Quoted By:
You connect your mobile to the terminal, and a little white clock face appears on the monitor, hands revolving quickly as White Rabbit boots up on this humble system. <span class="mu-b">"Hello sir, how may I be of help?"</span> He inquires. You begin typing away, having already resolved just which of your operatives to tap for possible information on the harbor killings.
<span class="mu-s">Sawtooth Syd</span> is a vampire, albeit a particularly degenerate and filthy one, and so may have a unique perspective. He is very young into his unlife, having been Embraced by his Sire merely a year ago, and lacking any influence - but he's at least able-minded enough to realize his irrelevancy is subject to change if he makes the right friends. You have him book a room at the same motel you sent Rags and Tasha to linger just nearby. He agreed to make his way there now, and wait. You make a note to acquire some benzo-patches, as Sawtooth has something of an addiction to human blood spiked with the stuff. Lacking hunting privileges, he is only permitted one human 'meal' per month, otherwise subsisting on animals and vermin. Rats brimming with microplastics, usually, maybe the occasional raccoon or jaundiced stray dog. You consider how it would benefit a vampire to live in an entire city that's been encased with concrete and steel, a sunless urban jungle, and yet, this lightless necropolis has so little life of its own, there is even less for the parasites to scratch and squabble over.
You disengage White Rabbit from the terminal, and sit there for a few moments, staring at the blank, glowing screen. You take a few deep breaths, and then look around the room. Most of the people Deep-Diving are probably in their twenties. You recognize one of them, a dark skinned, emaciated man with matted hair in a tank top and jeans that hang loose on his boney frame, as though he shrank inside of them. A dark gradient of sweat and dirt stains begins around the neckline and lightens as it extends outwards, resembling a shadow. No belt, plastic slides on his feet, and his eyes hidden beneath a visor that wraps around his gaunt skull. You've seen him in here countless times over the years. You gradually did watch him shrink inside his outfit. He's just rocking gently back and forth in his chair, trembling, mouth agape, jaw slack. You find yourself staring at him. An entire minute passes and you don't feel a second of it.
>Cont'd
