"God people stink." Dan Foley's mind rumbled about how the world had changed. He waited on the bus, standing unseen, people walking by him completely unaware of his presence. Finally the bus reached the stop he had been waiting for, and walked to the door, standing behind a tall blond skater punk. His foot tripped up against the vertical handbar, and fell through the door taking the skater with him.

          The bus continued on it's way, people staring carelessly out the windows. The young skater lay unmoving.

          Dan stood up and stared at his work. The skater lay curled on the cold concrete, eight inches of a stake still emerging from his back.

*   *   *

          "Jonathan, you have been such a bad boy," the voice whispered from the shadows.

          The young skater was properly affixed to a cross. He squirmed, which only made the wounds in his wrists and legs grow larger, blood dripped slowly from the wounds. His eyes were wide with fear. His naked pale body glowed in the white light that shown upon him from the dark shadows where the voice resided.

          Dan stood there in silence, watching the scene unfold, laughing silently in his head as he remembered watching many tortures of the past, and how this was so boring.

          He walked through the shadows, and stopped before a heavy-set man. "My money," his voice went unheard by all but the man.

          Don Matteo Giovanni, head of the Giovanni family in Montreal, Sire to six, and Grand-Sire to over another dozen; was that heavy-set man. He spoke with no accent, long had it disappeared from his mouth, years spent living in the new world, left Don Matteo italien only by name, long had his culture left his soul.

          Dan stood impatiently, he was never one for romans, and they were all romans still. And romans killed his treasure. He pushed out his right hand, his left squeezed and released the trigger of his "Slayer" -- a beefed up Glock 23, loaded with Faerie Fire 9mm rounds. He waited ever so patiently, and still nothing.

          "My money," he repeated more forcefully.

          Giovanni turned to look at him, his fat face did not hide his discontent at the failure of information from the young skater. "He's fucking worthless. I owe you nothing."

          Dan could feel they weren't alone. He pressed his faceless face against that of Giovanni's. "My money, or we all die."

          Giovanni stood there silent for many a second, then laughed loudly. "You are a stupid Nosferatu, but I like you. You have done me such good service in the past, I will not hold this failure against you. Sylvio will get you your money." Dropping his voice to a thought, "cross me again foolish Nosferatu, and I shall have your heart upon the alter of Saint-Joseph Oratory."

          "Listen to me," he spoke so the skater could hear him, "you fucking roman, threaten me again, and your fat will be displayed across your beautiful familly. Committing genocide upon your race would be a great pleasure to me."

          Don Matteo laughed loudly. "You are brave and foolish," he spoke in heavy roman.

          Dan replied, uttering a perfect roman, "You are just foolish."

          He turned his back on the fat roman, and walked to the door. Sylvio stood there, holding a green card.

          "Sir, your money," Sylvio's eyes gazed at Dan's feet, as he spoke in roman. "The number is 878330. There is sixty-five million lira waiting for you."

          Dan took the card from the boy's golden hand, gently caressing it as he did. "You have such brilliant eyes, pity you are roman." He slowly disappeared into the shadows.

*   *   *

          Avincenna stood by the mirror, tracing the outlines of her naked body. The blood on her fingertips leaving faintly their mark upon the dark tan of her flesh. Only the glimmer of the liquid from the candle light, gave hint to it's presence. Her hand slid between her breast, stopping only to dip her fingers in the blood of the young woman she seduced that night. Again, she traced her body, drawing a circle and cross upon her navel, and crawling lower to the shadows between her legs.

          Her head arched back as she felt his kiss embrace her neck, his hands wrapping around her stomach, and joining her finger between her legs. He ran his hands over the soft curls of hair, and reached into her opening.

          Blood seeped from her sex, wetting her. His fingers pushed into her, deeper. She pressed back into him, her back arching against him.

          Dan's teeth slowly penetrated the soft black flesh of her neck, as she gasped and moaned from the pleasure.

          After a prolonged instant, he stepped back. Avincenna turned to gaze into his facelessness, the blood glistening down her thighs. She raised her finger to her mouth, and tasted herself. She watched him, as he disrobed. Then gracefully covered him with her body.

          Their mouths joined, opening up to receive the other's tongue. Traces of blood passed between them, as they kissed passionately. Their hands gliding over the others flesh.

          "I missed you Daniel," her mind whispered.

*   *   *

          Dan sat as the monotonous female voice recited station by station. "Prochaine station, Namur," it spoke again.

          His thoughts trailed in his head. What was he doing in this city? Money wasn't that important. His thoughts trailed off as he caught glimpse of the Twins, followed closely by the Trinity. He knew immediately that they were here for him, the Twins were only seen by those they wanted to be seen by.

          Everything around him came to a halt. The people frozen in time. The metro stopped in it's motion, with the signs in the tunnel frozen in their blur. Everything was frozen, except for him and them.

          He didn't know the names of the Twins, very little was known of them, and what was known, no one dare speak, since they could always be listening. Many a kin had disappered after whispering information of the Twins or the Trinity.

          The Twins were both very androgenous, although they still looked quite masculine. Their long raven black hair whisped over their butts. They each stood quite tall, walking slightly hunched in the low ceiling of the subway. The noticeable difference between the two, was the streaks that ran through their hair, one wore a long dark purple streak; the other, a dark blue.

          The Trinity were never far behind the Twins, although they had been known to travel apart as well. The Trinity had gained popularity in the local clubs, three raven haired pale divinities. Their names were known, although none could tell them apart to call them by their proper title, so the Trinity was born. Tristessa, Tristitia, Tristina, Caine's own daughters as the rumors travelled.

          And here they were, for me. They don't seem to want me dead or I'd be...

          "Dead already. Yes. You would be." The blue streaked Twin grinned madly as his thoughts invaded Dan's own.

          He stood there, staring at their eyes. His knees barely holding him up.

          The Trinity spoke all at once. "Pleasure to meet you Daniel Foley of the Nosferatu. I am..." Each spoke her name. Dan met each ones title with a kiss upon each individual hand. They felt cold, even for a kin.

          A warm hand pressed against his facelessness, a voice without breath whispered in pain into his earless ear. "How long have you travelled? How long have you walked this Earth? How many enemies do you have? How many friends? How many lovers have you lost?"

          Dan took a step back, glaring angrily into the purple streaked Twin. "You fucking faggot!"

          "Sterben," the purple streaked Twin whispered.

          "What?" Dan was now screaming, his hand reaching for his Slayer.

          "That weapon is useless here," Sterben whispered. "Why are you so afraid?"

          Dan stood back against the wall, and squeezed the trigger several times. No shots rang out, no flash, no bullets.

          "I would remove the cartridge if I were you, or your weapon may end when this," Sterben waved his arms around, "all begins again."

          "What do you want from me?" Dan's voice shook with fear, as he unconsciously unloaded his weapon.

          The blue streaked Twin spoke up, bouncing into Dan's face. His lips pressing against his forehead, kissing him. "Well," he giggled "we've got a job," his voice shifted tonalities with each word, "for," his voice growing quiet, "YOU!"

          In a blink of an eye, the blue streaked Twin stood behind Dan, whispering loudly into his ear. "Take," each word was spoken into a different ear, "out the Elders."

          Dan began to laugh. "Why don't you do it?"

          The Trinity spoke up all at once. "Brother will kill brother."

          "They aren't my brothers," he spat.

          "You are kin," they said, "they are your brothers, and you will clean them from here."

          "I am an Elder."

          Sterben spoke up, his voice stuttering upon words, "Yes, and you will be the only one."

          "How do I know you won't kill me," Dan stared into Sterben's eyes angrily, "how do you know I want to be the only one?"

          "What you do is your choice," Sterben spoke softly.

          "You," the blue streaked Twin hovered nearby, "have your assignment."

          "Do what thou wilt," the voices of the Trinity chorused.

          With that, everything came back to normal. Dan stood there on the metro, gun in hand, clip in other. Quickly he slid them into his pockets.

*   *   *

          He stepped off the subway, and walked up the escalator, passing each ignorant soul. Sometimes it felt so very good that no one could see him, and days like today, he wished people could see the pain on his face. Not like they would care.

          Looking around the station, he could see other kin, young rebellious uneducated children of careless Elders. Thoughts of his treasure surged through his mind.

          He pushed open the large door, and walked out into the cold winter air. Snow, he thought, blood stains so quickly. Blood will fall by the end of this.

          Dan stopped to stare at the sky. It glowed purple, the lights of the city reflected a hint of white from the clouds. He reached into his pocket and reloaded the Slayer.

*   *   *

          The alleyway flashed with the fire and glow of gunfire. The Slayer firing off round after round into a young kin. The growl of pain could be heard across town.

*   *   *

          Looking out over Montreal, Erika folded her arms across her chest, her eyes twinkled with the glow of the city. She stood silently gazing through the window, her reflection lightly catching her eyes. Three hundred years and she still only looked nineteen. The deaths of thousands flamed in her eyes, and the sudden awareness of her own demise began to course through her head.

          She turned and gracefully walked to her chair, and silently sank into it warm leather comfort. She spread her legs outwards onto the small bench before her, and pressed the button to summon Pawn, her loyal pet.

          Pawn entered the room, his collar well polished, his body naked and soft. His arms were slightly outstretched, as he carried her a porceline bowl filled with water and soap. He knelt before her, his eyes gazing at the floor. "Yes Lady Geiger," she laughed thinking how deep his voice was becoming.

          Erika's hand twisted and gestured, a silent language that Pawn understood very well, and he began to wash his Lady's feet.

*   *   *

          The lights scanned the room, the smoke hovered thick with an almost chocolaty smell. Sylvie's fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of the guitar as she played into her lead. An-Mari stood silent, feeling the sonic scream of the guitar pour through the hundreds of thousands of watts of sound. Diane kept the tremor of life roaring through the club, and Samantha heart pulsed raged all the crowd who stared up to watch them play. Black Goat had their crowd.

          Dan stood at the back of the club, away from the lights, away from the smoke, away from most of the crowd. His eyes watched the four ladies on stage scream, growl and agonize each verse, defying mortal limits with their breathless cries. His eyes focused on the blood-sweat trickling down Sylvie's thighs, and his mind was shocked with a growl inside his head. He laughed aloud.

          His thoughts trailed, "you are looking very beautiful tonight Marquise."

          "What do you want Daniel?" She lets a low growl escape her lips into the microphone as her thoughts flowed through his head.

          He laughed, "even your thoughts have an accent." "I'm here on business, meet me at the bar after you are finnish playing this crap." He turned and left the room.

*   *   *

          A warm hand slipped over his shoulders. "Guinness," the voice called out near his ear. Sylvie turned to Dan, and kissed him on the cheek. "What's a boy like you in here for," she said mocking sensuality.

          He looked at her, his eyebrow raised, then burst out laughing. The bartender dropped the pint in front of them, and Dan shelled out a green bill to pay for it all. "Keep it," he stared into his eyes, "I was never here."

          They got up and found an empty table near the rear of the establishment. The table was sticky with old beer, the ashtray overflowed with fag butts and gum.

          "Qu'est-ce qu'il y a, Daniel?" She looked him over trying to gain any knowledge from his expresionless face.

          He turned to her, and she swore she could see pain on his face, "I have been asked to hunt the Elders."

          "By who?" Her voice betrayed her.

          He looked down at her beer.

          She looked down at the beer and pushed it away. "What is going to happen to me?"

          His hand slid under her chin. "Get away, go away far. I can promise you one night, then all that we are comes to an end. One of us will die, and I am not sacrificing myself."

          She stood up, and kissed his forehead. "Till this is over, bonsoir mon ami. May the blood run freshly over your hands." Sylvie stepped out on the deck, and stared at the sky, then she slowly faded away. No one noticed.

          "Be well old friend."

*   *   *

          Daniel stood up, and pulled the Slayer from his shoulder holster and walked to Black Goat's table. Each step he fired his weapon. Each shot rang silently through the shadows. Each bullet met their target, dead between the eyes. Slowly he began to take form in the bar, a short skinhead firing off rounds from what appeared to be a Colt .45. He emptied the gun into the three girls heads. He looked around as he pushed the gun back into his holster, and reached around to his back, and seemingly pulled a shotgun -- not that anyone really noticed, people where only now beginning to run and cry in panic. Dan stood above the disfigured faces of the girls, and fired two 00 Bucks into each, then turned to fire the remaining round on the fleeing public.

          Before anyone could blink, he had disappeared into the crowd.

*   *   *

          When the police interrogated the crowd, they received several variations on the appearance, not many came close to the actual killer, and those that did were not believed.

*   *   *

          The night was far from over. Dan's mind endlessly plotted over the next victim, playing out the various scenarios in his head. "This one is going to be so much harder. Pets are one thing, kin is a whole seperate breed."

          His fingers carefully loaded special Slayer rounds into his pistol, and "Dragon Slayer" rounds into his pump-action. "Not enough for the roman army," he laughed, "but I think this will do." He laughed out loud. No one heard or saw anything.

*   *   *

          The sky still had a purplish glow as Dan walked down Jean-Talon street. The wind cut through the fabric of his coat, and he could feel the hairs on his body standing erect. The snow crunched under his feet, and he could feel the frozen blood harden the fabric of his pants.

          "Need new pants." The thought made his lips curl into a smile. The blood pulsed through his body, and he felt a sharp pain explode in his chest. His feet took several steps back, and the warm blood began to seep into the thin fabric of his silk shirt. "Shit!"

          His eyes scanned the area, and caught the faint red blink of a tracer light. "Shit... shit shit shit shit!" Quickly he dodged the next flash, hiding delicately behind a parked car. His hands reached inside his coat pockets and removed two pistols.

          In the spectrum of his delicate ears, the faint noises of men, Giovanni's men, walking towards him. Quickly he counted them, and figured at least six, but probably more if Giovanni wasn't a stupid man. He didn't believe Matteo was.

          Scanning the area, Dan tried to figure where the best place would be for this show down to come to a bloody end. He looked down an adjacent street and thought it was best suited. A poor neighborhood, with a lot of old cars and very little light. No one would see or say anything, there were many places to hide, and very little light to give him away.

          Dan stood up, and fired off several rounds from each pistol into one of the gun men. His body wavered back and forth with each impacting bullet. Then, Dan sprinted towards the darkened neighborhood. The roar of automatic gunfire and stray bullets deflecting off the pavement was the only sound that could be heard.

          "Five or something." His arm and leg hurt. "Shit." He rolled under a Civic. He heard them whispering to one another. The words were muffled and the accent was foreign to him. "All flesh and blood." Dan pushed his pistols back into his coat, and reached for his shotgun. "Make it quick and make it count. No time to waste on these fucking romans." He grimaced lightly and smiled again. Taking a deep airless breath, he rolled out from under the Civic, with the shotgun between his legs, and removed the head of one of the gunmen with a quick pull of the trigger. "Two."

*   *   *

          The Mercedes glided through traffic, the glimmer of the bright orange lamps sparkled from the entire lenght of the car. Inside, Erika sat, her eyes gazing out the passenger window. Her driver's voice rambled on, being muted by her own thoughts. She pressed her hand against the cold glass, and began to stroke it lightly. "Faster," she whispered. The driver's foot pressed down on the accelerator, and the car surged forward.

*   *   *

          Dan could hear the sirens, the cops were coming quick. He had taken out five, the others were getting away in a beemer, and Dan felt little craving to chase after him. There were bigger balls to neuter.

          One cop car turned the corner. Dan stared at it, and fired a warning round through the windshield, right between the two occupants, then he vanished into the night.