From as early as he could remember, Simon Vance dreamed of being in the Military. His father had been a Captain in the USMC during Vietnam flying A-1 Skyraiders. His grandfather had gone to Annapolis, flown F4U Corsairs against the Japanese in the Pacific.

They were a Marine family and, even had it not been his dream to do so, Simon would have been compelled in some way to pursue a career in the service. His high school performance wasn't quite enough to get him an appointment to the USNA, but he did land a full ROTC scholarship that put him through his Sociology/History double major on the government's dime. Upon graduation, he became a third generation military officer, was promptly delivered to the Marines and shipped off to the Middle East in charge of a platoon of soldiers.

Simon's family had always been religious, and perhaps their experiences in war had helped with that. Where he had been more of a lip service Christian before, being in a war zone quickly turned 22-year old Simon into a believer, if not necessarily in God then in something bigger than himself. After his second tour, he had made First Lieutenant and was offered a transfer to the Chaplain corps. At the same time, he was offered a chance to try out for the SEALs. He thought long and hard about the decision, ultimately choosing the latter. Three days after the transfer, he thought it might have been a mistake. By then the door was closed and he was left with a made bed to lie in.

During a brief leave after his third tour, Simon found himself in proper bar brawl. He comported himself well, and was hardly surprised to be jumped in an alley on his way home. These assailants were different however and he shortly found himself embraced. Shovel and all.

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Vance had a markedly different story. His grandfather, Annapolis graduate Col. Steven Vance, had been a Marine airman flying Vought Corsairs in the Pacific Theatre. In 1950, he was in the seat of Grumman F9F Panthers in Korea. After the war, he went on to teach at the Academy and serve as an aviation instructor before retiring as a full bird colonel just before the outset of the Vietnam War.

Vance's father, LtC. Stuart Vance, had received a commission out of college and followed his own father's footsteps to become a Marine aviator. Starting out in the Douglas A-1 Skyraider and graduating to the Grumman A-6 Intruder when the former was removed from front line service. He spent much of the war dodging SAMs and bombing rice paddies. Although he qualified in the F-4J Phantom II prior to the end of the war, he never saw combat in it and was transferred to an A-6 instructor role. Between he and his father, the decades of wartime service had taken a lot out of him and he retired at twenty years as a Lieutenant Colonel.

In spite of his family history, Simon's high school performance was not quite enough to earn him a spot in Annapolis. Undaunted, he put in extra effort at the end of his senior year and was able to secure a full ROTC scholarship. In college, he kicked the effort up a notch managing a double major in Sociology and History in only four years. Unlike the previous two generations, Simon had little desire to rule the skies. Upon his commissioning as a second lieutenant in the USMC, he joined the infantry and was sent to fight in the middle east.

He saw enough during his first two tours to invoke a sense of spirituality that had been largely absent from his life since childhood. While never having been particularly religious before, combat changed him. After the second tour, he was offered a chance to transfer to the Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command (MARSOC) or to the chaplain corps. His heart begged him to take the latter option, but his head demanded otherwise. He could always become a chaplain after making it in or if, God forbid, he washed out.

It was obvious which decision would mean more to his father and grandfather. Their disappointment when he told them he was joining the infantry was palpable and MARSOC would more than redeem himself in their eyes. Unfortunately, he never had the chance to find out. His grandfather passed away during his tour after the transfer and he had planned to meet up with his father only days after his embrace put a stop to that idea.

As he told it, there had been a ‘disagreement’ at the bar that evening that lead to a fight. He and lieutenant Strickman had carried the day for their side of the fight. It was assumed that the losers had left to nurse their wounds and he’d initially thought it was they who jumped him in the alley outside after leaving the bar. The shovel blow to the head and his status as a vampire was testament to the fact that his assumption was incorrect.

He had learned from Naomi that his clan was called the Salubri-antitribu. They were once called Salubri Warriors, centuries in the past, but various political events had divided the clan into the Healer faction who spent their nights hiding and trying to be more human than human and the Warrior faction who rejected the ‘official’ part of the clan to join the Sabbat. That rejection is what earned them the moniker of ‘-antitribu,’ and it was given to all of the Cainites whose parent clan was officially part of the Camarilla while their line instead joined with the Sabbat.