side of him was craving something like coal covered with peanut butter and jelly.

He thought about that deeply but came to the conclusion that, if he was actually a vampire, then as far as he knew (and he did not know much) they were virtually immortal if they did not go out in the sun ... but, he had already been out in the sun and only felt its warmth.  It could be that his human side was affecting him somehow, but again, being a vamp, even half of one, would negate something like that ... wouldn't it?

Another hour passed where mind and boy continued to question and act up, and still he was no further into what was making him feel this way, as if he was hungry but not.  He could not remember eating today, or at all since he woke up in that clinic or hospital or whatever it was, so maybe it was ... Hungry!  The more the word played around in his mind, the more he was convinced that was it: he was merely hungry except, it did not feel like normal hunger, and if it wasn't normal, then what else could make him feel this hungry?


[Private to Omni-Tent: 09:43, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 17 using 1d20+1. Intellect.  Trying to have Drew figure out why he has this feeling.]

     The only thing that made sense was that Drew was hungry for blood.  Disgusting as it might sound, thoughts of drinking fresh blood only made him hungrier.  Vampires needed blood to survive, regardless of their immortality, so it stood to reason that he did too.  That's why Jazmine's neck had looked so inviting.

The thought was disgusting to Drew and he mentally rejected the idea even as he was physically drawn to it.  It made no sense to him yet it made all the sense in the world ... except for the part where he had actually (supposedly) volunteered for such a program.  However, now that he had narrowed it down and was fairly certain that was what he needed, what was he supposed to do now?  Go out on the town and drain the blood of a virgin or some such?  Could he trust himself to simply go out?  Suddenly, being a half vampire did not seem  so ... appealing.  Still, it was late.  Maybe some sleep might take his mind, and body, off of blood, or so he hoped.

     Though it took some time to slow his mind, fatigue eventually overtook Drew and he got to sleep.

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: You're welcome to describe any strange (or not so strange) dreams as he wakes.]

     He awoke to the sound of knocking at his door.  "Drew?  You okay in there?" Jazmine's voice asked through the door.  It seemed they weren't spying on him.

     The clock read 9:46 a.m.

Looking at the clock and hearing Jaznine's voice, Drew instantly rose up and out of bed.  He did not want Jazmine to be around because of his revelation last night, but also because he thought he could remember a dream ... but he rarely, if ever dreamed.  Well, not lately, anyway.  This one was strange, but then, what wasn't strange about his current situation.

An ancient graveyard late at night, lit and highlighted by a moon that seemed to shine its radiance directly upon this plot of land.  It is, to coin a phrase, as silent as the grave, with not even the smallest insect daring to breath.  Mist swirls all around from a non-existent breeze, thick, heavy and cloying, yet light and permeable at the same time.  Just then, a hound of some description breaks the deathly silence with a long and ululating howl in an eerily forlorn tone and at that moment, all time seems to stand still.

The mist lets up a little allowing sound to flood back in: an owl hoots, insects chatter and if they could, the dead would be speaking from their graves.  Enter another sound, that of a creaking, iron gate being swung open on hinges that had seen better days, the noise like fingernails scraping across a chalkboard falling on delicate ears.  An indistinct figure can be seen cutting through the mist, making its way slowly towards the centre of the graveyard, a figure wearing a hooded cloak that reveals neither shape nor form.

There is no need for a lantern as the moon's gaze softens to provide enough illumination to see naturally, and because of this, the figure easily finds what it is looking for.  A coffin, dead centre in the graveyard, resting on a small monument, the epitaph either long erased through the scourge of time, or hidden by the mist which even now seems to thicken and coil like the tendrils of some overgrown shrubbery.  The coffin is open, but nothing can be seen inside.

It is here the figure stops, pauses to look both left and right, above and behind, before continuing to the open coffin and peering inside.  There, in a suit of elegance from an earlier time of centuries past, lies a male body, arms crossed over his chest as if in simple repose, for not only is the suit as dapper and as fresh as the day it had been made, but so, also, is the man, looking like he is asleep and nothing more, even though none can see his face clearly.

The figure stares at man's countenance for a few minutes, then leans forward, face still covered by the hood, but a pale hand reaches out, presumably to stroke a cheek of the man in the coffin.  It stops half way, and for the first time, you can tell this is a woman, for the hand seems small, slim, and the nails are painted an alluring shade of red.  The pause or indecision now over, the pale hand once again moves towards the face of man in the coffin.  This time, there is no hesitation as the hand strokes the face, slowly and softly, her head tilting to the side as she does so ...

 ... Suddenly, and without warning, the figure in the coffin opens it eyes, yellow tinged on the outside with a blood-red hue to the rest, and its mouth opens into a seemingly rictus grin.  Its hand shoots out, preternaturally fast, grabbing the wrist of the woman who lets out a scream of both shock and pain, which is when those eyes focus on her.  It sits up slowly and, as it does so, the face now becomes clear as it moves through the mist.  Drew turns to face the woman and, as he does so, pulls her to him at the same time.  The woman, who still cannot be seen, tries to pull away but the grip on her wrist is like iron.

Something is said by Drew, drowned out by another hound possibly answering the call of the first.  In that moment, Drew smiles, his teeth, showing for the first time, looking like razor sharp talons.  His other hand reaches out, grabbing the woman around the throat and, as he draws her to him, even as he draws ever nearer to her, we finally see who she is.  The hood falls back to reveal the face of Jazmine, eyes wide in fear, mouth open in shock, pain, and terror.  Drew tilts her head to one side, his mouth slowly descending towards her neck ...

That is when he woke up to the sound of knocking.  That is why he had some serious doubts about being around, or in the vicinity, of Jazmine.  "Uh ... we ... we need to talk," was all he managed to grumble in reply.

     There was a slight pause.  "Oh?  Can I come in?" Jazmine asked.

"No!  Stay where you are," Drew replied, a bit quicker than he would have liked, then continued.  "It's probably ... better ... if you stayed outside right now.  That said, let me ask ... what is the deal with this whole being a half vampire thing?  Specifically ... what is the need for drinking ... blood?" he asked, and even as he mentioned the word, that feeling in his stomach flared up again.

     There was a pause of quiet, and then a slot opened in the door.  With a wet splat, a plastic bag filled with red liquid fell through onto the floor.

     "See if this helps.  Let me know if you need more," came Jazmine's reply.  If anything, she sounded curious, as if this was just another test.

Just the sight of it caused Drew's eyes to widen, his heart to thump erratically, and his mind to flare with all sorts of images, both calm and serene and brutal.  However, he managed to keep himself seated (barely) and only stared at the bag where it lay.  "I know what it is, but what is ... in it?  Is this some synthetic version of blood, or am I looking at the real thing?" he asked, and for all the seeming innocence of the question, there were serious connotations behind it.

     "It's regular, 'O' positive blood.  I ordered some from a blood bank when we found you.  Our vampire friends say it works for them, so it should sustain you.  If it works, we have more.  I'm also working on a serum that should lessen the effects of your hunger, based on some data I got from the USA," she explained.

Drew nodded his head in response, though Jazmine could not see it.  "So you knew this would happen and were already prepared for it," he said.  "What else do you know and have already prepared for?" he asked.  His tone wasn't accusatory ... yet, he simply wanted, needed, to know.

     Jazmine seemed to chuckle.  "Did I know that turning someone into a vampire, even a half-vampire, might cause them to crave blood?  Yeah, I figured that one out," she snarked through the door.

     "Are we going to keep talking through this closed door, or are you gonna have some breakfast so we can talk like normal people?" she asked.  "We're prepared for a lot of things; Zombie outbreak, global warming, solar flares.  'Success favors the prepared,' as Miss Collinsworth always says."

Drew almost laughed out loud at the term "normal people", but managed to keep that inside.  Instead, he let out a kind of grunt-cum-grumble that resembled a short, barking laugh but probably came out as more of a weary, grumpy sigh.  "Long as you've thought of everything," he said, and tentatively took some of the blood before draining the bag, only really knowing its sweet taste at that moment in time, all other considerations obliterated from his mind.  Once he was back to a semblance of self, he stood up, walked to the door and opened it.  "Seems we have a lot to talk about," he said.

     Jazmine was standing there confidently in a red blouse, black knee-length skirt and red high heels.  She was holding her datapad in her elbow.

     "Feeling more yourself again?  Was the hunger so overwhelming that you really thought you might attack me if you had opened the door?  What did it 'feel' like?" she asked, ever the scientist.

Drew was looking at the empty pack in his hand when Jazmine entered, but he did not look up at her.  He heard her questions, but he wasn't going to be answering those just yet.  He had questions of his own.  "Tell me if being a half vampire is 'normal'?" he asked, but waved it away immediately.  "What I want to know is ... how often will I have to drink this stuff?  What are my time limits?  And is there any chance of me going berserk if I don't get any?"

     Jazmine raised her eyebrows.  "Normal is a very subjective term, Drew.  I consider you by your actions.  You clearly still have compassion, or you would not have warned me when I came to your door," she explained.  She glanced at the empty bag.

     "I don't know how often you will need to feed.  I only have limited reports of another daywalker who used a synthesized drug to curb his own vampiric urges.  I can only assume that the feelings you had last night will only intensify if you go too long without nourishment.  My goal is to learn your capabilities and limits and help you to live with them," she said.  "Now, how do you wish to proceed?"

Drew looked back at Jazmine blankly.  It seemed she did not understand sarcasm, or chose not to, but that was fine.  His ears perked up when he heard about this other daywalker, and immediately focused on that.  "Synthesised drug?  What would that be?  Do you know more about it?  Can you replicate it yourselves?  When will something like that be available to me?" he asked.  Obviously, he was very keen to understand more about this condition of his.

     Jazmine sighed and backed up slightly to lean against the opposite wall.

     "I don't know, Drew.  I said I had limited reports, and no hard data.  The vampires haven't been very forthcoming in that regard, considering this other daywalker didn't like them very much, and the feeling was mutual.  I can't replicate a myth," she said.

     Then she snapped her fingers.  "Maybe ... You could find out more information on the serum or see about obtaining a sample from the United States?" she suggested with a hint of sarcasm.

Drew was about to reply with very dry, very droll humour that Jazmine may not be able to replace a myth, but they certainly did their best with him, when she went on to make her suggestion.  Of course, drew was so focused on what he wanted to know, that he missed it completely, hearing only "You could find out information on the serum by obtaining a sample from the United States".

He jumped up instantly (which might have scared Jazmine unintentionally) and with all seriousness replied.  "The United States has samples of this serum?  Why is it they have it and you do not?  Why are these vampires not forthcoming?  Are we not after the same things?  What are they hiding?  What do they not want us to know?  Why are we not on our way to the United States already?"

     Jazmine peered over her horn-rimmed glasses.  "I said ... It's ... A ... Myth.  This other daywalker was at war with the vampires there.  They don't know who made the serum for him.  They don't know where he is anymore," he said carefully and with a hint of irritation.

     "Look.  I'm not a vampire secretary, Drew.  I have no idea what their intentions are," she practically shouted.  She took a breath, and calmly continued.  "I work for Collinsworth and she entrusted me with enough knowledge to perform your ... Transformation.  You want answers so bad, why don't you ask them yourself.  I'm sure Ms. Collinsworth could arrange a meeting.  Like many silent partners, they prefer to remain in the shadows."

     With that, she turned and started to walk back towards the testing lab.

Drew stood there for what may have been just a few seconds, watching Jazmine walk straight for the door and, when she actually reached said door and was almost out, he called after her.  "Yes.  Do that for me, please.  And anyone else who has some answers for me.  I'm still not sure I would "volunteer" for something like this, and answers would go a long way," he said.

     Jazmine paused in the doorway, glancing back at Drew with a bit of a sullen gaze.

     "I don't think anyone will have all the answers you're looking for Drew," she said in a low voice.  "But let me talk to the boss.  Relax for a bit, or get some exercise, or whatever."

     She continued into the lab and the door shut behind her.

Drew nodded to himself when Jazmine left, and spoke to no one at all.  "Someone has all the answers.  This kind of thing does not get put together without someone recording everything.  Answers are out there ... you just have to ask the right people," he said to himself, and laid back on his bed, hands folded behind his head as he thought about a possible meeting with Collinsworth.

     At least an hour passed before Jazmine called Drew on an intercom.

     "Ms. Collinsworth says she'll try to arrange a meeting with our Vampire Associates in a couple of days.  In the meantime, she has authorized us to head to America and see what we can learn about this other Daywalker.  I have a few journalist contacts who might know a thing or two," she said.

This news made Drew spring from his bed and almost leap to his feet.  Knowledge at last!  He was fairly sure Jazmine knew all she could know about the situation, but that was not much and he needed to know a lot more if he were to continue in any capacity.  Perhaps he had listened to too many conspiracy theories, but Drew did not, would not believe that the Collinsworth Group did not know more than they were letting on, and he would be nobody's errand boy simply because they wanted him to be, regardless of how much they had spent on turning him into what he currently was.

This trip would either be where he learned more about himself and this "Daywalker" that went before, or it would be the point where they parted ways, and consequences be damned.  "That sounds reasonable.  Thank you," he replied.  "Now then, are there any more tests you need or would like to conduct?" he asked.

     "Not at all.  I'll be ready in about half an hour, then we'll get a car to take us to the airport where a private jet is waiting.  Don't worry, we'll have the minibar stocked with blood in case you get 'hungry.'  Would you like any specific clothes or sundries of your own?" she asked over the intercom.

Drew was surprised by how quickly things were being set into motion.  He had thought Jazmine meant next week, but half an hour seemed ... too convenient, and Drew could not help but feel Collinsworth was doing everything she could to accommodate him, without giving him what he really wanted or needed.  He would have to be very wary, he told himself.

So, he busied himself with the question asked, and kept his own counsel.  "Specifics?  They do a line for the well-groomed half-vampire, do they?" he asked, but that seemed too harsh on the woman, so he answered properly.  "Clothes are not a priority for me.  Just something plain and simple is all I need.  Same with the sundries.  I'm just here for answers," he said.

     "If you want to stay in sweatpants the whole time, that's fine with me," Jazmine commented, "But I'm packing some jeans and a nice suit.  Either way, meet me in the main lab in about half an hour.  Then we'll head to the car."

     The intercom turned off and Drew was alone again to relax or prepare for the journey.

Drew wasn't going to stay in sweatpants, but he wasn't going to go to town either, so he settled for normal clothes: jeans, boots, a hooded top and a cap of some sort.  Once he was ready, he left his room and made for the lab, wondering why they had to meet there but not really thinking too deeply on it.  His mind was more taken with the possible answers he was going to get ... or the possible lies, deceit, stalling tactics and other forms of subterfuge people like to do when they know but don't want you to know.

     Entering the lab, he found Jazmine bending over a computer terminal.  She heard him enter and straightened up.  "Ah, I see you decided to go with something casual and less 'sporty.'"

     She shut down the computer and grabbed the extended handle of a rolling suitcase.  "Off we go," she said, heading toward the far end of the room and another set of double doors.

Drew looked at the case and wondered just how long they were going to be staying over there.  If he had of known, he probably would, at the very least, have taken a holdall or carry bag with him.  Not that it mattered much, so he simply nodded and followed in step beside Jazmine.

"So, we going to see anyone in particular, or is this a "search until we find someone" kind of trip?" he asked.  Hew didn't want people who might give him answers, he needed people who could give him answers.

     "Jason Justice works at the New York Times, and he has written a few stories about the American vampire underworld.  We went to school together.  He's our first stop.  It seems that there are separate vampire clans or something, so just because we're working with a group here in England doesn't mean they know anything about the ones in America," she explained as they entered an underground parking garage.

     There was a black sedan and a bald man in a dark suit waiting for them.  He pressed a button on his key chain fob and the trunk opened as he stepped forward to accept Jazmine's suitcase.  He moved to put the suitcase in the back as she went to get in the back of the sedan.

Drew thought about that for a moment or two, and a few moments more.  Even though he was one, well, half of one, he would have thought all vamps, all over the world, knew each other and what they got up to.  Wasn't it a global world now?  That there were different factions (as he was reading it), and vampires who did not know either of other vamps existence or did not care, or both, sounded kind of odd to Drew, and he decided he would have to try and get the romantic, and often times, fictional, ideas of vampires out of his mind.

"Right!  So, what you're saying is ... keep an open mind.  And don't jump to nay conclusions," he stated.

     Jazmine stopped in the open car door and looked shocked.  "Oh, good!  You CAN be patient.  I'll have to make a note of that," she said sarcastically before sliding into the sedan with a smile.

     Once he was in the car, the driver climbed in as well and took them out of the car park into the mid-morning daylight.  For a split second, remembering he was a vampire, Drew winced, but felt nothing but the warmth of the sun.

     "We'll be at Heathrow in about an hour," Jazmine said, pulling out her phone.  Monitors on the backsides of the front seats lit up with the daily news.

Drew eyed Jazmine with a raised brow, his look telling her that he was supposed to feel abashed but that he had no intention of doing so.  Well, that is how he was viewing it.  He otherwise ignored Jazmine until he got in the car.  Looking around, he spied the sun and almost drew back, but it was nice to feel its rays on his face.

Settling back into his seat, Drew considered the kinds of questions he wanted to ask and, only half watching the news, he replied to Jazmine.  "Of course, I'm only saying I should keep an open mind and not jump to conclusions.  Might be a different scenario when we get there," he said, dead pan, but smirked as he turned to look out of the window so she could not see it.

     "That sounds like a good course of action to me.  I have lots of questions too.  I am a scientist after all," she said without looking away from her phone.  She finished typing something and lowered the mobile device to face him.

    "Look, I get that you're a bit freaked out.  I get that this is confusing and strange.  But for now, you're alive and you've been given an amazing gift.  It might also be a bit of a curse, but that is really up to how you choose to use it, isn't it?  I don't have a lot of information because I'm not privy to all the details.  You probably think I'm hiding things from you, but I'm not," she started.

     After a pause, she looked at him with a bit of a smile and continued in a Spanish accent.  "Isn't there anyway you trust me?" she said, invoking a quote from 'The Princess Bride.'

Drew casually looked away from the window and faced Jazmine.  She seemed like a nice lady, but in his experience, it was the nice ones who often sold you out first chance they got because they couldn't handle the not so nice side of things.  She may have believed everything she was saying, but that did not stop Drew from having his doubts.

He was once again dead pan when he started to speak.  "First, freaked out got left behind long, long ago.  Second, nail on the head time.  Amazing gifts are often terrible curses, especially when you have no idea you volunteered for it.  Third, if I thought you had all the information, I wouldn't have agreed to go to New York to get some answers.  Fourth, I trust you ... to do your job.  Until I get answers I believe in, I'll trust myself more," he replied.

     Jazmine pursed her lips a little and returned to her phone.  "Cy-nic," he said deliberately as she typed out five letters and closed a document.  She then turned her focus to the news.

     There were reports of a terrorist car bombing in Greece, a congressman mauled by a bear in Wyoming, and a plane crash in South America.

     After about an hour, they arrived at the airport and drove to a private hangar.  Inside was a black Learjet.  The driver pulled up and let them out, then moved to take Jazmine's luggage into the plane.  A tall man with salt-n-pepper hair and a chiseled jaw greeted them at the stairs.

     "Hello, Dr. Stills.  Good to see you again," he said, shaking Jazmine's hand.  He then regarded Drew and offered a handshake. "I'm Captain Fitz-Hume.  You can call me Jed," he said.

Drew raised a brow at the small comment, but otherwise said nothing in reply.  It was enough she had heard all he had to say and so he remained silent during the rest of the trip, taking in the news but not really paying too much attention to it.  When they arrived at the private hangar, Drew was even more conscious of the money and wealth certain people and corporations had, how easy it was for them to do what they needed to in order to further their own ends.  This is why he had concerns, but he showed none of that when greeted by the captain.

"Good to meet you, Jed," he said as he extended his own hand for the shake.  He wasn't sure if he was supposed to give his own name, but if he did, it would not be Drew he would want to be known by.  He would have to think about a really cool name on the way to their destination.

     Jed returned the handshake and nodded politely before stepping back and directing them onto the plane.  Jazmine went first up the stairs and proceeded into the well-appointed cabin.



     "Help yourselves to drinks and food.  We'll be heading out in a few minutes," Jed said, stepping up into the cockpit after both of them were aboard.

     Jazmine took a seat and plugged in her phone before checking it once again.  A large TV dominated the rear of the cabin, currently showing an American football game.

Drew entered the plane and tried not to be impressed.  He was sure he had never been in something as fancy in an enclosed space, and he looked around to make sure no one noticed him nodding at everything in sight.  Taking a seat himself, he leaned back and attempted to watch the game, but at every break, pause or stop in the game, his mind went back to where they were going, and why.

     A few minutes later, the plane started rolling along and queued up for takeoff.  Jazmine put her phone aside and settled back in her chair with her eyes closed.  She seemed to be doing breathing exercises with her hands on her belly.

     The internal comms chimed.  "Okay, we'll be up in the air shortly.  Nothing but clear skies all the way across the pond," Jed said.

     As promised, they were soon airborne and settled into level flight above the clouds of England.  Jazmine seemed to have drifted off to sleep.  Shortly after leveling off, Jed appeared from the cockpit.

     "I still don't know how she does it," Jed whispered, leaning next to Drew and nodding toward Jazmine.  "Self hypnosis or something.  She's not much for flying.  Would you like a drink or a snack?  We'll be in the air for about six hours."

Drew was actually quite impressed with Jazmine's little trick, especially as he realised that she was, indeed, asleep once they were in the air.  He turned to look out of the window, settle down to watch the plane soar through and past the clouds, but them Jed walked in.  Drew briefly wondered how the man could be here when she should be flying the plane, but figured it was either some fancy form of auto pilot, or there was another pilot in the pit.

"No thanks.  I neither feel hungry or thirsty, just eager to be where we need to be.  You can answer a question for me, though.  I get this is a private jet, but how are we able to make it to New York in six hours?" he asked.

     Jed settled onto the arm of the chair across from Drew.

     "Well, this is a Bombardier Global 5001, and our cruising speed is about 600 miles-per-hour.  It's about 3,500 miles to New York, and due to the rotation of the Earth, it'll take us a little more than six hours to get there.  Clear skies ahead so far," she said, crossing his arms confidently.

     "First time in an private jet?  We can go a little faster and more direct than the commercial birds," he explained.

Drew didn't know if this kind of thing got the man off or not, but he seemed to be giving a more condescending rather than helpful answer.  All he had to do was say private jets were a little faster than most.  Maybe he wanted to show off, for some reason, but if that was the case, he wasn't impressing Drew.  Also, the man was a bit too close for comfort.  What happened to giving people space?

All of this was in Drew's head as he nodded his as if in understanding.  He of course understood, but nodding was preferable to saying what he actually wanted to say.  "That's good to know.  And, yes, first time," he responded succinctly, as all he wanted the man to do now was go fly the damned plane.

     "Oh, well. It's nothing like those big birds, you know.  Sure you still should sit when there's turbulence and everything, but we've got satellite TV and wi-fi, and even a little kitchenette back there.  Feel free to have anything you like.  I might cook some eggs later," Jed said, glancing occasionally at the football game on the far screen.

Drew looked quizzically at Jed after that last part and, of course, his mind got to wondering.  There were lots of things he could have blurted out right there and then, but he stopped himself, looked at Jed askance, then decided to ask a question ... or two.  "How is it you are able to "fly" this plane if you are never in the cockpit?  To that matter, aren't you a pilot?  How is it that you have time to cook eggs as well?  Or are you just the st ... cook," he said, stopping himself from saying "stewardess".

     Jed smiled.  "Auto-pilot, my friend.  And of course I'm a pilot, at least according to Grandma Zanzabar's online piloting school in Columbia," he said with a wink.

     "But I can whip up a mean omlette, if you're interested," he said, heading to the kitchenette at the rear of the plane.  He was careful not to bump Jazmine as he passed her.

Drew simply shook his head in the negative, and was thankful that at least the man had moved away from him.  He knew the "Grandma Zanzabar's Online Piloting School in Columbia" was an attempt at a joke, but Drew was not in the mood for it.  Instead, he sighed, looked briefly over at Jazmine, then turned his head to look out of the window (if there was one).  He pretended to pay attention to the sky and the clouds as they rushed past, but he was also keeping an eye on everything that was happening in the plane.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:12, Mon 04 Dec 2017.

     Drew watched the clouds and water far below as they flew.  He heard light whistling from the back of the plane, along with the sounds of cooking and the smell of eggs and bacon.  Jazmine hummed in her sleep.  After a while, Jed came out of the back with a plate of food and a carton of milk, and sat facing the back of the plane and the big screen.  A post game wrap up was playing, which he watched enthusiastically as he ate.

     Once he was done, he returned his plates to the kitchen and wordlessly returned to the cockpit.  Once there, he resumed whistling and humming popular music.

     Drew's chair could fully recline into a flat sleeping position.  It also had a massage function, built in speakers, and a dedicated fliptop (laptop/tablet) recessed in the arm.  He could use a touchscreen controller to work the big screen, or make a phone call.  There seemed to be plenty of things to distract himself during the flight, if he chose, or he could just rest.

Drew decided to relax by laying back in his seat, listening to some music, and scanning the internet for any news of any strange kinds of activity that might interest him, and also to see what was happening in and with New York in general.  It was kind of weird that Jazmine hummed in her sleep, but he did not know much about her so refrained from any kind of judgement.  Hopefully, they would be in New York soon enough.


[Private to Omni-Tent: Just out of interest, what did you need to correct from my last post?]

In reply to Dredd Bloodkin (msg # 180):

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: Changed 'shoo' to 'shook.'

I'm a former military journalist and editor, so ... It's just my OCD.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:32, Mon 04 Dec 2017.

In reply to Omni-Tent (msg # 181):

[Private to Omni-Tent: Understood.  Thanks.]

     The rest of the flight was uneventful.  The internet was still winding down from the holidays and there were plenty of last minute Black Friday or Cyber Monday sales.  The American President was all over the news, as always, and there was plenty of news to be found, depending on what and where he looked.  New York was gearing up for the arrival of the Pope, with a huge parade being organized downtown.

     Jazmine woke up at some point and used the facilities before returning to her chair and checking the internet.  Jed stayed up front for the most part, but came back for a drink and chatted with Jazmine for a bit.  Luckily, he didn't linger, but Dredd got the feeling there was some history between them.

     Jed returned to the cockpit, and announced just before they started their descent.  Jazmine looked a little nervous as the plane began to feel different as it dropped.

His search, having disappointed him, was the least of his worries, it seemed.  He didn't know what Jaz and Jed had had together, maybe it was nothing, but he couldn't and would't pry, so stayed out of it.  However, it was when he glanced across again and saw how nervous Jazmine was that Drew wondered if she might freak out on him if they took a little turbulence on the way down.  He hoped not, as dramatic episodes were not his thing.

"You OK, there, Jaz?" he asked, using his soothing "it's going to be alright" voice.

     Jaz nodded and seemed to be taking deep breaths.  "I'm fine.  Not a fan of this part, that's all," she said.

     "How about you?  Doing okay?  Were you able to sleep?  Do you need ... A meal?" she asked, clearly trying to distract herself with conversation.

     The descent leveled off, and they could see the city out the windows.

Drew nodded, nodded some more, and nodded again, only to shake his head at that last.  He didn't understand why people worried about things they had no control over as much as they did.  Sure, it would play on your mind, but worrying would not stop whatever was going to happen.  Still, everyone had their ways about them.  "I'm good, had no need to sleep, and I am not hungry right now.  What I am, is keen and eager to see what answers we can get from the New York crew, assuming they know something at all, that is.  In a world full of information, I find it hard to believe that no one knows anything, he replied, and was again about to say more but left it there lest he say too much and possibly offend.

     Jazmine sighed.  "Yes, Dredd.  We all want answers," she said, rolling her eyes.

     The plane made it's final approach and landed smoothly.  It was raining in New York as they taxied into a private hangar.  A limousine was waiting for them.  Jed unloaded Jazmine's bags and gave her a polite kiss on the cheek before she got in the car.

     Jazmine's phone bleeped as the limo got moving.  "Jason will meet us at the hotel.  He's been writing about the vampire underground for years."

Drew thought about what Jazmine had just said, and was about to open his mouth to ask what she was talking about, then stopped to think some more on it.  Had she just called him 'Dredd', or was she saying she dreaded the way he continued to hammer on about wanting answers?  Either way, he locked the word away in his memory, believing he could use it in some capacity in some way in the future.

When she mentioned this person meeting them at the hotel, Drew guessed the guy was a journalist, so only nodded in return.  "As long as he has some answers," was all he said in reply.

     Jazmine crossed her fingers obviously before returning to her phone as they traveled.  They pulled up to a lavish hotel and two different doormen helped them out of the limo.  Jazmine strode straight into the lobby and glanced around for a moment.  She spotted the bar to the right and headed in that direction.

     At the end of the bar, closest to the lobby, a man in a black pants and a grey sport coat with a loose necktie was seated on a stool, leaning on the bar.  He spotted Jazmine and perked up, standing and smiling.  Jazmine smiled too and they embraced.  They split apart after a moment and she stepped back to motion to Drew.

    "Jason Justice, this is Drew Bluestin, the one I told you about," she said.  Jason eyed Drew carefully as he offered a hand.

    "Wow ... You weren't kidding.  Right out in broad daylight and everything," he started with a hint of a Boston accent.  "How you doing.  Pleased to meet ya'."

Drew noted the way Jazmine embraced the guy, this after the way he watched her interact with Jed back on the plane, and continued to watch with hooded eyes that gave nothing away.  Upon introduction, he raised a brow at the fact she was giving away his entire name right off the bat, but could do nothing about it now that it was out.  Drew eyed the man right back, taking his time with his own appraisal before extending his hand for the shake.

"Hey.  I'm good.  Your name is Jason Justice?" he said and asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

     Jason and Jazmine glanced at each other and smiled as if sharing a joke.

     "Sure is.  Everyone believes I made it up, but my father was Robert P. Justice, the lawyer," he explained.  He motioned to a table further inside the hotel bar.  "So Jazmine says you're the new Daywalker, huh?  I'll bet the ghouls are all in a tizzy."

Drew looked from one to the other when the two exchanged glances, his face as expressionless as it could be, then took a seat and again looked on with that same expressionless gaze, this time at Justice.  "New as they come, but who are these "ghouls", and why would they be in a tizzy?" he asked.  There was so much he simply did not know about any of this, and information of the likes he had just heard would only serve him better in the future.  For what purpose, he could not say just yet, but as long as he had information, he could at least make decisions.

     Jason raised his hands apologetically as he sat.  "Sorry, the Vampires.  The last Daywalker didn't get along with them very well.  A lot of disintegration and chest wounds, if you know what I mean.  His actions forced them to rethink their plans of world domination," he explained.

Drew raised a brow in interest and listened intently.  He had heard, kept hearing about, this Daywalker, a name people were throwing around like it was out of fashion, but he knew nothing about the man (he assumed it was a man), at all save for what little Jazmine had told him.  "Oh?  Do go on," he replied, inviting the man to talk at his leisure.

     Jason raised an eyebrow, then chuckled.  "Wow, the media blackout on this is worse than I thought," he started, leaning forward over the table.

     "So the vampires and the werewolves have been locked in this kind of 'secret war' in the shadows of society.  Their numbers were either too small for a full-scale uprising, or those with the power chose to live in decadence rather than risk it all.  Their existence only came into the light, so to speak, a few years ago.
     "A man called 'Blade' was born right after his mother was bitten by a vampire.  This gave him many of a vampire's strengths, but few of their weaknesses.  He saw the vampires as a scourge and hunted them down across the nation, and even the world.  The facts aren't clear, but it is said he stopped at least one vampire god, and even destroyed Dracula himself.  He also released a plague that only affects vampires, but it only affected a small area before it died out.
     "No one has heard from him in a few years, so it is assumed that he was either killed, or possibly captured.  Meanwhile, the surviving vampire families have re-invented themselves as corporations, and are getting into bed with the largest companies in the world, namely Collinsworth Incorporated.  They're seeking to ally themsselves with humans to fight their ancient werewolf enemies, who are in league with various criminal organizations around the world."

     He leaned back, looking pleased with himself.

     "The vampires gave me files on this Blade Daywalker, and I was able to find specific genetic markers that allowed me to replicate his abilities.  I needed a very specific genetic template, and Miss Collinsworth gave me you," Jazmine added.

     "And fine work at that, my dear," Jason said with a nod, glancing over Drew once more.

Drew took all of this in (some of it he had heard before, some he was only now hearing), and pondered for a moment.  There were things he still did not understand, and those things were crucial to him as a person.  They would not only define him, but give him an understanding of the who, what, where, why, and when as pertains to his motivations, alliances and allegiances.  After all, this wasn't just some back alley brawl he found himself a part of, it sounded like it was far reaching on a global, corporate, and even political scale.  This was huge, any way you looked at it.

"So, what do you know about the players?  You mentioned vampire families, their war with these lycans, corporations, including our very own Collinsworth, and criminal factions, but Collinsworth is the only name anyone can roll off the tongue right now.  Also, why did this Blade Daywalker character only go after vampires?  How and where do we get more information on this whole deal?" he asked.

     "I know that the Hus'nock clan is the most powerful, and they work with Collinsworth, Inc," he said.  Jazmine nodded in agreement.  "I mention her because they're the most recognizable.  I know of two other corporations in league with other clans, but I only know the name of one of those clans.  I know a few organizations like the Yakuza, Russian Mafia, and an Ethiopian warlord have been seen with the Lycans, but again, I don't know much about them or the way their structured."

     Jason shrugged at the questions about Blade.  "It probably had something to do with the vampire that killed his mother.  Whoever raised him taught him to hate the vampires and fight against them.  I'm working with a Hus'nock contact, but he's terribly tight-lipped.  These guys know the value of information, and I'm a reporter, so you can see why they'd be hesitant around me," he said.  But then his eyes lit up.

     "But you ... The new Daywalker, fighting on their side.  They might talk to you," he suggested eagerly.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:36, Thu 28 Dec 2017.

Drew was listening intently to all that was said, and it was quite clear that everything he was hearing was suspect.  Not from the point of view of it all being untrue, but from a purely sceptical angle which is forced to ask (at least in his mind), what is it everyone is after here?  This was hammered home even more forcefully when the reporter man, Justice, said Drew was "fighting on their side".  Fighting on whose side?  And why?  Also, the term "the new Daywalker" was making him more than a little weary about what they were all expecting of him.

Again, Drew was silent for a time, looking off into the distance or studying something immediately in front of him, then looked up and at Justice.  "Here is a question I am having a hard time getting my head around, and indulge me if you will.  First, how long have you been looking into this whole Vampire, Lycan war?  I know you said it only came to light two years ago and that it had been secret until then, but in those two years, is that all the information you have?

"Secondly, and this is the question I really want to ask: if Vampires have been known, according to media and common knowledge, to use humans for their blood, why are humans colluding with them to fight the Lycans?  What is to stop them from turning on humans once the Lycans are gone?" he asked.

     Jason pondered the question.  "I first heard about it in the tabloids, like everyone else.  At first I thought it was all a joke, but then my own paper asked me to look into it.  My friend at Quo Vadimus was tight-lipped at first, but he owed me a favor so he let me in on the secret under strict anonymity.  He introduced me to Vuttor ... He's a vampire.  He confirmed the Daywalker stories and told me about the Lycans."  He then hesitated a moment.

     "You should know; I have PLENTY of information about this thing; I'm working on a book, after all.  So excuse me if I'm keeping this short and sweet," he said with a bit of intensity.  Jazmine shrugged and rolled her eyes as if to imply 'That's just Drew.'

     Jason moved on to the second question.  "They can subsist on other forms of blood.  There are already plans in place to collect blood from slaughterhouses.  Human blood is, apparently, just an acquired taste," he said with a bit of a chuckle.

     "The vampires want to work peacefully with humans and even come up with an alternative to human blood.  The Lycans want to slaughter all the vampires and rule over the humans.  For my money, I'm with the vampires.  I've seen nothing but cooperation from them.  Vuttor told me about a vampire uprising in Michigan that was put down by other vampires."

Drew could only nod at the answers he was being given but, at the back of his mind, something was telling him that this was not right, that there was something so wrong and dubious about all of this it was a wonder no one was seeing it the way he was.  Or, no one he had met ... yet!  That Justice seemed confident the vampires were the "good guys" was reasonable.  After all, he did have a lot of information he was going to write about in his book.  However, that he seemingly got all of his information from this Vuttor vamp was something else to be sceptical about.

In the end, Drew simply inhaled a little, then spoke.  "So, it's score one for the vampires in your book but, talking of books, is there anything else, one last thing you can tell me that won't give away any secrets your saving for your leather bound edition?" he asked.

     Jason thought for a moment, then his eyes perked up.

     "Well, there is this one thing.  I don't have much info about it, but it piqued my interest a couple of weeks ago.  There's this old vampire book called the Acan Incunabulum.  I don't know what it is all about, but apparently its pages were split up among the vampire clans decades ago.  I've heard that the Hus'nock clan are trying to compile all the pages so the book can be complete again.  Vuttor's clan, the Il'ari, have already given over their pages.  I've heard that the cover of the book was originally bound in stained glass," he said.

     Jazmine's phone buzzed and she checked it right away.  "Oh, good news, Drew.  Looks like Ms. Collinsworth has arranged a meeting with a Hus'nock representative this evening at our Manhattan offices," she said.

     "Oh really?  Do you think they'd let me tag along?" Jason asked.  Jazmine just smirked at him and he raised his hands defensively.

     "So what do you want to do until then?  It's almost lunchtime ..." Jazmine continued, suddenly realizing that 'lunchtime' might not apply to Drew the same way any longer.  "I mean, it's almost noon.  Meeting is at nine."

Drew tried to commit the name of the book to memory, but he had an idea that there was going to be a lot more information coming his way that he needed to commit to memory.  Suddenly, all of the information he wanted was going to seem like it was going to be a very daunting task to retain.  Still, he did his best, even making up a little rhyme that would help him if needed it.

When Jazmine made her statement, Drew nodded non-committally, and suddenly got a strange idea about Justice when the man spoke again.  For perhaps the tenth time, Drew studied him, but this time around, he was actually attempting to look beyond the surface.  He was doing this when Jazmine asked her question (although not making it obvious), and answered.  "What is there to do in New York for nine or so hours after lunch?  Whatever it is, let's do that," he said, making it sound as if it would be something they should all be looking forward to.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 16:54, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 13 using 1d20+5. Insight.  Trying to get a read on Justice.  Does he seem sincere?]

     Jason looked casual, but when talking about the story, he was confident about the information.  He looked genuinely eager to tag along on tonight's interview, but the look Jazmine gave him was defused him quickly.

     Jazmine raised her eyebrows at Drew's initial question, then rolled her eyes at his remark.  Shaking her head slightly, she thanked Jason again for his time and shook his hand.  He moved in for a hug and seemed to try to kiss her on the cheek, but she avoided it.

     Jason offered to shake Drew's hand too, and said he looked forward to hearing more about anything he learned.

     Jazmine returned to the lobby and the front desk, checking them into their room, where the bags had already been sent.  A bellboy led them to an elevator and up to what seemed like the top floor.

     "I just want to freshen up.  Then we can hit the town.  We can take in a show?  See the park?  Visit some landmarks?  Haven't you ever wanted to see New York?" she asked as they entered the room.

     The room was huge and lavish, with two bedrooms, two baths, a full kitchen, pool table, fireplace and sunken TV lounge.  As Jazmine moved off to one of the rooms and shut the bathroom door, the bellhop patiently waited near the open door, trying to look casual.

Drew again noted the exchange and interaction between Jazmine and Justice, while giving the impression he had not been watching.  He didn't want to make any assumptions about their relationship (past or present), so said nothing and simply took Justice's hand to shake, then bade the man a farewell.  Once in their room, a rather lavish experience he was not quite ready for, Drew managed to rip his attention away from the opulence before him to answer Jazmine's questions.

"I'm a poor, working class lad from London.  Sure, I've wanted to travel, especially after my initial years, but it was about the world, not any place in particular," he replied, and only then noted the bellhop.  Drew was about to ask if the guy had forgotten or needed something, when he remembered how they did things in the US of A.

He searched through his pockets, but found nothing resembling currency of the day at all.  "I'm going to have to get back to you on that one," he told the guy, then had another thought.  "Tell you what.  If you can answer a few questions for me, I'll make sure the lady gives you a decent tip.  That sound like something you can do?"

     The bellhop, who looked to be about 19-years-old, probably a college student, looked disappointed at first, then confused.

     "Questions, sir?  I ... I'm sure a concierge would be better suited," he started to say, motioning to the phone.

     "I mean ... What kind of questions?" he continued, clearly not wanting to miss out on a tip.

Drew played this as casually as they come, looking for all the world as if he didn't really care to ask the question, or even to have it answered.  It was a long shot, because the kid looked so young, but it was a shot he felt had had to take.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"Now I realise this may not be up your street, alley, or whatever it is you are up to, but I am looking to gain knowledge and insight into all sorts of ... strange activities that occur in a city at night.  You understand?  Not the ones you hear about in the papers or on the TV, but ones someone like you might have come across or heard about that do not get reported.  And believe me when I say, I'll know if you're lying and if you do, no tip.  So: strange activities, happen at night in the city, never get reported.  Go!"

     The busboy stared at Drew like his brain was being sucked out of his nose.  He blinked several times as he pondered the question.

     "Um ... Well, I've heard of a group of night BASE jumpers, sir.  Or there's the underground casinos beneath Wall Street.  I mean ... Are you looking for illicit things to DO, or just ... News?" he asked sincerely.

     [Private to Dredd Bloodkin: The kid is not lying.  But honestly, can you give me a better idea of what you're looking for?  Are you getting bored?  Shall I inject some action among all this businss intrigue?  Writing against Drew's un-trusting nature feels a bit like swimming upstream here.  Feel free to give me any suggestions of what you want to see in the storyline, because I'm really just winging it until a plot evolves.]

Drew stared back at the lad for a moment and, finding no reason to disbelieve what he was saying, continued.  "If I wanted to do illicit things, I would simply do them.  Why would I need to ask you or even ask for permission to do them?" he responded, though not harshly.  He was more amused than anything.  "No.  I don't want to be involved in anything illicit, I just want to know what types of illicit things go on in this city.  Now, do continue.  The stranger, the better," he said.

[Private to Omni-Tent: What I'm looking for is any kind of vampiric activity (or something that sounds like it could be), so Drew can go check it out.  No, I'm not getting bored.  Please don't feel you have to inject action unless you deem, it necessary.  Action for action's sake is not the best reason, IMHO.

I understand what you are saying, but I'm trying to play Drew from his perspective: He awoke in a strange lab and was attacked, was told he was part of an experiment he supposedly volunteered for but has no memory of doing so, is being told vampires are the good guys, lycans are the bad guys because they side with criminal organisations, and he is expected to simply believe all of this because he has been told he should.

He knows nothing about Collinsworth or any of the supposed major players in this game, nothing about why lycans and vampires at war with each other, is still not convinced humans simply side with vampires given the whole mythology regarding them and, there is the possibility he is simply being used in all of this.  He may trust Jazmine (a little) or believes she thinks she's being sincere, but given his former life, suspicion and paranoia are his best friends right now.

Sorry if it seems like a struggle for you, but winging it is perfectly fine by me until such time you think you can get to a stage where Drew finally gets to be Dredd Bloodkin.  :)   ]

     The bellhop started to look scared as Drew spoke of having the freedom to do dangerous things, and he felt a bit pressured to give the man something useful.

     "I ... Don't know," he stammered.  "I've heard of people washing up naked on the docks recently.  Talk of weird hooded figures at basketball games.  Street races without headlights!"

     He was visibly shaking and anxious now, edging toward the door but afraid to look away from Drew for fear of getting shot in the back.

[Private to Dredd Bloodkin: Okie doke.  Glad you're not frustrated with how things are going.

Wasn't Drew working for Collinsworth before his abduction?  Did he lose all that memory?]

Drew looked at the bellhop with some expectancy, until it became clear the lad was scared and might be rambling about nothing at all.  He wanted to nod his head as the kid continued to speak, instead, he simply watched him edge closer to the door, sighing as he thought to himself that at least he would not have to give a tip.  Maybe he should give the kid a tip anyway, for amusement value.  "Uh-huh!  Not illicit enough.  You got anything ... way crazier than that?" he asked, a real intense expression on his face.  Drew was just playing with the bellhop now, but it was kind of fun to see the kid's reactions.


[Private to Omni-Tent: I know you mentioned he might have worked for Collinsworth, but I don't see in what capacity that would be.  Drew was a former criminal, after all, and it doesn't seem logical (I might have that wrong), to have been working for them.]

     The bellhop was now shaking with fear.  "I ... I don't know, sir!" he blurted, and bolted out the door.

     Jazmine was just coming back into the room and looked after the slamming door.  "What was that all about?  Did you show him your teeth?" she asked.

"I have no idea," replied Drew without looking over his shoulder at Jazmine.  "He seemed to want a tip, then, when I offered him one, he decided he needed to be elsewhere and booked it.  Maybe he ought to have stayed around a little longer.  The tip I would have given him would have been to grow a spine.  If you want something, ask for it," he said, and shrugged a little.  "Speaking of asking for something, any idea where we are going to see the sights?" he asked.

     Jazmine glanced between Dredd and the door suspiciously for a moment.

     "Well, you've never been here and so far seem to have no interest in visiting anything in particular.  I wouldn't mind some fresh air in Central Park, maybe swing by the Metropolitan Museum of Art or the New York Public Library?  Wanna go to the top of the World Trade Center?  Our meeting isn't far from there, and I think the observation deck closes at 9 p.m., so we could do that last," she said pulling up her phone and typing away, likely to search for details.  "It's just you and me, so what do you think?"

Drew responded with a half shrug of his shoulders combined with a slight tilting of his head to indicate his indifference.  "Whatever you say is good to do here, we'll do.  Am I copacetic with ... you know ... the blood situation?" he asked, then had another question for her.  "And this World Trade Centre.  How far across the city can we see from it?"

     Jazmine looked up and peered at him carefully.  "You tell me.  Feeling hungry?  Because if you are, I can get some fresh blood pretty quick.  I called ahead to the New York office and asked that they have a supply handy."

     He did not feel the hunger as badly as he had the day before, but there was a slight twinge when she mentioned blood.

     She then held up her phone, which showed a photo of the city from up high.  "You'll be able to see the whole city, and into a few states."

"Nothing I cannot handle, " he replied, "but I must insist we look into doing something about the whole blood drinking thing.  Though I am not a squeamish person, no one in their right mind wants to drink blood, half vamp or not.  I don't know what Collinsworth can do make it look and, perhaps, taste less like blood, but I'd appreciate it if they could at least try," he said.  In regards to how far they could see from on high, Drew simply nodded his head in acknowledgement.

     "Yes, we are looking into that, as I said.  This Blade character apparently had some kind of serum that would stem his cravings, but I would need a sample to duplicate it," Jazmine said.  She then raised an eyebrow to his suggestion.

     "Change the taste?  Interesting.  I wonder if any kind of flavoring would affect it's 'nutritional' content for you.  That's worth some experimentation.  Maybe we start with some chocolate syrup in your next batch?" she suggested with a grin.

     She strode past him and grabbed her coat, heading back out the door.  "Let me call us an Uber."

The look on Drew's face was one of stoicism.  Not that the humour was lost on him, it was more to do with the fact he thought it in poor taste.  Even his thoughts were doing running puns for him, which made him groan inwardly.  "The sooner we look into that, the better ... but we can do without the off-hand flavourings, thank you," he replied, and waited for the cab by flicking on the TV to see if there was anything interesting on the news.

     The news was talking about a high school shooting that had happened that morning in upstate New York.  Five students were dead, and the killer had shot himself.  It seemed like a cut and dry situation, but then an interview with one of the other students came up.

     "... and Danny thought there were werewolves in the school.  I think he was taking his online gaming a little too far, but he was serious.  I hear his gun was even full of silver bullets.  It wasn't like him.  He was a little odd, but I didn't take him for a killer," a boy with red hair in a sweater vest was saying.  The graphic identified him and 'Tucker Stephenson, Gilroy Graham High School Student.'

     "Damn.  Another one?" Jazmine said, turning away from the TV to her phone.

"Another one" inquired Drew.  "There have been more of these shootings?  And if there have been, did they all involve werewolves or other such beings?" he asked.  This was certainly a turn of events, and thoughts galore were brewing in Drew's mind.

     "There seems to be a school shooting every week in America," Jazmine said, then tilted her head at his additional question.  "Well, no.  They just say that they're mentally unbalanced people with too much access to guns, but what if they did have something to do with the werewolves?  Why would ... What would they have to gain from infiltrating schools?"

Drew shrugged, rather too nonchalantly, if Jazmine cared to notice.  "Far as I recall, it's not only vampires whose dead become undead, if that can be said to the the case here.  Once a person is bitten by a werewolf, don't they change at every full moon or so?  Not that I know their plans for the future, but right there is more numbers for the cause, if you ask me.  Schools are just more breeding grounds," he replied.

     "Undead ... Wow.  This is not a role-playing game.  Vampires and Werewolves are still alive.  And as far as I've learned, Vampirism is like a biological virus, while Werewolves are more like a dominant genetic deformity, for lack of a better term.  But you might not be far off on the 'breeding ground.'  Werewolf knocks up a few teenagers, convinces them to give up the babies ... Might be on to something there," she said.

     Her phone chirped.  "Uber's almost here.  Let's head downstairs."

That was not exactly where Drew was going when he mentioned breeding grounds, but he shrugged and allowed Jazmine her own thoughts.  As for the undead thing, that was new to him.  She could call it that if she wanted to, but to Drew, Vamps are and always will be undead creatures of the night.  As for Werewolves, genetic deformity?  That, and the whole "virus" thing, was like making excuses and justifications for depraved actions.  Drew didn't like it.  Did not like it all, but he shrugged again and followed Jazmine downstairs.

     They got to the curb and a red Toyota was waiting for them.  Jazmine greeted the driver, who introduced himself as Colin, and climbed in the back, urging Drew to follow.  She then confirmed the destination as the World Trade Center.

     "Ah, the good old Freedom Tower," Colin said with a Scottish accent.  "Well, not old, but still.  Truly a marvel to behold.  Ye tourists?"

     "Sort of.  Definitely seeing the sites," Jazmine said.

     "Oh, plenty of those, aye," Colin agreed as they drifted into heavy New York traffic.

     Colin glanced at Drew in the rearview mirror, then seemed to sniff the air and wince.

     "Don't ye worry, I'll get ya there safe and sound," he said.

Drew had not really been paying much attention to ... anything at all, really, but he did note and file away the accent of their driver.  Though he was not a fellow Brit, he was from the United Kingdom and, although the Scots traditionally had no love for the English, this was the modern era in a modern(ish) country, so traditions would probably take a back seat, which was what Drew was doing right now.  He was not going to say anything at all, however, but that sniff from their driver somehow put thoughts into Drew's mind, and he looked at the man with some intent.

"So, you're from Scotland.  Do most of them still hate the English, or have attitudes changed in recent years?" he asked in conversational tones, but he was really trying to gauge the man himself.


[Private to Omni-Tent: 21:20, Today: Dredd Bloodkin rolled 16 using 1d20+5. Insight.]

     "Oy, you're a Brit, aye?  Well, I was a wee babe when I left Scotland.  Father brought us 'eya when the mine closed down.  I play up the accent a bit for the tourists," he said, his accent slowly vanishing.

     The man's words seemed sincere, but he still seemed to be hiding something.  The way he avoided looking at Drew was odd.

Drew nodded and responded to the man.  "And I'm sure they love you for it.  Seems the Americans love an accent.  So, you've lived here almost your entire life, then?" he asked, and in doing so, was looking at the man without making it seem as if he was (looking in the rear-view mirror, checking out the driver's reaction from the reflection in the windows, etc).

     "Oh, aye.  I'm from Albany originally, but I moved down here to work for an IT firm that went belly up after a few years.  Me wife is a nurse and I take care of the kids," he explained.

     The man had a scar on the left side of his face from the corner of one eye and down to his jaw.  He had an otherwise nicely trimmed red beard and shaggy red hair.

"A family man!" Drew stated, though that was abundantly obvious from the driver's statement.  "It's always nice to have family.  Even better when you can take care of them in this day and age," he continued conversationally.  "You ever do anything else besides IT?  I only ask because I always thought you got into IT, you had a job for life, like the old days of making a living."

     The man seemed a little nervous at Drew's constant questions.

     "Drew, leave the man alone," Jazmine said half-heartedly.

     "Odd jobs here and there to make ends meet.  Wife is the breadwinner now.  I just do this to keep from going crazy around the house," the driver responded.  He then seemed to clam up, becoming very focused on his driving.

Drew glanced over at Jazmine, intent on saying something she might regret, but held his tongue for the sake of ... well, whatever there might have been a sake for.  Instead, he simply nodded his head, although whether that was intended as acknowledgement of what Jazmine said or their driver was unclear.  He settled back in his seat and continued to look out of the window, which meant he continued to study the driver in the reflection.

     The car came through an intersection of buildings that revealed a large courtyard dominated by trees and two square sunken fountains with waterfalls along their inner edges.  To the north was an immense glass building tapering up to a point in the sky.

     "There she be.  You wanna get close, or you want off here to go through the memorial?" he asked.

     Jazmine looked a little choked up.  "Here is fine," she said, her voice cracking.  The driver pulled over to the side of the road and finalized the trip.

     "Take care now," he said, turning back in his seat to watch them both leave.  Jazmine climbed out first, staring up at the building with awe, then pulling out her phone for a picture.

Drew noticed Jazmine's reactions, but was not sure if he should ask if she was OK or not.  Might have been something, might have been nothing, and she might not like what she thought of as false sentiment.  She didn't seem like that kind of a person (at least, not that he knew of in the short time he'd known her), but you never knew.  Instead, he waited until she took her pictures, then asked if she was ready to go.

     As Jazmine got a photo of the tall building, the Uber moved off into traffic.  She then got closer to one of the sunken fountains and got another photo of it.



     All around the edge of the fountain was black stone with gold engraved names.  Jazmine gently ran her hand over a few of the names, then looked back up at the tall building nearby.

     "I was in grade school when it happened," she said in barely a whisper.  "A teacher came into the room and told Mrs. Corr to turn on the TV.  We were just thrilled to get to watch TV in school ... Then the second plane hit."