Here's my disclaimer: before you continue, be aware that this story depicts homosexual relations between teenage boys and a certain level of violence, if any of this is personally offensive or illegal for you to read, then stop. Otherwise, enjoy, comments are encouraged, no flames or viruses please.
Carrion's private plane touched down at JFK at around 1 in the morning with Miranda's cell. Kyle nudged Damien awake and the two of them stood up along with the computer guy and the crimson-haired boy with whom they'd spent the trip in two facing pairs of luxurious leather seats. Damien had gotten a chance to learn their real names on the flight; the crimson haired boy is Bryce, a good friend of Kyle's, and the computer guy is Cy, short for "Cyborg" on account of him being the cell's techie. They'd been nice enough to Damien, especially Bryce, who was glad to finally meet Damien "breathing on his own." It was a bit awkward.
"Did you enjoy the flight," Kyle asked Damien, sensing his thought patterns become a bit erratic.
"Well I've never flown before. Much less on a private jet," Damien's anxiety was simply excitement.
The cell made their way subtly to a row of black limousines to transport them to their New York headquarters. As Damien, Kyle, Bryce and Cy transferred themselves from one luxurious mode of transportation to another, they filled in the newcomer of just what he was in for.
"If you thought Seattle was something, New York will blow you away!" Bryce informed Damien in an excited tone. Damien had already noticed how excitable Bryce is, of not downright hyperactive. He was a fun guy, though.
"It was Carrion's first club he made when he began transforming all his headquarters. He started it with Miranda." Cy added. He was definitely a mellow guy, his voice somewhat detached yet matter-of-fact nonetheless. The antithesis of Bryce.
The cluster of limos took a secluded series of shortcuts before reaching the Brooklyn Bridge. As they crossed Damien noticed Kyle wince as he was looking out the window. To see what made him recoil, Damien looked out his window and saw some drifter hanging around. He looked quizzically at Kyle, who guessed what he was about to ask.
"Werewolves." Kyle answered.
Damien just nodded and tried to get another look at them. How could he tell?
When the procession of limos was cruising through the dense Financial District, they came upon a fairly derelict area with only a couple of grubby delis, shitty apartment buildings, and shittier office buildings. The black cars stealthily turned into a pitch-black alley Damien probably wouldn't have noticed otherwise. The rearview mirrors barely scraping the edges of the narrow opening, they receded into the darkness until they saw two large metal double doors, what looked like a service entrance, with a lone yellow light proclaiming its presence. The cars stopped, everyone piled out, and then they reversed out of the alley, back into the street, and disappeared into the night.
There was a broken-looking intercom on the wall, and Miranda entered a code into the keypad which unlocked the door with a smooth 'click' that betrayed it's rusty facade. Much like in Seattle, it was all camouflage. If the New York club is so grand, they certainly aren't advertising it, Damien thought. But when Miranda pulled open the door and the twenty or so Vampires piled inside, Kyle grabbing Damien's hand, Damien saw a long, old stone tunnel, lined with plasma screen TVs and a long, thin red carpet leading to another pair of glass doors, with a sleek bat symbol on it. On the TVs were fancy graphics set to the subtle rave music pumping in the background. They walked through the hall to the glass doors, where Miranda pushed a red button with a down arrow on it. Damien noticed that there were surveillance cameras everywhere. The glass doors slid open, revealing an elevator into which the crowd entered, and continued their journey downward, the glass walls of the round elevator showing the aged brick of the tunnel as they whooshed downward. When the elevator stopped, the glass doors opened, followed by a thicker pair of iron doors and, much like Seattle, the blaring music poured in.
They were on a balcony that wrapped all the way around the large, rectangular space and cris-crossed over the dance floor below. The floor was a metal grate so they would se the writhing sea of bodies below, awash in the fog and laser lights. on their level were sleek couches where people lounged, drank, and made out, there were two bars on either end of the dance floor that were illuminated red boxes. At the opposite end their was a dark, empty booth that presided over all. The club was impressive, and as they walked along the balcony Damien noticed the dancers in moving cages, the live singer. It was huge. The gang moved along to the other side where there was a sweeping metal staircase leading into the fray. Damien noticed that despite the crowds, people stepped aside for them, like they were royalty.
They descended, but as soon as they were at the foot of the stairs, they wheeled around and walked underneath the staircase, where there was an entrance to a VIP room. It was round and intimate, the music was a dull throb, and attractive waiters and waitresses took their drink orders as everyone slung themselves on the red velvet furniture, relaxing after the journey. Miranda and Cy, however continued to a private elevator at the end which, by the look of it, led to the dark booth, a private office and security headquarters. ****************
The Renegade opened his eyes slowly, painfully, he'd obviously been drugged, but as he experimentally twitched his muscles, he was pleased to find that the silver wounds had healed well. He also panicked suddenly when he became aware of his surroundings. He was in a glass tube, filled with liquid, floating upright, with an oxygen tube and goggles. There were tubes all over his body, and when he began to struggle, he felt a sharp prick in the back of his neck that immobilized him immediately, leaving him conscious, but trapped in his own body.
Nearby at his desk, studying the blood sample through a microscope, the scientist was observing the same phenomenon he'd seen in Viktor's blood all those years ago. Back when he thought the Hybrid legend had been fulfilled, and that he would be able to change the scope of the Underworld forever, and end this bloody and senseless war. But Viktor disappeared, the war raged on, and his plans were destroyed.
Until now. Now, he had Viktor, he had Sanger, he had his experiments, and he had a whole new plan. ****************
At the northern tip of Manhattan, around 183rd Street, at the old Croton Aqueduct Flag house, one of many such remnants in the area, Reggie jumped the chicken wire, as he had so many times before, and entered the cramped, stone structure. He continued down the spiral steps into the underground space, full of old filing cabinets, a collection assembled from every trash day for the past 60 years, all of it illuminated by grim florescent lights. At the end was an old man in an older chair, bent over a desk, writing, as he always was. This was the Storyteller, known to some as The Lost Prophet. He sensed Reggie's presence and greeted him curtly without looking up.
"Good evening, Reginald, do you have the briefcase?"
"Yes, sir, I managed to grab it in the crossfire."
"Well done, bring it over." Reggie set it on the desk and the Storyteller opened it, revealing ancient-looking parchment preserved between glass in a high-teck looking frame with a small screen displaying data. There were about four of those as well as a very old notebook that looked beaten up, which was hastily thrown into a ziploc bag.
Reggie tentatively asked, "So, what are they?"
"The latest additions to my collection. He wanted them, the doctor was having them delivered to his offices when the Renegade attacked his transporters. He wanted these, because it details the Apocalypse. These four are from the Vampire Archives in Prague, but this book here, it was Viktor's diary. I don't know how he got a hold of it, but they say Viktor outlined his plans for the revolution here. He had a specific model for not only the revolution, but for wiping out the Vampires entirely. They're just rumors of course, and the werewolves would den anything that would make their saviour look crazy, but he got the ideas from his contact with the scientist. While the scientist was Sangreal's doctor, he was convincing him and Viktor to annihilate the other species, breeding strife. He wants these documents to bring that plan to life once more, now that that Viktor has returned at the Renegade. I've also heard he's Sanger's partner now, the one who created all the blood technology. He's trying again, he'll never give up."
"Never give up what, exactly?"
"A union of the two species. He means to make the Hybrid Legend come true. When the Prophets wrote that legend, it wasn't just so it would happen one day on its own. They wrote it because they knew, I knew, that there would always be people like him to try and bring the two species together. They weren't prophecies, they were educated guesses based on our behavior now,and where our actions would lead us."
"So, why does he need these documents, anyway?"
"Because Viktor wrote out a plan to bring about the Vampire Apocalypse, which he wrote in his notebook here. These others are some of the Prophecies. We predicted the Hybrid legend and the Apocalypse, now he's using these to form an outline, a strategy, of how to revive this plan and use it to annihilate both species and replace them with a new one, a combination."
"So an Apocalypse is not really the end, but..."
"... a Sea Change. A new Underworld requires the destruction of the current one, so he can rebuild it in his image."
"Who is this scientist?"
"I knew of him so long ago that to say his name again makes me feel like I did back at the School," the Storyteller looked up wistfully, craning his neck for the first time as the words rolled off his tongue, "his name is Frankenstein."