Gravitational Force
Dark Lord of Creativity
In a dark room fingers dance across a keyboard, multiple windows on the screen display a variety of camera feeds.
Over this a voice can be heard from the computer. Each line is accompanied by the computer's user focusing on a different feed.
"Welcome once again to Davey Jones's Talker, the only pirate radio show that hasn't sold out or sunk. Tonight I'd like to tell you about the dangers our city faces. The parasites who enslave us."
A group of people all dressed in finery raise glasses full of a liquid that isn't wine in a toast.
"Our crumbling infrastructure."
An extremely precise explosion tears through a seemingly vacant building, exposing the cellar to the sun. It's lone occupant is reduced to dust not by the blast, but by the light now streaming down from above.
"Violent crime."
What appears to be a mugging results in the gun-wielding menace being faced by a pale monster with a fang-filled mouth. Who discovers too late that his assailant's bullets are incendiary as he burns to ash.
"Cults."
Chanting figures surround a squirming victim with their face obscured by a hood. As they perform their rite a portal opens and a clicking, jerking, many-eyed thing is drawn out towards the center of the circle.
"And the so-called 'experts' who tell us there's nothing wrong and we should just 'trust in science.'"
A gloved hand pulls a lever and the lights dim even as electricity arcs around the laboratory. There's a humming sound of gathering energy and then a release, with the returning vision of the viewer revealing a wall with a humanoid blast shadow etched into it, arms raised in fear.
"The ones causing these problems tell us not to live in fear. Well, I'm here to tell you there's lots to fear. And this isn't the kind of problem you can fix by voting the bastards in power out."
Manicured hands toy with a sharpened stake as a panicking man with fangs in his mouth is slammed onto the desk in front of the owner of those hands.
"They can't take me off the air and they don't know who I am, so let me tell you: the only way to stay safe is to stay armed."
A massive shotgun is put onto a rack alongside an arsenal of other weapons.
"Stay vigilant."
The stained glass eyes of a saint on a window looks down at a praying congregation, as unseeing as the blindfolded, hideous creature in a priest's vestments leading the service.
"And don't let them get you."
The security camera that had been watching Ava Janusson goes down for the few seconds it takes for her to be pulled into an alley.
And everything goes black.
You awaken to the sound of a phone going off and an irritated voice.
"What do you mean it's not here yet?! It's not just for her, I'm going to need to top myself off after this."
...
"No, if I could just yank someone off the street I would have. I can't 'just go out and snag a hobo' because there's no telling when she's going to wake up."
...
"Why didn't you fucking say so?! I'm the one responsible for this, why wasn't I told this to begin with? Fine, if she goes overboard do I dump it or is a cleaning crew coming?"
...
"Got it. And of course I'm going to be hands-on. It's my ass if she doesn't make the cut. I got permission to go full charm offensive to start with, I've got this."
You finally manage to get your eyes open. You're lying on a table in a room where the walls, ceiling, and floor are covered in plastic sheeting. The kind you use to keep paint from staining. Or blood.
You can't breathe! Wait, why aren't you breathing? Your heart should be racing, but you don't even feel it beating. Blinking is reflexive, but there's no urge. You stare around the room, this is all wrong!
And the guy apparently responsible for it all is standing with his back to you. Only for your movement to catch his attention and turn around to face you.
He's wearing an outfit that's decades out of fashion, an asymmetrical ensemble of leather and metal with a plunging neckline. He's made the bold choice of frosting the tips of his messy blonde hair, styled his eyebrows, and altogether looks like he's about to fight the protagonist of a 90s action movie alongside a gang of similarly flamboyant men who unwisely chose to engage in violent crime over far more lucrative careers in modeling.
Somehow he manages to pull it off though. It's not that he's attractive or how he's holding himself, it's like he's got 'I actually look great and am an incredible guy despite any reason you'd have to believe otherwise' radiation coming off him.
"Hi there, Childe of mine. My name is Mark and I'm here to welcome you to the first night of the rest of your unlife."
The clearly trustworthy individual considerately takes the time to explain your situation. You've been fortunate enough to be found worthy of becoming a vampire (known among themselves as "Kindred"). It's not exactly like pop culture, sunlight will burn you and so will fire and you've got to drink blood, but otherwise there's a lot to go over.
You're only told the basics and the most important parts (above all else don't let anyone else know you're a vampire or that vampire exist), but you get the feeling he expects you to pick the rest up as you go on,
You're a member of the Daeva clan. Apparently there are multiple vampire Clans and each one has different abilities and weaknesses. In your case you've got what your Sire calls "Speed, Strength, and a fuckton of Charisma." He also says there's no weakness in the Daeva clan, you just tend to want things more than usual.
And then Mark tells you to sit there and wait patiently. You do so for a few minutes until he comes back in with someone with a bag over their head. He pushes the bag aside enough for their neck to be easily accesible and lowers them to their knees.
Then he stop using Majesty on you and you realize exactly what's happened without his powers there to numb your mind. Your thoughts and choices are your own now.
Mark continues talking.
"There are also blood bags in the fridge. You can take your first drink from those or this-"
He motions to the person he brought in.
"Personally I recommend starting with the bags so you don't risk draining this slob dry and then seeing how feeding goes, but that's your call. Either way your old life is over though. You were picked in part because of how few connections you had, but don't let that get you down. This is your chance to actually make something of yourself. Money, power, maybe not fame but close enough to it for the same high, it's all there for the taking if you've got what it takes to take it."
Mark draws a fingernail down the Human's neck, making a small cut. A few drops well out of it, but you can smell it like you were right next to it. You can feel the thirst in you like a starving beast.
"But it all starts with your first drink. I'd suggest saving any questions or comments until after that."
Over this a voice can be heard from the computer. Each line is accompanied by the computer's user focusing on a different feed.
"Welcome once again to Davey Jones's Talker, the only pirate radio show that hasn't sold out or sunk. Tonight I'd like to tell you about the dangers our city faces. The parasites who enslave us."
A group of people all dressed in finery raise glasses full of a liquid that isn't wine in a toast.
"Our crumbling infrastructure."
An extremely precise explosion tears through a seemingly vacant building, exposing the cellar to the sun. It's lone occupant is reduced to dust not by the blast, but by the light now streaming down from above.
"Violent crime."
What appears to be a mugging results in the gun-wielding menace being faced by a pale monster with a fang-filled mouth. Who discovers too late that his assailant's bullets are incendiary as he burns to ash.
"Cults."
Chanting figures surround a squirming victim with their face obscured by a hood. As they perform their rite a portal opens and a clicking, jerking, many-eyed thing is drawn out towards the center of the circle.
"And the so-called 'experts' who tell us there's nothing wrong and we should just 'trust in science.'"
A gloved hand pulls a lever and the lights dim even as electricity arcs around the laboratory. There's a humming sound of gathering energy and then a release, with the returning vision of the viewer revealing a wall with a humanoid blast shadow etched into it, arms raised in fear.
"The ones causing these problems tell us not to live in fear. Well, I'm here to tell you there's lots to fear. And this isn't the kind of problem you can fix by voting the bastards in power out."
Manicured hands toy with a sharpened stake as a panicking man with fangs in his mouth is slammed onto the desk in front of the owner of those hands.
"They can't take me off the air and they don't know who I am, so let me tell you: the only way to stay safe is to stay armed."
A massive shotgun is put onto a rack alongside an arsenal of other weapons.
"Stay vigilant."
The stained glass eyes of a saint on a window looks down at a praying congregation, as unseeing as the blindfolded, hideous creature in a priest's vestments leading the service.
"And don't let them get you."
The security camera that had been watching Ava Janusson goes down for the few seconds it takes for her to be pulled into an alley.
And everything goes black.
You awaken to the sound of a phone going off and an irritated voice.
"What do you mean it's not here yet?! It's not just for her, I'm going to need to top myself off after this."
...
"No, if I could just yank someone off the street I would have. I can't 'just go out and snag a hobo' because there's no telling when she's going to wake up."
...
"Why didn't you fucking say so?! I'm the one responsible for this, why wasn't I told this to begin with? Fine, if she goes overboard do I dump it or is a cleaning crew coming?"
...
"Got it. And of course I'm going to be hands-on. It's my ass if she doesn't make the cut. I got permission to go full charm offensive to start with, I've got this."
You finally manage to get your eyes open. You're lying on a table in a room where the walls, ceiling, and floor are covered in plastic sheeting. The kind you use to keep paint from staining. Or blood.
You can't breathe! Wait, why aren't you breathing? Your heart should be racing, but you don't even feel it beating. Blinking is reflexive, but there's no urge. You stare around the room, this is all wrong!
And the guy apparently responsible for it all is standing with his back to you. Only for your movement to catch his attention and turn around to face you.
He's wearing an outfit that's decades out of fashion, an asymmetrical ensemble of leather and metal with a plunging neckline. He's made the bold choice of frosting the tips of his messy blonde hair, styled his eyebrows, and altogether looks like he's about to fight the protagonist of a 90s action movie alongside a gang of similarly flamboyant men who unwisely chose to engage in violent crime over far more lucrative careers in modeling.
Somehow he manages to pull it off though. It's not that he's attractive or how he's holding himself, it's like he's got 'I actually look great and am an incredible guy despite any reason you'd have to believe otherwise' radiation coming off him.
"Hi there, Childe of mine. My name is Mark and I'm here to welcome you to the first night of the rest of your unlife."
The clearly trustworthy individual considerately takes the time to explain your situation. You've been fortunate enough to be found worthy of becoming a vampire (known among themselves as "Kindred"). It's not exactly like pop culture, sunlight will burn you and so will fire and you've got to drink blood, but otherwise there's a lot to go over.
Vampire (CofD)
Vampires are one of three main supernatural races within the Chronicles of Darkness (the "New World of Darkness"). They are the main focus of Vampire: The Requiem game, and refer to themselves as "Kindred". Vampires are a race of predators who feed on blood (or possibly several different ones...
whitewolf.fandom.com
You're a member of the Daeva clan. Apparently there are multiple vampire Clans and each one has different abilities and weaknesses. In your case you've got what your Sire calls "Speed, Strength, and a fuckton of Charisma." He also says there's no weakness in the Daeva clan, you just tend to want things more than usual.
And then Mark tells you to sit there and wait patiently. You do so for a few minutes until he comes back in with someone with a bag over their head. He pushes the bag aside enough for their neck to be easily accesible and lowers them to their knees.
Then he stop using Majesty on you and you realize exactly what's happened without his powers there to numb your mind. Your thoughts and choices are your own now.
Mark continues talking.
"There are also blood bags in the fridge. You can take your first drink from those or this-"
He motions to the person he brought in.
"Personally I recommend starting with the bags so you don't risk draining this slob dry and then seeing how feeding goes, but that's your call. Either way your old life is over though. You were picked in part because of how few connections you had, but don't let that get you down. This is your chance to actually make something of yourself. Money, power, maybe not fame but close enough to it for the same high, it's all there for the taking if you've got what it takes to take it."
Mark draws a fingernail down the Human's neck, making a small cut. A few drops well out of it, but you can smell it like you were right next to it. You can feel the thirst in you like a starving beast.
"But it all starts with your first drink. I'd suggest saving any questions or comments until after that."
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