#serpentis

I wake up to the night sky above. Luckily I am not out as the sun rises. The remains of the battlefield before me are a thick sludge of blood and ashes, shredded meat and bone, and rent metal remains of guns and blades. The air is thick with copper and sulfur and shit. The smell is strong. I check my chest, blown clean through where my heart should be. The sensation is inconvenient, but I am safe for now. I lay for just a moment, trying to remember the target’s name. It doesn’t matter. I remember the face. I know him to be dead at my hands. I watched his soul leave his eyes as he turned to ash. That’s all that matters. Mission complete.

Muntahi.

(Done.)

Trying to get up makes me wince involuntarily. My pectoral muscles were ruptured from a close range shotgun blast and it threws off my ability to get up. I slump back down. I could call in a pickup, but that would be unprofessional. As the moments turn to minutes I reconsider. I hear the distant sounds of a Toyota Land Cruiser, about three clicks out in the otherwise silent desert. It could be anybody, so I stumble to my knees and check my straps. The Remington 870 is in fine condition, the Handaxe has picked up some rolls and chips. I put some distance between myself and the battlefield. As I move past the small makeshift shack, I pick up one of the Ghoul Bodies I had rendered obsolete on my way in, and drink. Disgusting, it’s cold and there is a tinge of Blue to the Blood. Ventrue. It is sustenance all the same. I continue onward. I’m certain there will be another encounter before the night is over, if they let me get back to the road, and grab a vehicle, then they weren’t really worth my time in the first place. I continue onward, uphill. Down, ahead and below I see the end of the paved road and my borrowed Ford F150, covered in the same tarp I’d left it under. Behind I hear the Land Cruiser gaining on me. I immediately channel my recently consumed blood, now converted Vitae, into silencing my movement. I put up my beige hood, sand colored to better blend in, and as soon as it clears the hill I drop down on my stomach and I go unnoticed. It drives past me towards the road.

Al'ama.

(Damn.)

It pulls up to the F150 and five men exit, holding Assault Rifles. Three Kindred, Two Ghouls. They surround the tarped truck, using hand signals to get timing down to the exact second to unveil and annihilate its potential passengers. I retrieve a phone from my pocket, and wait. As soon as they rip off the tarp, I place a call. The Truck goes up in a blaze. Not an explosion, but a spray of petrol that douses the legs of those who approached, followed by a spark of an ignition. The Kindred are erased nearly instantly. The Ghouls scream and panic, only one of the duo is properly on fire, and fires aimlessly into the Truck’s cabin.

Eazim.

(Great.)

I get back up, and move silently but quickly. My legs are a blur in the night, but I make no sound. I manage to sneak up behind the Ghoul who avoided most of the flames. Rolls or no, I bury the handaxe deeply into his Corotid Artery. The spray catches the other’s attention, so he fires in my direction. I use his dead friend as a human shield, and push forward. In an instance I hit him with his fallen comrade. The flames are extinguished, but he still squirms. I walk up slowly, and place a heavy boot on the stack, leveling the Remington at his face.

Tawaquf! La taqtarib 'akthara!

(Stop! Don’t come any closer!)

I notice he is tugging at a grenade of some kind. I steal it from him as he pulls the pin. I discard it into the cabin of the F150. I grab him by the neck and drag him out from under his fallen ally. As I hold him above me, he stares for a fraction of a second, and in his eyes I see fear. I throw him into the truck cabin as well and head for the Land Cruiser. The explosion behind me is loud and bright. Not ideal for an exit. I hop into the Land Cruiser, turn the key over, look in the rearview mirror, and catch my own reflection. The person I see staring back is almost unrecognizable from the original model. A demon forged by war. A fine tuned killing machine. I set course for the nearest city, and drive in silence.

Flash forward. I am back stateside. Aisha Sharaf has made me tea. I drink it. I am not present. She asks me a question but the words blur over me. It's been days and I still smell the battlefield. I still smell the blood and the fear and the burnt petrol. She snaps her fingers and I look up at her from my mug.

Nour. Habibi, are you with us?

Yes. Sorry.

I don't need your apologies, I need you to focus up. Between jobs you cannot dwell.

I wasn't.

Don't lie to me Nour.

It wasn't about the combat. It was the smells. Very strong.

Care to share it?

Not over tea.

I read the report. Twenty five dead, with only one actual target. You went in alone, foolishly.

Yes. Sorry.

Stop apologizing.

Understood.

Was stealth even on the table? Or were you trying to make a point by the body count?

I was stealthy, ma'am. No survivors, no witnesses.

You know that's not what I mean.

I sip my tea and ponder what I could have done to earn better marks for the job. How many could I have gotten past without notice before getting to the target? Maybe the shack, but then they would have been a problem on the way out. Maybe his personal guard? But one was a Malkavian, they saw me instantly even with all precautions in place. Couple of Brujah probably, but it would have once again been the exit that would have been the problem. Sharaf snaps her fingers again and I look up. My mug is half empty.

Ma'am.

I'm not saying you did it incorrectly. Now, are your injuries healed up yet?

Yes ma’am. The local Salubri did her work.

She asked about your heart?

I told her it was part of the job.

That’s plenty.

Agreed.

You know, Nour, I’m still none too comfortable with that arrangement.

It’s been going on for long enough, I often forget.

That’s not necessarily a good thing. Perhaps it’s time we consider ending your contract.

I black out. I come back to consciousness, my arms are tied behind my back tightly, and Sharaf stands above me with arms blackened and raised.

Don’t make me do this Nour. Come back!

I look up at her confused. Then I remember. The Setite has his ways to keep that from happening. I look her up and down, a few scrapes, but lucky for her she’s stronger than me. I do not wish to fight my own sire, but I lost control. My eyes revert back to their pupiled form from the tar pit black they had been. I simply nod. She lowers her hands, and wipes her coppery sweaty brow. She reaches a hand to me, but I decline and get up on my own.

I agree. I don’t know every person I’ve reduced to ashes. I do not remember the countless Kine or Kindred or otherworldly creatures I’ve slain. The caked blood on my hands is thick and old. I think it may at least be time to pay Him a visit and see about changing the terms of our arrangement. But until then, don’t speak in such ways, for both of our health. Not like you can stake me.

Understood. I’d rather not torpor you.

And I would rather not be torpored. It would be inconvenient.

I resume my seat, and finish my tea. Aisha Sharaf fixes her clothes and re-binds her hands, then turns on the news.

Are we finished, ma’am?

Yes Nour, dismissed. I’ll book the flight for our next mission.

I take my mug to the sink, rinse and scrub it clean before it can be stained dark red. The blood in the mug, and the unique mix of herbs and tea leaves makes me feel… something indescribable. Revitalized, but buzzed. I find myself zoning out again. I snap to, turn off the faucet, and place my mug in the drying rack. I turn back to her, she has produced a cigarette. I can’t get a good read on her facial expression as she stares at the news. I’m unfamiliar with it at the very least. There’s no need to dissect it, if she has something to say, she’ll say it. I take my leave.

I walk back to my apartment. It is barren and minimalistic. There is a futon on the floor in the corner. There is a bookshelf, mostly empty, that came with the apartment. The gas range is unused. The refrigerator has a few medical blood packs in it. The freezer has spare ammunition, fake identity cards, and cash. Underneath one of the floorboards is a spare shotgun, loaded and ready. There is an alarm clock radio next to the bed, unplugged. There are spare bandages next to the bed, and black out curtains over the one window to the outside world. I lay down and stare at the ceiling.

limadha yahtaj alnaas 'iilaa 'akthar min hadha?

(Why do people need more than this?)

Aljashaea? rmz lilmakanat aliajtimaeiati? trfyh lilakhrin?

(Greed? Status Symbol? To Entertain Others?)

Hadhih al'ashya' laysat jz'an min wasf wazifati.

(Those things are not part of my job description.)

I find blood around my eyes. I do not understand. It runs down the sides of my face. My brow is furrowed with rage as my body betrays my brain.

laqad khantani kthyran alyawma.

(You’ve betrayed me plenty today.)

I roll onto my side and pass out.

A few days later I’m on an airplane to Egypt. Next to me is my Sire, she looks particularly serious. Not too dissimilar to myself.

Ma’am?

Yes Nour?

Are we are going there to talk? Or to talk?

That seriously depends.

Understood.

I look out the window. We would survive the fall if anything should happen.

If what I think will happen happens, what’s next?

Then continue on as usual.

Very well.

I feel a smile creep across my face, I am satisfied with my work, more of the same would go down just as smoothly. 

Unless you’d rather do something different.

What would that be?

I don’t know, there is always a need for our kind Habibi. What would you want to do?

I think long and hard on this question. What would I want to do if I wasn’t mindless killing targets? I don’t have any interests that I remember. I think Asheville leadership is fine as is. I do not wish to work with the suited guardians, the Diamondbacks. Their major strength is their numbers, not their abilities. If I decided to test myself against them, I probably could get all the way up to Saint the Scourge of Asheville, or Hugo, or Oliver before facing any real trouble. That Gangrel Sheriff, Bridger, is too emotional and predictable. Easily tilted, and when they are angry they get sloppy. But their death would upset Saint, and they could prove to be a real problem. Fast and tricky. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover they had Temporis. If I remember AMP accurately, they gave me the creeps but couldn’t put my finger on it. I’ve never seen them fight, Aisha told me to be careful of that one, and I’m not particularly interested in having my brain altered through Dementation but I think it was something more than that. Did they have Banu Haqim Magics? If so how? I don't recall. Regardless, I have no interest in upsetting the way of things, nor do I harbor any specific ill will towards my fellow genderless Kindred. None of this answers what I would want to do given the opportunity.

I don’t know, ma’am. What should I do?

Whatever brings you joy?

Joy, ma’am? To what end?

Eternity is forever, and it’s also far too short. You know that all too well. You are the period that ends the sentence. I don’t want you to keep fighting and fighting until you die out there. You deserve a chance to discover yourself.

Nothing you are saying makes any sense. I know who I am. I am strong and will continue to endure. I have proven as much. I don’t know what would make me happier than what I’m doing right now.

She raises an eyebrow at this.

So you’re happy, would you say?

I… I want to say yes, but I don’t know.

You like the feeling of accomplishment. Of a job well done. Of being good at what you do.  Possibly even the praise afterwards. But this isn’t happiness. This is Pride. You’re proud of your work. But you can feel this way and also have a hobby. Something that brings you joy.

It just seems like more work than it’s worth, Ms. Sharaf.

After this, your next assignment is to get a hobby.

Very funny, ma’am.

She chuckles, but my face remains the same.

We arrive at Cairo International Airport. It's like all airports. After gathering our small amount of luggage, Aisha Sharaf flags down a Taxi. We travel to a hotel. Le Passage Hotel and Casino. It appears garish, but we won’t be here for a vacation, we’re on a mission. We unpack our essentials in the room. For me it’s some hard plastic and ceramic blades, a large cloak, and my standard working outfit, the rest of the weapons, should they be needed, are to be acquired on-site. Aisha packed a little heavier than I did. Things to remind her of home that otherwise serve no purpose whatsoever. She lays down on the couch. I do not want the bed, nor am I tired, so I stand by the door until it is time to go. After some time she receives a phone call, answers, listens, but doesn’t speak. When she hangs up she turns to me and tells me it’s time to go, our contact is willing to meet. We head downstairs, and hop in another Taxi, and head to Larose Hall, a small convention center near the Giza Pyramids. There is something in the air I don’t understand, a large wrong thing has occurred recently. Once we get to the convention center, I note the air has a pungent earthy smell, like fresh turned grave dirt.

Be on alert, Nour, but don’t be so ready to fight - I don’t know if you’ll be able to at first anyways, so let’s just see how this goes. First opportunity I get, I free you.

Yes Ma’am.

There’s a part of me that simply doesn’t believe she’s capable of doing that. We enter the convention center and make our way to a meeting room. Outside there are armed guards. Nothing of substantial power, AKs, hardly a Kindred-stopping machine. I let Aisha speak to them and stay out of the business end. They stand down and open the door, so we enter. Sitting on the table, I see it. A jar with my heart inside. I haven’t seen it in person in some decades, but there it is. Within reach. Aisha Sharaf’s excitement is beyond my own. Before addressing my boss, she reaches out and then - she slumps to the ground. A stake protrudes from her chest. The room reveals six cloaked figures, fading from obfuscation, with crossbows trained on me.

Sorry it had to be like this, I was hoping we could talk first. Kid, don’t make me have to stake you as well. Have a seat. We have a lot to talk about. Your sire will be okay, unless you make some stupid decisions.

Before us sits a man nearly cloaked in black wearing a bird-like mask from the Bubonic Plague era. It is not a costume, I can tell it's a genuine article. He is old. I look at Ms. Sharaf on the ground. I look at the strange man in the chair. I take a seat.

Good, good, I was under the impression you could understand reason if the right pressure points were pressed. Nice to meet ya, I’m Pip, your new boss.

I look at him, confused.

What? No thank you Mr. Pip for dispatching my decades long Manager? Kids these days. Go on, speak.

Your Aura is all out of whack. What am I looking at here?

That is none of your concern. Not yet at least. I believe what you should be worried about is your Sire, your heart, and how long your little contract should be dragging on. Now, I want to free you, I really do. Your reputation proceeds you Nour, you are quite the assassin. Little messy at worst, but thorough and brutal. Suppose that makes sense considering the state you find yourself in. I have a proposal.

Go ahead, I’m listening.

Great. So, you know how Kindred are, right? Violent, bloodthirsty – I know you’ve spent most of your unlife doing their dirty work. How many problems have you run into because other Kindred got in the way? How many jobs have gotten fucked up because some uppity Kindred let their ego, or the blood, make a mess, like every other Kindred before them did? What if I told you that I have a way to end the whole thing, start to finish, spared no expense, blah blah blah…

He starts monologuing and I find myself incapable of paying attention. I hate that he knows about me, but I sit patiently and stare. End the whole thing. Maybe we’re not so different. A means to an end is a respectable goal.

Hey, you listening? Hard to tell with your eyes all fucked up and pitch black.

Yes, Sir.

Good, excellent, so, that proposal. You don’t want to be without a heart forever, I don’t want to be caught with my pants down so to speak, and I need a few targets taken out. Unfortunately things state-side are messy. A coterie I used to work with are taking this shit personally, and they're surprisingly good at making it my problem, which isn't ideal this close to the end of things. So far, Asheville is uninvolved, with the exception of its Nosferatu Prim. It’s not important enough of a city to be considered a threat, yet. You do what I need you to do over the next - let’s say couple of months, and I get this heart back to its home in your chest cavity, give you back your sire, and otherwise leave Asheville untouched. Whaddya say?

So, the options are either I take out some targets or Aisha Sharaf, Asheville, and my heart - and myself with it - are all taken out of the picture?

Pretty much, yeah.

Okay, I’m in. Why me though? Why here?

Do you really need me to butter you up? Look, my associates have followed your work - we’re big fans - and you’re effective, you were willing to travel here out of desperation. I’m much more fond of using the carrot over the stick, and this carrot was ripe for the taking. You follow?

I’m good at what I do, and I’m an easy pull. That checks out. Where will you take Ms. Sharaf?

Now, that wouldn’t be fair if I told you where she’d be staying. You’ll get constant updates, I imagine you have a cell phone?

I do.

Excellent. Let’s exchange details, get you some better weaponry, and send you back on your way stateside. You’ll get an update on your next job tomorrow evening. I’ll also take care of your travel plans, and the stuff in your hotel room at Le Passage.

May I ask you a personal question, boss?

Sure Nour, can’t promise I’ll answer, but ask away.

My brain is putting together pieces in a blur.

What was it like, eating the Antediluvian of the Followers of Set.

I can’t read his expression, but the tone that follows is masking surprise.

Unpleasant. But well worth my time.

Very well, Sir.

I look forward to our partnership. 

He extends a hand. I stand and approach. The half dozen wooden crossbow bolts still trained on my position. I take his gloved hand and begin to raise it to my face.

No, Hasan, just a handshake will do.

I shake his hand, suppressing a grumble.

Under my seat, you’ll find a duffle full of upgraded weapons. We’ll have a driver ready to take you back to your hotel, to pick up your personal belongings, then take you back to Cairo International. We’ll be in touch.

He stands, motions to his men, and they disperse, picking up Aisha Sharaf on the way out. 

I’m leave in the conference room alone. After a moment I open the bag. A sleek new age shotgun, a Mossberg Shockwave, two curved carbon fiber blades, and a dissected Sniper Rifle - a Remington M2010 Enhanced, and spare ammo. I close the bag, exit the room, and head outside. As Pip said, there is a man ready to take me back to the hotel. I gather Aisha’s stuff into her bag, and leave it for them to take. I grab my unpacked luggage and return to the car. After a short ride to the airport, I climb into a crate - not an unfamiliar experience, and once sealed I am shipped back stateside. 

A few nights later I get a name, a clan, and a location sent to my cell phone from a scrambled number. I travel just outside of Asheville, find a motorcycle, and use it to make my way to Virginia. Rummaging through the duffle that I’ve made myself familiar with, I load the dragon's breath rounds into the Shockwave. They make quick work of my target. Ashed. No witnesses. I receive another text from the same scrambled number. Good. Stay in the area. I ditch the motorcycle and go to a cheap hotel. They flag me down, say they have my room ready, and address me as Mister Hasan. I take the room key and head in to set my bag down. It’s a two bed room. What a waste of space. Furthermore, I do not like being watched like this. Then I wait. I open the mini fridge to store my ammunition and find hospital bags of blood. I leave them be. Does Pip think so little of me? Leaving most of my weaponry in my temporary base of operations, I take to the streets and do what a Kindred is supposed to do - find a human, take them down an alleyway out of sight, and drain them. I drop the body into the sewer. I head back. My mind drifts to Aisha Sharaf for a moment. I do not know why. I imagine she’s in Egypt, or in a crate stateside. I subconsciously turn on the news, but don’t watch or listen. I await my next target. The job isn’t hard, not nearly as difficult as my previous missions.

The work is infrequent but rarely difficult. These are not the same targets I’m used to dealing with, hardly any of them fight back or are really prepared for Banu Haqim at all. My newest message arrives, and I am curious.

One Target. A leak of information. Silencing them is key. Time is of the essence. True Brujah. Temporis. Richmond, Virginia. You’ll be assigned a hit squad to lead. 

I respond.

Understood.

I prepare. I grab my Mossberg Shockwave, the curved blades, spare Dragon’s Breath Rounds, but I leave the M2010. I don’t imagine that I’ll have the opportunity to catch this target unawares. It’s going to be up close and personal, or nothing. I ready the more ritual elements of my arsenal. I coat one of the blades in Baal’s Caress, the other in Scorpion’s Touch, two different poisons derived from my own Vitae, the latter of the two a paralytic. I draw on the runes for further Blood Sorcery for if the time comes. I dawn my mask, and put my hood up. I exit the hotel room. Outside, waiting for me, is a moving van, full of a dozen Kindred. I cannot easily tell if they are Banu Haqim, or just whatever Pip has on hand. I address them in English.

This everyone?

Yes Boss.

You know what we’re up against? Are you confident?

Yes Boss.

Good. I’m ready when you are.

They help me into the back of the Moving van, and the driver lowers the hatch. I’m standing with twelve others, armed to the teeth. They seem to in equal parts fear and respect me. I’m glad there was no misunderstanding when Pip or whomever reached out.

Any unique abilities we can use to our advantage? Obtenebration? Protean? Quietus? Valeren? Vicissitude?

I get a slew of responses to at least some of these. As we move, I kneel and plan out the assault knowing as much. I tell them I will take up the rear, they will move in as two units, pinsiring the target, then once their attention is held, and they are overwhelmed I will take them out myself. Temporis can be a real bitch. They could already know we’re coming. They could have already enacted counter measures. They could have messed with time in countless ways. It’s for the best this bloodline has been mostly extinguished, at least from a practical perspective.

When we arrive, it is as chaotic as one would expect. We get to an old house in the middle of nowhere. The target stands at the front door, unarmed at least on simple inspection. The Kindred I lead fan out into formation as I instructed, and I Obfuscate myself both visually and audibly, but before much else, all hell breaks loose. The target is fast, absurdly fast. My team’s claws, and tendrils, and fiery blasts never make purchase. In moments, two of them are ashed. The target returns to the front door, eyeing the situation non-chalantly, their eyes brush over my location but I am not clocked. I make my approach. After more slices, and shots, and attempts to take them down, they are slightly more winded and I notice them panic, but they’ve already taken down another three Kindred with what appears to be a polearm of some kind. Seven remain. From a reasonable vantage point I steal some of the target’s blood and use it to replenish my allies in the midst of the fight. I can see the draining effect take its toll even further. The combat resumes in a more balanced nature. Then, something terrible happens. I see their eyes, never looking back behind them, express something akin to desperation, and then they are untrackable. Not due to displacement, or obfuscation, or any other sort of cheap trick. They’re actively killing themselves to take us all out by merging Celerity and Temporis.

Why? What the fuck would thy do this? Part of me considers leaving before they die from ashing. The job is essentially done. But this also means my entire team will be forfeit. They knew the rules, but losing twelve to a single Kindred feels like a failure no matter what way you slice it. They are a leak. An important one at that. Silencing them is key. But, if I were to turn my guard down, even for a second, they could still catch me somehow. Perhaps they destroy the getaway moving truck. The vehicle on the property, a 1969 Boss 429 Mustang, appears to be in disrepair. Assuming they have any allies at all in the immediate area, their vengeance would be swift. I continue my slow approach, but I am angry. Furious that they would burn out all at once. What are they doing? And for what? I will never understand this move. I will truly catch them unawares.

After making quick work of most of the remaining team, they no longer dodge incoming attacks. They know this is it. On their approach of the twelvth team member, a Lasombra who has fought valiantly, I interrupt them. Catching them off guard, I grab them by their neck, reappearing physically, and hold them up in the air. My team fought well, I will withstand any blow, and I will not let my last one fall. They struggle in my grasp, but they no longer have their polearm - discarded in a fallen allie. They swipe and punch at me, and when they actually make contact, I feel bones shatter. I do not wince. I simply hold them in place and glare. Finally their eyes dart back to their house. What are they looking at? Are they protecting something? Someone? Their precious computer in which they used to leak Pip’s information? Is it that important? Are they on a timer? How do I, the last being they will see before passing on, not have their attention? They finally look back to me, and with an acceptance crumble to ash in my grasp. I roar in the midst of my rage, but it is unheard due to the barrier of Quietus surrounding me. After a second, I drop the barrier, and help my comrade up.

Torch the house, and let’s be on our way.

Understood boss. Th-that was-

Enough. I’m not interested. Job’s done, you lived, do with that what you will.

Thank you.

I approach the muscle car. As expected it’s undrivable. A long term project, unfinished. I think about the long term projects we leave behind. Ultimatley I am frustrated. I return to the moving van.

Get me back to my hotel.

This everyone?

After setting the house ablaze I am joined by the only other survivor.

Is that a problem?

No boss. Sorry boss. Close her up and we’ll roll.

The rest of Virginia is a blur, target after target just outside of the city boundaries. New spreads that the Cammies have taken Richmond proper. This is of no real consequence to me. I offer to go into their compound, and take them out in silence, I still haven’t had to reveal my secret technique. This idea is shot down. Apparently a stronger Banu Haqim than has tried and failed, multiple times. I clarify that the fact that they left with their life multiple times after failing means they aren’t as committed as I am. I am once again shot down.

Only message me with serious requests. Don’t tell me about situations you find yourselves in that you are unwilling to commit to, because I will solve them for you.

I get no response to this.

I spend a lot of time pacing with unease. I spend a lot of time doing target practice out in the woods. I spend very little time checking my phone - I’ve limited myself to only once when the sun sets, and once before bed when the sun comes down, daily, for the month or so. I take the tablescraps of jobs I am given. I am left unsatisfied, unfulfilled, and feeling underutilized. Not since the Trujah target have I had to think or try.

The Twenty-First of September approaches. I am to make sure no additional assistance comes to aid the problem Coteries who are defying Pip. A group of Gangrel and Salubri roll through Virginia on the way to Greensboro. Realistically I could take out one or two of them before being beset upon by the others. It’s not worth the risk, nor would that actually assist in the grand scheme of the war effort. I text Pip what I see. I get no response.

When the night of the ritual comes, I am not assigned any particular position. I am to sit and wait for the end. So I do. Furious that I’m not being used to my full potential. The sun approaches as it always does at the end of an evening, and I instantly know two things. One - that Pip has failed, and is probably dead. Two - that the world remains unchanged, and that tomorrow is something I must endure.

Before I lay down to sleep, I find myself gripping one of my carbon fiber curved blades, I get the news that it’s over, that they lost, and to go into hiding through text, and I disintegrate the blade with my 'Aydi Aldamar (Hands of Destruction) out of pure rage. I consider my cell phone. Who else would even need to reach me? Pip is likely dead as he sought to do this thing with one hundred percent of his being. I don’t see him being taken alive. I don’t really want to hear from Aisha right now. I assume she’s either been released, and she can get back to business as usual in Asheville, or perhaps Pip was lying, and she’s been dead all along. If it’s the latter, another classic waste of resources, I wouldn’t be surprised. She was always one hell of a fighter. I look at my bed, a mattress on the floor. I lay down and pass out. I am dissatisfied.

Some days later, my phone finally buzzes. I check it to see.

abq hayth 'anta. sayatawasal maeak 'ahad mumathilina qryban (Stay where you are. A representative will contact you shortly.)

I break my phone in half, and throw it in the bin. An old standard. Banu Haqim higher ups. I follow as instructed. No change in orders needed. I continue laying on the bed. I throw on the television. The Kine are chalking everything up to a series of natural disasters, that have resulted in some deaths and disappearances. It doesn’t hold my attention nor my interest.

After some time, there is a knock at the door.

laqad tama fathahu.

(It’s unlocked.)

In steps a lone soldier. I dare not fight them. They are dressed in a grey sleeveless shirt, but additional long black sleeves in the form of gloves that pass their elbows. Unassuming. The most concerning type of Banu Haqim.

Hey, so. I've got orders from upstairs, you're gonna come with me.

I stand, and eye my small suitcase of weapons and clothes, disregard it and approach.

You can go ahead and grab those.

I do. I count everything before zipping it up. I am down one blade. That tracks. I follow them outside into the night, not bothering to lock the door. It’s under Pip’s payment method anyways, who cares? I stand next to them, leaning on the hand rails outside of the hotel room. I reach for a pack of Camels, and offer one to them out of habit, but they decline. I light it with a flameless arc lighter and take a deep drag.

So, here's the thing. you and two others are gonna come stay with me in Concord and recover from the war. A lot of people got *really* messed up, so the higher ups want some of us that weren't as involved to do some vetting and make sure you're ready to rejoin the clan as a whole. It'll mean one-on-one meetings while we figure out where you are mentally and go from there. Are you cool with that, or am I gonna have to torpor you?

May I speak?

Go for it.

I don’t believe I’m in need of assistance. I am in need of another job. My previous employer, a Setite with my heart in a jar, was ashed by the Nosferatu at the core of this war. He then took over as my new boss, as he was in possession of my heart. He used me adequately for some time, and then he underutilized me on the latter end. And now I imagine he’s ashes. So I am without an employer.

Then that is fine with me. You don’t need assistance, that’s chill, but still, join me in Concord and wait for another job as tasked by the council at large. Either way, they have tasked me with taking you in. You’d be going against their wishes if you fought me on this.

Then lead. I have no particular attachment to Virginia.

They take me to a gray Honda CR-V, I toss my suitcase in the back and take the passenger seat. They turn on the stereo. I’m unfamiliar with the track that plays.

Clarity. Nice to meet ya.

Nour.