Rapidly Losing Patients (Intro for Thomas)

[Dr. Mulcahy]

I have no idea what just happened. He jumped up and shouted at me and now everything's dark and-

What's that?

I run my hands over my desk quickly, searching for the small lamp. I flick on the bulb, and no one is there. No Wade. No Andrew. I look around briefly before standing. I can stand. What a miracle. Even more miraculous is that I managed to not wet myself. I grab a tissue and slowly shuffle towards the door of my office. Using the kleenex as a barrier between myself and the germs of the doorknob, I slowly creek open my door. Nothing abnormal.

My lips part, my face flush from the recent events. All I manage to eek out into the hallway is a quivering, "Next."

[Wade]

Well shucks, don't time just fly by? I spend the next week or so putterin around the city, just tendin to the usual biz of bein a scourge, considerin my new pal the doc.

Uptight, rational, fulla that hypocritical bullshit that headshrinkers love throwing out...and yet also a bit loony too...in small ways, but good ones. Looked like maybe an OCD freak, with maybe a bit else coming out...Probably dropped like an anvil with the little haunting I did on him. Wonder if he managed to get Himself put in a crazy house yet. Wouldn't surprise me, but I kinda doubt it. He's more the sort to put psycho craziness out of sight as much as possible. Try an hide it...not that that ever works. You ask me, its alot better just to let it out. Go with it!

Of course, uptight prickness aside, he really seems to have a Lot of potential for further fuckin up. Just the sorta guy I've been lookin for to pass on the family genes...and not in that gay 'Interview with a Vampire' way neither...I swear Lestat gave even the Torrs a bad name...Though the Queen of the Damned movie was pretty damned awesome. With must from Disturbed an everything!

Wait.......where was I? Oh yeah, siring my own little bundle o' joy....Hmm....Well, Dita Did say I'd know when I met The One.

Course, makin a kid'll require a woman first. No not for That, though I guess I could go fro some bump an grind later on...no, what I need is the permission of the Bosslady to do the sirin bit, so she don't do siccing the scourge on the butt...an I'm not sure I could kick my own ass...

Anyways, all that takes is a note, and somethin to tie it too. I snag the latter outside the catholic church. Clubbin a choir boy over the head with a ball bat, and then scoopin him up before I move to another rooftop. Tyin him up nice an comfy with some ducttape, an then taking a pen to write Rox a note taped to his chest. Then its a simple matter of hoppin to downtown, and droppin him through a skylight into the Prince's quarters. Note goes something like this:

'Heya Bosslady, I been thinkin about it, an I think I'm ready to settle down an make an honest reptile outta Gigi. So, I decided that I'd like to adopt me a childe. Got a good kid workin at the Asylum who's just Awesome at bein all freaked out. I promise I'll care for him, an take him for walks, an bathe him, an all that stuff. Anyways, if ya don't want me to, just call the cell, an I'll drop him off a roof or somethin. Otherwise toodles!

Your Dutiful servant and beloved asskicker,
Wade

PS: Enjoy the altar boy. Couldn't find a rock.'

Sure, Ozzy would probably say the kid counts as bribery, but I figure the bosslady won't mind. She'll get a nice snack out of him. Now I just gotta go back an find the Doc...Assumin he didn't do the pussy thing an just kick the bucket on his own toll. Always important to make sure you're friends aren't prone to do that, or you might end up with another Sam...

[Roxie]

No more meetings... and actually, for the night, no more City work.
I love when business is done.
All work and no play makes Roxie a violent vamp.
I head into some of the higher up rooms, the plush ones filled with all the comforts I enjoy.
Sitting on an over-sized stuffed couch with a satin cover, I enjoy the feel of it against my skin as I click on the tv.
A quick view of BBC world news before I switch to something better... it never hurts to brush up on the world's state in my position... even if it bores me to death.
Gavin and Trent are both here with me, also sitting around, relaxing visually, though I know they are both usually high on alert for anything around, as they are my body guards.
But I can sense purity and holiness from miles away, and I know there is something tasty on the roof!
The unexpected shock of the presence of my deepest fetish makes my mind rush quickly, and I stand up quickly, alerting both my body guards to start looking around, but I toss a hand up for them to be still.
I hold my Frenzy tight, always enjoying the rush and build up, like a foreplay with myself, as I smell Wade, sure it's not attack, and not at all concerned if it is.
Who's dumb enough to bring me to frenzy BEFORE an attack?
I can sense Gavin and Trent going on edge, noticing my fangs now, knowing what's rushing through me.
They don't like my frenzy... but even Ghould they are both still human, so I can't be too shocked on that.
When the unconscious alter boy drops in, I catch him deftly, drawn to him, wanting to tear him to shreds right there... but I see the note too, and I so enjoy holding myself back to start...
To feral to do it myself, I hand the note to Gavin hissing at him to read it to me, and he does, his hands shaking as he tries not to see the child I hold in my hands.
After he reads it, he flinches at the cruel smile that overcomes my features.

"Leave me."

At that order, both of my body guards exit the room, standing outside to continue their guard, both breathing a sigh of relief that I held back this much.
I whisper my answer up to the roof, knowing Wade will hear me fine.

"You have my permission to Sire."

As soon as that is said, I let myself get taken over by the frenzy I've only barely managed to hold on to.
I'd love it if he were awake and I could hear his screams, drink his fear...
But there's no time for that.
His very purity has me riled up so quickly...
Anyone around can hear the primal growl that rips from my throat as I tear into his with my fangs.
One long drink of the child before I lose it completely, tearing the body to shreds as I roll in his blood, enjoying it all too much, and ruining the carpet... the room, with the gore.

[Dr. Mulcahy]

Day 1
The night seems colder than usual as I walk to my car. It’s the middle of the summer, but that doesn’t stop my blood from turning to ice. I walk to my car with more caution than usual, keeping to streetlamp-lit sections of pavement, avoiding crossing alleyways. Andrew. Andrew’s dead. What happened to the body? My pace is quick, my steps rigid. As I hold tightly onto my briefcase, I can’t stop abusing my wrist with my free hand. Every pinch sends a twinge of pain through me, but at least it keeps me grounded in the moment.

My car. Thank God. I see my blue Celica and my heart rate elevates in a moment of joy. I look both ways quickly before crossing the road, but I stop dead in my tracks as I’m no more than a yard away from my car. He’s there. Wade. He’s in the passenger’s seat, and he’s…smelling the tissue with my blood on it? No. No that’s impossible. I shut my eyes tightly and shake my head; it can’t be happening. I open my eyes with great hesitation, and to my surprise, I see nothing.

Nerves. It’s just nerves.


Day 2
I couldn’t sleep. Nerves. Of course it was nerves. Or, maybe it was seeing Wade at the foot of my bed. Staring at me. Tasting my blood. My hands ache and my eyes feel bloodshot. I have to get to work. I can’t let this get to me.

I find I’m able to get through the day, but I still see…him. I’ll have to adjust my doses. Yeah. I’ll take a little more clonazopam. Just something to ease my nerves.

Well, I am eased. But I still see it. The corpse in my office. I only find sanctuary when I have a patient or coworker with me.

I get home to my nice two bed one bathroom house. I get home and I hate it. He’s in every room. Andrew is sitting on my couch, slouched at the dinner table. Sleep. I just need more sleep.


Day 3
I had one hour of sleep, though it’s hard to get rested with the overhead light on. I sit in my office, staring at that name on my desk. Dita. He’s still carving it. Wade’s nails are still etching her name as easily as writing it with pen and paper. I can’t give my patients the full attention they deserve, but I hate when they leave. When they leave, he comes back.


Day 4
I won’t go in my room. I can’t It’s too small. He’s be in there. Waiting for me. It doesn’t matter where I am in my house though. If I’m in the shower, he’s pulling tissue from the trashcan and sniffing my blood. If I’m at the dinner table, he’s across from me, talking about the military. And AC vents.

AC vents.


Day 5
I took a cab to work today. My wrists are so numb and bruised I can’t hold a pen, let alone drive. He’s there. He’s always there. He’s in my office between patients, he’s in my home, he’s in my mind. I can’t get him out. Why won’t he leave me alone? I’m much more skittish. I can’t even hold entire conversations with coworkers. Any one of them could be him. Telling him where I am.

I hate him. I hate him almost as much as I’m afraid of him.


Day 6
I have everything it would take. I have enough prescriptions to go out with a cocktail. My wrists are so numb I wouldn’t be able to feel a blade. Hanging is horrific. Jumping would leave me with a chance of living, paralyzed for life.

As I think of my options, he watches me. Tastes my blood. Judges me.

Bastard.

Day 7
Oh God. Oh. God. My office. The hospital. Why is it so cold tonight? Has it always been this cold? Why won’t Wade go away? He’s going to kill me. I know he will. I know the doctors and patients are talking about me. Whispering about me. They’re probably keeping track of my behavior. Sending files on me back to…no, no they don’t know about my last employer. Do they? Does Wade know? He’s right there, why wouldn’t he know? He walks towards me, about to put his hands on my desk and I hurl my lamp at him. And it goes through him. He isn’t there. He isn’t there, and now my lamp is broken.

I’m panting. Why am I panting? The lamp. I through the lamp and exerted energy.

I slowly stand up, grabbing the trashcan and kneeling on the floor. Carefully, I pick up the larger shards of glass and place them in the bin. I use the lampshade to sweep the smaller pieces in. I can’t do this. I can’t lose control.

[Wade]

After I got the prince's word on the matter its time to get down to business and I do that, borrowin a cab and cabby for the long trip outta town and to where Ravencroft awaits. Although technicly still within the city, and by extent Camarilla patrol, the Asylum is still pretty far out in the boondocks. Almost into Lupine territory really. Not that I mind that terribly, why I keep a silver plated dagger on hand for those little problems that tend to pop up when dealing with bloodthirsty inhuman monsters...well the furry variety of bloodthirsty inhuman monsters.

For the Kindred I got some more fun toys.

Wooden stakes Never really go out of style.

I get the cabby to park out way back from the gate, using some shrubs to hide the cab, and then the trunk of said cab to hide the cabby. Way he's cryin by the time I'm done, he don't seem to much mind the cramped quarters. Make a good snack for the drive back, assumin things go well on all fronts, hell I might even keep the cab...

I make my way over the fence an across the grounds, not botherin with patient quarters as I make a beeline for the Doc's office, notin as I do that it doesn't seem like the security has gotten any better. Wonder if they even noticed the guard goin missin yet...kinda sorta doubt it. Juicebags are always bad to wander off for no real reason, at least in my experience...then again, Homeless probably ain't the top baseline to use.

Anyway, I make my way to outside the Doc's office, considerin his wall for a moment as I ponder how to do this. Sadly, he ain't really got a room with a view. More the kinda uphigh window you typically see in Johns...which given the size of his office, wouldn't surprise me. You'd think he'd get better digs for whatever the crap he is.....CIA or somethin? Smelled like a spook.

Anyway, gettin in once I find a window is easy, an sneakin past him to his chair is even easier, as I plop myself down in his spot, proppin by bloodstained shitkickers on his blotter as I wait for him to notice my reappearence, allready droolin at whats to come.

Could really use a bite.

[Dr. Mulcahy]

There are so many pieces. It’s almost like trying to get sand out of the carpet. I never realized how many tiny things went into making a lamp. Not just a bulb, shade, and body. Every single piece of glass that was melded together to form the lighting device.

My mind’s starting to wander. I’m too tired. I’m surprised I even got through the day with only seeing Wade a few times. I hope it’s over soon. I don’t know how much more of seeing him I can stand. Yesterday was my lowest point, and I don’t think I can go that low again without falling. I’m not about to talk to a therapist, psychologist, or any other doctor about it. So long as I have my prescriptions, I know I’m okay. It must just be PTSS. Yes. That would explain the entire episode. Why it only occurred when I was isolated or in the dark.

I finish getting up the last of the glass and toss the wires and shade into the bin. With a gentle push off the ground I get to my feet, eager to wash my hands off after touching the trash. It’s just disgusting. I look up and-

No. No, I won’t let it happen again. Still holding the bin in one hand, I stare at the thing in my chair. I say thing, because Wade isn’t really there. He can’t be. I turned around for just a minute or so, so he can’t possibly have gotten into my office, let alone sit in my chair while I was only distracted so briefly. I stare at him, not moving. This feels different.

This feels real. He feels real, even without touching him. As eager as I was to put the can down, now I’m pretty sure I can’t let go of it. I won’t speak to him. I just won’t. I have nothing to say to him. He’s been with me for the past week in a way, and something inside tells me he knows exactly how I’ve been handling everything. I keep staring, my jaw clenching, my free hand moving to my bruised and numb wrist. He isn’t there. He isn’t.

[Wade]

I grin at the way the doc responds, the expressions crossing his face sayin pretty clear that he's tryin to talk himself into believin I don't exist. Which is actually a pretty common problem when ya look an act like a psychotic episode. Not that I haven't figured out how to get through that kinda self denying bullhockey.

I give the doc a grin, reachin into one of his cabinets an extracting the guards nightstick from where it was hidden, twirlin it lightly one handed as I consider him. Nightsticks have always been a bit...boring for my tastes, but I gotta admit I like the heft on this one. Well that, and the relatively fresh blood on the smacky end. Guessin maybe the doc didn't feel like gettin rid of the murder weapon like a Smart person would. Not so impressive thinkin for a guy whose supposed to be a headshrinker...but thats mortals for ya, always not thinkin ahead about the Important stuff. Besides, I can't feel too annoyed, seems like the doc hasn't been resting well. Maybe not enjoyin the Haunting as much as I'da thought.

"You doin okay Doc? Seem a bit tired...hauntin can disrupt your beauty sleep a bit from what I understand...anyway, its time for our session now. I hope you don't mind that I'm taking the other side of the desk this time. Not so sure you're up to treating me this time.."

Settlin in on the desk, I make a show of steepling my fingers, considering him from behind my fingerless gloves. Enjoying the fear I see in his eyes. Knowing that theres no doubt in him now about my existance. That any attempt he might have made to discount last week is getting washed away in the savory terror that comes with knowing you might be about to die...or worse.

"So, why don't you have yourself a seat and talk to me about Your problems. We'll see if I'm as good at treating you as you are at treating me. I think you'll like the treatments I have in mind..."

Almost absently I eye the nightstick in my hand, before setting it between us. Within easy reach of him, if he decides to go for it. I've got all my own toys with me tonight, but it'd be fun to see him try to kill...And therapeutic as well.

Of course, I've allready got permission from the Prince to sire him...but that doesn't mean I'm just going to go out and do it. Not straight up. No, he'll need to prove he Deserves it first. Show off that he can take Malkov's blood without just turnin into some pussy lestat ripoff.

Immortality is Earned. Simple as that.

[Dr. Mulcahy]

He’s real. Damn. And I’m sure that nightstick is just as real as he is. How long had that been in there? All week I suppose. My God, I didn’t even notice it in there.

Keeping my eyes on him, I sit in the patient’s chair across from my desk. My. Desk. That son of a bitch is on my desk. He already ruined it with his nails, and now he has his ass propped on it like it’s his. No. No, I can’t lose my temper. Oh. Good. I’m still holding the trashcan. With a great mental struggle I finally set the can beside the chair. And he sets the nightstick between us. Tempting, yes, but I have a feeling that it would be useless against a man who managed to snap someone’s neck with one hand.

Tempting. But no.

I want to ask him what he means by haunting, but I don’t think my mind can process any sort of interrogation at them moment. I’m in more of a mild panic, quickly heading towards the possibility of a full attack. Am I pinching my wrists? Probably. I can’t feel them, but I’m not about to take my eyes off Wade.

“How am I doing?” No. I repeated him. That means I’m showing signs of slowed mental processing. Okay. Full statements. I must give him clear answers. Why? Who is he? “Well, Wade, I’m tired. I’m very tired, because I have not had adequate sleep.” I pause, realizing what I just said is obvious. “But you already knew that.” There’s no winning here for me, is there? I clear my throat, but I have nothing to say yet. I keep staring at Wade, trying to look around his hands, not his eyes. It’s bad enough having him back here, but I’m not about to lock eyes with him now.

I have to keep myself together. He could kill me. No, he could really, actually kill me. Damn. I jolt the slightest bit. That pinch hurt. At least I have some sort of feeling left in my hands. I look down and begin counting the pinches as I go. One two three four. One two three four. Four on one, four on the other. It’s always the same.

This isn’t the same.

I look back up at Wade, feeling the color flushing from my face. I haven’t felt this scared in a week, and I don’t know if I have the stamina to handle it as well as I did then. “What…what would you like to know, Wade? About my problems?” Everyone has problems, but he wants to know mine. “Anything…specific?”

[Wade]

Hehehe. I gotta admit, this doc just gets more fun every time I deal with him. Can kinda start to see the right cracks forming, in the most funnest places. I can tell that the nightstick freaks him out too. Just a little reminder of last time, incase he thought it was all a bad dream. But no, he knows this is real, at least as much of any of this Can be real. Funny thing about reality, it can be pretty damn subjective.

Anyway, he seems open to havin a bit of a heart to heart, so I figure thats the best place to start. After all, if I wanna turn him, I wanta make sure he doesn't have any skeletons in his closet. We all know the skeletons go in the woodshed. Right next to the chainsaw, and that collection of snuff film you got from the guy at Kinkos.

"Okay, talking.............talking........hmmm...Hows about we start off with you. I'm guessin that you're a doc at an insane asylum indicates you got a degree at some point. How much did that set you back? Can you get them on the web, or do you need to go to that guy at Kinkos who does Snuff films on the side?"

I reach over, picking up a shiny metal pen from the blotter and pop out the tip, usin it to clean some of the gunk offa my fangs as I wait for his response. Tell ya, blood starts to taste icky after a few days.

"Oh, and when was the last time ya got laid, and how much did she cost?"

Okay granted, thats probably an itty bit personal, but I kinda like to know that my childe ain't gonna have problems with the ladies...which given that he looks like an anorexic Christian Bale, is allready pretty damn likely. Tell ya, that dude makes the funnest movies though. So grounded in the hear and now, and not off in lala land like some actors.

You really gotta feel the soul in his characters.

Anyway, I gots my session to deal with. An plenty more questions to ask.

"Oh yeah, an this is an important one..." I pause, putting down the pen, as I stare into his eyes, letting him see what waits behind them. Know a little bit more of my soul. A bit of the darkness he'll get to touch...to claim as his own...if he passes the tests of course.

"Do you fear life, or death. Its a simple choice. You can pick one, or the other...And trust me, this is one question where you want to be able to explain your pick..Wouldn't want to go off sounding like a dumbass during your session, now would you? So...Life or Death. Pick one, an then tell me why you picked it."

[Dr. Mulcahy]

I don’t want to answer the last question. I don’t know how to. I don’t care if he knows every detail of my sex life or education, but I honest to God don’t think I can answer the last question. Okay. Breathe. One question at a time. I just have to think about one question, answer it, and move on to the next one. I try to ignore his more snide remarks, but they seem to seep into my mind as I jog my own memory for answers.

“I can’t recall the…precise amount,” I say hesitantly. I take in a slow breath before I continue, looking quickly over to my Stanford degrees on the wall behind my desk. I finally bring my eyes to meet his. “With loans and scholarships taken into account, after nine years,” I shake my head briefly. “In all a little over two hundred thousand dollars.” Yes. Yes? It might have been less, but my mind isn’t working in numbers right now. Alright. I got one question out of the way. Just two more. And I dread the last.

Oddly enough, I have to think even harder on the second question than the first. When was the last time I was with a woman? It feels like the color that ran from my face is slowly creeping back in the form of a mild blush. Can I honestly not remember? Yes, there were a few dates in the past few months, but nothing ever came of them. They were really little more than business lunches anyway. I shut my eyes for a moment, gripping my left wrist tightly as I try to recall. Sex. When did I last have it? Who was she? Where was it? Have I ever even had sex? Well, of course I have. Obviously nothing memorable though. No. No I do remember, though it wasn’t exactly a night of ecstasy.

Shaking my head, face red with a hint uncertainty, I look back up to Wade. “About a year ago.” I nod, answering as honestly as I can. “We didn’t even do anything beyond oral.” Yes. Yes, that’s right. It was after a meeting and-

No no. Stay focused. One question left. Life or death. Which do I fear? This one leaves me quiet, looking at Wade as if he has the answer key. It’s not a multiple choice question, and something in my gut tells me I’ll be wrong no matter what my answer is.

“I’ve never felt death,” I’m surprised by my own words slightly, but I continue. “Aside from the other night…Andrew…I’ve never even had close experience with it. Funerals, reports, videos, yes…but nothing I could really grasp.” I can’t pinch anymore. My fingers are too cramped. “But the things that lead to death…” I pause. I need to be certain that what I say is my final answer. My short essay right before I turn in the quiz. “There is so much sick shit in the world. Death isn’t even why people die-” I have to get passed the lump in my gut. I have to get every word out whether it kills me or not. I shut my eyes tightly, straining to get my words out.

“People die because of life. Life gets sick of them and throws you out like an unwanted pest.” I nod. “Life…is terrifying…because you can’t make a wrong choice after you die. But in life…there’s plenty of room to fuck up.”

Slowly I open my eyes, just trying to breathe. Whatever happens next is beyond me.

[Wade]

Hehehe. Not too shabby. Not only does this Doc seem to have some actual cred, but he's actually gotten laid This Century. Which is more n' what I could say about some vamps in the city.

Of course when it comes right down to it, those are kinda small potatoes next to the Big question. The one I think All juicebags oughta be able to answer before we let ehm join the kindred...and I'm actually a bit surprised at how well he answers it. Most mortals, particularly those facin me at the other end of the table will pick life over death every day of the week. I think this guy is the first to actually go the Other way.

Pretty impressive really.

And of course thats also the Malk way. Call us crazy bastards all you want, but the one thing about our clan is that we Understand things. We see the cracks in the world, and know how they got there. If you're mind can't go places, then it won't matter How much we fuck you up, you still won't get that truth. Which just makes you another useless crazy.

This guy though...this guy has potential. Real potential. I think I made the right choice in picking him...

Which means we're down to the fun part of the night.

Rising slowly, I reach over, picking up the nightstick, twirling it lightly in my hand. Still hating the weight of it, but knowin that its perfect for what I need...just a little tap....

"Ya know doc, I think I got a real handle on your problem. That last answer just completely fills in the blanks. Now we know how to treat you. I got just the thing...We Call it Death Therapy!"

With that last word I strike out. A single fast, magnificient blow right to his temple. Hard enough that I feel the skull give a little beneath the blow...but not quite hard enough to break anything. Just a little love tap to make sure that my special friend is out for the duration.

I work fast, reachin into my coat to extract a long spool o' guitar string I stole from the Foxxy Lady, slicing off the Doc's clothes with a rusty straight razor. Not really worryin if he bleeds a little in the process. Just a start of things to come.

I tie him upsidedown from the big ass industrial size fan they got over his office box, happy to see that it works well enough for what I need. Holding him up with only a bit of creakin. Using wire on the other end to bind his hands to his piece of shit PC harddrive, lettin it hang a couple inches from the floor, within the ginmormos kiddie pool I stole from a sub division on the way over. Big enough to put a body in...or just the blood...be sure to put it back when I'm done.

I also make sure to stuff an oilly rag in his mouth, and apply duct tape over it. As much as I like some noise, hearin his screams might ruin the fun if someone heard it. Hate to have some incidental deaths on a project night.

After that, its a simple matter to slap him around a few times. Let him come to, realize whats happening. No fun if they sleep through this. I rub a hand on his tummy, petting him like a dog as I speak, making sure that he can hear me clearly. Can see the razorblade in my hand.

"Yeah Doc, you got some real progress headed your way. Only catch is I sorta kinda gotta kill you first. Nothin personal. Just gotta see it done right. Be a real pain if you Lived through this all..."

With that, the razor slices into his wrists, spritzing some blood on me, before it starts drippin down into the pool. Drippin pretty damn slowly actually. I do a bit of mental math, an figure that ain't quite fast enough to get it done as fast as I'd like. Problem that.

"Geeze Doc, I met dead guys that bleed faster than that. Need to cut down sugar in your diet. guess we'll have to make some more holes..."

Another few slashes. One to his inner thigh, another to his ear, one more to the stomach. Increasin the blood loss a bit...but not as much as I'd like. Time for the ketchup method I guess.

I turn the fan on, hearing it hum in protest as it starts to rotate slowly, turnin him in a slow circle, as I switch out a razor blade for the nightstick. As fun as a razor is, I don't want to make this Too quick. Afterall, an embrace should be something you remember every single day of your unlife, and I want to make sure the Doc does. Every. Waking. Moment.

I kinda miss the ballbat as I start to work him over, knowing that the ting of it would probably attract a hell of a lot more attention than the soft thuds of the nightstick. Still too damn light for my tastes...I start it out at the joints. Striking his shins, his elbows, raising some nice welts as the blood pours down him. Letting the fan move him slowly around as I get better aquainted with him. Playing the the give of his muscles against the hardness of bone. Playing his ribs like xylophone. Hitting his groin a few dozen times, Smacking what little fat he has on his ass. Breaking a few toes here and there. Always striking the body, never the head. Its like the laughing man said, when you hit there, they don't feel the next one. Timing it out enough that each blow is distinct. Not a haze of pain, but specific notes. Using the blood that drips from his body as a clock of the torment. A metronome to his agony.

I'm Pleased with how it goes. Not really caring about the bloodstains it puts on my outfit. I can always get more clothes. This, right here, is Art. Pain is one of the first things my sire taught me, the giving and reciept, and now I repay it with my childe. Show him the lessons of it. Enjoying the cycle in its play. Every moment, and each heartbeat a distinct note of pain.

After a time, I see his skin start to pale and cool down. The constant flow becoming little more than an odd drip. He's almost out of blood. Just when I can feel his heart stopping, I move, in kneeling by his side, the razor in my hand. Cutting aside the duct tape, pulling out the rag. Pricking one of my fingertips, and forcing it into his mouth as I speak, my tone cruel, but also jovial.

"Since I got all of yours, you might as well have some of mine. Enjoy the taste...its gonna be the last fun thing you go through for a while...The change is never pretty for a Malkavian. Madness runs through our veins my childe."

I grin at the last, amused by my own words. Pulling my finger free of his mouth, and moving in with the ductape, roughly binding his wounds, with a spit for each cut. Little something to bind them back together...and freak him the hell out.

[Dr. Mulcahy]

Wade has my problems figured out? He picks up the nightstick and

…

What…is on…my stomach? Everything’s hazy as my eyes roll open. And now it’s all upside down. No no he can’t touch me no no he can’t fucking

It all hurts. Every

I can’t think

Each thought is cut off by a sudden

My blood is all

My tears mingle with my blood. Why can’t I just die?

Why can’t I just pass ou

I think I’m screaming but it won’t come out

The tape is off and he pulls out the

His blood tastes

Spitting…
…

[Wade]

And there he goes...Not all that surprising really. Not after the kinda fun I've put him through, the ammount he's bled out. Hell, the kiddie pool is almost full of his blood. Fairly impressive bleed out for a short guy. Smells sweet on the air as I take in the scene, him naked, hangin there like a broken pinata, blood splattered Everywhere in the office...He's gonna have a Hella mess to clean up tomorrow...Not that we ain't got other plans for the night.

Simple fact is, as much as I'd love leavin him hangin here to turn, that'd be a really fuckin stupid idea. Some Malks Really trip out on the embrace, and the last thing I'd want is for him to get found durin the change. Didn't go through all this trouble just to let him get caught by some piss ant guard.

Which means of course, that I gotta hide the body till tomorrow night. Easy enough really.

First I move the kiddie pool out of the way, takin a prospective lick of the blood as I work. Lot more dosed than last time. Thinkin maybe the doc self medicates a tad too much...not a problem though. Still gives a slight buzz. Not as fine as Smack or Coke, but a little something to carry you on. Almost like pot really.

Anyway...body to hide.

I cut him down from the ceiling, letting him bounce off the tile before I set to work. Undoing his bindings, and then zippin him into a body bag. Fillin it up with his blood after I got him nice and secured, and then taking a few minutes to sneak him out a side entrance. Bit tricky with the guards...but I'm not exactly pissin my pants about running into another lard ass. Just give me a nice topper for the night. Still, not a problem tonight.

I take him out back to the garden the 'patients' have got in the back, snagging myself a shovel and then working my way along the rows, checking for just the right crop.

"Lessee.....Beans?......nope........Carrots?....Way too gay....Spinach? Not buryin Popeye here.....Ahh, here we go. What better place for a headshrinker N' the cabbage?"

Once I got the right place laid out, its a simple matter to dig into the fresh topsoil, quickly making myself a nice four foot hole, with a good hour to sunrise by the time I get done. Then its a simple matter to drop the Doc back in, bury him back, an head back to the loony bin for my kiddie pool.

Technicly speakin at least, burin is more a Sabbat thing...but those bastards have a good idea every so often. Useful at least for givin the Doc a proper wakeup call.

After I get the pool tied onto the cab I head back into the city, droppin the blood stained thing for the kids, and makin it to my apartment Just shy of daybreak. Little closer N' I'd like...but thats a commute for ya. Go back to dig up my new childe tomorrow, after he's good and marinated. Nothing like some homestyle cookin.

[Dr. Mulcahy]

…

“Dr. Mulcahy,” a deep voice. Too deep. Inhuman. Evil. “Dr. Mulcahy, can you hear me? We need you lucid for the procedure.” It gets deeper with each syllable. Everything’s hazy, but I nod. Too much light. Red light. It hurts my eyes. I look around and. Everyone is wearing scrubs. No faces. No faces, just black holes in their heads. I’m cold; naked and cold. Fingers crawling over my body. I can’t move, my hands are tied to the table with copper wire. My feet are too. The fingers are crawling everywhere. Running over me. Violating me. The people in scrubs all have scalpels. They lean over me, positioned to slice into me.

“Doctor,” another voice. Lighter. More professional. I can’t see him. I try to speak, but a set of fingers crawls into my mouth, shoving pills down my throat. I can't spit them out. I want to vomit but I can’t. The second voice speaks again, “Oh, doctor, don’t be so testy. It’s the same prescriptions you’ve had for years.” I can see him step forward through the corner of my eye. Past the people in scrubs, who have stopped moving all together, just holding their scalpels. The new voice is wearing a suit, and he has a face. A cold face. Black eyes, long nose, deep scowl.

The pills are caught in my throat. I can’t breathe. “Yes, I know they can be a bit hard to swallow, but it’s our special blend.” I go to cough, but I can’t. The faceless surgeons are still looming over me. The fingers are crawling all over me, molesting me. “You didn’t think we’d just let you walk away did you?” He’s at the head of the table, staring down into my eyes. I can’t scream the fucking pills are blocking any sound. He chuckles. “Of course not, doctor. We have to keep tabs on all of our little lambs that leave the flock.” His face begins melting, dripping into my mouth. I have to vomit.

“The sheep must be castrated to keep things in line, you see.” His melted flesh begins forcing the pills into my stomach. The fleshless face looks to the surgeons. They nod, and the fingers stop where they are. The surgeons plunge the scalpels into all parts of my body-

Fuck I’m dying I’m fucking dying I’m

“Don’t worry, doctor. You’ll be perfectly alright. This is merely a…precaution.” The fingers spread my bloody wounds apart, burrowing deeper and pulling my flesh apart. Faceless nurses approach the table with trays covered in bright green and blue microchips. Thousands. Millions. Billions. The surgeons take them one by one, holding them in their palms for the fingers to take. The little bastards inch back into my wounds, one by one, each with a microchip that they force into my bloodstream. No. No.

As the chips flow into me, the surgeons and nurses all begin to have faces. I know them. I know them all. I work with them. I trusted them. I had no idea that-

“Of course,” hisses the man in the suit. “It’s not enough to leave the little lamb sterile. You have to tag him, be sure that you can keep track of him.”

The fingers keep working.

One by one.

Each chip is put in me one at a time. The man in the suit starts melting once more. A set of fingers hold my mouth open, letting his skin and muscle drip into the back of my throat.

Red. It’s getting brighter. My eyes are melting. I can’t scream they won’t let go of me and they won’t let me scream.

…

Green. Everything’s green. I’m naked. Alone. Everyone’s gone. It’s so cold. I’m covered in blood, wandering through the metal room. Alone. I’m all alone. No I’m not. It’s on me. There’s a rope…tied around my waist…I can’t stop walking, but it’s so heavy I feel like my spine is cracking with every step I take. It’s tied to me. Loud. Terrifying. I can’t look at it, but I can feel it scratching at my legs, drooling on my shoulders. I can’t stop walking, if I stop it’ll get me and it’s whispering in my ear so fast and I can’t understand what it’s saying it’s too much too fast and oh God it won’t stop and my spine is splitting straight down the middle I can feel each vertebrae cracking and I try to go faster but my muscles are faster than my bones and I leave my skeleton behind and it eats my bones and I start walking more slowly it bites my legs and eats me feet-first

And everything is black. Everything is black, and wet. Why can’t I get dressed? I run my hands along the wall. There’s a light switch. I don’t want to turn it on. I can feel him there. I can feel him sitting over there, pulling the strings that are sprouting from my brain. I have to turn on the light. He’s forcing me to. I flip the light switch, and everything is white. I’m blind. My eyes adjust to the light, slowly, and I can see him. He’s sitting there in the wheelchair, blurred, but I know it’s him. Before I can say anything, he’s right in front of me, holding that nightstick and-

…

Water. I’m drowning. No. Not water. Thicker. I can’t see. It’s black I can’t breathe I’m drowning I’m dying there’s so much pressure around me-

Can anyone hear me when I scream at the top of my lungs? It’s not even screaming when I’m filled with a rush of…oh God it’s blood. I’m thrashing around, screaming, drowning, dying. I’m not dying. Am I dead? Is this Hell? I can barely move my arms and legs but I thrash as much as my body can, not even trying at this point I just have to get out. The blood rushes down my throat in waves and I just can’t stop trying to scream. I can feel something. Plastic. I’m scratching at it, clawing and thrashing and screaming.

I can’t do a damn thing but what I’m doing. Between screams the blood fills me, and all I can do is keep moving. After what feels like forever I manage to tear the plastic. Just a little, but it’s something. There’s less blood then when I woke up and why am I here and who put-

Wade.

Fucking. Wade.

An anger fills me, and I feel a rush in my body. I keep clawing at the plastic, gulping any blood that gets in my mouth as I tear through the confinement. I hit soil, and the sudden clump of dirt in my face smacks me back into my mind. I have to get out. I have to get out and I have to do it now before they finish what they started.

I tear a hole wide enough to grip the dirt in clumps, throwing chunk after chunk beside me. My fingers feel like they’re being torn apart, but I can’t stop. The dirt begins sinking in naturally as I burrow my way upwards. I don’t know how long it takes me, but I’m not as deep down as I thought I would have been. My fingers feel a rush of wind, and I shove the ground with a quick burst of force. I get my arm through and grip onto the grass, using my other hand to keep digging myself out. I’m sitting up, inching my body up as I go.

[Wade]

Another night, another murder. Many vamps are picky on what they eat. Man or woman, rich or poor, innocent or the sinful. One nice thing about the Malk blood is I can go beyond that. Malks don't need to feed off of any specific type or creed. We'll bleed ehm all dry. Spray it all over the walls, fill the gutters, put that blood everywhere, for all to see.

Like the man said, the blood IS the life. And to embrace it, is to embrace that aspect of ourselves.

To that end, I start out early, just after dusk, not really peggin for a specific prey. Nothing particular in mind. Just hungry for something red and tasty. I pass up the crack dealer on the corner by my house, the whore down the block, even the wino who I'd usually take in an instance. No...Tonights when my Childe comes into the world...and that calls for something special. Gotta celebrate my new kid!

Almost absently, I glance at my watch, doing some head countin to figure out how long I got before he pops out of the ground. Assumin he comes to Right at dusk...probably an hour and a half...Give me about 30 for the meal, and I'll still be there in plenty of time...

Grinning to myself with a new idea, I flick on the stolen cab's fare light, and then make a detour through town, pausing beside a busy lookin rock concert, that seems packed up with allready hammer groupies. Sure enough, one of the more sauced girls stumbles over and gets in, muttering something incoherent about one hotel or another. I can even smell the peppermint schnapps on her breathe when she talks.

Perfect.

Ten minutes later has her begging to get out to puke, and me parking the cab while she does just that. Waiting until she's done her thing, and is leaning against the alleywall before I get out of the cab, and move around to her. My wardrobe wasn't visible to her from the front of the cab before, but she doesn't seem to care anyway, just shrugging off my hand on her shoulder like she doesn't need my help to the cab.

Not like I'm offering. Instead, I grip her ponytail with my hand, pulling it back slightly, and then slam her skull first into the wall, cracking her skull like a melon. Then its a simple matter to get her wrist to my lips, and I'm draining the booze intergrated blood into my body in no time flat. Tasty.

I leave her in the alley when I'm done, taking time to snag the wallet before I go. Not to make it look like a robbery...just need some spending cash for gas.

Fourty minutes later finds me back in the garden, standing before the hole I dug last night, Sipping the last of the chick's blood outta a beer bottle as I wait for the main event. I always love the buzz that blood and booze creates, and the schnapps just seems...fitting for tonight. Cheerful as it should be.

I can see the ground settle before me, allready hearing him scrabbling beneath me. Desperately trying to get out. To get to the surface world again. Fighting against the death he advocated for just last night. I can smell his blood on him as he rises forth, bursting from the ground, still too focussed on the escape to even take note of me. Thats just fine. Its interesting to watch him being reborn like this. Rising from the grave, alive and dead. Covered in blood.

In life.

After allowing him to get himself out of the hole I speak, making my tone cheerful, intent to welcome him unto the new world he's found. Through the shattered glass. A Malkavian reborn. Just the thought sends a thrill up my spine...

"Welcome to my world M'boy. Daddy is very proud of you."