Redjackets

{ (set: $character to "none")(set: $playthrough to 1)} <center><span class="redjackets">Redjackets</span></center> Three faces in the dark. (click: "Three faces in the dark.")[Which one is yours?] (click: "Which one is yours?")[ [[The young one. Frightened. Determined. Hungry.|Fiia Confirm Selection]] [[The hollow one. Seasoned. Haunted. Stubborn.|Lynette Confirm Selection]] [[The bold one. Scrupulous. Gallant. Victorious.|Declan Confirm Selection]] ](else-if: $playthrough is "2")[ Two faces left. (click: "Two faces left.")[Which one will you choose?] (click: "Which one is yours?")[ (if: (history:) does not contain "Fiia Confirm Selection")[[[The young one. Frightened. Determined. Hungry.|Fiia Confirm Selection]]] (if: (history:) does not contain "Lynette Confirm Selection")[[[The hollow one. Seasoned. Haunted. Stubborn.|Lynette Confirm Selection]]] (if: (history:) does not contain "Declan Confirm Selection")[[[The bold one. Scrupulous. Gallant. Victorious.|Declan Confirm Selection]]] ]](else-if: $playthrough is "3")[ Only one remains. (click: "Only one remains")[You know what to do.] (click: "You know what to do.")[ (if: (history:) does not contain "Fiia Confirm Selection")[[[The young one. Frightened. Determined. Hungry.|Fiia Confirm Selection]]] (if: (history:) does not contain "Lynette Confirm Selection")[[[The hollow one. Seasoned. Haunted. Stubborn.|Lynette Confirm Selection]]] (if: (history:) does not contain "Declan Confirm Selection")[[[The bold one. Scrupulous. Gallant. Victorious.|Declan Confirm Selection]]] ]](else:)[ERROR.]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Shit. //Fuck.// (click: "Fuck")[ It was stupid. It was so fucking stupid this whole thing. You can't believe you'd be so stupid stupid stupid STUPID.] (click: "STUPID")[ He won't want you anymore.] (click: "He won't want you anymore.")[ He won't want you and //they// want you dead and it burns.] (click: "and it burns")[ He won't want you, //they// want you dead, and your fault it's your fault all of this.] (click: "it's your fault all of this.")[ Shh! (click: "Shh!")[(You can hear them.)](click: "You can hear them.")[ Others. [[Nearby.|No Way Out]]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>He should have just listened to you when you first suggested it. Tale as old as time. (click: "Tale as old as time.")[ And it looked like the database was frozen to boot. If someone forgot to renew the license again, you were going to lose it. You always wondered if you'd snap one of these days. You just didn't know that a licensing agreement to a database would be the thing that did it. But no, no. They kept you too well-fed for that.] (click: "They kept you too well-fed for that.")[ It was fine.] (click: "It was fine.")[ You'd caught this young one three days ago, but you'd been too busy working on the Champaign peace agreement to run her prints until now. Time to see what you could scrape up about her. A name. An age. Something that could be used to fact-check anything she told you later. An easy litmus test. [[She'd better pass.|Lynette Start 2]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>She'd been given the standard 36-hour cooldown. Time for first contact. (Click: "Time for first contact.")[ Thermos and blanket tucked under your arm, you head to her cell. 6B according to the dry-erase chart hanging on the wall of the Control Room. She'd been placed away from the rest. Somewhere quiet.] (click: "Somewhere quiet.")[ Lynette had made this work in the past - but of course she would have. You both knew she was everything you weren't and vice versa. That's what made you a good team. ...At least, that's what Minh told you last year at the Christmas party. But you didn't need Lynette's help to catch this one. Young ones are usually pretty easy marks. Since they're unable to control their hunger and instincts, luring them into a basic trap becomes almost Looney Toons-esque. She was showing visible signs of hunger when you first caught her three days ago. There was a decent chance that she'd be pretty far gone. But even in that state, it's important that she hears your voice. Knows that you're not going to hurt her. Sees that you just want to talk. Here you are. Cell 6B.] (click: "Cell 6B.")[For a moment, you almost think the cell is empty.] (click: "For a moment, you almost think the cell is empty.")[But no, no.] (click: "But no, no.")[ There she is. [[In the back corner.|Declan Start 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>She's certainly in rough shape. Eyes animalistically wide, she seems stranded somewhere between terror and aggression. A chimera of a rabbit paralyzed with fear and a cornered dog ready to bite. You've seen it before. (click: "You've seen it before.")[ She is, for all intents and purposes, considered "feral" until proven otherwise. An unfortunate term that the hunting community has debated the semantics and ethics of for decades at this point. But although multiple less-dehumanizing alternatives had been suggested, none of them had stuck. Still, you were of the opinion that the label was on the way out. You were an academic first and a hunter second, for God's sake. You'd debate theory until the cows came home.] (click: "You'd debate theory until the cows came home.")[ But being an academic doesn't exactly pay the bills. This, on the other hand, does. So you'd followed protocol with this one like you had all the other vampires that you'd managed to catch when working for this firm - give her some time to acclimate to her new surroundings. Let the gravity of the situation sink in. After all: the tiny cell with silver-lined bars was far from the life she'd known. She undoubtedly knew just how bad of a situation she was in.] (click: "She undoubtedly knew just how bad of a situation she was in.")[ You don't want to add insult to injury. All you offer is a casual: "hey." <div class="info">//Choices listed without quotation marks are actions. Some action choices, like this one, merely determine the order of events - and both will still occur. //</div> [[Ask her for her name|Declan Ask Name]] [[Introduce yourself first|Declan Introduction]] ]

{(set: $character to "Fiia")(set: $playthrough to +1)} Well chosen. [[Begin|Fiia Start]]

{(set: $character to "Lynette")(set: $playthrough to +1)} Well chosen. [[Begin|Lynette Start]]

{(set: $character to "Declan")(set: $playthrough to +1)} Well chosen. [[Begin|Declan Start 1]]

Global Variables: $character: a string which determines the player character. The player may start the story over and play from a different perspective. This is where the "history" function becomes important. $allthreemet: all three protagonists have met. $thrownobject - a string which determines what the thrown object that breaks Rosco's nose is Path-Specific Variables: ALL T/F VARIABLES SHOULD BE SET TO "FALSE" BY DEFAULT. - DECLAN - $itwent (string)- how did the initial first contact with Fiia go, in the player's opinion? - $officevisited (T/F) - has the player been to Declan's office before? - $cpdemail (T/F) - has the player read the CPD email? - $cpdemailconfirm (T/F) - has the player confirmed the CPD email? - $studentemail (T?F) - has the player read the student email? - $studentemailreply (T/F) - has the player replied to the student email? - $hunteremail (T/F) - has the player read the email from The Nine? - $gradepapers (T/F) - has the player graded papers? - $firstmeetflashback (T/F) - has the player read how Declan and Lynette met? - LYNETTE - $oversleptenthusiastic - if the player sent an over-enthusiastic text about oversleeping to Declan. - $oversleptapologetic - if the player sent an apologetic text about oversleeping to Declan. - $oversleptdismissive - if the player sends a dismissive text about oversleeping to Declan - $pulledhandaway (T/F) - if the player makes Lynette pull her hand away during the confession scene. - FIIA $callout1 - string that tracks what dialogue options are taken if the player has Fiia call out the first time. $callout2 - string that tracks what dialogue options are taken if the player has Fiia call out the second time. $pullaside - string that tracks what Fiia tells Rosco to get him alone at the gala. Tags: Each specific character has their own designated color tag. If multiple characters appear in a scene, that tag will always be yellow. - ORANGE: Fiia only - GREEN: Lynette only - BLUE: Declan only - YELLOW: Declan and Lynette - YELLOW: Fiia and Lynette - YELLOW: Fiia and Declan - YELLOW: All Three - YELLOW: Fiia and Rosco - RED: "Fucky" - PURPLE: Flashback

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(if: (history:) contains "Declan Introduction")[Maybe this will work instead.] "You got a name, kid?" She stares saucer-eyed back at you beyond her mousey-blonde hair which covers so much of her face that she slightly resembles a mop. No answer. (click: "No answer.")["Look, I have someone running intel on you. We're gonna find out what your name is, but I was hoping you'd give it to me so this can feel a bit more..." Conversational?](click: "Conversational?")[ Personable?] (click: "Personable?")[ (if: not ((history:) contains "Declan Introduction")) [[["...Dignified."|Declan Introduction]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Declan Introduction")[[["...Dignified."|Thermos and Blanket 1]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(if: (history:) contains "Declan Ask Name")[You were hoping she would at least be cooperative. Maybe it would be best for you to introduce yourself to break the ice.] "It's nice to properly meet you," you start. You wonder if she even recognizes you. "My name is Declan Hope." (click: "My name is Declan Hope.")[She doesn't flinch - not even an ounce of recognition in the name, confirming her youth and inexperience. It wasn't that you considered yourself any sort of big shot. In fact, you had a distaste for the prestige. It was just that older vampires knew of you. An ironic surname, Hope. But you're a hunter, not a butcher. (if: (history:) contains "Declan Ask Name")[[["And I suppose all you really need to know about me is that I am a very patient man."|Thermos and Blanket 1]] ] (if: not ((history:) contains "Declan Ask Name"))[[["And I suppose all you really need to know about me is that I am a very patient man."|Declan Ask Name]]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>You quickly realize you aren't going to make any significant headway on this tonight. It would have been silly to think otherwise. Best to move on with protocol. "Well, I'm heading out to get some rest, soon." You glance down at your watch. She and Lynette were just starting their day - but you were getting ready to end yours. Unfortunately you still have to teach that 8AM lecture on Slavic Folklore for the rest of the semester, so you had to get decent shut-eye to avoid looking as zombified as your students. You take the thermos and blanket out from beneath your arm. "You might want these." (click: "You might want these.")[ After the 36-hour cooldown, they were given the standard gesture of good will: a thermos of blood and a blanket. It was supposed to inspire cooperation. To foster trust. But also let reality really set in: they were at your mercy. You hold up the silver thermos, well-worn with scratches from its service over the years. "Don't get too excited. It's from a butcher down the street. Bovine. Sometimes from a pig, but rarely - I trust you will inform us of any religious observances we need to be aware of." [[She still said nothing. Didn't move.|Thermos and Blanket 2]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>You head down the hall to the control room to tell Lynette how it went. What will you tell her? (click: "What will you tell her?")[ [[It went about as well as it could have. She's clearly terrified and inexperienced. She might require some wrangling, but it could ultimately work to our advantage.(set: $itwent to "good")|How'd It Go?]] [[That probably could have gone better. You hated the way she just stared at you like a frightened rabbit. But you did the best you could - got your point across. Ball's in her court.(set: $itwent to "okay")|How'd It Go?]] [[You aren't too pleased with how that went. Bloodsuckers suddenly get all clammy when they don't have the upper hand for once. She should have at least said //something.// The disrespect...(set: $itwent to "bad")|How'd It Go?]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>A man?(click: "A man?")[ The man who closed the trap. Come to finish you off? No! No, please...] (click: "No! No, please...")[ Are nothing //have// nothing. Please. Let you go.] (click: "Let you go")[ But his face... calm. No slanted brow no flash of teeth no fast heartbeat. On other side of bars. He stands.] (click: "He stands.")[ Hurts to look. Burns... Hold still be quiet. Maybe he won't see can't see. [[Please.|Meeting Declan 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>She had to be starving. Standard with the cooldown: the idea being that with greater thirst, they'd be more compliant. But it was a dangerous gamble. The hungrier they are, especially in combination with the younger they are... The more unstable they are, too. (click: "The more unstable they are, too.")[ You slip the thermos and blanket between the bars, making sure not to let any part of your hand really get beyond them - you didn't want her rushing up and trying to grab you. But as long as you were on this side, you were safe. It was one of the first things you learn as an apprentice hunter. Silver burns.] (click: "Silver burns.")[ She still just... stares.] (click: "She still just... stares.")[ <div class="info"> //Some of your choices, including dialogue, may impact the story should you complete another character's path later. // </div> [[- "Look... I know this is a lot. Get some rest, alright?"|Status Report]] [[- "See you tomorrow, I guess. Good talk.|Status Report]] [[- "Bit of advice? Don't make me regret letting you live."|Status Report]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>He moves. (click: "He moves") [Hear you? Hear your thoughts?] (click: "Hear your thoughts?")[ Holds up... a tube? More words as places tube between bars. Bars...] (click: "Bars...")[ //They burn...//] (click: "They burn...")[ Drops fabric between bars. Blanket? [[For me?|The Test 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Rows of blue, machine stitches make a blanket. (click: "Rows of blue, machine stitches make a blanket.")[ Like the one from the flight to visit Grandma. Red eye. Blue blanket.] (click: "Red eye. Blue blanket.")[ You wrap it around your shoulders. Wishing.(click: "Hoping.")[ Desperately wishing.](click: "Wishing.")[ That it were arms.](click: "That it were arms.")[ (if: (history:) does not contain "Investigate the Thermos")[ [[Investigate the Thermos]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Investigate the Thermos")[ [[Retreat to the Corner]] ]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div>Thermos of... Hands twist lid. (click: "Hands twist lid.")[ Whatever inside is hot. Tea? Coffee? No.](click: "No.")[ You smell it.] (click: "You smell it.")[Blood he's given you blood - not human but blood. Test yes definitely a test.] (click: "Test yes definitely a test.")[ Could be dangerous. But hungry hungry hungry h ungry h un g r y](click: "h un g r y")[ <div class="info">(if: (history:) contains "Declan Start 1" or "Lynette Start")[ //Remember://<br> ]//Some of your choices, including dialogue, may impact the story should you complete another character's path later. //</div> (if: not ((history:) contains "Night 2"))[ [[Drink it]] ] [[Don't drink it|Don't Drink It 1]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Can't trust them. Can't trust them can't trust them they want you dead. (click: "Can't trust them can't trust them they want you dead")[ Can't run can't hide just back corner make self small. Wrap blanket tight. Cotton armor. Don't want to die. [[...But unsure how to keep living.|Fiia Night 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You need it.(click: "You need it.")[ You need it now.] (click: "You need it now.")[ You don't remember getting the lid of the thermos off - don't care, you don't care.] (click: "don't care, you don't care.")[ The rush...](click: "The rush...")[ The crash and undertow of a wave, its greedy, jealous hands covering your ears, your eyes. It wants you for itself.] (click: "It wants you for itself.")[ It wants to shush out all the terrible things.](click: "It wants to shush out all the terrible things.")[ Keep you safe.](click: "Keep you safe.")[ And for a few short moments...] (click: "And for a few short moments...")[ your terror](click: "your terror")[ your pain](click: "your pain")[ your loneliness -](click: "your loneliness -")[ [[gone.|Welcome Back]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>No. (click: "No.")[ No no no no no no.] (click: "No no no no no no.")[ Can't.] (click: "Can't.")[ Poison Drugged Laced No...] (click: "No...")[ [[Put the thermos back|Put thermos back]] [[Throw it outside your cell]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Don't want it! (click: "Don't want it!")[ Put it back where he set it.] (click: "Put it back where he set it.")[ Air feels hot close to silver bars.] (click: "Air feels hot close to silver bars")[ Steam heat - skin boiling steam heat- hands must be quick. ] (click: "hands must be quick.")[ (if: (history:) does not contain "Investigate the Blanket")[ [[Investigate the Blanket]]](else:)[ [[Retreat to the Corner]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>NO! Get it away! (click: "Get it away!")[ heavy.] (click: "heavy.")[ CLANGs against far wall.] (click: "CLANGs against far wall.")[ Rolls... back... forth... then still.] (click: "then still.")[ Alone, yes. Trapped, yes.] (click: "Trapped, yes.")[ Fool? No.] (click: "Fool? No.")[ [[Retreat to the Corner]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You hadn't realized how deafening the buzzing in your ears had been until it started to fade, every cell giving its long-withheld exhale, even from first swallow. Warmth prickles its way back into your cheeks and the tips of your fingers. Everything feels less oppressive, now. Less urgent. (click: "Everything feels less oppressive, now. Less urgent. ")[ You settle into your own flesh, instantly delivered back into the hands of sentience. Synapses fire in reticulated order. Until this moment, you hadn't realized how little your own thoughts had been making sense. They'd been half-formed gestures at ideation, a feverish delirium. At least it's over now. You can think again. Everything aches.] (click: "Everything aches.")[ Whether from going unfed for so long, being curled up on the floor, or both, you weren't sure. You polish off the thermos in slow, greedy gulps. You'd try to savor it more if it tasted better. Whatever creature this blood had come from, it certainly wasn't human. There was a gaminess to it. Some kind of livestock, surely. But god, you didn't care.] (click: "But god, you didn't care.")[ You're still hungry. What you'd been given wasn't enough to actually sate - intentional, you realize with growing dread. You can't recall exactly how long you have been here, but you know it's been a while. Hopefully that man would return before the effects of his "offering" had worn off. Maybe you could talk with him. Reason with him. Beg him to let you go.] (click: "Beg him to let you go.")[ <div class="info"> Now what? </div> [[Call Out]] [[Wait patiently]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>Still loading... (click: "Still loading...")[You briefly consider smacking the side of the computer monitor, as if that would speed up the process. But before you can... The query completes. ] (click: "The query completes.")[ No results. A dead end. ] (click: "A dead end.")[ You've always believed that vampires like yourself actually made the best hunters. More specifically: the best investigators. There's a part of you, deep down, that still enjoys the hunt. Though age puts you at better control of your faculties, there remains an instinctual drive to chase what flees - be it the secrets of your subject of investigation at the time... or the beating, terrified heart of prey. And sometimes, preciously: both. (click: "And sometimes, preciously: both.")[ Being an investigator scratches such an ich. And you aren't going to let her get away. Most people have been fingerprinted at some point in their lives, whether for a background check for a job or a prior arrest. It wasn't unheard of that there are no records of a person's prints. But in this case, it's definitely suspicious. [[But you always like when they put up a little bit of a fight.|Prints Search 2]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>You run the query again just to check, making sure to select the "allow partial matches" option. Sometimes, even if a set wasn't documented, at least one of the fingers was. ...Now to wait again. (click: "...Now to wait again.")[ And wait...] (click: "And wait...")[ A match.] (click: "A match.")[ Just one - the right thumb. Likely some kind of biometrics to get into a building or something. Linked to a numerical student ID. No other data. It was enough. (click: "It was enough.")[[[And you knew just who to call.|Call a contact about the ID]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>The phone rings twice. "N'yello." "It's Lynnette, I'm calling in a favor." "Shoot." (click: "Shoot.")["I've got a student ID number but no idea what school it's for. Can you help me out?" You hear the squeak of their office chair as they sit up a little straighter. "Of course. Local to you?" "I think so." "Alright, fire away." "S00247381."] (click: "S00247381.")["Oh, easy. School of the Art Institute of Chicago," they reply without as much as looking it up, "they all start with an S. This came up when Declan called me about student IDs when working the O'Shea case last year. You hunting a student?" "That's classified, I'm afraid," you say with a smile. "I see how it is." "Besides, I don't have time to chat, today."] (click: "Besides, I don't have time to chat, today.")[A pause. You can practically //feel// the pouting through the receiver. "Not even a little bit?" "//Minh.//" "//Fine//, fine, all business, I get it. Let me make sure I've got it right: S00247381?" "Yep." (click: "Yep.")[You hear them type the letter and numbers on a keyboard in firm, confident strikes. When it came to getting niche data or intel on something, Minh had never let you down. At least, not yet. But being one of the oldest Redjackets still in the game had its perks, you suppose - they had a lot of time to build a personal database. [["Weird. It says this ID is inactive."|ID inactive]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>What do you call out? (link:"Hello!?")[ (set: $callout1 to "hello") (go-to: "Call Out 2")] (link: "Is anyone there?")[ (set: $callout1 to "isanyonethere") (go-to: "Call Out 2")] (link: "Help! Somebody!")[ (set: $callout1 to "help") (go-to: "Call Out 2")]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Nothing else to do but wait. (click: "Nothing else to do but wait.")[ He'll be back. He //has// to come back. You hadn't been harmed. They'd given you blood. They must want you for //some// purpose, otherwise they would have done away with you already. [[...But what?|Retreat to the Corner 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>What do you call out? (link:"You fuckers can't just leave me here!")[ (set: $callout2 to "fuckers") (go-to: "Wait patiently")] (link:"Where did you guys take my stuff!?")[ (set: $callout2 to "stuff") (go-to: "Wait patiently")] (link:"Look, I'll talk - I'll do whatever you want! Just let me out!")[ (set: $callout2 to "talk") (go-to: "Wait patiently")]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>"Inactive how?" You ask. No matching fingerprints and an inactive student ID? Odd. (click: "Odd.")["Is there any metadata you can get me or something?" You can hear more typing. "Hang on, Let me check the roster. I may or may not have found a back door in their administrative portal when working the O'Shea case, sooo..." You can hear a few clicks of a mouse, tense with anticipation. "Oh. It's because she graduated with the most recent class, like... two weeks ago." "And //she// would be...?" "I might butcher this name." "Let's hear it." (click: "Let's hear it.")["Fiia? Spelled with two Is. F-I-I-A." You reach for a notepad and write each letter in turn. "Got it." (click: "Got it.")["Last name Salo. S-A-L-O." "Thanks, Minh. I owe you." "I know," they reply - you can hear their grin in their words. You say your goodbyes. Fiia Salo. (click: "Fiia Salo.")[You're not getting away.] (click: "You're not getting away.")[ (if: not ((history:) contains "Review Declan's Capture Report")) [[[You turn your attention to Declan's account of events.|Review Declan's Capture Report]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Review Declan's Capture Report")[[[One thing was for sure.|Something To Hide]] ]]]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>Some hunters wrote near-encyclopedic capture reports: complete with written accounts, pages of notes, map drawings of paths taken, photos of locations scoped out weeks in advance... Declan was not one of those hunters. (click: "Declan was not one of those hunters.")[ "I didn't become a hunter to do paperwork, Lynette," he'd always say. But cap-reports weren't some kind of trivial busywork: they contained clues - even the smallest of details could be lifted to help build a case, corroborate a sighting, or even secure an alibi. It wasn't even that he didn't //have// plans, he merely refused to write them down. Less likely to be intercepted or compromised, he always said. Still, you'd gotten him to extend his reports by at least a //few// sentences. Small victories. You aren't sure if there would be any useful details in it at all, but you figured you should [[at least look.|Read On]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div> <div class="info">ANTICIPATING TARGET TO HAVE POOR DISCIPLINE OF HUNGER DUE TO AGE. TRAP WITH DECOY AND NEARBY LOOKOUT ESTABLISHED BEFORE NIGHTFALL. TARGET KNOWN TO WALK NORTHBOUND ON STATE STREET AFTER NIGHTFALL, APPROACHING MILLENNIUM STATION. EYES ON TARGET AT 12:47 AM. TARGET WEARING WHITE BLOUSE, TAN COAT, TORN JEANS. TARGET APPEARS TO ALREADY HAVE SPILLED BLOOD ON THEIR PERSON, POSSIBLY FROM PREVIOUS HUNT. </div> Hang on. (click: "Hang on.")[Your years of education and working in the field taught you one very important thing: to trust a gut feeling. And something was already wrong. ...Why was she covered in blood if she was hungry enough to fall for a simple decoy trap? Maybe it wasn't from a feed. Maybe it was her own.] (click: "Maybe it was her own.")[ <div class="info"> SIGNALED TO DECOY AT 12:48. DECOY MADE CONTACT WITH TARGET AT 12:51. CONFIRMED CAPTURE 1:09 AM. </div> [[You wonder if he's being this vague just to bug you.|Read On 1]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div> <div class="info">TARGET'S BELONGINGS: - MOBILE PHONE (CONFISCATED) - BUS PASS - TUBE OF LIPGLOSS - BACKPACK CONTAINING: PERSONAL DATEBOOK, UNMARKED BOTTLE OF STRONG-SMELLING LIQUID, $678 DOLLARS USD IN CASH (CLIPPED). NO WALLET OR ID. </div> But what was this down at the bottom? (click: "But what was this down at the bottom?")[ <div class="info"> EDIT FROM LAB: MOBILE PHONE WAS FORCE UNLOCKED BY M.D. BUT CONTAINED NO IDENTIFYING INFORMATION: APPEARS TO BE A BURNER - NO SAVED CONTACTS, TEXT MESSAGES ARE ALL IN VAGUE TERMS. BUS PAS NOT LINKED TO ANY IDENTIFYING INFORMATION (ATTACHED DATA INDICATES IT WAS PURCHASED WITH CASH). MATERIAL IN UNMARKED BOTTLE IDENTIFIED AS TURPENTINE. (LYNETTE YOU OWE ME FIVE DOLLARS <3 -M) </div> Covered in blood, carrying a burner phone, a bus pass purchased with cash, hauling a backpack containing flammable toxic chemicals, a decent amount of cash, and no ID. ...Interesting. (if: not ((history:) contains "Prints Search 1")) [[[You turn your eyes back to the languishing database|Prints Search 1]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Prints Search 1")[[[One thing was for sure.|Something To Hide]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>It seems like your catch, Fiia Salo, has something to hide. (click: "It seems like your catch, Fiia Salo, has something to hide. ")[ You hear Declan's footsteps approaching the Control Room. You glance up at the grainy black and white camera footage of the hall. He's not carrying the thermos or blanket, so he's already made initial contact. You couldn't //wait// for him to spill the details. And you couldn't wait to tell him you had a name. You turn around from the panel of CCTV screens swivel chair like a supervillain, your fingers steepled playfully. You see Declan standing in the doorway, frowning as usual. [["So how'd it go?"|How'd It Go?]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>You'd gone home, gotten some rest. Hot shower. Cup of coffee. Checked the news. Ran the dishwasher. Graded a few papers. Returned to the facility at dusk. Lynette wouldn't be in until nightfall properly fell, but you wanted to head in early to feed the newest catch. Young ones couldn't control their hunger very well, and it was probably gnawing at her. From what Lynette had told you, the later stages of hunger feels like a unique combination of physical agony and a deterioration of mental faculty. Feeling like a stranger in your own body. You filled up another thermos. Just like you would every night. Until she got the picture: cooperation is the only option. (click: "cooperation is the only option.")[ And you'd meant what you said when you told her you were a very patient man. (if: (history:) contains "Put thermos back")[ [[Time to try again.|Untouched Thermos]] ](else-if: (history:) contains "Throw it outside your cell")[ [[Time to try again.|Flung Thermos]] ](else:)[ [[Time to try again.|Untouched Thermos]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>You can see something lying in the hallway in front of her cell. The thermos from last night. Calmly, you approach, intentionally making no quick movements that might frighten her. It was important that she saw that you were in no hurry. That you were unarmed. That you weren't aggressive. You can feel her eyes on you even without looking. You reach down to pick up the silver thermos, finding it still heavy with the weight of last night's offering. It was a rejection if you'd ever seen one. The idea of drinking it was so disgusting she couldn't even bear to keep it on her side of the bars. She didn't trust you yet. [[That's okay.|Second Offering]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>Calmly, you approach her cell, intentionally making no quick movements that might frighten her. It was important that she saw that you were in no hurry. That you were unarmed. That you weren't aggressive. You can feel her eyes on you even without looking. The silver thermos from last night was in the exact same position you had left it in. Just a few inches on the other side of the bars. You reach for it, and find that it's heavy with the weight of last night's offering. She hadn't drunk it... if that wasn't evident from the way she was still gaping at you. [[That's okay.|Second Offering]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>"No? That's alright," you reply, calmly. "It's probably gone cold and thick by now, anyway. I brought you a fresh one." You hold up the green plastic thermos for her to see, finally getting a proper look at her. She had at least accepted the blanket at some point during the night, which was now tightly coiled around her. You slip the green thermos through the bars so it rests inside her cell. "We'll bring one by every night until you're ready to chat - if you cooperate, we can see about getting you some better provisions." Young ones almost never die of hunger, especially if a ready source of sustenance was within arms' reach. Instinct would take over - they couldn't beat it back with years of experience. It would only be a matter of time before she finally drank the stuff and got her head back on straight, but - for her sake - you hoped it would be sooner rather than later. She was a monster - a leech - yes. But she was young, and your research hadn't even established if she was turned of her own volition or not. And for that, you were sympathetic. But everything would be revealed with time. You had some other cases to work on. (click: "You had some other cases to work on.")[ [[- "We move forward when you're ready. Just give us a shout." |Office Prelude]] [[ - "I suggest you drink it."|Office Prelude]] [[ - "I'd drink it if I were you. I'm patient, but I'm not always nice."|Office Prelude]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div> <div class="info"> What would you like to do? </div> (if: not ((history:) contains "Grade Papers"))[[Grade some papers.|Grade Papers]] [[Check your email.|Check Inbox]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Declan And Lynette Meet"))[ [[Let your mind wander, instead.|Declan and Lynette Meet]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Grade Papers" and "Declan and Lynette Meet" and "Check Inbox")[ [[Check your phone.]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>The sun was starting to rise, so you'd gone to bed. Declan promised to hold down the fort. And you would have been so grateful for some sleep... if you'd slept much at all. The bad dreams came as they often did. (click: "The bad dreams came as they often did.")[ You wake like you have on so many nights before, in the apartment within the facility. A small thing, meant to house the Redjackets on staff. At the moment, that was just you since Minh was able to get their own place. Two spare rooms sat empty. As much as you were sad, at least it meant you didn't have to share a bathroom with anyone. You roll over and check your phone.] (click: "You roll over and check your phone.")[ You knew that every tabloid and TikTok self-improvement guru said not to do it first thing in the "morning." But you don't care.](click:"But you don't care.")[ Nine PM. You'd promised Declan you'd check in at 8:30. [[Shit.|Running Late 2]]]

(if: $character is "Fiia")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You were so dead. //Fuck.//] (click: "Fuck.")[ How had it ended up like this?] (click: "How had it ended up like this?")[ It suddenly occurred to you that you're crying. How long had this been happening, you wonder. You'd had blood, but it was almost like your body was still operating without you at the wheel. You bitterly wipe away your tears from your cheeks with that //stupid// blanket. If they thought they were going to win you over with nothing more than a blanket and the bare minimum to stave off complete starvation, they had another thing coming. You'd been here for days. God, you needed a shower. And somehow that wasn't even the worst part.] (click: "And somehow that wasn't even the worst part.")[ He had to know by now.(click: "He had to know by now.")[ He had to know that something had happened.] (click: "He had to know that something had happened.")[Why weren't you showing up to the studio?](click: "Why weren't you showing up to the studio?")[ Why weren't you answering your phone?](click: "Why weren't you answering your phone?")[ Even if these hunters let you go... he wouldn't.](click: "he wouldn't.")[ It's over. It's all over. ] (click: "It's all over.")[[["Hey."|Kill Me 2]] ]](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>You return to the Control Room. Do some more research. Follow up on a few leads. Connect a few more dots with the Jeppson case. Reach out to a disgruntled group of fellow vampires if they'd be interested in brokering a treaty with the other group they've been fighting with, lately. You don't expect it to go anywhere, but you've still got some hope. That's worth something, right? Time for rounds.] (click: "Time for rounds.")[ You hand out the usual thermoses and make sure everyone is where they need to be. You're still waiting to hear if the one in witness protection would be relocated to Los Angeles. You brought him the day's copy of the Tribune as he'd requested, and like you do every night, apologized for the undignified lodging situation. He agreed to give intel in exchange for protection, so you at least made sure he was put in one of the nicer cells. Hopefully the LA branch would get their shit together. But tonight, nothing is out of the ordinary. Yet you had a hunch. Something told you to check in on the young one. Fiia.] (click: "Fiia")[ You can hear it as you approach. Perhaps your superhuman senses had picked up on it before you were able to clock what it was. Crying. Soft. The kind of crying that's mostly jagged breaths and barely-audible sobs. You remember when you were nearly the same. Young. Scared. Captured. ] (click: "Captured.")[ This is probably a mistake - it's //certainly// bad form and a deviation from protocol. But you approach the cell. You have to say... something.] (click: "something.")[[["Hey."|Kill Me 2]]]

(if: $character is "Fiia")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You snap your head up to find the vampire woman standing on the other side of the bars. You hadn't heard her approach. In the few short weeks that you've been living this life, you've heard a vampire adage: "footsteps die with age." But it must be true: you hadn't heard a single one of her footfalls. But there she was. (click: "But there she was.")[ But she doesn't look angry. She looked... concerned. The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them. "Kill me," you say softly. "Please. Just make it fast." ] ](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>You were worried you might have startled her. You were glad that she had at least drank the blood you'd offered. She was in no state to even hold a conversation when she had come in. She looks to you, as if asking for help. "Kill me," she pleads. "Please. Just make it fast." ] (click: "Just make it fast.")[ "Why would I do that?" (if: $character is "Fiia")[She asks, confused - and a little alarmed.](else:)[You ask, confused - and a little alarmed.] "Because if you don't, //he// will." "Declan?" "No, the-... the guy who made me. He said if he even //thought// we might be compromised, he'd-" "I see," (if: $character is "Fiia")[she says, softly.](else:)[you say, softly.]] (click: "I see,")[(if: $character is "Lynette")[ - [["I can see he really frightens you."|Kill Me 3]] - [["You know, I wasn't on good terms with my sire, either. Not at first."|Kill Me 3]] - [["You shouldn't have to live your life being afraid of some guy."|Kill Me 3]]] (if: $character is "Fiia")[ - [["Everything's ruined."|Kill Me 3]] - [["None of this should have happened."|Kill Me 3]] - [["Don't act like you give a shit."|Kill Me 3]] ]]

(if: $character is "Declan")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>](else:)[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>](if: $character is "Fiia")[The meeting room Lynette brings you to is oddly homey. It reminds you of the psychologists' offices at the student counseling center. Sterile enough to be a clinician's office, but dressed up with undefined trappings of home. It reminded you of when you were little, and you might catch a bug in a jar - putting a stick and a leaf in along with it to emulate its natural habitat. You sit opposite the two of them, your clean hair still drying. And wait.](else-if: $character is "Declan")[How on earth had Lynette managed to get her to cooperate so quickly? You'd trust her with your life, but surely whatever she did was a break from protocol - and certainly wasn't what you had planned. Usually if Lynette was going to pull something drastic, she at least //checked// with you first. Still, you did as she asked and brought a fresh thermos of blood along with you to Meeting Room A. Lynette had taken Fiia to clean up, and had clearly let the young woman borrow some of her clothes while the ones she had been caught in were laundered. Despite knowing what you know about her, the young woman who is now seated across from you looks frightfully normal. She could easily be any of the many students in your classes. But no. Not this one. Not tonight.](else:)[Now you were really ready to get somewhere. You'd kept careful watch since she agreed to cooperate. She clearly isn't stupid, but she //is// scared. Yet you knew from your training that people who feel backed into a corner can be prone to making irrational decisions, so you weren't about to take any chances. Her fear is practically palpable - at least to you. Declan might not be able to pick up on it. But you could practically feel her spine stiffen when you'd previously mentioned her sire. Older vampires, those even older than you, often used intimidation and abuse of power to get what they wanted. But then again, so did hunters. You knew both of these things all too well. You could only hope that things would get easier from here.] It was terribly awkward at first. Declan passed the fresh thermos to (if: $character is "Fiia")[you](else:)[Fiia]. An awkward silence. (click: "An awkward silence.")[ "Do you mind if I record this?" (if: $character is "Declan")[You ask,](else:)[Declan asks,] pulling an old-fashioned tape-recorder out of his pocket. "Just in case we need to reference anything you say at a later date for notes or whatnot." "Yeah, sure. I mean, no I don't- I... Just go ahead, I mean. I never know what to say to that." (if: $character is "Fiia")[you reply. Stupid English and its stupid weird mechanics. Thank God //Finnish// didn't have any of those... But regardless, if that tape ever made its way back to Rosco, it would seal your fate. Not that your fate wasn't sealed anyway. You unscrew the lid of the thermos, mouth watering. The gnawing ache in your stomach didn't care that it was from an animal, sold by a butcher, and delivered into your hands by a hunter. You lifted the thin metal rim of the thermos to your lips and took a long sip, smooth like hot coffee.](else:)[Fiia replies. She tries to brush off the severity of the situation, clearly uncomfortable. But at least she was still being cooperative. She nervously unscrews the top of the thermos, her hands almost trembling in anticipation. She would learn to control her hunger with time. But for now, there were larger concerns.] (if: $character is not "Fiia")[ [[Ask about the blood stains on her clothes|Blood Stains 1]] [[Ask about the turpentine in her bag|Turpentine 1]] [[Ask about her sire|Rosco 1]] [[Ask about her turning|Turning 1]] ](else:)[[["Where do you want me to start?"|Blood Stains 1]] ]]

There's a tense silence. (if: $character is "Fiia")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>She shifts her](else:)[You shift your] weight from side to side slightly, thinking. "Well... What if I told you we've been tailing your sire for... years at this point?" (if: $character is "Lynette")[you say. You hadn't planned on tipping your hand this early, but it was far from a lie. He'd evaded you for the better part of a decade, now. He'd built his empire upon fine art, exploitation, and money-laundering. Each a difficult feat, but he was an artisan at each in turn. He was meticulous about painting over shady transactions and sculpting plausible deniability. His twinkling eyes and handsome smile silently laughed at you, confirming that yes, he was guilty... but there was little you could do to prove it. That is: not without corroborating testimony that could be used to secure additional search permits (or even bring him down from the inside). You wouldn't have suggested to Declan that you try the colloquially-named "young and hungry" method of hunting if it wasn't a last resort.](else:)[She says. Suddenly, it all makes sense. Why you had been captured but not harmed. Why they'd been approaching everything with such a softly-softly touch. //They wanted you to snitch.//] "That's what this is about, isn't it?" (if: $character is "Fiia")[You ask,](else:)[She asks,] more of a statement than a question. "You're hunting him, not me." (click: "You're hunting him, not me.")[ (if: $character is "Lynette")[You say nothing. This was a mistake. You deviated from the plan on a hunch, and it hadn't paid off. Declan was going to have a meltdown.](else:)[She says nothing.] "I'm not telling you //shit.//" (if: $character is "Fiia")[You hiss, hugging your legs to your chest from where you're seated on the floor, re-wrapping the pittance of a blanket they'd given you. Your loyalty to him was stronger than some threadbare bribe. And yet... you weren't sure if he reciprocated. You'd already broken the rules and fallen off the face of the earth.](else:)[She hisses, hugging her legs to her chest while seated on the floor. You'd dealt with many low-level grunts like this over the years - the young ones often try to act tough, as if the folks at the top would reciprocate even a fraction of this loyalty. But this tiny blonde thing was no mobster, even if Jeppson had taught her what to say. But it seemed she already saw the writing on the wall.] [["He's gonna kill me."|Kill Me 4]] ]

(if: $character is "Fiia")[And he already had. There was never a question of if he was capable of it: he'd do it again just as easily - for good this time, potentially regardless of whether you'd snitched or not. He kept things so watertight that any modicum of trust you'd developed would instantly be dissolved. Your only option would be to return to him, to swear up and down that you didn't say a word about the operations. That they couldn't get you to talk. ...But if you weren't willing to be useful, these hunters might dispatch you outright. You were dead either way.](else:)[She very likely was right. The older your kind got, the more paranoid they became. Jeppson in particular was quite fond of making examples out of people, too. You'd already fucked up enough. Yet somehow, you decided to push your luck.] "Lotta loyalty he's demanding for nothing in return. And... I mean, I can't make any decisions without consulting Declan obviously, but... in exchange for information we could offer you protection." (if:$character is "Fiia")[Protection? From //him//? A mobster that through supernatural means that you couldn't yet understand, could pick you out of a crowd with his eyes closed? You couldn't help but chuckle a bit at how insane the mere suggestion was. And she was older than you. She of all people should have known better.] "Then you clearly don't know shit about my sire." "You clearly don't know shit about our organization." (if: $character is "Lynette")[You retort, a little too quickly. He was a dangerous man, yes. But you knew almost every detail about what he was capable of - and you had the expert personnel to enact countermeasures. [[What, did she think this was amateur hour at a rookie startup?|Kill Me 5]] ](else:)[Well, she //was// right. You knew that hunters were theoretically a threat, but you were so busy trying to keep your head above water most days. You didn't know the intricacies of who they were. And the way she spoke... [[She seemed almost insulted.|Kill Me 5]]]

(if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>You settle your weight into one hip. One last try, then you'd give up.](else:)[She shifts her weight to settle into one hip, impatient.] "Look, if you're convinced you're going to die anyway, you might as well talk to us." (if: $character is "Fiia")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Fuck it. She was right. And truthfully, there was only one real concern on your mind right now.](else:)[Fiia thinks for a moment.] "Can I at least get a shower if I do?" (if: $character is "Fiia")[ [["Deal."|Shower]] ](else:)[ [["Deal."|How Did That Work?]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>It was the best shower of your fucking life. (click: "It was the best shower of your fucking life.")[ The vampire woman, who introduced herself to you as Lynette, had taken you to a small apartment within the facility. It was oddly homey considering that there were literal jail cells a few floors down. Stylishly-decorated, too. She got you a fresh towel from the linen closet as she explained that she lived here - the place was sunlight-proofed, and that room and "board" were part of the traditional compensation for her "profession." (She promises to explain what that means in greater detail later.) (Somehow this makes it even more disconcerting.)] (click: "Somehow this makes it even more disconcerting.")[ "And here's some clean clothes you can change into. We look like we might be similar size, so hopefully these fit." She hands you a small stack of neatly-folded clothes. You're grateful... but a bit uncomfortable. You'd immediately gone from being her prisoner to feeling like you might be sisters in a sorority house. [[You just hope you can trust it. |Shower 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>...How did that work? //How// did that work? You can hardly contain your delight as you escort Fiia to the apartment within the facility. Now that she's actually standing up and walking beside you, it's clear that she's actually a few inches taller than you. You figure you can let her borrow some of your clothes while you wash hers. Poor thing's still got bloodstains on her. You'd somehow built up enough rapport with her to go directly from trying to get her to cooperate to letting her use your shampoo and conditioner. Declan's not gonna believe this. (click: "Declan's not gonna believe this.")[ You sit in the living room outside the closed door of the bathroom, listening to the hissing sound of water flowing through the pipes on the other side of the wall. You don't think she's going to make a run for it, but it's a good idea to keep an eye on her just in case. You pull out your phone and text Declan: <div class="info">LYNETTE: She agreed to talk. Meet us in Room A in 30 with a fresh thermos. She's taking a shower at the moment. </div> All too quickly, it vibrates with a response. One word.] (click: "One word.")[<div class="info">DECLAN: How? </div> You smile. [[Maybe you didn't always say the wrong thing.|Hash It Out]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Footsteps come around to the others. (click: "Footsteps come around to the others.")[ Intervals. Inconsistent? Can't keep track.] (click: "Can't keep track.")[ Voices. Hearing talking. Talking vowels consonants but just sounds all sounds no words. Hungry. (click: "Hungry")[ //Ignored.//] (click: "Ignored")[ No way out.] (click: "No way out")[ It burns no way out.](click: "It burns no way out")[ Footsteps coming and no way out!](click: "Footsteps coming")[ Be quiet. [[Stay still.|Meeting Declan]]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Words.(click: "Words")[ He's saying words.] (click: "He's saying words")[ Again words no meaning. Just noise and voice. Pausing. Staring. ] (click: "Staring")[Expecting?] (click: "Expecting")[ No answer no understanding for empty sounds please let you go. Please. Please. [[Help.|The Test]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Time passes... time has passed but how much? No way to tell no way to know. The man. He comes. (if: (history:) contains "Throw it outside your cell")[Finds thermos beyond the bars. Picks it up.](else:)[Reaches between bars for thermos. Picks it up.] He frowns. (click: "He frowns.")[ Says words. Only one makes sense in your ears: No?] (click: "No?")[ Talks talks talks Not angry - But talks Puts new thermos - green - inside bars. Says words. Leaves.] (click: "Puts new thermos - green - inside bars. Says words. Leaves.")[ Fresh blood? Why? [[Can't trust it, but...|Drink it]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>But then again: you never knew what you were going to get with a young one. You knew that all too well. You were young too, once. (click: "You were young too, once.")[ (if: (history:) contains "Declan Start 1" or "Fiia Start")[ //Remember: //] <div class="info">//Choices listed without quotation marks are actions. Some action choices, like this one, merely determine the order of events - and both will still occur. //</div> [[Investigate fingerprints|Prints Search 1]] [[Review Declan's capture report|Review Declan's Capture Report]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaferal.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Trick. Must be a trick. (click: "Must be a trick.")[ He leaves. (click: "He leaves.")[ ...A test? (click: "...A test?")[<div class="info"> //Choices listed without quotation marks are actions. Some action choices, like this one, merely determine the order of events - and both will still occur. // </div> [[Investigate the Blanket]] [[Investigate the Thermos]]]]]

MAIN/PROTAG - Declan Hope (human hunter, he/him, American, Irish ethnicity), Face Claim: Colin O'Donoghue - Lynette Baptiste (vampire redjacket, she/her, American, Trinidadian ethnicity), Face Claim: Amandla Stenberg - Fiia Salo (baby vampire, potential redjacket she/her, Finnish-American, Finnish ethnicity), Face Claim: Kaitlyn Dever SUPPORTING - Minh Duong (vampire redjacket, they/them, Vietnamese-American, Vietnamese ethnicity), Face Claim: Terry Hu - Rosco Jeppson (vampire mob boss, antagonist, he/him, Swedish-American, Swedish ethnicity), GAY, Face Claim: - Arkadiusz "Archie" Kowalczyk (vampire getaway driver, minor atagonist, he/him, American, Polish ethnicty), Face Claim: Chase Stokes. Mentioned, but does not appear (bro is deceased). - Samira Bustamente (human hunter, she/her, American, Spanish/Andalusian ethnicity). - Vincent Calabrese (Rosco's right hand and lover)

(if: $character is "Declan")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>](else:)[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>]"The Bradley-Martin Ball." (if: $character is "Declan")[You say, a little //too// quickly - a little //too// memorized.](else:)[Declan says, almost mechanically.] "1897." (click: "1897")[(if: $character is "Lynette")[You set him up perfectly for that one. You smirk.](else:)[Lynette smirks before saying:] "Yes, thank you, Mr. Anthropology Professor. There was a mutiny on the night of the Bradley-Martin Ball. Four of the era's most prolific vampire kingpins were executed by their own underlings in cooperation with human hunters. All anonymously organized - at the party, they all wore red jackets to be able to identify each other. And it stuck." (if: $character is "Fiia")[As she continued, you can see Rosco's handsome, but stern face in your mind. How he always talked of "loyalty." How he droned on about "honor." You'd seen that young man flayed in the courtyard the night of Rosco's dinner party: made an example of. You'd never seen a dead body before that night: the way his jaw hung off his skull like a rotting hinge as he slowly bled out onto the perfectly manicured grass. You'd seen one of his eyes flicker up toward you as you stared at him. As if asking. Pleading for help. An hour later, they would stare blankly ahead, life gone from them. That was before you'd been turned, too. It was the moment you realized it was already too late to back out of this - even if you wanted to. But part of you was disgusted that you //didn't// want to. You'd //wanted// this. Rosco had made damn sure that that young man was firmly made an example of. A reminder of what happens to those who disobey. But for you - maybe it was some sort of test. To see if you'd run. To see if you'd flinch - and you hadn't. You must have passed: he'd turn you ten days later. You wonder if he'd already done so by that night if the scent of blood in the air would have made your mouth water. But most of all, you always wondered what someone as powerful as Rosco could have been so afraid of that warranted such a drastic retaliation to what had been described to you as a fairly minor infraction. [[Now you knew.|The Proposition 3]]](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[You look to Declan as you finish your explanation, as if prompting him for corrections or further extrapolation. You knew how little historical details about events like this were his lifeblood whereas you would gloss over them. The same way you look over crime scene reports for the slightest particular... while he can barely be asked to write more than a few sentences on his capture reports. It was why you made a good team. [[You covered each other's weak spots.|The Proposition 3]]](else:)[She looks to you expectantly, as if asking you to continue. For a brief moment you panic - your mind had quietly wandered off momentarily. What were you going to lecture about on Monday? You still had a few papers to grade... But Lynette's dark eyes were expecting something from you. To continue. To go on. [[You internally scramble, but snap back into professor mode.|The Proposition 3]]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div> <div class="info"> //JULY 9TH, 2012// </div> //You'd known what you were getting into when he had called you here. You'd been to his multi-million dollar North Shore home many times - it was a short ride from the Art Institute. You'd come fresh from restoring some mannerist portrait in the studio. Rosco had bought it at an auction a few months back. With your work, he could easily flip it for millions. You knew what you stood to offer him: the prestige of being a patron of an up and coming painter and the cold-hard cash of selling flipped, conserved artworks. You knew why he wanted you. And with everything that he was offering in return: you couldn't say no. But when he called you here tonight, telling you that it was "time," you knew what was going to happen. With each footstep forward on the sidewalk, you knew that you were a one-woman funeral procession. And when you heard the heavy metallic click of the door to his study closing behind you, you knew that there was no going back. You weren't alone with him. You rarely were. There were always men in suits around. But they were so quiet, so still, it was easy for them to blend into the many painted portraits on the walls. You remember him looking up from his books when you walked in. "There she is," he said with a warm smile. "I was starting to worry you wouldn't turn up." "The L was late," you reply. You'd texted him to tell him you'd be a bit late, but you hadn't expected close to half an hour. Men like him don't like to be kept waiting. "Ah, yes, so glad the good old CTA gets our tax dollars." ...You both knew that man didn't pay any taxes. "I'm glad you're here. You've really impressed me, Fiia. I think you have a very bright future. You know why you're here tonight. Right?" "...I think so. Yes." "You've already done a great deal for me, but tonight's the proper start of everything," he said softly, getting up from his desk and drawing near. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't have moved. You were rooted to the spot. "I hope you appreciate how uncommon this is - a man of my age and stature doesn't do this without considerable reason. It's been just about... ten years since the last one? However, in this instance: I believe we both have much to gain from this. And I'm glad that you agreed to my proposition." He drew closer. Close enough for you to see the fine tailored stitches of his crisp, slate-colored suit. Enough to smell the chorus of notes of his fine cologne. His outfit tonight alone was easily worth three times your life. And your jeans were stained with varnish. "Are you ready?" he asked softly, softer than you had ever heard his voice before, as if the men standing guard might overhear. "Yes," you reply, naught but a whisper. You close your eyes as if about to lean in for a kiss. There's a flash of pain: blinding white. Then, a bone-aching, all-consuming numbness. You don't feel anything: not pain - not even fear. The sounds of everything fall away. The ticking of the clock on the mantle. The sound of Rosco doing - something - just beneath your left ear. It's not a kind nothingness - it's an oppressive one. Your knees begin to go weak as the lightheadedness quickly mounts. You want to collapse down into the darkness that creeps at the edge of your vision. That cool, calm darkness. As it calls for you, you feel the prickle of ice on your skin. It sets in like an ice bath for a fever. It threatens to drown you in the glacial depths of Lake Michigan. It seeks to bury you at sea forever. But he's got you: not letting you collapse with the effortless support of his own iron-still body. Slowly, steadily, he lowers you to the ground with the bending of his own knees, still drinking. He lays you gently on your back on the lush rug of the floor. You stare up at the blurry chandelier hanging above you, eyes unfocused. The numbing cold calls out for you once more. A doorway. You feel yourself standing in a doorway. Finally, he retracts himself. You barely even notice his teeth leaving your flesh. You hear the folding of fabric as he's undone his right cufflink, quickly folding the sleeve of his shirt and jacket back on itself, exposing the smooth skin beneath his wrist. He reaches for something in his breast pocket - a knife he flicks open with practiced ease. He quickly brings it to his wrist in a fluid motion, striking a nick without the slightest grimace of pain. His blood flows red as he quickly bends down to you, placing one hand gently behind your head, gingerly supporting it as if you were a newborn. There was only one single, solitary command, so hushed you question if he had said it at all, or if it had been instinct - or something else entirely. "Drink." No - //no// the darkness cries. Its hands reach for you, clawing you away from Rosco's gentle grasp. You feel nothing but the heat of his blood against your lips. It feels right - it feels alive. You want to cling to the lifeness of it, the only thing you've ever truly known. You drink. It hardly tastes of anything at first. Just warm. You swallow as your breathing slows to a halt: yet you do not fear drowning. The heat makes the darkness retreat at the edges. The numbness begins to wane. It's life. It is life and it wants to win you for itself. The darkness will not have you. Not today. "There we go," you hear someone say softly. You continue to drink as the icy sensation leeches from you. Warmth, returning at last. Growing, blossoming - Urgent. You can't stop. The warmth goes from soothing to scalding, but heats ever-still. You //can't stop.// It burns! God, it burns! You instinctually pull your mouth away from the burning. You find yourself sweating profusely, the fever having defeated the ice-bath. "That should do it." Burning! You're burning alive! Acid - a house fire - venom! He gets up and walks away from you, returning to his desk. Help! Help me! You want to scream. You want to reach your arms out for him, but have no strength. No sound comes from your lips. He can't leave you! He can't just leave you! A darkness comes again: though this time different than the last: a darkness of heat, of possession, of inevitability. You fall into its dark, fiery pit, unable to fight anymore. This is it, you remember thinking. This is the end. Hell is waiting. Your head is splitting. You open your eyes but everything is so painfully bright. You're lying in the same spot as you last remember. Somehow it felt like you'd been asleep for hundreds of years, though it may only have been a few minutes. "Welcome back," Rosco says casually from where he sits at his desk, typing some numbers into a calculator with the crisp, pink eraser-end of a pencil. You can only manage one question: "is it over?" "It's over. You did great." You realize that for once, the two of you //are// actually alone. "I asked my men to give us some privacy. Keep things nice and quiet when you first wake up - keeps newbies from panicking." You try to stand up: you're stiff, like a baby deer trying to get its legs under it. Rosco glances up from his work once again, and quickly gets up when he sees you're trying to move. "Take it easy there, kid," he chides, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket. He quickly dunks it in a glass of water waiting patiently on a cork coaster before squeezing it out. He walks over to you, still seated on the floor. "You're going to feel like hell for an hour or two. Your body's still adjusting." He extends the dampened handkerchief toward you. "Here. For your face." You take the wet cloth, unsure of what to do with it for a moment. But then you remember. The blood. You wipe your mouth with it, rehydrated dried blood staining the red cotton fibers. How much had you drank before it felt like you'd caught fire? "I feel like I died," you say, thinking aloud. "You did," he replies nonchalantly. "Did you have any visions?" Visions? "No. I don't think so. I just felt hot and cold and-" "That's normal," he replies with a wave of his hand. "Some people experience visions. Or, at least, they say they do. Lord knows I didn't." You look around and get your bearings. They hadn't moved you an inch from where you'd been lying. His office was calm. Quiet. This was not a place or man that would be deemed safe by any means. But at least for the moment, you had a feeling he wouldn't hurt you. He watched over you on the rug in front of his massive, wooden desk. But he was no guardian: more of a sculptor surveying his most recent experimental work. "How long was I out?" You ask, rubbing your eyes. "Maybe... thirty minutes? An hour? Not exactly sure - I was crunching some numbers. It's all normal. Take as much time as you need: I don't want you going out there before you can walk home in a straight line. Don't want CPD on your case." "But don't I need to... hunt, or something?" He chuckles. "You won't be hungry just yet. You ate pretty well - I like to see my young ones have good appetites. Sometimes they feign restraint, but they all drink eventually." He walks over to you and offers a hand to help you up off of the floor. "You took to it easily, though. I thought you might - I don't usually waste my time with people who aren't sure what they want." "So that's it?" "That's it." You almost expected it to be... worse. He told you to come back tomorrow after nightfall. That he'd tell you the essentials. It was unnerving how normal you felt - almost as if nothing had changed at all. //Give it time,// he had told you. Chicago wasn't built in a day. "One more thing," he called as you made your way to the door. "Rumors will likely begin spreading about what happened here tonight. It's rare that I turn anyone, and given my social stature, people may become intrigued. People may speculate. People may pester you about it. But whether they're human, vampire, or something else entirely: do not tell them //anything//. Understood?" "What //should// I say?" "Say you are not at liberty to discuss. And if they don't take that for an answer, you tell them to talk to //me.// And you tell me who it was. I'll set them straight. You just keep doing what you've already been doing, Fiia. Don't get distracted. Eyes on the canvas." "Got it," you said. "Um. Thank you." [["You're very welcome. Text me when you're home safe."|That bastard]]//

- Martyna "Outstar" Zych: Polish Language/Culture Consultant - Nessa Cannon: Gore Consultant - AK Fedeau: Fashion Consultant - Eric Stirpē: Finnish Snackfood Consultant - Shayna Moon: Problematic Queer Content Consultant - Catherine Litvaitis: Himbo Consultant - Sam Greszes: Malort Consultant - Emma Kidwell: Rizz Consultant Re(a)djackets (Beta Testers) Yasmine Mertens Emma Kidwell Cat Manning Nessa Cannon Rashika Singh Catherine Litvaitis

(if: $character is "Declan")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>](else:)[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>] No one likes an emergency meeting. All three of you are seated around the table in the break room. (if: $character is not "Declan")[Your supernatural senses could tell that something was amiss with Declan. His heart was beating a bit faster than usual, the tension he held in his shoulders was evident in the way it made the air around him vibrate slightly. You knew he was going to give some kind of bad news. You wish he would just hurry up and give it. Finally, he picks up his phone and speaks.](else:)[You'd received an interesting bit of information earlier today while Lynette and Fiia were still asleep.] "I got an... interesting text earlier today from //Hembly & Ramirez//." "Who are they?" (if: $character is "Fiia")[you ask.](else:)[Fiia asks.] "A hunting firm," (if: $character is "Declan")[you reply, tapping the image attached to the text, turning the phone around so that Fiia and Lynette can read what the photographed document reads.](else:)[he replies, tapping the image attached to the text, turning his phone around so that the vampiric members of the table can read what the photographed document reads]. "It seems that they - and a bunch of other firms in the area - received... a public notice. From Rosco." It was indeed a typed letter on fine, embossed stationery: //From the Desk of Rosco Jeppson//. <div class="info">//To Whom It May Concern, I have considerable reason to believe that, while no firms in the Chicago metro area have claimed responsibility, someone either has possession of or has otherwise dispatched my youngest fledgeling. She has been missing in action for approximately four days and I would hate to resort to more drastic measures to locate her, which may come at a dear cost to your organizations. I humbly request that she either be immediately released from where she is being held, or a confirmation of her death be declared by the firm responsible. If either of these actions are swiftly taken, no further action will be made on my part, and we shall consider the matter closed. She is very dear to me, and I should hate for an untimely end to befall someone so young - or some of you. I appreciate your prompt cooperation in this matter. - R. Jeppson //</div> "I'm not dear to him, I'm dear to his wallet," (if: $character is "Fiia")[you scoff.](else:)[Fiia scoffs.] "Same thing," (if: $character is "Lynette")[You say with a smirk.](else:)[Lynette says with a smirk.] [["Right?"|The Notice 2]]

(if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>](else:)[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>] Everything feels almost... normal. (click: "Everything feels almost... normal.")[ In the quiet of the early morning hours, winding down towards your dawnbreak bedtime, you and (if: $character is "Lynette")[Fiia](else-if: $character is "Fiia")[Lynette] had retreated back to the apartment within the facility. (if: $character is "Lynette")[You'd taken Fiia's measurements for her jacket and texted them over to Minh. It would probably be a week or so before it was ready for her. They said they were going to hand-deliver it too: quite the high honor. But for now, it was just the two of you. You knew a lot about her circumstances, but you realize that you actually know very little about the force's most recent recruit. You knew much of the facts, yes, but not the whys behind them. And maybe this is a good chance to get her to open up to you. [[Ask about Fiia's turning]] [[Ask about Fiia's choice of career]] [[Ask about Fiia's family]] [[Ask about Fiia's feelings about all of this]] ] (if: $character is "Fiia")[Lynette had taken your measurements for your jacket. You hadn't even known the significance of the crimson coat you'd always seen Lynette wearing until earlier tonight - yet you could practically feel the ceremoniousness of the curling measuring tape winding around your limbs. And now the two of you were teammates. Coworkers. Maybe even friends. The past few days had been dizzying. You were starting to get your bearings, but you realize you still know so little about these people that you were now working for. Maybe now is a good time to get some answers. (if: $character is "Fiia")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div> [[Ask about how and when Lynette was turned|Ask about L's turning]] [[Ask what she knows about Rosco]] [[Ask about what foods she misses the most|What Foods Do You Miss?]] [[Ask about her and Declan|Are You Dating Or Something?]] ]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>Welcome, DECLAN! INBOX: (if: $cpdemailconfirm is "true" and $studentemailreply is "true" and $hunteremail is "true")[There are no messages in your inbox. :)] (if: $cpdemailconfirm is "false")[(if: $cpdemail is "false")[[[NEW: Missing Person's Report|CPD Email]]](else:)[[[Missing Person's Report|CPD Email]]]] (if: $studentemailreply is "false")[(if: $studentemail is "false")[[[NEW: Final Paper Extension|Student Email]] ](else:)[[[Final Paper Extension|Student Email]]]] (if: $hunteremail is "false")[[[NEW: CK Notice from The Nine|CK: S. Bustamante]]] [[Return to your office.|Office]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $gradepapers to "true")If there was ever a day when you didn't have something to grade, you were convinced it would signal the end times. Still, you could probably knock out reviewing an essay or two. (click: "Still, you could probably knock out reviewing an essay or two.")[ You reach for the next one atop the pile. <div class="info"> HIST598: SLAVIC STUDIES - PROF. HOPE CAROLINE BACHMANN LACKING REFLECTION: MEDIEVAL VAMPIRE SUPERSTITIONS AS A LENS FOR ANTI-SEMITIC AND ANTI-ROMA STEREOTYPES </div> You can always tell when you're exhausted, as you find yourself reading the same line over and over. You'd made it halfway through Caroline's thesis before your head swims and you can't take it anymore. Maybe Lynette was right about the impact low-light reading was having on you.] (click: "Maybe Lynette was right about the impact low-light reading was having on you.")[ You put the paper aside, dog-earing the page you were on, just in case. It felt rude. Caroline was a brilliant student, and there was a nagging feeling in your stomach as you realized you couldn't give her the dedication that her work deserved. You'd have to get back to reading it when you were more well rested. [[Besides. Vampires DO have reflections now that mirrors aren't made with silver.|Office]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You don't want to be rude. It was curiosity, that's all. (click: "You don't want to be rude. It was curiosity, that's all.")[ She looks up from her report as you raise the question, before thinking for a moment. "I think it was twenty-two years ago? Twenty-three? You kinda lose track after a while." She was young compared to Rosco - but he was in the triple-digits at this point. But she was ancient compared to you. You imagined what you might be like in twenty-two or twenty-three years. Would you be as accomplished as her? As well-commanding of her abilities? She hadn't as much as winced when she came near the silver bars of your cell. "So it... gets easier?" You ask. "It does, and it doesn't," Lynette shrugs. "Some things get easier, yeah. Other things get harder, other things get //weirder.// But hey, that's life. Or - death, I suppose." "Can I ask how it happened?"] (click: "Can I ask how it happened?")[ You knew that this was sometimes a sensitive subject. Your turning had been easy. Simple. Clean. Consensual. Everything had gone off without a hitch. But you knew that wasn't true for everyone. And based on how Lynette hesitated slightly, you suddenly worried you shouldn't have brought it up at all. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked," you say, sheepishly. Lynette waves [["It's alright. He's just. He's dead, now."|Lynette's Turning]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div> <div class="info"> //DECEMBER 12TH, 1999//</div> //"The time is 4:36 AM on December 12th, 1999. I know I introduced myself to you earlier, but once again for the recording: I'm Senior Criminal Investigator Lynette Baptiste of the Chicago Police Department." "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sherlock," he replied, a glint in his eye and smile that hinted anything but standard procedure was on his mind. "Sir, you are under arrest for grand larceny," you replied flatly. "A reminder that anything you say in this room can and will be used against you in a court of law. Can you state your name for the record please?" "Arkadiusz Kowalczyk. Most Americans call me Archie since it's easier to say, but //you// can call me Arek." "Is that what you prefer to go by?" "It's what my mom calls me, yeah." You could already tell this was going to be like pulling teeth. You'd been trying to catch this guy for months, but it's a routine traffic stop of all things that brings him in. Classic. He sits across from you in the bare interrogation room, his hands shackled tightly together across his lap. The fluorescent lighting from above washes him out - from his pale skin to his blonde hair, he looks more like a ghost than a man. Matches his criminal profile, too. He was slippery. A getaway driver with a lead foot and a knack for losing the cops. He'd been a part of four confirmed heists and a host of suspected robberies. You literally had multiple warrants out for his arrest that you could call in for this. If convicted, which he very likely could be, he would be going away for a long, long time. Sometimes when suspects knew this, they were in damage control mode. Others, like him, took things way too casually for your liking. They knew they were screwed - why bother getting upset about it? You write his name down on the yellow legal pad in front of you, denoting what he preferred you to call him by. "And you even spelled it correctly. You're incredible," he hums, that slight grin never wavering. You brush it off. A sad fact of being a woman in a position of power: men would try to hit on you - either to make you uncomfortable or, a much less likely result, like you better. You'd seen that trick many times, and it hadn't worked then - it wouldn't work now. "Would you like to tell me any details about what happened on the night in question?" You ask, immediately reminding him why the two of you are here. "Not without a lawyer," he replies, casually. "Then we're finished here." You put down your pen. You had some other documents you needed him to sign to signify that he had indeed asked for a lawyer, and you were no longer going to be interrogating him. You had a feeling he would invoke his right to an attorney given that he was a professional suspect at this point, but you were still hoping he might give you //something// to work with. Maybe you shouldn't have gotten your hopes up. "You're leaving?" He pouts. Your blood pressure rises, pulsing threateningly against your eardrums. You'd put up with far too much shit: in school, in police academy, and on the job, for him to speak to you that way. For //anyone// to speak to you that way. You were a professional, damn it - and he'd better start acting like it. "You asked for a lawyer. I'm legally not allowed to ask you any more questions." He was quiet for a moment before he gets a spark of inspiration. "But can I ask //you// questions?" Uh oh. //Technically// there wasn't anything against it. He just needed to behave himself. "I suppose." "...What are you doing on Saturday night?" You gave him one shot. One shot and he instantly blew it. "Bold of you to assume you're being released on bail." "Someone's coming to post it, I //told// you," he replied, "I know it's a big number, but it's seriously like a drop in the bucket to these people." You both knew that he was certainly right about that second part. He gave a defeated sigh. At last, that grin left him. Instead he just seemed... tired. "Look, this isn't my first rodeo with CPD - my file's probably as thick as a phone book. But in all the times I've been dragged into this place, you're the only detective that's ever treated me like an actual human being. So thank you." You weren't expecting that. "...You're welcome," is all you can manage in reply. And you meant it. Then the cases all got reshuffled. You were relieved that you had a more evenly distributed workload with your coworkers, but you hadn't noticed when one particular case had been removed from your plate. As a Senior Criminal Investigator, your skills were best used on high-profile, complex cases. Something so open and shut as Mr. Kowalczyk's could easily be handled by someone much greener. And besides: you'd been needing to focus more of your time on an elaborate sting you and your team had been planning for months. You'd gone undercover in a local crime ring, and everything had been going to plan. You'd played your role well as a young upstart named "Ria" (your cousin's name), and you'd successfully managed to gain multiple critical individuals' trust. You'd done everything they asked, flattered them a little, and never raised your voice. You were a grunt, sure. A gopher. But you were building up a reputation for being reliable. And if all your time researching from a distance and undercover with mobsters taught you one thing, it's that they like when folks are reliable. Your dedication, your loyalty - that was your truest asset. And you'd played into it perfectly. That is, until one night... everything suddenly fell apart. A gathering at a safehouse suddenly turned hostile - a senior member of the ring had had his suspicions about you, and decided tonight was the time to let them loose. "She's a fucking //plant//, you idiots!" He shouted, pointing an accusatory finger in your direction. "Have you seen the way she handles a glock? Police Academy 101, right there!" You keep your cool. It's alright - you'd prepared for this. You'd already come up with a list of reasons why you //couldn't// be an undercover agent, and you were about to defend your own honor, when- "Hey," came a familiar voice. "You got a problem with how she shoots a gun?" Oh no. All eyes turn to Arek as he casually leans on the doorframe of the foyer, his blonde hair boyishly tousled. He might not have been as high-up in this particular organization, but his reputation certainly preceded him: he was highly-respected for what he's been able to pull off in the past. What is he //doing?// "Yeah, I do. I've got a bad feeling about this chick. The way she handles a gun's just the start." "I ask because //I// taught her to shoot, asshole," Arek continues. "And //I// learned from my uncle, who //was// a cop. So if she shoots like a cop, that's why. So do I - and I'm no fed, am I?" He was making shit up. For //you.// You could tell by the way he looked at you: he //knew// it was you. Yet he was covering for you. A cop. The accuser falls silent. You wonder if they can hear how fast your heart is beating. "Yeah, she's a new kid. But trust me - she's good for it," Arek continues. "In fact: let's get out of here, Ria. Big Man wanted to talk to you about something." You don't hesitate to take your leave with Arek out into the chilly winter night, too stunned to do anything else. You wait until you are safely buckled into the passenger seat of his car, all doors tightly closed, before you turn to him. "What the fuck was that?" You ask him. The words feel like they're forcing their way out of your mouth. The return of that terrible grin. "Don't know what you mean." He just absolutely saved your life - and he knew it. Adrenaline still running high, you couldn't help but shove him (at least as best you could from where you both were sitting). "//Shut up//. Why did you //do// that?" "What can I say, Sherlock? Maybe I've got a soft spot for ya. I'd hate to see mob justice sicced on such a nice lady like yourself." He puts the key in the ignition. The engine struggles to turn over from the cold - but it starts eventually. "Now, is there a place I can drop you off? Somewhere safe, I mean? The station?" "No," you say in a rushed whisper. "Someone might follow us." He glances over at you as he pulls out of his parking spot, his smile turning up one corner of his mouth. "Smart." "Yeah, it's almost like this is my job," you reply, flippantly. He grins, pulling out into the road. You glance in the rear-view: no one seems to be following you. At least, not yet. "How's a pretty girl like you end up in a tough gig like this anyway?" "School," you reply, once again brushing off his compliments. "Lots and lots of school. Then police academy - more school." "He might not be the brightest bulb, but Szymon has a point: you //do// hold a gun like a cop," he chuckled. Maybe he got you, there. You probably should have worked more on your mannerisms before doing undercover work. You turn your head and gaze out the window at the blurring streetlights. You practically had the plates of this very car memorized from how often you put out warrants on this guy. Yet in the passenger seat, you felt... almost at home. It wasn't long before you both pulled up outside the restaurant you'd requested to be dropped off by. Arek falters for a moment. "Just be careful out there, ok?" "//You// be careful," you reply, unbuckling your seatbelt, "because if I didn't know any better I'd say you're looking out for me." "Maybe I am," he replies nonchalantly, grabbing an unused fast-food napkin out of the door pocket of his car. He clicks a pen and writes down a series of numbers. "And hey." He folds the napkin in half before extending it to you. "Call me." You take the napkin but offer no response. You were already lost in a maze of damage control: you likely left hair or DNA traces in his vehicle. This could get sticky, really, really fast. You get out of his car with nothing more than a "have a good night." "You too." And then he was gone. You'd find the napkin in the pocket of your coat a few days later. Against your better judgment, you called him. After the immediate crisis was averted, after you and your team decided to pull you from doing undercover work (at least for a little while)... you really did want to thank him. If he hadn't stepped in, your cover would be blown - the operation would be unsalvageable. It's very likely that his quick thinking saved your life... or at least saved you a trip to the hospital. You'd gone somewhere together. You don't remember where. You took the L. He drove. You remember seeing his car before seeing him. You don't remember what you said when you saw him. You didn't remember much about how it happened, either. Incinerating heat and petrifying cold all at once. Then: a vision. Your father - just as you remember him when you were a little girl. You hated how the last thing you often saw of others was their worst moments. But here, surrounded by light - he looked happy. For the first time in many years since you'd last seen him, he looked... //well.// You had the feeling he was waiting for you on the other side - but it was not your time yet. But he wanted to let you know. He was alright. And he would come collect you when your true time had arrived. You remember coming around on the ground - but you were not alone. Arek had your face cupped gently between his hands, the fingerprints you'd once scoured in databases now on your own skin. Your blood was dripping down his lips - and his was burning cinnamon and lemon on yours. Your faces were close: a distance, a whisper, often only shared by lovers. And he could have kissed you then... but he didn't. Somehow that would seem a step too far. Too intimate. Too genuine. //"In another life"// you'd both thought to yourselves. But in this one, you were a career criminal and a disgraced detective. You were murderer and victim. You were life-giver and the reborn. "Now if I go down, you go down with me, Sherlock," he smiled, his voice trembling. Some of his fingers gently caressed the supple skin of your cheek. His touch was light: as if he couldn't believe you were truly there, this close to him - a Pieta in the most pathetic imitation. He watches the light slowly fade from your dark eyes, and he closes the gap between you even further, chasing after it. As your body goes limp, he holds you closer, his muscles firing in a million tiny earthquakes as he watches the affliction take hold. Something shifts in him, then. The giddiness suddenly fades, and the trembling of his lips is not one of excitement, but one that often gives way to tears. He lets out a choked sob as your eyes finally close, granting you that one last, mercifully restful sleep. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, rocking your unconscious form back and forth gently, as if trying to soothe a small child. The last thing you remember is wetness on your cheek. Perhaps it had started raining. "I'm so sorry."// (if: not ((history:) contains "Ask what she knows about Rosco"))[ [[Ask what she knows about Rosco]] ] (if: not ((history:) contains "What Foods Do You Miss?"))[[[Ask about what foods she misses the most|What Foods Do You Miss?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Are You Dating or Something?"))[[[Ask about her and Declan|Are You Dating Or Something?]]] (if: (history:) contains "Ask what she knows about Rosco" and "What Foods Do You Miss?" and "Are You Dating Or Something")[ [[Call it a night]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $firstmeetflashback to "true") Lynette had been just like this young one when you first met, practically pinned to the back wall of a holding cell. But the piercing alarm that had been blaring throughout the facility made that quite understandable. Even though she was trying to press herself as thin as she could against the cinderblock, you could undoubtedly tell it was her... <div class="info"> //MARCH 18TH, 2002//</div> //She'd been on your radar for some time, now. Former award-winning criminal investigator for Chicago PD. Quit the force eight months ago or so. Likely couldn't sustain her job because of her new "lifestyle." She was a Known Case - but she kept her head down and didn't cause trouble, so no one had any reason to put a contract out on her. Low risk, low priority. Still, firms liked to keep tabs on the movements of Known Cases, but there had been no confirmed sightings of her in weeks. You'd started to wonder if she'd skipped town or even perished entirely. But judging by her condition as you'd looked upon her then: her clothes, the wide-eyed gape characteristic of hunger, she likely had been held here for some time. You hadn't recruited any Redjackets, yet. You were nervous in a way you hadn't felt since high school, when you'd asked Terri Fischer to prom. It felt so odd coming to this new firm, where you were expected to work side-by-side with those you typically tasked with killing. But you'd become so disillusioned with everything else. You went into this business to make the world a better place. Previously, you had thought that entailed killing the undead. And now you were about to try to convince an undead person to join your ranks. You'd come with the traditional peace offerings: a thermos of animal blood and a blanket. The blood made sense to you. The blanket, so you'd heard, was because vampires tended to "run cold." While the blood would ensure they survived, the blanket was more for their comfort. Strategically keeping a vampire alive wasn't unheard of in your line of work. But caring for their sense of comfort and safety was not something you were accustomed to. But this firm got results. //This// got results - at least when other people did it. Now it was your time to try. Here goes nothing. "What's going on?" You remember her shouting over the wailing siren. Though she sported the undeniable telltale signs of hunger, she could at least still hold a conversation - she wasn't too far gone. You'd dealt with completely feral ones before. There's not much point in trying to reason with them. But since she still had some degree of her wits about her, that might make this easier. You were about to try to explain, to say what you had rehearsed over and over in your head while you filled up the maroon-colored thermos. But suddenly, the wild look behind her eyes grew sharper as a realization washed over her. "You... You don't work here." She was right. "We're from another hunting firm. We're commandeering this facility," you said, calmly. Just like you'd rehearsed. Although, perhaps, a little too quietly for the alarms. "You're //what//?!" She shouted over the siren, one of her hands cupping an ear. The alarm was deafening even to you - with her heightened hearing, you couldn't even imagine how deafening things sounded to her. "We're shutting this place down!" You repeated, louder this time. You always hated raising your voice. It reminded you of your father. Unfortunately, it still didn't seem like she understood what you said. This was hopeless, wasn't it? A useless exercise. Maybe you should have demanded someone with more experience do the negotiating. Just as you were about to succumb to your own pessimism... the alarm stopped. Someone must have manually shut it off. Both you and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief, your ears still ringing. "We're... We're shutting this facility down," you repeat, returning to a normal volume. The levels of corruption and bad practice by this firm were staggering. Those who make a career out of killing others for money aren't the sort usually praised for their impeccable ethics. But that's hardly the case when it comes to professionalism. Professionalism is what separates the assassins from the serial killers. One deals in contracts, the other in run-of-the-mill sociopathy. And in the name of professionalism, the other firms in Chicago collectively decided operations here could not continue - or it would jeopardize you all. "I probably don't need to tell //you// what a horrible operation they're running, here," you added with a sneer of disdain. She stared at you. Confused. //Fuck.// Think fast, Hope. "You're free to go, Ms. Baptiste," you continue, "however if you'd be so kind, I'd like to get a bit more information from you. If I let you out of there, would you be willing to make a statement about what happened here?" //Shit,// that sounded too conditional! Too quid pro quo! And she just kept //staring// at you like that. "I mean, you're going to be escorted from the facility either way, but..." "I know who you are." She says, her voice low and stern. You'd never met her before, it's true - but you'd come to realize that your reputation tends to precede you. "I'm not going anywhere with you. You've got a contract on me." She was scared of you. Fuck, of //course// she was scared of you. No wonder this wasn't going well! You felt like a rookie again for not realizing that earlier. You weren't used to considering the feelings of the undead creatures you were so used to executing. But what she said also wasn't entirely true. Not anymore. "I //did//, yes," you replied. Best to be honest with her. At least try to salvage this by starting off on the right foot. "But that was at my old firm - and quite frankly, I wasn't ever intending to go through with it. Didn't see why you had to die. One of the many reasons I quit that place. I work for a different firm, now - and honestly I would like to discuss it with you." She looks even more confused. "Discuss it?" You didn't want to tip your hand too early. "I just want to talk. Would that be alright? There's some blood in it for you." You immediately append that statement. "Not mine." You hold up the thermos. "It's... bovine, I think. I hope that's alright. You hungry?" //What an asinine question,// you remember berating yourself. Of //course// she was hungry! You never knew if she understood the significance of the blanket and thermos that you'd brought with you. You'd always thought there was a possibility that she might have heard of this tactic. Perhaps she'd been warned by another of her kind that if a human approaches you with these two items - run. You never asked her if she knew, even after all these years. She would tell you much later, after working together for a couple of years, that that had been one of the most terrifying and confusing moments of her life - but not because she felt threatened. In fact, her supernatural senses hadn't detected a change in heart rate or anything which would indicate that you were lying. She had no reason to trust you, then. But at the same time, she didn't have any reason //not// to. And yes, she //was// hungry. All you remember her saying is: "I don't trust you." "I probably wouldn't either if I were you," you reply with an honest shrug. "But you were a police investigator, right? So you understand: I've got no reason to hold you against your will, so you can refuse any question or just leave at any time. If you don't want to talk to me at all, that'd be a shame, but I //am// going to let you out of there either way." Your reputation for being ruthless was as famous as your reputation for being civil. You were unrelenting, but not unmerciful. You weren't a serial killer. You were a professional. "So what do you say?" She agreed to talk. She'd be recruited by the end of the night. In the near decade since then, she'd saved each other's lives countless times. These days, you'd trust her with your life in an instant... quite the departure from the days when you were once commissioned to take hers. [[How far away that all felt.|Office]]//

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You walk up to Rosco's grand, North Shore home like you had so many times before. But this time you felt like every last leaf on each perfectly-manicured hedge was watching you (on top of the many hidden cameras already about the premises). You'd been let in by staff as always - but this time with a tone of urgency. The usual "good evening, Miss"es were replaced by: "oh! It's so good to see you, Miss Fiia. Mr. Jeppson will be so pleased!" You sure hope they're right. (click: "You sure hope they're right.")[ Vincent, Rosco's right-hand, looked as if he'd seen a ghost when he saw your tattered Converse on the Persian carpet. "Rosco!" He calls, before quickly correcting himself with the proper honorific. "Sir! She's here! She's back!" You'd been told that the less you saw of Vincent, the better. Rosco hadn't gotten this far in his career by getting his hands dirty - he always made sure someone else took care of things. Vincent was such a someone.] (click: "Vincent was such a someone.")[ Wherever Rosco was, Vincent was often nearby. Very nearby. He quickly escorted you into Rosco's study, delivering you directly into the hands of the man you were now tasked to conspire in killing. [[The last time you were in here, it was the night you were turned.|Fiia Returns 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"Okay... I'll just start from the top. Uh..." You sniffle. "You said they had you in a cage... ?" He prompts. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was genuinely concerned for you. "So my theory about hunters was correct, then?" "Yes, okay? I got caught," you reply. The words sound heavier than you intended. It felt more like a shameful admission. "I was hungry, I was so hungry and I smelled-" for some reason, you can't bring yourself to finish the sentence. You hadn't planned on discussing the details of the trap, and you didn't want to say anything that might make him suspicious. You leave it simply at: "it was a trap - I should have known." Rosco nods, unspeaking. (click: "Rosco nods, unspeaking.")[ His face suddenly grows more sullen by the second. You can see behind his pale eyes that he's thinking. Best to keep talking. He was dangerous when he was thinking. "Then I was taken - somewhere, I don't know where. The cell was made of silver - it hurt to even //look// at." "I warned you about silver, didn't I?" He sighed, much more of a statement than a question. He had warned you about it several times, in fact. "Yes" you murmur, dabbing the handkerchief at the inner corner of one eye. <div class="info"> What do you tell him about your treatment?</div> [[They didn't treat me too bad, at least.|Treated Well]] [[They were horrible and cruel. They tortured me.|Treated Terribly]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"I think I know their name, though. The hunter, I mean." You can feel an anger beginning to brew by the way his jaw stiffens. You can only hope that none of it is directed at you. "Who?" "Her name was Samira," you reply. "She's a bit shorter than me - wears a hijab. I don't know much else, but-" "Yes, that'd be Samira Bustamante. Of //The Nine.// " He muses. He didn't seem to question you further about her identity - and why would he? He had no reason to believe you were lying. "She has these traps set all over town, and..." "Many hunters do. They like to see what turns up in them - unfortunately it's often the young ones. How //kind// of her to release you. She must have gotten my letter." [[Play dumb about the letter|What Letter?]] [[Affirm it's because she got the letter|Affirm Letter]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>It felt like it had been years since you last saw him. You'd forgotten how intimidating he was in person, even when he was impersonating a concerned mentor. His words carried a gravity to them that frightened you, each one felt intentionally plucked from a lexicon. Even when he was at ease, you could feel that he was still the kind of man who would kill you over a minor inconvenience - because you'd seen him do just that. All while being perfectly polite. (click: "All while being perfectly polite.")[ Going through all of this had been bad enough. But if he was now angry with you, he could make your life a living hell. You'd already started crying when you hadn't meant to. Surely that annoyed him. At this rate, all you could do was ask for leniency. Admit it was stupid. Hope that he understands. Grovel a little. [[Powerful men like when you grovel a little.|Are You Mad 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You were so tired of keeping it together. Of being stuck in that fight-or-flight corridor between survival and oblivion. You couldn't do it anymore. You were tired. You were so tired. The emotions of the past week finally had the ability to swell, growing larger and more powerful than you could stand. The helplessness. The hopelessness. The shame. (click: "The shame.")[ You don't want to cry. Not in front of //him.// You want to show him that you're still cut out for this! That you're not some scared little girl! But the tide is rising faster than you can tread water. You crumble, letting out a sob as the wave of tears breaks all at once.] (click: "You crumble, letting out a sob as the wave of tears breaks all at once.")[ "I'm sorry," you manage, but you know not who you're apologizing to - or for what. Once the tears begin falling, you can't stop. "I was so scared - they had me in a cage like an //animal// - I'm so sorry." Rosco sighs, realizing that finishing his correspondence is certainly going to have to wait. He reaches into the breast pocket of his fine coat to produce a handkerchief, elegantly embroidered with his initials. He hands it to you. You accept his small kindness and immediately put its soft fibers to work on your cheeks. "It's alright," he says, his voice even - not angry. He delicately turns his attention to Vincent at your side. "Would you mind giving us some privacy? I'll debrief you later." There's a hushed: "of course, Sir," before Vincent makes a hasty exit and gently closes the heavy double-doors behind him. Rosco was going to expect you to talk, now. You'd rehearsed what you were going to say a million times, but with emotions running high... would you remember all the details? [[Rosco takes you gently by the arm. "Come sit down, you're shaking."|Crumble 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>As usual, Rosco Jeppson is seated behind his imposing, wooden desk. He appeared to be responding to a letter, using an ink pen which even //looked// heavy with the weight of luxury construction. He told you he prefers to write things by hand. Harder to track. He looks up as you two enter, a genuine look of surprise and relief crossing his pale face. (click: "He looks up as you two enter, a genuine look of surprise and relief crossing his pale face.")[ "Fiia!" He exclaims. "Are you ok? Are you alright?" He quickly abandons his correspondence, crossing the room to get to you as if you might turn-heel and go missing again. You know the man cares more about what you can offer him in a monetary sense than about you as an individual - but his relief that you've returned is palpable... and almost welcome. "I'm fine, I'm fine..." you reply. //Fine// was the instinctual response, but it wasn't an accurate appraisal. You were fine at this moment - but you hadn't been for quite some time before. You amend your previous statement: "I'm fine now." Oh no.] (click: "Oh no.")[ You can feel a tectonic shift happen behind your ribs. You realize how long it had been since someone last asked if you were alright. You realize that you can't remember when it would have been. You realize how relieved you were to be here, with this man, your murderer, your boss, and how oddly this was the safest you had felt in days. [[No, oh no...|Crumble]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>He takes you to the small seating area by the fireplace. You feel as though all your breath has been robbed from you, tears coming at a rate that you can hardly staunch them with Rosco's handkerchief. "I feel like I'm going to throw up," you murmur between gasps. "You're young enough that you might still be able to," Rosco muses, moving to grab the wastebasket from the side of his desk. He places it within arm's reach beside you - just in case. "I'm glad you're alright," he continues. "We were getting worried." "I'm sorry," you repeat. You couldn't think of what else to say. You were arguably the victim in all this, yet you couldn't help but feel that it had been your fault. For making him worried. For being hungry enough to walk right into an obvious trap. For being inexperienced. For all of it. "Don't be sorry," he replies. "I don't need you to apologize. But I //do// need you to tell me what happened." <div class="info"> Where do you even start? </info> (if: not ((history:) contains "What Happened?"))[[[Tell him how it happened.|What Happened?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Who Was It?"))[[[Tell him who did it.|Who Was It?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Are You Mad?"))[[[Ask him if he's mad at you.|Are You Mad?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Feral"))[[[Describe your strange hunger symptoms.|Feral]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"Letter?" You ask, confused. "I sent a notice. To every hunting firm in the area who I thought might have a reason to be after you - or me. I demanded whoever was responsible for your capture or killing reveal themselves or I would tear this city apart to find you, myself. Then, shortly after: you miraculously turn back up." Yeah. Miraculously... "You're lucky, you know," he continues. "Samira's at least got enough self-preservation to let you go. "She said I 'wasn't worth it.' So she blindfolded me, put me in a car, and dropped me off at Navy Pier," you lied. And you sounded pretty convincing in your humble opinion. "Interesting." Uh oh. (click: "Uh oh.")[ You don't like the way he said that.] (click: "You don't like the way he said that.")[ "Is it?" You ask, unable to stop it before it comes out of your mouth. You'd just pulled a random spot in town off the top of your head. You hope it didn't have any implication you were unaware of. "It's likely some kind of neutral location among firms in town, that's all," he replied. Whew. (if: not ((history:) contains "What Happened?"))[[[Tell him how it happened.|What Happened?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Are You Mad?"))[[[Ask him if he's mad at you.|Are You Mad?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Feral"))[[[Describe your strange hunger symptoms.|Feral]]] (if: (history:) contains "What Happened?" and "Who Was It?" and "Are You Mad?" and "Feral")[ [[You can see Rosco thinking again...|Heave]] ] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"She did. She told me she wasn't about to pick a fight. So she blindfolded me, put me in a car, and dropped me off at Navy Pier." A pretty convincing lie in your humble opinion. "Interesting." Uh oh. (click: "Uh oh.")[ You don't like the way he said that.] (click: "You don't like the way he said that.")[ "Is it?" You ask, unable to stop it before it comes out of your mouth. You'd just pulled a random spot in town off the top of your head. You hope it didn't have any implication you were unaware of. "It's likely some kind of neutral location among firms in town, that's all," he replied. Whew. (if: not ((history:) contains "What Happened?"))[[[Tell him how it happened.|What Happened?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Are You Mad?"))[[[Ask him if he's mad at you.|Are You Mad?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Feral"))[[[Describe your strange hunger symptoms.|Feral]]] (if: (history:) contains "What Happened?" and "Who Was It?" and "Are You Mad?" and "Feral")[ [[You can see Rosco thinking again...|Heave]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"They didn't- I mean they weren't-..." You don't know how to phrase it. "They didn't treat me badly, at least - compared to what I've heard about hunters. I was just some kid they caught in a trap. I heard them talking, and they said they could tell I was young, but they didn't know my lineage or whatever. At least, not at first." "There are ways of finding that out, yes," he nodded. Word that Rosco's got a new one surely spread fast. (click: "Word that Rosco's got a new one surely spread fast.")[ "But even then, they... mostly just talked to me. I thought they were going to... //do// something to get me say more, but... I don't know. They never hurt me." "Of course they didn't. Once they realized they had accidentally captured //my// fledgeling, it'd be stupid to leave as much as a bruise. Because then they'd have //me// knocking on their door. And trust me - none of them want that." (if: not ((history:) contains "Who Was It?"))[[[Tell him who did it.|Who Was It?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Are You Mad?"))[[[Ask him if he's mad at you.|Are You Mad?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Feral"))[[[Describe your strange hunger symptoms.|Feral]]] (if: (history:) contains "What Happened?" and "Who Was It?" and "Are You Mad?" and "Feral")[ [[You can see Rosco thinking again...|Heave]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"They were horrible to me." "What did they do?" He asks flatly, more of a command than a question. His voice had suddenly become low, a simmering seethe hiding just beneath the surface of each word. Uh oh. You hadn't thought this far. (click: "Uh oh. You hadn't thought this far.")[ Your mind raced for something horrible that they could have put you through. But it also couldn't have shown any irreparable damage since you arrived on his doorstep unharmed. //Shit.// Eventually, your shoulders roll forward, your chest concave. Perhaps the best move in this case would be to avoid the question altogether. "...I don't want to talk about it," you murmur. You thought you did a pretty good job of making the words sound haunted. He seems... skeptical.] (click: "He seems... skeptical.")[ //Fuck.// You take another go at it: "it's healed already but... please don't make me talk about it. I..." "Alright," he replies, nodding thoughtfully. He seems to have bought it - at least for now. "But they're lucky I'm just glad I've got you in one piece." (if: not ((history:) contains "Who Was It?"))[[[Tell him who did it.|Who Was It?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Are You Mad?"))[[[Ask him if he's mad at you.|Are You Mad?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Feral"))[[[Describe your strange hunger symptoms.|Feral]]] (if: (history:) contains "What Happened?" and "Who Was It?" and "Are You Mad?" and "Feral")[ [[You can see Rosco thinking again...|Heave]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"I'm sorry, Rosco - Sir - I'm really sorry... Please don't be upset with me, it was stupid..." He seems more irritated by the groveling than he had been at just your tears. "It's //alright.// I'm not mad at you - you're young, you can't control yourself." So you'd heard. (click: "So you'd heard.")[ You hated being talked down to. But you hated it even more when there was some ring of truth to it. How your mouth had watered when you smelled blood in the night air. Suddenly you weren't at the wheel anymore. You both sat in silence for a moment. "Usually," he continues, "the circumstances would dictate I issue disciplinary action." Your stomach dropped. //Disciplinary action,// as you'd already seen enacted upon others, was the most benign way he could possibly put it. But he paused again - he wasn't done thinking yet. "But it sounds like you've already endured enough. I suppose this time I'll let you off with a warning." "Thank you, Sir. Thank you, I-" "Just //call me// next time you get hungry so you don't wind up walking into a //trap// again." "I will, Sir. I will." (if: not ((history:) contains "What Happened?"))[[[Tell him how it happened.|What Happened?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Who Was It?"))[[[Tell him who did it.|Who Was It?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Feral"))[[[Describe your strange hunger symptoms.|Feral]]] (if: (history:) contains "What Happened?" and "Who Was It?" and "Are You Mad?" and "Feral")[ [[You can see Rosco thinking again...|Heave]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You don't want to be rude. It was curiosity, that's all. Perhaps approaching the topic with more of an air of concern would feel less invasive. "I hate to ask, but... it's not every day that a guy like Jeppson turns someone. And I know that sometimes it can be quite... traumatic," you ask gently. "Oh, no, it was... fine, actually," Fiia replies, her voice smooth and even in a way that led you to believe that she was being honest - and you were trained to know when someone was lying. "I knew it was going to happen. And honestly... it wasn't even all that bad." Though she's telling the truth, this wasn't exactly the answer you were expecting. "You look surprised," she adds with a smirk. "I am," you chuckle, "I didn't exactly think someone like Jeppson would make it easy on you." "He's only awful to people he doesn't like," Fiia shrugs. "He's got no reason to dislike me." She pauses, her shoulders hunching a little. "Yet." She was certainly in danger now that she could be considered compromised. But you'd see to it that she wasn't found out. "Can I ask... can I ask how it happened?" [[She thinks for a moment... and nods.|Fiia's Turning]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>"So you're a painter, huh? What made you want to go to art school?" She shrugs. "Delusion, mostly." (click: "Delusion, mostly.")[ You can't help but laugh. She was clearly bright. Witty. You could see what a cunning old mob boss would like in a young woman like her. And that was before considering her talent. "Really, though. I just love painting. And I've got a really good eye for color, so that naturally leads to restoration work. That was mostly how I was planning to support myself - there's way more money in it." "Makes sense," you nod. And before you can stop yourself or physically hold the words back, they spill out: "and you must have been good to catch Rosco's attention." Something behind her eyes shifts at the mention of Rosco. "Yeah, I was... I mean. I am. Sorry. Still getting the hang of the 'being dead' thing." "Present tense is fine," you smile. (if: not ((history:) contains "Fiia's Turning"))[ [[Ask about Fiia's turning]] ] (if: not ((history:)contains "Ask about Fiia's family"))[ [[Ask about Fiia's family]] ] (if: not ((history:) contains "Ask about Fiia's feelings about all of this"))[ [[Ask about Fiia's feelings about all of this]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Fiia's Turning" and "Ask about Fiia's family" and "Ask about Fiia's feelings about all of this")[ [[Call it a night]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>"By the way... do you have any family you need to contact or something? You basically dropped off the earth for a few days. They might be worried." "Not really. Just my grandma." She brushes this off so casually, it registers to you as odd. (click: "She brushes this off so casually, it registers to you as odd.")[ "No parents or anything?" "Nope," Fiia says, sinking down in her chair a little, her lips curling as she's about to crack a joke: "haven't had those in over a decade." You were certainly no stranger to cushioning the stinging of an old wound with humor. But even if it made certain topics easier to stomach, it never did anything to change the circumstance. "I'm sorry to hear that," you reply honestly. Your earnest response to her feeble attempt at humor risks making things awkward. "It's alright," she shrugs, a common way of describing something that was almost certainly not alright. "It was a car accident here in the States. Struck by a semi. Likely died on impact. I went to live with my grandmother in Finland after that. //Mummo// always swore up and down that my parents //'should never have immigrated'//, then none of this would have happened." Fiia nervously cracks her knuckles a few times, the pops resembling a fresh log in a fire. "But then they probably wouldn't have had //me//, either. I think she resented that her only grandkid was so far away, you know? And she wasn't happy that I wanted to go to college in Chicago, but I missed America so much. It's just so... weird, here." "Sure is that." (if: not ((history:) contains "Fiia's Turning"))[ [[Ask about Fiia's turning]] ] (if: not ((history:) contains "Ask about Fiia's choice of career"))[ [[Ask about Fiia's choice of career]] ] (if: not ((history:) contains "Ask about Fiia's feelings about all of this"))[ [[Ask about Fiia's feelings about all of this]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Fiia's Turning" and "Ask about Fiia's choice of career" and "Ask about Fiia's feelings about all of this")[ [[Call it a night]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"I'm sure you're pretty overwhelmed by all this," you start. "Now that you've had a moment to breathe... how are you feeling?" It takes her a minute to register the question. As if she hadn't intentionally thought about how she was feeling in a long time. "...Calm. And I feel like I shouldn't be, but I am. I mean... to tell you the truth, I thought I would be dead by now." "Well, I've got some bad news." (click: "Well, I've got some bad news.")[ "Like //actually// dead," (if: $character is "Fiia")[you laugh.](else:)[Fiia laughs.] (if: not ((history:) contains "Fiia's Turning"))[ [[Ask about Fiia's turning]] ] (if: not ((history:) contains "Ask about Fiia's choice of career"))[ [[Ask about Fiia's choice of career]] ] (if: not ((history:)contains "Ask about Fiia's family"))[ [[Ask about Fiia's family]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Fiia's Turning" and "Ask about Fiia's choice of career" and "Ask about Fiia's family")[ [[Call it a night]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>That bastard. That manipulative bastard. Making her think he cared. Making her think she had some kind of a say in any of it. A masterclass in coercion. A textbook foot-in-the-door. It made you sick. (click: "It made you sick.")[You'd seen this kind of behavior from rich, powerful men so many times before. They see a young person in desperate need of help, of guidance, of care - and then they'd carefully groom them. The petite, precise violence of tweezing a bonsai needle by needle. You were glad that her turning wasn't traumatic for her. But //God// you were angry. "I see," is all you can manage, softly, not letting the simmering in your recesses show on the surface. "Thank you for sharing that. I know it's not always easy." "It's stupid, but like.... I've never had anyone care about me like he did."] (click: "It's stupid, but like.... I've never had anyone care about me like he did.")[ In your work as a detective, you knew that sometimes the best answer was silence. People don't like silence. They'll keep talking to fill it. And you could tell that there was something there. Something she wanted to say. So you gifted her the silence to fill with it. ] (click: "So you gifted her the silence to fill with it. ")[ "He said he wanted to take care of everything for me. That I wouldn't have to worry about or want for anything. And I had //nothing//. No one's ever done that for me." Of course not. He's counting on that. All he needs in return is your life.] (click: "All he needs in return is your life.")[ "And if I'm being honest... no //guy's// ever done that for me, either." "I hear that," you reply. "That's how they get'cha. And by the time you realize what's happened, it's far too late." She nods. (if: not ((history:) contains "Ask about Fiia's choice of career"))[ [[Ask about Fiia's choice of career]] ] (if: not ((history:)contains "Ask about Fiia's family"))[ [[Ask about Fiia's family]] ] (if: not ((history:) contains "Ask about Fiia's feelings about all of this"))[ [[Ask about Fiia's feelings about all of this]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Ask about Fiia's choice of career" and "Ask about Fiia's family" and "Ask about Fiia's feelings about all of this")[ [[Call it a night]] ]]

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{(set: $officevisited to false) (set: $cpdemail to false) (set: $cpdemailconfirm to false) (set: $studentemail to false) (set: $studentemailreply to false) (set: $hunteremail to false) (set: $gradepapers to false) (set: $firstmeetflashback to false) (set: $allthreemeet to false) (set: $oversleptenthusiastic to false) (set: $oversleptapologetic to false) (set: $oversleptdismissive to false) (set: $whiteriveremail to false) (set: $minhemail to false) (set: $killer to "blank") (set: $accomplice to "blank") (set: $assistant to "blank") (set: $pullaside to "blank") (set: $declantext to "blank") (set: $lynettetext to "blank") (set: $thrownobject to "blank")}

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"By God, Fiia, do you have any idea how few people get away from someone like Bustamente? She's one of the best hunters in the //country//." There's a note of concern in his words - and an undercurrent of something almost like pride. "I'm sorry," you say, still not entirely sure what you are apologizing for. "You know..." he sits back in his chair a little, "you're lucky you're mine." The undercurrent grows stronger. "If you had been anyone else, you'd have been dead three days ago. That's what I always tell people about this business..." He always referred to vampirism as a business. Like it was nothing other than a trade. An occupational calling. A transaction. "We all need someone who looks out for us." (click: "We all need someone who looks out for us.")[In the past you would have agreed. You would have felt grateful that Rosco had taken you under his wing, paid off your debts, and virtually guaranteed you a stellar career. You'd have thanked him profusely, doing everything within your power to gain his approval. You'd hungered for it like you had hungered for success... now blood. But since meeting Declan and Lynette, you began to see the ways he had nestled his claws ever-so-gently into your flesh. A blade so sharp you hardly felt it. You knew you were making a precarious trade from the start, but you had no idea how deep its pit truly was. [[He owned you.|Heave 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Rosco had been right about your senses getting sharper. Everyday situations that you wouldn't have batted an eye at suddenly had so much more //happening// within them. So much you hadn't been able to see before. And humans... their little hearts beat so strong: the current of a river that flows slower, more leisurely, when relaxed. You could see how Declan and Lynette's eyes lingered on each other, his pulse quickening whenever she drew near. To an onlooker like yourself, it was obvious. "Sooo... you said you and Declan were partners. Are you like... dating?" You bristle a little at this. You do not know why. "Oh. No. Partners like police partners. But to be honest, that's a misconception from TV. Most cops don't actually work in a partner system, but in particularly dangerous precincts or at certain times of day, sometimes the buddy system is beneficial. Our Firm just always likes to pair up a human hunter with a Redjacket. Gets the best results." "Oh, okay." You don't believe her. She knows it, too. (if: not ((history:) contains "Ask what she knows about Rosco"))[ [[Ask what she knows about Rosco]] ] (if: not ((history:) contains "Lynette's Turning"))[[[Ask about how and when Lynette was turned|Ask about L's turning]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "What Foods Do You Miss?"))[[[Ask about what foods she misses the most|What Foods Do You Miss?]]] (if: (history:) contains "Lynette's Turning" and "Ask what she knows about Rosco" and "What Foods Do You Miss?")[ [[Call it a night]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"Is it weird that now that I can't eat food, I've just been craving things nonstop? Like, is there any food you'd give your right arm to eat again?" "Oh, yeah, that's pretty normal. Honestly I'd do anything for my mom's roti. Was already a treat once she moved back to Trinidad, but it hardly tastes like anything, anymore." "So can we not eat food or does it all just taste bad?" "The taste goes away with time. And you'll have to throw it up, you can't digest it. So yes and no. But what about you? What've you been jonesin' for? It might be pretty close to normal tasting since you're so young." "Nah, it's hard to get's the thing. //Karjalanpiirakat.//" "Bless you." (click: "Bless you.")[ "No, they're these like... Finnish pastries. Partially I want them because you can't find them here, really. It's like a rye pastry boat-lookin' thing. And it's got rice in it. There was a bakery down the block from my grandmother's house in Helsinki that had the best ones. (if: not ((history:) contains "Ask what she knows about Rosco"))[ [[Ask what she knows about Rosco]] ] (if: not ((history:) contains "Lynette's Turning"))[[[Ask about how and when Lynette was turned|Ask about L's turning]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Are You Dating or Something?"))[[[Ask about her and Declan|Are You Dating Or Something?]]] (if: (history:) contains "Lynette's Turning" and "Ask what she knows about Rosco" and "Are You Dating Or Something")[ [[Call it a night]] ] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"I thought I was losing it," you sob. "I couldn't form a single thought, I wanted to crawl out of my own skin and-" "Yes, it's a state //lovingly// referred to as 'feral.' It's what happens if you get too hungry," he interrupted, "I hadn't warned you about it because I //hoped// to keep a close eye on you. Feral's a highly dangerous way to be - as you experienced, you can't think clearly. Instinct takes over: and instinct's a terrible compass. That's how a lot of young ones get themselves killed." He pauses, watching your tears roll. (click: "He pauses, watching your tears roll.")[ He seems content in knowing the most recent ones were more out of shame than terror. "But I see your head's back on straight so they must have given you something." "From some kind of animal," you sniffle. "Well it certainly wasn't from an intern." (if: not ((history:) contains "What Happened?"))[[[Tell him how it happened.|What Happened?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Who Was It?"))[[[Tell him who did it.|Who Was It?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Are You Mad?"))[[[Ask him if he's mad at you.|Are You Mad?]]] (if: (history:) contains "What Happened?" and "Who Was It?" and "Are You Mad?")[[[You can see Rosco thinking again...|Heave]]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"So... you said you knew a lot about Rosco. How much are we talking here?" "A lot. Like, 'I started investigating him when I still had a pulse' a lot. Just because I technically //died// didn't mean he dropped off my radar. How do you think we found out he had a new fledgling so fast?" "If I told you that, I'd have to kill you," she smirks. (if: not ((history:) contains "Lynette's Turning"))[[[Ask about how and when Lynette was turned|Ask about L's turning]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "What Foods Do You Miss?"))[[[Ask about what foods she misses the most|What Foods Do You Miss?]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Are You Dating or Something?"))[[[Ask about her and Declan|Are You Dating Or Something?]]] (if: (history:) contains "Lynette's Turning" and "What Foods Do You Miss?" and "Are You Dating Or Something")[ [[Call it a night]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $cpdemail to "true") <div class="info"> SUBJECT: Missing Person's Report TO: Declan Hope Hello Mr. Hope, We received a MPR a few hours ago, and wanted to check with you per professional courtesy. White female, 20s, by the name of Fiia Salo. She was reported missing by the dormitory advisor at the School at the Art Institute of Chicago. This one of yours? Thanks, - Officer De Luca, CPD Special Operations Liaison </div> So someone had noticed she was gone. People often did. That's why systems like this were in place. What do you want to do? [[Respond and confirm - if this hits the press, it could be a circus.|CPD Confirm]] [[Ignore the email - it's not worth it. You hate dealing with cops.|Check Inbox]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $studentemail) <div class="info"> SUBJECT: Final Paper Extension TO: Declan Hope Hi Professor Hope, I'm emailing you to let you know that I won't be able to come to class on Tuesday. You're not going to believe this, but my OTHER grandma, the one on my mom's side, passed away last night. I'm currently packing to go be with my family in Ohio. Would it be alright for me to get an extension on the final paper? If I could get an extra week that'd be amazing. Thanks, - Troy Hendrix </div> This is the second "my grandma died" email you've gotten from this student this semester. Either he has terrible luck, or he thinks you're some kind of rube. What do you want to do? [[Err on the side of compassion - give him your condolences //and// the extension.|ExtensionNice]] [[Give him the extension but imply you think he might be duping you.|ExtensionSus]] [[Refuse to give him the extension, but be nice about it.|ExtensionDeclinePolite]] [[Refuse to give him the extension, and be rude about it.|ExtensionDeclineRude]] [[Ignore the email|Check Inbox]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>The silence that follows is heavy. You almost wonder if it had been better to merely stay silent. [[Call out again]] [[Wait patiently]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>With the gifts of a blanket wrapped around you and the gentle warmth of food in your belly, you return back to your corner. At least the hall your cell was in is dark and quiet. At least you appear to be placed away from others like you. Who might be stronger. Meaner. At least the silver bars of your cell meant you were safe from any of //them.// There were many //at least//s. But recognizing things could be worse doesn't make the situation any better. (click: "But recognizing things could be worse doesn't make the situation any better." )[ You gently rest your head against one of the walls, not realizing how heavy it felt all of a sudden. You're tired. Being that hungry must take a lot out of you. And you weren't sure what was going to happen next. But you knew you would need your strength for it. [[You drift into an uneasy sleep.|All Three Meet]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>(if: $character is "Fiia")[The vampire woman tries](else-if: $character is "Declan")[Lynette tries](else:)[You try] to stifle a laugh, but can't. (if: $character is "Lynette")[You clap](else:)[She claps] a hand over her mouth as if trying to suppress it. (if: $character is "Declan")[You turn to Lynette in dismay. Was she... laughing?](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[Declan turns to you in dismay, the wrinkles in his forehead making him look like a heartbroken puppy.](else:)[The human hunter turns to her in dismay.] "Sorry!" (if: $character is "Lynette")[You say.](else:)[She says.] "Sorry, I just... wasn't expecting that." [[There's an uncomfortable pause.|Uncooperative]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaA.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You stand beneath the gentle pressure of the spray of the showerhead, resisting the urge to dissociate. You hope the water is hot enough to boil you alive like a crustacean. You try not to notice the grime-tinged water circle the drain. (click: "You try not to notice the grime-tinged water circle the drain.")[ Lynette's shampoo smells like cherry blossoms. Even though your hair wasn't nearly as oily since your death, you wash it three times. It still doesn't feel clean enough. You reach for the little pagoda and sakura blossoms of the matching conditioner bottle.] (click: "You reach for the little pagoda and sakura blossoms of the matching conditioner bottle.")[ You comb the conditioner through your blonde locks with your fingers before piling it atop your head, leaving it there to scrub every inch of your body. You rub your skin raw, feeling like the events of the past few weeks would never wash off. But at least you feel a little better.] (click: "But at least you feel a little better.")[ You dry off and change into Lynette's clothes. Luckily, you were of similar size. Her clothes are soft and smell of fabric softener. You hadn't been able to afford fabric softener for years. One of the many little luxuries you cut out in favor of eating. But that's not exactly an issue anymore. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as the fog on it fades away. You look tired. [[But there was no going back now.|Hash It Out]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>You hurry out of bed and get yourself dressed, still shaking the last remnants of sleep from your eyes. The penny-bright taste nightmares lingered in your mouth - the dreams yesterday had been the same as always... but they hadn't become less frightening over the years. No matter. (click: "No matter.")[ You need to text Declan. Maybe apologize to him for oversleeping. He'd understand like he always did. You need to go over your notes with him before attacking the task at hand: trying to get your most recent catch to cooperate. What do you text him? <div class="info"> //Some of your choices, including dialogue, may impact the story should you complete another character's path later. // </div> [[TEXT: Sorry, I overslept!!! Let's meet up and go over notes!! (set: $oversleptenthusiastic to "true")|Compare Notes]] [[TEXT: Hey, sorry. Bad dreams again. Want to compare notes before we do this? (set: $oversleptapologetic to "true")|Compare Notes]] [[TEXT: Meet me in the Control Room in 5. (set: $oversleptdismissive to "true")|Compare Notes]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $cpdemailconfirm to "true")Hopefully this will be the end of it. <div class="info"> SUBJECT: Re: Missing Person's Report TO: Officer De Luca, CPD Special Operations Liaison Hello Officer De Luca, Thank you for reaching out regarding this case. Yes, I have confirmation from my associate that we have Miss Salo in custody. Please disregard the MPR. Thank you for your time and let me know if you have any additional questions. Best wishes, - Declan Hope </div> [[You press send.|Check Inbox]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $hunteremail to "true") <div class="info"> Greetings from The Nine. This is a courtesy notice of a confirmed kill of one Colleen Flanery by S. Bustamante. Flanery had been operating nationwide as a "hunter hunter" for years, having claimed one of our own previous members of The Nine six years ago - now neither of them will ever hunt again. Congratulations on this feat, Samira. -9 </div> Damn. [[Good for her.|Check Inbox]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $studentemailreply to "true")Eh. What's a week in the grand scheme of things? <div class="info"> SUBJECT: Re: Final Paper Extension TO: Troy Hendrix Hello Troy, So sorry to hear about your grandmother. I'm okay with giving you a week extension due to the circumstances. Safe travels on the way to Ohio. - Prof. Hope </div> [[If he's lying, that's on him.|Check Inbox]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $studentemailreply to "true")Knowing this particular student, you definitely have your doubts about the exact reason behind the extension... but if he needed one, he needed one. No skin off your nose. <div class="info"> SUBJECT: Re: Final Paper Extension TO: Troy Hendrix Hello Troy, Sure, you may have an extra week to turn it in. Terrible luck having both of your grandmothers pass away within the same semester. Your family is in my thoughts. - Prof. Hope </div> [[Whatever.|Check Inbox]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $studentemailreply to "true")You'd told your students to begin their papers weeks ago. You absolutely think he's trying to dupe you, but you were too tired to get angry about it. <div class="info"> SUBJECT: Re: Final Paper Extension TO: Troy Hendrix Hello Troy, I'm sorry to hear about your grandmother. Unfortunately, due to the timing, I do not think I will be able to accomodate a week extension. Note that if you are unable to meet the original deadline and turn it in late, you will be docked the corresponding number of points as outlined in the syllabus. - Prof. Hope </div> [[They never read the syllabus, do they?|Check Inbox]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $studentemailreply to "true")You're not falling for //that.// <div class="info"> SUBJECT: Re: Final Paper Extension TO: Troy Hendrix No. - Prof. Hope sent from my ephone </div> [[Send.|Check Inbox]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>You look over to see that you've gotten a text from Lynette. (if: not ((history:) contains "All Three Meet:"))[(if: $oversleptenthusiastic is "true")[LYNETTE: Sorry, I overslept!!! Let's meet up and go over notes!! Something made you frown when you saw the sheer amount of punctuation she used: you knew she felt terrible whenever this happened. But no matter how you insisted that you didn't mind, it never seemed to make her go easier on herself. You knew how she struggled with a variety of sleep-related symptoms related to, well, all sorts of things](else-if: $oversleptapologetic is "true")[LYNETTE: Hey, sorry. Bad dreams again. Want to compare notes before we do this? You didn't mind. You knew how she struggled with a variety of sleep-related symptoms related to, well, all sorts of things.](else-if: $oversleptdismissive is "true")[LYNETTE: Meet me in the Control Room in 5. She was checking in a bit later than expected, and the terseness of her message seems odd. She likely just overslept due to a variety of sleep-related symptoms she struggled with. You hope it isn't anything more complex than that, but maybe she didn't want to talk about it, just in case.](else:)[She was checking in a bit later than expected. She likely just overslept due to a variety of sleep-related symptoms she struggled with. You hope it isn't anything more complex than that, but maybe she didn't want to talk about it, just in case.] [[You text her back and tell her you'll see her there.|Compare Notes]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>After you fully calm down, Rosco returns to his desk. He leans over to press a small red button on the conferencing speaker which always sits patiently on one of the desktop corners. "Kerill, would you bring the car around please?" The car? He pulls open one of the wooden drawers with the dull sound of metal rolling on tracks, scooping something metallic up out of it. He looks up. (click: "He looks up.")[ "Catch." |text>[ [[Catch it!|Keys Caught]]] (live: 0.5s)[(replace: ?text)[](set: $didntcatchkeys to "true")(stop:)] (live: 1s)[[[You look down...|Didn't Catch Keys]] ](stop:)]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You catch the silver glinting object in your hands on instinct. You realize: keys. (click: "You realize: keys.")[ [[He's tossed you keys.|Keys]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"What are these for?" "Your new apartment. It's all ready for you." You remember he had at some point promised to get you somewhere to live that wasn't your tiny dorm at the Art Institute. Like everything else, he told you he would "take care of it." Finding the place, rent, utilities, would all be taken care of. All you had to do was paint. "But what about all my stuff?" You ask, thinking of your clothes and art supplies which were surely in a landfill or donated to Goodwill at this point. You vanished from your dorm without a trace. Surely they just threw it all out. Your apartment-mates must have thought it was so strange that you just evaporated without as much as a goodbye. "Oh, don't worry. I had movers clear out your things from your dorm. They're all waiting for you at the new place. It came fully furnished, but I figure you might want to keep some of your things for... sentimental reasons. But you'll love it, it's gorgeous. Penthouse - right in the Loop with lake views and, get this: the fitness center has a sauna. I know how you Finns are about saunas." [[A sauna sounded damn good right about now, too.|Keys 2]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Your grandmother always said that a trip to the sauna could fix anything. But the mess you were in? You weren't so sure. Sorry, Mummo. (click: "Sorry, Mummo.")[ The apartment complex was indeed spectacular. It felt more like a lavish hotel or even an IKEA showroom than your own apartment. But it was just one more way he made sure you were under his thumb. He literally paid for your rent. Displease him and you might end up on the street. You needed to sweat. Now.] (click: "You needed to sweat. Now.")[ Thankfully, since it was the middle of the night, you had the place to yourself. Thank God. Americans are so weird about getting naked. You strip your clothes off, crank up the sauna's thermostat, toss some water on the stove, and sit back against the wood grain. You take in a deep breath, the steam scorching the inside of your nostrils. You imagine the budding beads of sweat are your stress physically melting away, thawing you out like an iceberg. Declan and Lynette said you had to come back tomorrow. There was important planning to do. //And// you had to finish a conservation of some second-rate portrait from over a hundred years ago that Rosco was going to flip for more than three times what it was worth. But those were problems for tomorrow. Tonight?] (click: "Tonight?")[[[Tonight you didn't want to think about anything.|Minh Intro]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>There's a ring of keys lying on the floor. "You know," Rosco says, giving a bit of a wince, "our reaction time is supposed to //improve// after turning. And if this is yours now, I don't want to know what it was like when you were alive." "I'm an artist, okay? Not an athlete." [[You bend to pick them up.|Keys]]

(if: $character is "Declan")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>](else:)[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>]{(set: $killer to "Fiia")}(if: $character is "Fiia")["He killed me. I think it's time I return the favor."](else:)["After everything he's put you through... it only seems right."] (if: $character is "Fiia")[You nod, your stomach turning as the sour bile of a realization rises in the back of your throat.](else:)[She nods, looking increasingly uncomfortable with each passing moment.] "I've just uh... never killed anyone before," (if: $character is "Fiia")[you say.](else:)[she says.] "//Hell// of a first mark," (if: $character is "Lynette")[you reply with a bit of a chuckle. You remember how awkward it was when you switched teams: from catching killers, to being one. You do what you can to lighten the mood.](else:)[Lynette replies with an encouraging grin.] "First one's always the hardest," (if: $character is "Declan")[you say,](else:)[Declan adds, nodding,] "but don't worry. Lynette and I will be there to help you every step of the way. You might be the one who lands the final blow, but we'll be there to set you up for it. You know. Like sports." All three of you know that (if: $character is "Declan")[you know](else:)[Declan knows] nothing about sports. (if: $accomplice is "blank")[ With the primary killer determined, who should play the secondary role (accomplice)? (if: $character is "Lynette")[[[- "You won't have to go it alone. I want to help as much as I can."|Lynette's the Accomplice]]] (if: $character is not "Lynette")[[[- "Lynette, as a fellow vamp, I think you'd do a great job as an accomplice."|Lynette's the Accomplice]]] (if: $character is "Declan")[[[- "I'm a trained killer. Not to sound weird or anything. But I've got your back."|Declan's the Accomplice]]] (if: $character is not "Declan")[[[- "Declan, with your experience, I'd like you to take on the role of the accomplice."|Declan's the Accomplice]]]](else:)[ But even seasoned killers could use a bit of help. (click: "But even seasoned killers could use a bit of help.")[Luckily, you know who would do that, too. (if: $accomplice is "Declan")[(if: $character is "Declan")[[[And that was you.|Declan's the Accomplice]]]](else:)[[[And Declan was just the guy for the job.|Declan's the Accomplice]]] (else-if: $accomplice is "Lynette")[(if: $character is "Lynette")[[[And that was you.|Lynette's the Accomplice]]](else:)[[[And Lynette was just the woman for the job.|Lynette's the Accomplice]]](else-if: $accomplice is "Fiia")[ (if: $character is "Fiia")[[[And that was you.|Fiia's the Accomplice]]](else:)[[[And Fiia was just the woman for the job.|Fiia's the Accomplice]]]]] ]]

(if: $character is "Declan")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>](else:)[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>]{(set: $killer to "Lynette")}"I've been on his case since I could wear jewelry made of real silver. Always dreamed of taking him down, but... guess the manner's a little different than I imagined," (if: $character is "Lynette")[you muse. He surely knew that you had been looking into him for all these years. But since you hadn't ever attempted to bring him in, he likely wouldn't be expecting //you.// Perhaps that would play to your advantage.](else:)[She muses. It would be a shame if she spent all those years carefully tailing him to not be the one that spells his end. Sure, the means and method might be a little different now, but if the ends are the same...] "He's older than both of us combined," (if: $character is "Fiia")[you say,](else:)[Fiia says,] "but you've definitely the best suited to go up against him. Do vampires get stronger as they get older? Or just more experienced." "Both," (if: $character is "Declan")[you and Lynette reply in unison. You glance at each other briefly in surprise - and maybe just a little bit of affirmation.](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[you and Declan reply in unison. You glance at each other briefly and surprise - and maybe just a little bit of affirmation.](else:)[Declan and Lynette say in unison, before glancing at each other briefly in surprise - and maybe just a little bit of affirmation.] "Regardless, no one can pull this kind of thing off without help." (if: $accomplice is "blank")[ With the primary killer determined, who should play the secondary role (accomplice)? (if: $character is "Fiia")[[[- "I want to be the one to help. Little bit of karmic justice never hurt."|Fiia's the Accomplice]]] (if: $character is not "Fiia")[[[- "Fiia should be the accomplice. I think it'd be healing. In a. Kinda fucked up way."|Fiia's the Accomplice]]] (if: $character is "Declan")[[[-"You don't think I'd let my hunting partner go this alone, do you? I'm in."|Declan's the Accomplice]]] (if: $character is "Fiia")[[[- "Declan should be the accomplice. He //is// your hunting partner, after all."|Declan's the Accomplice]]] (if: $character is "Lynette")[[[- "Declan? Could you be so inclined?"|Declan's the Accomplice]]]](else:)[ But even seasoned killers could use a bit of help. (click: "But even seasoned killers could use a bit of help.")[Luckily, you know who would do that, too. (if: $accomplice is "Declan")[(if: $character is "Declan")[[[And that was you.|Declan's the Accomplice]]]](else:)[[[And Declan was just the guy for the job.|Declan's the Accomplice]]] (else-if: $accomplice is "Lynette")[(if: $character is "Lynette")[[[And that was you.|Lynette's the Accomplice]]](else:)[[[And Lynette was just the woman for the job.|Lynette's the Accomplice]]](else-if: $accomplice is "Fiia")[ (if: $character is "Fiia")[[[And that was you.|Fiia's the Accomplice]]](else:)[[[And Fiia was just the woman for the job.|Fiia's the Accomplice]]]]]]]

"I..." (if: $character is "Lynette")[you start... but the words die somewhere around your molars, never making it to your lips. This was pointless. You were ruining everything without abandon. Who had you become, lately? What was happening to you?](else:)[She was trying. You knew this kind of thing was difficult for her. As a person who dealt with professionally dissecting other people's secrets, she knew how to keep her own.] "I can't, Declan, I..." (if: $character is "Lynette")[This was pointless.](else:)[You'd never seen her give up on anything before. Not until now.] "Don't make me say it." (click: "Don't make me say it.")[The truth was, (if: $character is "Lynette")[you don't need to](else:)[she didn't need to] say it. You both knew.] (click: "You both knew.")[ (if: $character is "Declan")[But what you were really curious about was why it seemed so difficult for her to say it aloud. Would it make it more real? Would it mean that in her eternal yet fraught existence, she now had something to lose?](else:)[You can practically see the wheels turning in his head. You worry that you've truly ruined everything beyond salvaging. But then... he cracks a smile.] "Alright, Ms. Detective. I won't make you say it. But how about we work backwards, here. Why //don't// you want to tell me? Do you think it's not reciprocated, or...?" "No, that's entirely the problem." (if: $character is "Declan")[...She really had you stumped on that one.](else:)[You can see he looks confused by this most of all.] "How is that a problem?" [["I can't do it right, Declan."|Love You Wrong 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"You know what I am, don't you Fiia?" He'd asked you on a night very much like this one: peering over your shoulder as you painted something in the studio. "Like... Gay?" He nearly choked. You still don't know why he acted so shocked. You'd walked in on him and his right-hand-man Vincent kissing or holding hands once or twice. Besides. (click: "Besides.")[ [[His suits were too nice.|Out Loud 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Conserving artwork is all about layers. There's varnishes, oils, the paint itself, which may already have been archived or touched up over the years... It reminded you of surgery, in a way. Cutting through skin, then fat, then muscle... And sure, you had your own work. But this was always what paid the bills. Rosco had bought it in some auction house somewhere, and with your handiwork, it would easily flip for many times what he bought it for. But for now, it was resting on the operating table of your easel, flaps of varnish like skin pulled back for the incision. Some of the color had chipped off. (click: "Some of the color had chipped off.")[ You hear the door to the studio open. Based on the time of night, it could only be one person. "Evening, Fiia," you hear Rosco say. [["Evening."|Good Evening]] [[Say nothing. You're focusing too hard.|Meh Evening]] [["Sorry. Really busy right now."|Bad Evening]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"Evening," you chimed in response, dipping your brush into a cornflower blue to mix it into a sienna orange. [[You needed him to think you were still on his side.|Conservation 2]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You don't say anything. You hear him enter the room. Only then do you say something. "Sorry, I was in the zone," you say. [["Oh, don't mind me, then. I don't mean to distract you."|Conservation 2]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"Yes, yes, I'm sure," he replies, unconcerned. "I won't be long, I just wanted to take a peek at how it was going." [["Going good," you reply.|Conservation 2]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You see him watching from your peripheral vision. "It'll be ready for the gala, don't worry," you reassure him. "Good, because I plan to make a small fortune on this," he replies - you don't need to see him fully to know that he's smiling at the thought. "How's the new apartment treating you, by the way?" "It's incredible, honestly. Every night I wake up and can't believe I live there." "Well, get used to it. No more one-room dormitories for you." He told you that you were something special and that you should get used to living like it. [[You could never be sure how true this was.|SAY IT. OUT LOUD.]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"I'd like you to keep my personal life out of this conversation," he replied, sourly. "That isn't what I mean." "I'm bi, if it helps." "Fiia." (click: "Fiia.")[And honestly at first you thought he was fucking with you. Those aren't real. He was just some eccentric billionaire. Rich people get to be erratic completely scott-free. Sometimes to the extent that they practically create cults that follow them. Less strange things have happened. [[And look where you were, now.|Color Theory]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"And by the way, I hired a stylist to find you the perfect gown for the gala, too. Something that's artsy, but glamorous. She'll be in touch to talk about what colors you look best in and all that." You hoped he meant that //she// would be the one to inform you. You hardly knew. You typically wore whatever you could get your hands on (and whatever you didn't mind getting paint on). "I told her not red, though," he mused. "Not red?" "You wouldn't look good in red." (click: "You wouldn't look good in red.")[ A moment hangs in the air.] (click: "A moment hangs in the air.")[ [[Tense.|Leave You To It]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"Well, I'll leave you to it. I trust you'll let me know if you need anything," he says, turning to leave. You're so glad you no longer have a pulse, otherwise it would be going through the roof. Did he... did he mean what you think he meant with that comment? Did he know? (click: "Did he know?")[He waits in the doorway, as if waiting for you to say something. "Or if you need to say anything." You shake your head.] (click: "You shake your head.")["No, Sir." "Alright. Goodnight, Fiia." [[He leaves.|Lunge for Phone]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Fuck. (click: "Fuck.")[You practically lunge for your phone the moment you hear the front door shut. You type up a text to the group chat with Declan and Lynette. You feel you might throw up. You type two words before hitting send. That's all you can stomach. Two words.] (click: "Two words.")[ [[He knows.|He Knows]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You always sleep better after a good sweat. (click: "You always sleep better after a good sweat.")[But as much as you just wanted to hide beneath the plush covers of your new California king, you had to get back to the HQ. Especially tonight of all nights.] (click: "Especially tonight of all nights.")[ You enter the unassuming building of the facility - the lookouts knew who you were, now. And yet, the way they greeted you at the door was different than the way the guards at Rosco's did. They actually seemed pleased to see you. But as you headed to the breakroom, your stomach grumbling for whatever fresh pig, sheep, or cow blood was on tap at the moment, you see someone new. You cannot tell their gender at first glance, but you didn't need to see the red jacket they were wearing to know that they were one of you. You could sense they were older than you, too. Slightly younger than Lynette and certainly younger than Rosco. Their jacket is old, too, worn by the years of affiliation. Otherwise, they wore black. At their feet is a plastic bag from a convenience store. (click: "At their feet is a plastic bag from a convenience store. ")[Full of... newspaper?] (click: "Full of... newspaper?")[ They're idly scrolling on their smartphone, but look up as you come through the door. "Oh, Fiia! Hello!" "Do I know you?" You ask. "No, but I know you," they reply with a flash of bright-white teeth. "I'm Minh. I do data, research, all that jazz. I've got somethin' for ya." They reach down into the crinkling plastic bag, sweeping some of their shiny, black hair behind one ear. The bundle of newspapers in the bag actually appears to be wrapped around something, tied with old twine that looks like it might disintegrate at the slightest touch. They pass it to you, beaming. "Newspapers?" [["It's traditional."|Unwrap]]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You carefully unwrap the package, knowing what must be inside. And there it is. (click: "And there it is.")[The blackcherry leather is stiff yet firm in your hand. Each stitch expertly-placed. Each seam precisely pressed. If you bought this thing off the typical market, it could easily be thousands of dollars. It's heavy in your hands with the weight of the leather and hardware. You'd seen Lynette wear hers every day since you met her. But this one... [[This one is yours.|Fiia Gets Her Jacket]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>Time for rounds. (click: "Time for rounds.")[You only had a few folks in captivity at the moment now that Fiia was successfully recruited: much to your dismay, the one still awaiting transfer to the care of the Los Angeles branch //still// hadn't been discharged. //Californians//, you scoff. Can't get them to do anything in a hurry.] (click: "Can't get them to do anything in a hurry.")[ You check the wall in the Control Room to see who was there. Looks like someone new had been caught last night. You don't recognize their name. //Who do you go to first?// [[The Troublemaker]] [[The Protected Witness]] [[The New Capture]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>Welcome, DECLAN! INBOX: (if: $whiteriveremail is "false")[[[NEW: CK Notice: The Whiteriver Brotherhood|CK: I. Golic]]](else:)[[[CK Notice: The Whiteriver Brotherhood|CK: I. Golic]]] (if: $minhemail is "false")[[[NEW: Hey|Minh Email]]](else:)[[[Hey|Minh Email]]] (if: $consultation is "false")[[[NEW: Consultation Request|Consultation Email]]](else:)[[[Consultation Request|Consultation Email]]] (if: (history:) contains "Consultation Email" and "Minh Email" and "CK: I. Golic")[[[Your phone vibrates|Emails Done]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>It was days like this that you were almost thankful that you didn't need much sleep to survive. You'd stayed up late last night recruiting Fiia, but the grinding wheel of academia waits for no man, moonlighting as a vampire hunter or otherwise. You finish teaching the Slavic Folklore lecture you give on Tuesdays and check your phone. (click: "You finish teaching the Slavic Folklore lecture you give on Tuesdays and check your phone.")[ You've gotten a text from a small but respected hunting firm in the area: //Hembly & Ramirez.// That's not normal.] (click: "That's not normal.")[ There's an image attached.] (click: "There's an image attached.")[ You tap it, squinting your eyes to make out the tiny text of a photograph of a fancy memo. That is definitely not normal. (click: "That is definitely not normal.")[ [[Oh no.|The Notice]]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>This one had been a particularly hard nut to crack. She'd been known for stirring up trouble down in Hyde Park. The Chicago branch hadn't intended to bring her in, but you'd sent out a notice to firms in the area. And who should turn up to try to disrupt a hit? So she was passed off to you all, instead. You didn't want to kill her. She was pretty young - only turned a couple of years ago. Vampires of that age have a penchant for starting to feel like a big fish in a small pond, and are the most likely to cause trouble. The older ones know better. The youngest ones are too inexperienced to try. (click: "The youngest ones are too inexperienced to try.")[ "I'm still not talking to you," she insists as you draw closer. "Okay. I can let you out if you do, but... your choice," you shrug. "You're making this a lot harder than it has to be." "I don't give a shit. You old ones think you can just go pushing everyone around!" [["You calling me old?"|The Troublemaker 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>"//Please// tell me you're taking me out of here," moaned that familiar voice as you approached his cell. "Not tonight, Reggie, I'm sorry," you frown, "just dropping off another thermos and Tribune." He was standing indignantly on the other side of the silver bars, dressed in the same smart tweed jacket and slacks that he'd been wearing for days, now. You pass him a dented silver thermos and today's paper as he always requested. Declan was always kind enough to pick one up in the evenings for him. "Do they not want me anymore or something? I thought I was supposed to be going into witness protection!" "You are. They're just... allergic to promptness or something. I'll give my contact at the LA branch another call tonight. I'm so sorry, Reggie, I'm not happy about this either." "Can I at least get a pen for the crossword?" (click: "Can I at least get a pen for the crossword?")[ You pull one from the pocket of your red jacket and pass it to him through the bars. He takes it, twirling it for a moment in his fingers. "You're the only one I can trust out here, Baptiste, let me tell you," he sighs. As frustrated as he was, you couldn't help but feel a little swell of pride nestled behind your sternum. //Where to next?// (if: not ((history:) contains "The Troublemaker"))[[The Troublemaker]] (if: not ((history:) contains "The New Capture"))[[The New Capture]] (if: (history:) contains "The Troublemaker" and "The New Capture")[[The Breakroom|All Thermoses Out]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>You smell blood. (click: "You smell blood.")[ It grows stronger as you draw near to the cell occupied by the new one someone else had brought in last night. "...What the hell happened to you?" You ask, coming across a young man covered head-to-toe in dried blood. "...I uh. I'm not really sure," he says sheepishly. You sigh.] (click: "You sigh.")[ "How old are you, hun?" "Like... 24?" Ah. Not what you meant.] (click: "Ah. Not what you meant.")[ "No, no, I mean how //old// are you?" You repeat. You can see it in his eyes. He gets it. [["Oh. Uh. 8 months."|New Capture 2]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>"I'm calling you an idiot for thinking I'm gonna cooperate." "Call me an optimist, then," you smirk. "More accurate. And if you ever want to talk about setting up a conflict resolution plan... I'm all ears. Otherwise, it's that cell and another one of these." You hand over a red thermos, the paint on the outside scratched from years of use. "The butcher only had goat this time, I hope that's alright." "Still cloven-hoof, it's fine," she replies, before adding a demure: "...Thanks." That was the first time you'd gotten a thank you. Progress. //Where to next?// (if: not ((history:) contains "The Protected Witness"))[[The Protected Witness]] (if: not ((history:) contains "The New Capture"))[[The New Capture]] (if: (history:) contains "The Protected Witness" and "The New Capture")[[The Breakroom|All Thermoses Out]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>With all three officially handed out, it was time to look at getting down to business. Minh said they would be stopping by today, too. [[...And you know they were going to collect.|Pre-War Room]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>The note you'd seen beside his listing on the board in the Control Room was "education/counseling needed." You didn't need to speak to him very long to figure out what happened. "Right. My name's Lynette Baptiste. I'm one of you, I work here. Here's some blood for you, but I'll be back later tonight. I'm going to print out some stuff and we're going to talk about the importance of keeping that hunger in check. Alright?" He looks a little embarrassed. Classic case of a freshly-turned kid going a //little// bit feral. Nothing a little sit down and a 'don't let it happen again' can't fix. (click: "Nothing a little sit down and a 'don't let it happen again' can't fix. ")[ Usually it was the responsibility of whoever turned this kid to teach him the basics of things like this, but you didn't mind playing foster-mom in these cases. Lord knows you wished someone had done the same for you. He smiles, shyly. "Cool. Thanks, Lynette." //Where to next?// (if: not ((history:) contains "The Protected Witness"))[[The Protected Witness]] (if: not ((history:) contains "The Troublemaker"))[[The Troublemaker]] (if: (history:) contains "The Protected Witness" and "The Troublemaker")[[The Breakroom|All Thermoses Out]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $whiteriveremail to "true") <div class="info"> Greetings from //The Whiteriver Brotherhood.// This a courtesy notice of a confirmed kill of one Simon Aafjes by I. Golić. We are a firm based in Indianapolis, however the hit occurred while the target was on vacation in Chicago. As the kill occurred within the city limits, we considered it advisable to send out a notice to area firms. Thank you for your time, we hope this did not cause any disruption. - //The Whiteriver Brotherhood// </div> [[...At least some people still have manners.|Check Inbox 2]]

Everything was falling into place. (click: "Everything was falling into place. ")[ It was time to figure out how Rosco Jeppson was going to die.] (click: "It was time to figure out how Rosco Jeppson was going to die.")[ You'd helped plan many targeted hits. It's true that this kind of thing was a last resort, but last resorts //do// happen. (if: $character is "Lynette")[You'd been on edge all night. You needed to talk to Declan about something, but even just thinking about it felt like handling a live bomb. You hated this feeling. You needed to find time to talk with him about it. Alone. But there were more important things right now.](else:)[You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss the sheer metallic-tasting adrenaline of ramming a stake through someone else's ribcage. And that used to be your typical tuesday. Now, it was a rarity. And while part of you thinks that this arrangement better helps you savor the delicacy of it... another part of you has to tamp down the excitement when that declaration of assassination finally gets signed. Against these undead monsters, killing them somehow was the thing that made you feel the most human.] You head into the break room where your elusive Redjacket coworker Minh is already waiting. They were in their typical all-black... except for their jacket, of course. They said they were going to deliver Fiia's jacket to her today, and it appears you were just in time to see the unwrapping. Jackets were always delivered wrapped in newspaper and wrapped in twine, just as they had been in preparation for the original Ball. Fiia carefully peels away each page of newspaper to reveal the blackcherry leather like the blooming of a rose. [[She grins.|Fiia Gets Her Jacket]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div> (set: $minhemail to "True") <div class="info"> Hey, I'm coming by tonight to drop off some files, but you'll never guess what showed up literally five minutes ago: Fiia's jacket! I think The Tailor made this one in record time. See you soon. Keep a thermos ready for me, OK? Consider it my delivery fee. :) - Minh </div> [[Fastest jacket turnaround //you'd// certainly ever seen!|Check Inbox 2]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $consultationemail to "true") <div class="info"> SUBJECT: Consultation Request FROM: randsons.rjai Hello Mr. Hope, Greetings from //Rosenbaum & Sons//, a firm based in Portland, OR. We are reaching out to you specifically to inquire regarding your expertise in slavic folklore. We believe that your knowledge set may be beneficial to a particular case, and we would be willing to compensate you for your time and additional research (if applicable). Please let us know if you would be interested. Your assistance would be greatly appreciated. Best regards, - //Rosenbaum & Sons// </div> (if: not ((history:) contains "Graciousreply" or "Bluffingreply" or "Googleisfreereply"))[[[Graciously respond that you will assist.|Graciousreply]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Graciousreply" or "Bluffingreply" or "Googleisfreereply"))[[[Tell them you're really really busy and don't have time.|Bluffingreply]]] (if: not ((history:) contains "Graciousreply" or "Bluffingreply" or "Googleisfreereply"))[[[Tell them Google is free.|Googleisfreereply]]] [[Return to inbox|Check Inbox 2]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>It's a text from Minh. (click: "It's a text from Minh.")[ They're already here?] (click: "They're already here?")[ Seems like the jacket wasn't the only thing with a quick turnaround... You'd have to go get Lynette and let her know - she should be finished handing out the thermoses by now. She's been acting a bit strange lately. You can tell that something is on her mind. A lot of vampires like herself, like to imagine themselves completely cold, unfeeling creatures that no one can read. But in reality, some are better at that than others. Lynette does her best, but you've known her for long enough to know her tells. ...Not that you ever called her out on it.] (click: "...Not that you ever called her out on it.")[ It's rude to pry, of course. So you find her in the control room, as usual, and the two of you head to the breakroom. You can hear Minh and Fiia already chattering away... [[And the crinkle of newspaper.|Fiia Gets Her Jacket]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>He would never let you go. You were staring down the barrel of an eternity of his hard rule. No amount of approval would ever warrant him turning you loose. From the moment he killed you, there was no turning back. And you had let him. You'd let him sink his teeth into you like it was nothing more than the stiff cardstock of a business transaction. Declan and Lynette had been right. There was no escape for any of you, for the entire city of Chicago, unless Rosco Jeppson was dead. Your skin suddenly feels clammy. (click: "Your skin suddenly feels clammy.")[ You reach for the wastebasket and your stomach heaves clots, black like coffee grounds. Rosco gently rubs your back with a pale hand, its weight seemingly entirely too great for the gesture. [[You heave again.|Apartment]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"That's so kind of you," you say, turning the keys over in your hands. "Well, thank you, but kindness has nothing to do with it. I told you: I take good care of those closest to me. I wouldn't be very good at my job if I didn't know how to keep people happy, now would I?" He had a point. [["Now let's go. Kerill's got the car waiting."|Sauna]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div> <div class="info"> SUBJECT: Re: Consultation Request TO: randsons@randsons.rjai Hello //Rosenbaum & Sons//, I would be happy to assist. This is more action than most academics see in their entire careers. I'm quite busy tonight but I will send an additional email in the coming days with all of my contact details so we can find a time to chat. Thanks and best wishes, - D. Hope </div> [[Press send.|Check Inbox 2]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div> <div class="info"> SUBJECT: Re: Consultation Request TO: randsons@randsons.rjai Hello //Rosenbaum & Sons//, I would love to assist, however I'm very busy at the moment with my own caseload. I'd be happy to send along a list of my favorite/preferred resources when I have a moment, likely by next week. I wish you the best of luck with the case and appreciate you seeking my expertise on the subject. Thanks and best wishes, - D. Hope </div> [[Press send.|Check Inbox 2]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div> <div class="info"> SUBJECT: Re: Consultation Request TO: randsons@randsons.rjai Hello //Rosenbaum & Sons//, I appreciate you reaching out for my expertise, but I assure you that everything I would be able to tell you can be accessed online or at your local library. Unfortunately my schedule is incredibly tight at the moment, so I am unable to assist in this matter. I wish you the best of luck. Best, - D. Hope </div> [[Press send|Consultation Email]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>You went back to your office fully intent to grade more papers. But the next thing you know, you were peeling your cheek off of the arm you were using to cushion your head on your desk. ...Did you fall asleep? (click: "Did you fall asleep?")[You take a look at the digital clock resting dutifully next to your mug of pens.] (click: "You take a look at the digital clock resting dutifully next to your mug of pens.")[You sat down to grade papers and ended up sleeping for a few hours, instead. Being in this line of work meant keeping odd hours. Lynette might have been used to being up all night and sleeping all day, but that doesn't mean you were. You realize what had woken you in the first place.] (click: "You realize what had woken you in the first place.")[ A text. ] (click: "A text.")[ <div class="info"> LYNETTE: She agreed to talk. Meet us in Room A in 30 with a fresh thermos. She's taking a shower at the moment. </div> ...Really?] (click: "...Really?")[ You text her only one word. "How?"] (click: "How?")[ Just a few seconds later, a response: [["I'll tell you later. Talk soon"|Hash It Out]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Oh, and one more thing. (click: "Oh, and one more thing.")[Arguably, perhaps the most important thing.] (click: "Arguably, perhaps the most important thing.")[Lynette had been an incredible teacher, but the metal handgun she'd given you still felt somewhat foreign in your hand. You'd never seen a gun that close except maybe in the odd video game. But even then, their presence felt contained to the screen: an object of fiction just like a wizard's wand or a magical staff. But there it is.] (Click: "But there it is.")[On top of the dresser.] (click: "On top of the dresser.")[In the very expensive apartment that Rosco Jeppson was paying for.] (click: "In the very expensive apartment that Rosco Jeppson was paying for.")[And tonight he was going to die. Lynette had taught you how to handle it. How to reload it. And crucially: how to hide it on your person until it was time. "Minh is going to be there and will have deactivated the metal detectors. So just walk in like nothing is out of the ordinary," she had told you. But there was absolutely nothing ordinary about tonight. (if: $killer is not "Fiia")[You just hope you have to actually shoot anybody.] It was still a bit chilly, so you put on your coat over your shimmering gown, gave your lips one last once-over with a gloss, and set out into the night. [[You lock your apartment's door behind you, praying it's not the last time you see it.|Coat Check]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>Back when you were on the force, you'd always been told it's best to stay the course with a deliberate amount of flexibility. ...So you liked to keep a few options on deck. A gun with silver bullets was always a safe bet. (click: "A gun with silver bullets was always a safe bet.")[The most humane option, too. One well-placed shot and the victim would barely have time to feel much of anything before it was lights out, curtains drawn. But guns, in all their efficiency, weren't infallible. They can jam. You can miss. You can run out of bullets. (if: $killer is "Lynette")[And tonight of all nights, you couldn't be infallible.](else:)[And while you weren't on deck for killing him, you always liked to be prepared.] So it's always best to come prepared with a backup.] (click: "So it's always best to come prepared with a backup.")[You realize you probably should have told Fiia this while training her. Shit. It'll be fine, you reassure yourself as you dig through the topmost drawer of your dresser. Usually delegated for socks and underthings, there was one thing that you kept for special occasions such as this. What was inside resembled the chain of the necklace the box once housed: delicate links of steel, plated with 925 sterling silver. At your age, silver didn't sting as badly as it once did. But this chain, reaching a length of over six feet, reminded you of the days you spent waiting tables in college: the heat of pulling a plate from beneath the broiler. From restraints to a weapon in its own right, it could come in handy. You add a pair of opera gloves to your ensemble to add some extra protection from the silver should you need to handle it throughout the night (though you hoped it wouldn't come to that). You put on your coat, pocket the necklace box, and head for the door. [[Let's do this thing.|Coat Check]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>You felt a little bit like you did as a child on Christmas morning (after suffering through Mass, that is). ...Probably wasn't a great sign that you were so thrilled about getting to killing, but you could always deal with that in therapy. Tonight a bad man was going to die. (click: "Tonight a bad man was going to die.")[You pick up your trusty handgun, its familiar weight resting in your palm. You could probably count on that one hand the amount of times regular bullets had been fired from its barrel. You'd need this for sure. Never hurt.] (click: "You'd need this for sure. Never hurt.")[But you were considered a traditionalist. So you pushed aside the curtain of dress shirts and blazers in your closet to the shoebox on the back shelf. You lift off of the dusty top with reverence. Gleaming up at you was a beautifully forged cone of silver: with a wooden core of traditional aspen. (if: $killer is "Declan")[And damn, you were excited to use it.](else:)[And while you weren't the one who was supposed to end the bastard, it never hurt to have a little extra insurance.] And if nothing else would do it, this would.] (click: "And if nothing else would do it, this would.")[ You hide the stake under your tuxedo blazer and put on your overcoat. [[Time to head out.|Coat Check]]]

(if: $character is "Declan")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>](else:)[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>]You wait in the line for the coat check for what feels like ages. (click: "You wait in the line for the coat check for what feels like ages.")[It must have been the first day for whoever was working this thing.] (click: "It must have been the first day for whoever was working this thing.")["Coat please."] (click: "Coat please.")[You look up.] (click: "You look up.")[(if: $character is "Declan")[You'd begun taking off your overcoat before you registered the voice. You knew that voice.] (click: "You knew that voice.")[ "Minh?" You ask, confused. "What the hell are you-" "What can I say, Deccy? Life's expensive, sometimes a they's gotta do a little moonlighting. Coat?" "You did //not// tell us you were going to be here," you frown, handing your coat over. They were supposed to be on comms //remotely.// It wasn't that you weren't happy to see them, but the more people were involved with a plot, the more vectors there were for things to go wrong. "You didn't ask!" They replied with a smile. They hang up your coat and hand you a number. "Good luck out there tonight." You thank them. [[You aren't sure if you'll need it or not.|Declan Schmooze]] ](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[You glance up from your phone.] (click: "You glance up from your phone.")[ "Minh?" You ask with delight. This wasn't what you'd been expecting, but you couldn't help but be thrilled to see a friendly face. "//Coat please,//" they reply with a sly smile. This wasn't part of the plan.] (click: "This wasn't part of the plan.")["Don't tell me you're sticking around," you whisper, removing your coat and handing it across the counter to them. They were supposed to be on comms //remotely.// "Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," they hum, "might just see how the evening goes. See what I get up to." "Please be careful," you murmur. "Never," they whisper, handing you the ticket for your coat. "Good luck out there." [["Good luck to you, too. You've got a hell of a line." |Lynette Schmooze]]](else:)[You'd been scrolling mindlessly on your phone for a while. "Coat please." "Yeah, sure," you respond flatly, taking your coat off. You start to hand it across the counter, still not looking up from your phone. "What, you don't remember me?" Minh asks, feigning insult. It had just taken a few moments to register, that was all. You //had// only met them once. "Oh! Hi! I didn't know you were going to be here tonight." "That's because I didn't tell you."] (click: "That's because I didn't tell you.")[ "Is there a particular... reason for that?" You ask. "Mostly just that I didn't want Declan and Lynette to worry," Minh replies with a grin. And Minh had made the right call. You knew they //would// be worried, too. "They're the branch Lieutenants so it's their job to worry," you reply. "Well, I'll be one less thing to worry about. How's that?" They reply, giving you the ticket for your coat. "And don't you worry about me, either. You're gonna do great, kid." [["Let's hope so."|Fiia Finds Rosco]]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>The Art Institute was packed with all manner of people: buyers, wealthy donors, wannabe socialites, and students. You realize you no longer fit in with any of them. But there was only one face you were looking for. But he saw you first. (click: "But he saw you first.")[ "There she is!" He was standing with a group of immaculately dressed patrons. He extends a hand out to you, clearly indicating that your presence was expected. He had to show you off, of course. You were no different to him than the Rolex on his wrist. "You look wonderful," he says, beaming with pride. You reach your hand out to take his.] (click: "You reach your hand out to take his.")[ His grip is deceptively firmer than you had expected it to be. He gently but intently pulls you closer to the small circle of the group: many unfamiliar faces now standing at you. "Oh, Ms. Fiia, I'm //such// a fan of your work - I purchased a restored piece of yours at auction last week and was just... pleased as punch!" Said an older man with a sagging face. "I heard you have some originals on show tonight, and I hope to walk out with at least two." "You really have //such// spectacular brushwork," chimed in a woman who looked suspiciously younger than the men she was in attendance with. Her hair seemed unnaturally pale for her complexion, her teeth completely uniform and a bright, sparkling white. Some people loved this kind of attention.] (click: "Some people loved this kind of attention.")[But it made you want to crawl backwards into your own skin.] (click: "But it made you want to crawl backwards into your own skin.")[ "She does, she does," Rosco nods. "That's one of the first things I noticed." [["You've got //such// an eye for talent, Rosco."|Fiia Finds Rosco 2]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>You'd decided on the persona you planned to undertake tonight nearly a week ago. (click: "You'd decided on the persona you planned to undertake tonight nearly a week ago.")[You were definitely best-equipped to play the role of a professor. Only this time, not anthropology and cultural studies: but art. ..Art history, that is. You don't know much about art itself. But history? You could definitely do history.] (click: "You could definitely do history.")[...But truthfully you were hoping that no one would talk to you. You grab the most garlicky-looking hors d'oeuvre you could find in the hope that your breath might keep people away. Cartoonish, maybe. But what else were you supposed to do? This is why academics didn't do these sorts of things.] (click: "This is why academics didn't do these sorts of things.")[You just had to wait until Fiia had managed to get Rosco alone. Then the //real// events of the night could begin. You knew Lynette was somewhere around here, too, doing much the same. [[Before killing Rosco, you all had to kill time.|Quick Glance]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>Tonight you were posing as a buyer. Someone new in the art world - perhaps fueled by the kind of inheritance or trust fund that you could only dream of. But being a newcomer meant that you didn't need much of a story to keep straight. It also meant no one would likely go poking around and asking questions. So for the purposes of tonight? You were some upstart. Some nobody. (click: "You were some upstart. Some nobody.")[ And all you had to do was keep up the small talk until Fiia had managed to get Rosco alone. Once she'd managed to do that, then you were able to initiate why you were //actually// here. And to your credit, you're doing a pretty good job. You chat with other buyers and even a few bigwig donors. You hold a flute filled with bubbling champagne delicately in your hand by its stem (everyone here is so self-absorbed they hardly seem to notice you aren't drinking it). You know Declan was around here, probably doing something similar (or else just skulking around hoping desperately that no one will talk to him, which was the more likely occurrence). But he was certainly waiting for the cue. [[Before killing Rosco, you all had to kill time.|Quick Glance]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>You take him aside to somewhere quiet: a small balcony overlooking the modern art exhibitions, with only a nearby elevator and a few paintings to keep you company. Rosco quickly notes that you two are, in fact, alone. "...Did you just need to talk?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. "How did you know?" You ask, clearly nervous. You hate how nervous your voice sounds as the words trip out of your own mouth. (if: $pullaside is "itroduction")[He seems bored. "Well there's no one //over// here. What's the matter? You're white as a sheet."](else-if: $pullaside is "spilldrink")[He smirks. "Well I don't exactly see any paper towels or anything to clean up with over here. And you were laughing pretty loudly - you seemed nervous. What's the matter? You're white as a sheet."](else:)[He smirks. "Vincent's in my earpiece - if he needed anything from me, he would have just told me directly. But I figured //you// had needed something. What's the matter? You're white as a sheet."] You don't know how to respond. (click: "You don't know how to respond.")["It's alright to be nervous," he continues. "But all these people here are already fans of your work. They're all //delighted// to be here, in fact. There's no need to be anxious." He didn't get it. (if: $killer is "Fiia")[[[He still didn't get it.|Fiia Attacks]]](else-if: $killer is "Lynette")[[[He still didn't get it|Lynette Attacks]]](else:)[[[He still didn't get it.|Declan Attacks]]]]

(if: $character is "Declan")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>](else:)[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>](if: $character is "Fiia")[You feel it take hold. (click: "You feel it take hold.")[[[No no no no not again.|THE PUSH]]]](else:)[[You had to do something...] (if: $accomplice is "Lynette")[As the sound of gunfire punctuates the blaring fire alarm resonates against the stone and marble of the Art Institute, the current scurrying of gala attendees gains speed - high heels and dress shoes clattering towards illuminated exits. You can see blood staining her silver dress - and something told you it wasn't Jeppson's. You know that your kind tend to get colder and meaner with age, let alone that Rosco was an old-school mobster: but it still takes a certain excess of sociopathy to be willing to murder your own protege. But in your career, you'd honestly seen everything. (click: "But in your career, you'd honestly seen everything.")[And while Arek had always playfully ribbed you for holding a gun like a cop, your aim was certainly better than one. With a single bullet from Theseus' barrel, you sharpshoot the gun out of Rosco Jeppson's hand, sending it careening over the edge of the mezzanine's railing and into the sculpture gallery below. [[Jeppson's attention immediately snaps to you, his pale eyes filled with rage.|THE PUSH]]]](else-if: $accomplice is "Declan")[As the sound of gunfire punctuates the blaring fire alarm resonates against the stone and marble of the Art Institute, the current scurrying of gala attendees gains speed - high heels and dress shoes clattering towards illuminated exits. You can see blood staining her silver dress - and something told you it wasn't Jeppson's. And if there was one thing you were always insistent about when it came to killing another person, it was the concept of a fair fight. And Rosco against his own protege was hardly a fair fight. A fair fight was another thing that separated the sociopaths from the professionals. (click: "A fair fight was another thing that separated the sociopaths from the professionals.")[You wouldn't take jobs if the target in question wasn't a good match for your skills. The young, the inexperienced, or the otherwise unfortunate would instantly be disqualified. Not that this was a frequent problem these days, however, when it takes things like votes, decrees, and other alternative measures before it was decided that someone has to die. But as you saw Jeppson clearly getting ready to fire a second shot... Finally you saw a fair fight. (click: "Finally you saw a fair fight.")[It'd been a while since you'd gotten to really let loose with a stake like in the old days. You hope your aim's still as sharp. With a sideways wind-up of your arm, you hurl the silver-plated stake at Rosco, aiming specifically for his gun. While you were slightly off your mark, hitting Rosco's hand instead, it still met the same goal. You heard a slight sizzle and caught a whiff of burning flesh as Jeppson reflexively let go of his gun, sending it careening over the edge of the mezzanine's railing and into the sculpture gallery below. [[Jeppson's attention immediately snaps to you, his pale eyes filled with rage.|THE PUSH]]]]]]

(if: $character is "Declan")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>](else:)[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>] (if: $character is "Fiia")[A spark of recognition in his pale eyes indicates it's more still. He knows who they are.](else-if: $character is "Declan")[There's a piercing nature to his startling blue eyes - the older they get, the more oppressive their gaze. He knows who you two are. And why you're here. That, you're sure of.](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[Jeppson looks exactly as he did when you investigated him in the 80s. Back then, you were some brilliant upstart detective with a knack for busting organized crime... but he hardly considered you any kind of a threat. But now he knew better. Now, you can tell by the look on his angular face that he knows who you //and// Declan are. And he knows why you're here.] (if: $killer is "Declan")["Hope!?" He asks, almost outraged.](if: $character is "Declan")[Word had spread of your retirement from the hunting side of things when you left your previous firm for the Redjackets. Some people even went as far as to say that you were washed up or couldn't hack it, now. Judging by the shock in his voice, you suspect Jeppson likely shared in that misguided assessment. ...Time to show him otherwise.](else-if: $killer is "Lynette")["Baptiste!?" He asks, almost outraged.](if: $character is "Lynette")[He'd surely had other attempts on his life throughout the years... but likely never by one of his own kind. And he certainly hadn't expected the next one to come from you.] He instantly knows what's going on. (click: "He instantly knows what's going on.")[ As the realization further dawns on him, he quickly turns to (if: $character is "Fiia")[you.](else:)[Fiia.] Fear can make people do strange, uncharacteristic things.] (click: "Fear can make people do strange, uncharacteristic things.")[ For example: blind terror can make horrible, abusive men like Rosco Jeppson briefly prioritize someone else's well being before their own. He gives (if: $character is "Fiia")[you](else:)[Fiia] one firm command: "Fiia! Run!" But fear, in all its adrenaline-pumping, cortisol-driving decadence, can make its possessed not think clearly. Perhaps they make drastic decisions.] (click: "Perhaps they make drastic decisions.")[Perhaps they say things they wouldn't have said otherwise.] (click: "Perhaps they say things they wouldn't have said otherwise.")[ (if: $character is "Fiia")[ [[Perhaps they don't notice you're also holding a gun.|Ungrateful Bitch]]](else:)[[[Perhaps they don't notice that Fiia is also holding a gun.|Ungrateful Bitch]]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>"Well, this city makes that easy," Rosco replies, effortlessly brushing off the compliment, "there's plenty of good talent to choose from. But even then, Fiia's a standout." "Champagne?" An event worker has suddenly appeared out of your peripheral vision with a tray full of bubbling flutes. Without thinking, you take one, momentarily forgetting that food wasn't exactly your "thing" anymore. "No, thank you," Rosco replies, "I don't drink at business events." Uh oh. Should you not have taken a drink? Your nervousness must have been written all over your face, because one of the white-haired men chuckles. "You of all people should, dear,"he says, your skin crawling from his overly-familiar tone, "it's //your// night, after all!" Yes. You suppose it is. (click: "Yes. You suppose it is.")[To make the events of the night proceed as planned, you needed to get Rosco alone. Declan and Lynette hadn't bothered you with the rest of the details. They said that there would be "a signal" to them that this had happened, but didn't elaborate on what that would be. These people really were professionals, you figured. They told you only what you needed to know. And to be honest: you didn't mind. You were already overwhelmed. Maybe their furtiveness was a strange sort of kindness in that way, too. So you knew what you had to do. (click: "So you knew what you had to do.")[ <div class="info"> //But how? // </div> [[Tell him you need to introduce him to someone. Now.]] [[Spill your drink on him]] [[Tell him Vincent needs something]] ]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $pullaside to "spilldrink")You join in the conversation, trying to be as charismatic and pleasant as possible. But your insides felt like the jelly of a blod clot. When you let him turn you, you were pretty sure this was what you wanted: to be a known artist. To be rubbing shoulders with the rich at galas. To be making six figures in a single night. To be wearing a designer dress, your makeup professionally done, false lashes clinging to the edge of your eyelids. But now that you were here, you realized how wrong you had been. You wanted to be an artist, yes. But not in //this// setting. One of the wealthy donors has had enough champagne that he tells what he assumes to be a //riotous// joke - and everyone else is either too tipsy or too polite to not laugh. So you do too. A little too hard. "Oops!" You say, realizing that you just spilled some of your champagne on Rosco's custom suit. The laughter suddenly stops. (click: "The laughter suddenly stops.")["Rosco, I'm so sorry!" You say. The words do sound genuine. He laughs in the sort of way that powerful men do when you've embarrassed them - only just hiding their bubbling anger. "It's - it's alright," he says. His words do not sound genuine. "Let's go find some paper towels or something," you say, before turning back to the gaggle of donors. "If you'll excuse us." [[You lead him away.|Pull Rosco Aside]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $pullaside to "introduction")You decide that your best bet to pull him away is by speaking his language. Not Swedish. You don't know Swedish. (click: "You don't know Swedish.")[You wait for a natural lull in the conversation before turning to him. "Rosco, there's actually someone hereI want to introduce you to. Someone I know from school - could be a fantastic opportunity." You could tell his interest was piqued. He underestimated you in the way that all powerful men underestimate young women: the way that instead makes them get smarter. To learn the weak spots of their armor. To become determined that no one will ever underestimate them ever again. You knew money spoke to him above all else. And he clearly liked what he heard. "Ah, yes," he says. He turns back to the circle of socialites. "If you fine folks would excuse me for a moment." [[You lead him away.|Pull Rosco Aside]] ]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>(set: $pullaside to "vincent")You knew about him and Vincent. In fact, the entire family probably knew about him and Vincent. (click: "In fact, the entire family probably knew about him and Vincent.")[...Possibly people in other families even knew about him and Vincent.] (click: "...Possibly people in other families even knew about him and Vincent.")[ You never knew why he always tried to keep it a secret. Sometimes it's the things you try to keep secret that end up becoming even //more// of a problem. The more Rosco did what he could to make it seem like he and his right-hand man weren't just holding hands or whispering sweet nothings, the more people tried to sneak a clandestine glance. And the rumors... (click: "And the rumors...")[There were rumors that Vincent was the only one that Rosco would feed on. The older some vampires get, the less they need to actually drink. You figured it had something to do with their metabolisms or something. But this, of course, also meant that when they //did// need to have a drink, they could afford to be a //lot// more choosy. Feeding on Vincent exclusively also meant that he never had to risk being "found out" for what he was to those outside the family. But those marks on Vincent's neck weren't garden-variety hickies. There were also rumors that Rosco fed Vincent some of his //own// blood. You knew that Rosco had done that to you when he turned you, but why would he do that to a human who hadn't already been... what was the word he used... You know what it is in Finnish, but not English. Never mind.] (click: "Never mind.")[ You knew Rosco was old. But come //on.// Some of these elder vampires really needed to get with the times. Because now, Rosco's little secret was your secret weapon.] (click: "Because now, Rosco's little secret was your secret weapon.")[ You wait for a natural lull in the conversation before going for it. "Rosco, Vincent wanted me to tell you: he needs to talk to you for a second." Rosco's eyes lit up, just as you predicted they would. "Does he?" He asks. He turns to the waiting socialites who are hanging on his every word. "If you all would excuse me for a moment." [[You lead him away.|Pull Rosco Aside]] ]]

(if: $character is "Declan")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>](else:)[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>]On his way to the floor, Vincent is able to grab (if: $character is "Lynette")[your](else:)[her] gun and pry it from (if: $character is "Lynette")[your](else:)[her] hands. He quickly turns it on (if: $character is "Lynette")[you, firing a few shots through his adrenaline haze in your direction. You never thought //you'd// be on this end of Theseus.](else:)[her], firing a few shots through an adrenaline haze. As the sound of gunfire punctuates the blaring fire alarm resonates against the stone and marble of the Art Institute, the current scurrying of gala attendees gains speed - high heels and dress shoes clattering towards illuminated exits. But thank god Vincent has bad aim. (click: "But thank god Vincent has bad aim.")["Vincent, stop!" Rosco shouts, his voice sounding constricted in his throat: but he came by the terror honestly - those stray silver bullets could do more than just hurt (if: $character is "Lynette")[you](else:)[Lynette]. Vincent was a downright liability with that thing. (if: $character is "Lynette")[You promised yourself you'd figure out how to get it back from him later. For now: Rosco still has to die.] (if: $character is "Lynette")[You reach for the delicate, silver-plated chain you'd brought as a backup. You can feel the subtle warmth of the silver from within its velveteen box. It had been like a hand warmer in your pocket all night.](else:)[Lynette reaches into a pocket in the side seam of her dress, producing a velvet necklace box.] (if: $character is "Lynette")[You toss it to Declan, who catches it effortlessly. (if: $accomplice is "Fiia")[Declan was the only one who could handle the silver-plating. Fiia was so young, the burns could be catastrophic.]](else-if: $character is "Declan")[Lynette tosses it to you. You feel the faint jostle of something inside once it lands in your hands. You remember what this is: the long, silver-plated chain she'd inherited from the passing of another Redjacket who died in the line of duty. You liked where she was going with this.](else:)[You see Lynette toss it to Declan, who catches it with ease. You have no idea what's inside, but you //can// tell that the two of them know.] (if: $character is "Lynette")[And you know exactly what you wanted him to do with it.](else:)[And it seemed she knew exactly what should be done with it.] "Elevator!" (if: $character is "Lynette")[You shout over the fire alarm.](else:)[She shouts over the fire alarm.] (if: $character is "Declan")[Oh. Oh she's //brilliant.// You'd practiced this potential form of attack before... but you'd never gotten a chance to use it. But damn, you couldn't wait to try.](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[You hoped he would know what you knew what you wanted him to do with just one word... and the charming bloodlust that comes into his eyes signals that he does.](else:)[You can tell Declan and Lynette have worked together for a long time. And you never really believed Lynette when she had said that the two of them weren't 'together.' But today they were certainly within the same frame of mind, because with one command, Declan knew what to do. And all he said was:] [["Cool."|Setup for the Chop]]]

(if: $character is "Declan")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>](else:)[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>] As the lights of Chicago pass in the windows outside, no one says a word. (click: "As the lights of Chicago pass in the windows outside, no one says a word.")[ Finally, (if: $character is "Fiia")[you decide](else:)[Fiia decides] to break the silence. "...What if that didn't do anything?" (if: $character is "Fiia")[you say, finally dredging up the courage to ask what had been buzzing in your ears since Minh had brought you back from the brink of ferality.](else:)[Fiia asks, clearly having been considering this for quite some time before finally vocalizing it. She didn't turn to look at any of you as she spoke, instead keeping her eyes fixed out the window.] "What do you mean?" (if: $character is "Declan")[You ask. As far as you were concerned, another bad guy in the grave is always a net win.](else:)[Declan asks. He was the sort of guy who didn't lose a wink of sleep when a known, abusive man in power landed six feet under. The idea that what had happened tonight wasn't productive in some fashion seemed almost foreign to him.] "I mean, we got rid of one bad dude, one "bank" billionaire in the world. But when one of them dies... doesn't that just make a vacuum for the next Rosco Jeppson to come along?" (if: $character is "Fiia")[You couldn't stand the nagging thought that all of this had been for nothing. Yet here it was.](else:)[Ah. Having moments of introspection was common after your first kill. That was par for the course.] "I suppose," (if: $character is "Declan")[you reply,](else:)[Declan replies,] "but that's not on you. That's not really on any of us." A pause. Nothing but the hum of the van's engine and a distant siren. (click: "A pause. Nothing but the hum of the van's engine and a distant siren.")[ (if: $character is "Fiia")[You finally turn from the window to face your co-conspirators.](else:)[She finally turns from the window to face you.] "But what if we just killed a guy and traumatized his boyfriend for nothing? I just... I thought I'd feel more //free// than this. But I don't know if I ever really //can// be if the next guy is just gonna come along tomorrow and screw someone //else// over." "Well, then starting tomorrow we can figure out our next operation: how to make it so no one can screw anyone else over," (if: $character is "Lynette")[you say](else:)[Lynette says, thoughtfully.] "But tonight? You did good tonight." "//We// did good tonight," (if: $character is "Declan")[you correct](else:)[Declan corrects], playfully. [["We did good tonight."|The End]]]]

//Thank you for playing. [[If you would like to go back to the start to experience the story from another character's perspective, click here.|Character Select]] Otherwise: my most heartfelt thanks for getting this far. I'm so glad you're here. -ACW//

(if: $character is "Declan")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div>](else-if: $character is "Lynette")[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>](else:)[<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>] (if: $character is "Fiia")[Face familiar face behind you says words.] (click: "Face familiar face behind you says words.")[Face not angry face calm. Wailing stops Thermos in hands opens lid arm stretch to you] (click: "Thermos in hands opens lid arm stretch to you")[Smell it you smell it mouth waters you smell it you need it you need it] (click: "Smell it you smell it mouth waters you smell it you need it you need it")[You feel yourself crash-landing back through the ceiling of the Art Institute, back into your own body, your own mind, your own- ...There's a pain in your side.] (click: "...There's a pain in your side.")[It starts with a single ember at first. But like a forest fire it lights the brush of your ribs and logs of your stomach alight at an exponential pace. You suddenly feel like you might throw up as the burning flame overwhelms you: silver. [[He had definitely shot you with silver.|Fuck]]](else:)[Suddenly a voice comes from behind the three of you. "Ooooookay... I wasn't expecting to have to call hazmat, but I guess I can make it happen." (click: "Ooooookay. I wasn't expecting to have to call hazmat, but I guess I can make it happen.")[Minh has waltzed up behind you, wearing their signature all-black save for their red jacket (which you don't remember seeing them wear previously tonight), a silver thermos tucked under one of their slender arms. They look down into their phone and nonchalantly send off a text message. "And now for that damn alarm..." They tap a few more times on their smartphone's screen... and the alarm shuts off. "Smart idea pullin' it, but I'm gonna have a headache for the next forever." They clearly delight in your perplexed expressions and smile to themselves. "Bet you all were glad I was here, after all, huh?" They reach for the thermos they'd brought along, too. "Fiia certainly will be here in a sec." "She's been shot, I don't think that's gonna..." (if: $character is "Declan")[you start](else:)[Declan starts]. "It'll shock her out of it at least, trust me," Minh replies with a smirk. "It's human. Just don't ask where I got it." They twist off the cap of thermos and extend it out to Fiia, who walks wild-eyed and almost robotically toward them, following even the slightest scent of blood. Unlike when (if: $character is "Declan")[you](else:)[Declan] had tried to give her one the first night you met, Fiia takes it and greedily drinks. After a few gulps, color returns to her cheeks. The wildness in her eyes fades. And it's only then that she realizes the pain that she's in.]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/fiiaB.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/15.png" width="130px"></div>Merely a few months ago, you were a student. Balancing part-time work, your thesis, and preparing for your senior art show all while eating Top Ramen. But so much can change in a few months. (click: "But so much can change in a few months.")[There you stand in front of the mirror, in the one-shouldered dress of glimmering silver satin that the stylist had picked out for you. 'You're cool-toned,' he had said. You already knew this. You had a degree in it, now. Now, with a gala ahead of you, your makeup professionally done, you are no longer a student. You are an artist. (click: "You are an artist.")[ (if: $killer is "Fiia")[[[And you were about to be a killer.|Fiia Grab Weapon]]](else:)[[[And you were about to be accessory to murder.|Fiia Grab Weapon]]]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/lynette.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/116.png" width="130px"></div>[Lavender was always a good color on you. A "soft summer" according to that old color seasons trend that seemed to be coming back into popularity. But hey. At least it meant you looked good in your jacket. (click: "At least it meant you looked good in your jacket.")[Truth be told, you'd been looking for an occasion to wear this dress. Its fabric practically floated as you walked, finally betraying the ethereal nature of what you are. (if: $killer is "Lynette")[[[And you'll be the last thing Jeppson ever sees coming.|Lynette Grab Weapon]]](else:)[[[But ethereal doesn't mean harmless. Jeppson was a dead man.|Lynette Grab Weapon]]]]]]

You're surprised you even remember how to tie a bowtie. (click: "You're surprised you even remember how to tie a bowtie.")[But aside from the event's black-tie dress code necessitating a tux, bowties tended to be more tactical. Traditional neckties could be grabbed, snagged, and otherwise serve as a ready-made noose just... hanging there. And you were far too experienced for that. (if: $killer is "Declan")[[[[And damn, you couldn't help but be a little excited to be the one to put another no-good vampire in the ground.|Declan Grab Weapon]]]](else:)[[[And you couldn't wait to help put another no-good vampire in the ground.|Declan Grab Weapon]]]]

<div class="portrait"><img src="images/declan.png" width="350px"></div><br><div class="gem"><img src="images/75.png" width="130px"></div> After everything you've seen in this life, there were few places where you truly felt safe. Your little office was one of those places. Yes, it was small and cramped. Yes, nearly every surface had some notes or stacks of ungraded papers on it. Yes, Lynette often told you that you'd wear your eyes out from reading if you didn't turn on a light. People come and go. They die. They betray you. They vanish without a trace. They suddenly decide you are no longer their priority. But books? At least you can always count on books. (click: "At least you can always count on books.")[It was hardly the sort of grand office you'd always dreamt of having one day when you became a professor: with a grand bookcase with one of those sliding ladders, a large desk and a fireplace - perhaps some kind of strange animal bust mounted on the wall. Instead, you had a small room with a tiny window - the glass having been hung so long ago that it appeared to undulate with the weight of time. Original to the building, you believe. There were rows and rows of books on the various shelves: all mismatched. Some bookshelves you'd purchased secondhand - others from big-box retail stores. Others still from the side of the road, when you'd asked your neighbor with the pickup truck to help you snag it before someone else did. They all did the job, it didn't matter that they weren't matching. It was the books that really mattered. You take a seat at your desk, the fan on your computer kicking to life with a cough of what you can only assume to be dust. <div class="info"> Maybe you can get some work done. What would you like to do? </div> [[Grade some papers.|Grade Papers]] [[Check your email.|Check Inbox]] [[Let your mind wander, instead.|Declan and Lynette Meet]] (if: $cpdemailconfirm is "true" and $studentemailreply is "true" and $hunteremail is "true" and $gradepapers is "true" and $firstmeetflashback is "true")[[Check your phone.]]]