A Scripta

Phil Kagan was famished. Talos Island was mostly Camarilla-controlled, with a few pockets here and there that were constantly contested, mostly around the shore. A few Sabbat packs controlled the islands and terrorized the Circle of Thorns there, but Phil didn't like his packmates. He tried to switch around, but the Bishops wouldn't let him. So he took off on his own.

He knew he could be hunted as a Sabbat. He didn't know if he wanted to be Sabbat any more. "Destroy, Drink, and Kill, for Tomorrow We Die," his Bishop kept saying. Phil wasn't that lusty. He had been walking home six months ago in Skyway and got attacked. Next thing he knew, he was buried under dirt, his stomach burning. He crawled out of the hollow grave and bit into the first thing offered. When the red haze cleared, he realized he was wallowing in the blood of a sixteen-year-old girl.

His packmates were disappointed in him. He didn't seem to pick up using a gun very well. He didn't bathe in the blood of his enemies. He didn't really fight much, either. He had excellent hearing, amazing distant sight, and he could feel the patterns of things in his fingertips. He didn't like using them. He didn't like getting dirty. His packmates started calling him Pansy.

Phil had arrived in Talos a couple of nights ago, feeding on the sleeping bums that he saw in alleyways. He caught a passed-out Freakshow once and got so high from it that he was able to jump from roof to roof for a couple of hours. Then he landed in a dumpster and broke his leg, but used his ability to fix it. Not that it didn't hurt.

He saw a group of men in brown vests gathered, and one man off to the side, gazing at the water. He could easily jump that man and drag him away. He approached, low to the ground like a cat, his eyes glazed over with the red haze. A strong, normal man, with thick, heavy blood...

He pounced, one hand over the man's mouth so he wouldn't scream, the other holding him tightly. His body shoved them both to the ground and he felt the air whoosh out against his hand. He roughly shoved the man's head aside and bit hard into the jugular. The blood was sweet, strong, not like the bums, not like Freakshow, but blessedly normal and full of life. He was lost in the ecstacy of it.

Something grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket and lifted him bodily off the man, throwing him aside like he weighed no more than a scarecrow. He flew in the air and was stopped only by the rock wall about a hundred yards behind him. He fell against it, and slid down, stunned. He willed himself out of it, and looked to see a huge white man bent over his dinner.

Phil struggled up. How dare he! With a cry of anger, he rushed at the man. The man merely straightened, and caught Phil by the throat. He felt something snap and saw stars in his agony. Then he felt himself hitting the ground and bouncing.

"Who are you," rumbled the white man above him, "and why are you in my hunting grounds?"

He knew his head was hanging at a weird angle from his body. He didn't think he could speak anyway. Phil could now see that the man was a Cainite like him, but much, much older. He tried to move his head back to its rightful place. When he did, he said, "I--"

Then the man punched him solidly in the stomach, enough to make him throw up the blood he just had. It spewed out and into the Cainite's face, and he punched him again, getting another fountain of blood. He did it one more time for good measure, though not much came out that time.

The Cainite wiped his face and sucked on his hand and coat. "That blood is my blood," he snarled, "and not yours to take."

Phil scrambled back, his clothes soaked with blood. "I--I'm sorry, I won't--I'll leave--"

The Cainite rose. "You're Sabbat."

"No, not anymore! I left them!"

"You are under no one's protection, Thin-Blood. The Prince will kill you outright if you present yourself to him."

Phil pleaded with him. "I don't know what to do!"

"How long ago were you Embraced?"

"Just before Thanksgiving."

The Cainite regarded him, looking thoughtful. "There is no room where I live, and you are still too young to be among kine and not give in to your urges." He watched Phil get up. "I'm sure no one has told you about the Camarilla, other than we all should die."

"The Camarilla holds back freedom." He looked down. "I really don't care about that."

"Oh? What do you care about?"

"I'm a CGI Designer. I don't care about politics."

"Computer art?"

He nodded.

"Did they tell you what your clan was?"

"Clan?"

"Bloodline. Who your sire was."

"No."

He folded his arms across his chest. "Not that I expected it. I'm surprised you survived this long."

Phil looked at the sleeve of his denim jacket, soaked through with blood. He brought his arm to his mouth and tried to suck on it. The Cainite didn't stop him.

"What am I going to do with you," he muttered, shaking his head. "You're an orphan, and will meet your Final Death either way you turn. I can't bring you with me." He looked around. "But I can leave you here. Come with me." He pointed out a small group of gang members, beating on a metallic man. "These are my hunting grounds, and I am appointing you gamekeeper."

"What do need me to do?"

"First, protect the civilians. Second, make sure no one chases them out."

"Protect the civilians?"

"That's what I said." He gazed at Phil. "No drinking from civilians. If I find out you did, I will kill you myself."

Phil gulped.

"You can have any other gang members that pass by. I'll come back and see how you're doing. If you're improving, then I'll expose you to the kine little by little."

"Okay." The Cainite turned from him.

"Take the Freakshow," he ordered.

Phil suddenly felt compelled to do what he said, and ran into the group. The Warriors scattered, and Phil fell on the Freak. He drank his fill, almost draining him, and the world exploded in light and wonder, staying that way for quite some time.

The Cainite was gone by the time he came back down from his trip, and sunrise was dangerously close. He as he crawled into a "Keep Out" mine shaft, he realized he didn't even know the Cainite's name.