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nosnet · 3 months ago

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What Dying Did

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period: 2012

Perspective: Leigh O’Connor

Rating: PG-13

Content Warnings: Salubri history lesson, blood, cops

Word Count: 5,272

Comments: Written during our Heist campaign; heist group in Seattle got blown up and then sired; I needed my PC Leigh to actually get the low down on the whole Salubri thing, so I wrote it.

Leigh looked at the card in his hand, and he wasn’t sure what to do if he called it.

It was dark. He knew, inexplicably, that it was 4:33 in the morning, in the way he always seemed to be able to gauge the passing of seconds without thinking about it. The sky was lit with the faint blue of a dawn still several hours away, the twilight hours of the morning upon him, and he knew he didn’t exactly have a lot of time before the sun rose and he… died, again, somehow. Deacon was informative, but not exactly verbose, and there was a decent bit left to the imagination. He should have been cold, standing outside of his boss’s safe house in nothing but a short sleeve shirt and shorts, but he wasn’t, and it was a weird sensation. Even as the opportunistic morning dew took to his legs, he didn’t feel a chill at all. He didn’t really feel… anything, to be fair. Not warmth or cold; nothing but the bitter aftertaste of biting the inside of your cheek in his mouth and the strange sensation of settled liquid in his veins as he stood around, unmoving, for a long moment. His forehead hurt, a touch, not much, but enough to feel, which was… something. Better than the bleak nothingness of his new existence, anyway. It was probably best he called, before he ran out of time and found out what it really meant to see the sun rise.

He didn’t take long to dial the number, his fingers still flexible even with the lack of warmth. He’d expected rigor mortis to have set in, considering he didn’t have a pulse, but his hands were anything but stiff. He reflexively felt somewhat bad for a moment as he dialed, his brain registering that it was four in the morning and most sane people would have been asleep, before it processed that he was a vampire now, and vampires stayed up all night, and likely the number in question also belonged to a vampire who was probably off to bed in a few hours but definitely not currently asleep. Vampires kept the evening hours rather than the daylight ones, so that would reasonably mean that it was, what, the equivalent of eight in the evening? He made a face, because his brain had said the word Vampire enough times for it to feel like it had lost all meaning, which was the least useful thing it could have done.

He didn’t wait for a hello as soon as the other end picked up, because the momentum had him figuring out how to deal with this on the fly and killing that would have meant he’d have nothing to say at all.

“You and I need to have a talk.” He said, brusquely, because it was the truth and also likely the reason he even got the number in the first place. “There’s a coffee shop on [Seattle Road] that’s open all night. Meet me there in fifteen.” He could hear the shuffle on the other end of the line that indicated that there was, in fact, someone on the other end and that they were, in fact, listening, so without waiting for a confirmation, he simply hung up. He needed to be careful with his phone, because even if he had erased all indication of a crime - the gas leak was a good one, honestly, and he was kind of proud of that - they could have been watching his phone all the same and he needed to make sure he couldn’t be traced. Besides, it meant he didn’t have to say anything else. He’d taken the plunge, requested to meet, and that was all he had in him right then.

It took him fifteen minutes to walk to the shop himself, and he spent most of that avoiding cars and trying very hard to look inside himself, or at least think of things to ask. Maybe, he thought, if he could just do some serious soul searching, he could figure out that he, too, had something he could do, like turning into a jaguar, that was cool as hell. Barring that, he had to at least think of what to ask, because the concepts he was seeking were nebulous and infirm and hard to put into real ass words.

He didn’t know who he was looking for, but it was four in the morning in a twenty four hour coffee shop, so he knew his options would be limited. When he got there, however, he found they were very limited - there was one other person in the shop besides the poor, tired barista behind the counter. The other patron had white hair, braided down her shoulders, and fair skin, with a tattoo of a moon on her forehead. Leigh realized, looking at the tattoo, that he should maybe think of doing something similar to hide the strange cut on his head, since it didn’t seem like it was just going to go away. He paused, hesitating in the doorway, but she looked up, and her blue eyes met his, and it was clear he had no other options and he couldn’t back out anymore. He shuffled in, ordering a coffee - black, strong, he needed it like that - before sitting down across the table from her. She looked at him like he was a student about to ask a very stupid question of his professor, and he tried not to feel sick. She felt like a vampire - pale, listless, bored, and twenty seconds from just ending him if he said the wrong thing.

“Name’s Elizabeth Byrnes. You have questions, I imagine.” She finally said, and something in Leigh stirred, because she was Irish, of all things. Her lilting accent gave him such comfort in a way he couldn’t describe. There was a solidarity in their shared heritage that had him relaxing a bit, like he knew he could intrinsically trust her due to her accent, that they had the same base genes even if being a vampire had changed that. She didn’t relax with him, looking bored, maybe more forced into this than she was comfortable. “Can’t answer much here, but we can move if we need.”

“Aye, uh.” Leigh sipped his too hot coffee to stall and found the taste was… lacking. This was weird, as the coffee was strong and black and hot, but it didn’t seem to hurt when it clearly burned the roof of his mouth, and the taste was covered by this sensation of eating ash and dust that came with it. He could still taste the coffee, underneath it all, but it was strange. He pulled back, staring at it for a moment, the woman sitting across from him still looking at him, now more… patiently amused than bored. “Guess, first, why me?”

“Yer Irish.” Elizabeth shrugged. “Deacon gave us all a rundown of who was who before he turned in those favors. Can’t let an Irishman like meself get fucked up by someone else’s blood, can I?” She gave the other a knowing look, sipping her coffee slowly, smiling around the lip of the mug. “That, ‘n yer a nurse. Always found m’self drawn t’those that do right by others.” She leaned back in her chair, casting a wary glance around the room, like she needed to keep an eye out for something. “Gonna say it honest, I think we’re at the point where we wanna head back t’someplace safe. Not much else that’s safe t’say out in the open.”

“That’s fair.” Leigh stood, glad he got his coffee to go so he didn’t have to steal a mug. Elizabeth stood with him, slightly shorter in height but stocky around the shoulders, leaving her coffee behind. She was strong, clearly, and not just superficially. “My place is only a short walk from here. We can retreat there.”

“It safe?” She questioned, heading for the door. Leigh followed, breaking out into the cold evening, expecting to feel the chill and still somehow surprised he didn’t.

“It’s… my house.” Leigh made a face, because he’d never been required to qualify the safety of his house before. It was in a safe neighborhood, plenty of locks, security cameras…. It was pretty safe. He robbed banks - he’d be an idiot, and in jail, if it wasn’t. “Long as we leave the lights off and don’t cause a ruckus we should be alight.” He nodded, like this was the safest place and way to go about this, and she nodded, because she had no reason to doubt him. They walked in silence, side by side but without touching. She didn’t do much other than watch straight ahead, clearly thinking, and he did his best to not stare at her, at the inhuman way she looked, the way she didn’t breathe, didn’t really blink, the lack of color to her face. He buried himself in bitter coffee and ash until they got to his place, and only then did he abandon his cup to unlock the door.

Inside was dark, and he didn’t turn on any lights, heading instead to his bedroom. He always had blackout curtains - he worked a lot of night shifts anyway - so it seemed adequate for sleep, and the rest of the house could follow suit quickly. He made sure his laptop was safe, and off, before heading back into the main room to find Elizabeth had quietly set herself on one of his sofas, alone in the dark of the house, still quiet. He didn’t say anything, sitting across from her, curling up on the other sofa like maybe he could bring warmth back into his hands and legs by doing so. He didn’t.

“So.” Elizabeth started, softly, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Questions, better answered in the quiet. Figure Deacon went over the usual nonsense - drink blood, no sunlight, all that. He’s always been good on the short term small stuff, but the nuances tend to escape him.” She chuckled, like this was a funny quirk of a character and not the vital flaw that lacking in information usually was. Leigh nodded, trying to form questions in his head, but finding that nothing in particular came to mind. He could see the book of her life laid out in front of him, and he wanted to know too much to fit into a single question.

“Deacon said we were a rare breed. Why?” Leigh asked, finally. “What breed is that? What does that mean?” He asked them all at once, and Elizabeth cast a look at Leigh that was full of, oddly enough, pity. She looked sad, and sorry, like what she was about to say would change his life forever, in more ways than just being hungry for blood would ever do.

“I, and now you, are of Clan Salubri.” Elizabeth started, and the sorrow in her voice said much more than words could ever. The tale of Clan Salubri was one rife with sadness and misfortune, and Leigh could tell that from her tone alone. “There’s plenty ‘a Clans that feed off the blood, ‘course, but we’re… not oft made.” She grimaced. “I’m gonna tell y’a story, and you’re not gonna like it. It’s gonna make yer life all the more complicated.” She let that linger for a second, her speech slow and methodical - she clearly spoke with enough Americans that she learned to slow down so they could follow her accent.

“Liz, I died. My life is plenty complicated now as is. More isn’t gonna do me in.” Leigh chuckled, but there was still something to her face, the pity there, that scared him. He had no idea how much more complicated it could get, but something said the answer was a lot.

“Don’t call me Liz.” There was fire there, just a moment, the bite of anger, and then it faded as Elizabeth continued, breathing out unnecessarily. “The story goes like this. Every Clan’s a descendant ‘a Cain, right? He had a couple childer, then those folks had a couple childer, ‘n those are what we call Antediluvians. They’re the Kindred that formed all the Clans.” She paused, letting him take that in. Deacon had said as much, more or less, but it was nice to hear all the same. “Our Antediluvian was a bloke named Salot, thus us taking the name Salubri.” She gestured with her hands, and it was clear she was starting to move into a different headspace, like the room in which she sat didn’t exist. That there was only her, and her story.

“We’re different than most Kindred, figure you can feel that in yer veins. Our Clan got a bit blessed, if that’s the right term at all, ‘n we got the power to heal. Salot was a nice man, for a Kindred. When y’get old, the only thing that really satisfies yer soul is the Blood, so fer being a man obsessed with blood, we lucked out. Heard he did th’impossible and shook the need fer blood, but havin’ never met the man m’self, I can’t say fer sure. Either way, we’re a compassionate lot, usually, ‘n that means the curse we carry from Cain is that we can’t take vitae, the blood, from those unwilling without a sheer force ‘a will from us. He made a clan ‘a Kindred that inherently don’t wanna hurt people.” She paused, casting her eyes at the floor, and for a moment she was filled with such hatred that Leigh could taste it in the air. He shivered involuntarily.

“Then along came this fella Tremere.” She spat the name Tremere like she was trying to curse him and his entire family name with her words. “Salot was unconscious in a way that one can’t be woken from, as far as I heard.” She spoke with a bitter edge, like she was there, or almost, like this was close to her soul. “Or, at least without some intervention, anyway. Either way, there’s an act Kindred can perform that isn’t just wrong by the standards of the Camarilla, but that stains yer very soul.” She looked up at Leigh, finally, and there was something deep and terrified in her eyes, mentioning this act. Terror and sorrow and hatred mingled into some unknowable emotion in her face. “S’called diablerie. A kindred can drink of another’s vitae, and in doing so, consume their entire soul. Tremere was a bastard of a mage who wanted Kindred immortality for himself, so he and a few of his people stormed Salot’s tomb where he slept, and Tremere diablerized him.” She paused there, looking a bit sick to her stomach.

“Oh shite.” Leigh had to fill the space and vocalize his emotions, because this was a hell of a thing to have dropped on him. She nodded, but there was something in her face that said this wasn’t the worst of it.

“That’s not the bad part.” Elizabeth said as much, softly. She pulled her knees up to herself, mimicking Leigh’s position. “After, ‘course Tremere was in trouble. Most Kindred don’t like the idea of someone just sort of seizing power like that, ‘specially with the diablerie involved. But he, the absolute bastard, spun a yarn that the Cami’s ate right up - that we, the Salubri, were the monsters in this story.” She hissed out the words, and that, of all things, hit Leigh hard. “He told them we were soul suckers, that our kindness was our way of eating people’s souls and that he saved them from a terror. They ate that up, and the next thing we know, Clan Salubri is gettin’ hunted from here t’Kingdom come, and Clan Tremere is sittin’ pretty at the right hand of the Cami circles.”

“That’s why we’re rare.” Leigh added, understanding. She nodded, soberly, sadly, looking down at her knees. “They killed us.”

“They’re killin’ us. It ain’t just in the past, though the worst o’ it was. They took th’chance to rid the world of a monster without first checking to see who th’monster was.” She confirmed. “The Tremere still run shite, so I’d do my best t’stay away from them if I were you. Either they’ll know who you are based on yer eye and probably try t’kill ya, or you’ll lose your shite trying to converse with them like they’re normal people. It’s not easy standin’ in the same room as a monster like them without takin’ their head, and they never do shite alone so the fight would be hardly worth it. They still do magic ‘n everythin’, and the two o’us don’t have th’kinda power to do them in. Some of us do, though - they turned t’the Sabbat, took their Warrior blood and turned the healin’ we could do into pain. Useful as shite for killin’ Tremere, but not somethin’ we’re gonna get natural like. They’re known as Furies, and it’s an apt name.” Elizabeth seemed like she wanted to, or could, cry, but nothing came out of her.

The shock had settled into Leigh in the same way, and while his body felt stiff and sharp like he wanted to cry, he couldn’t figure out how. “They may not have the right idea about the blood,” Elizabeth continued, “but some of us gotta be angry about this whole mess, especially since the Tremere won’t back down from their genocidal high horse, and without Fury we’re just weak.” Elizabeth shook her head, rubbing her nose. “If y’ever wanna get angry, I know a lass who’ll teach ya th’discipline, but that’s on you. I sired you ‘cause I could see someone who’d use the blood like we’re supposed to, t’help, not hurt.”

“But I don’t know how.” Leigh admitted, softly, his throat thick with unshed tears. “You want me to help, but I don’t know how any of this works. I managed to see a couple colors and I watched a man get poisoned, but I can’t figure out how I did. Aoatoa’s turnin’ into cats and here I am, barely able to see with the shite.” He looked at his hands, uncalloused and clean, almost neurotically so. Elizabeth stood, moving over to sit next to him on the other sofa, taking his hands in hers. Her hands were frigid, but soft, lightly callused over. She used them for work in a way he didn’t.

“The blood’s yer willin’ servant now.” She said, and she looked him in the eyes, and there was something so old about her gaze. Old and tired and sad. “You just gotta want it. Ask it t’cry, and you’ll cry. Ask it t’warm yer hands, and it’ll warm ‘um. It don’t flow without yer direction, but it’ll flow all the same if y’just ask.” She squeezed his hands, and Leigh hesitated a moment. Asking the blood was not something he was used to, being a logical man trained in the medical sciences - blood wasn’t supposed to move on command - but eventually, he conceded, focusing hard. He thought to himself, just move, and something inside him stirred, like a beast awakening from a long nap. After a moment, he felt his hands warm, stark in contrast to her cold ones. He opened his eyes, surprised. “There y’go.” She smiled, letting go of his hands, leaning back on the sofa. “Easy.”

“What else can I do?” Leigh asked, pressing his warm hands to his cold face. It felt weird, but good. “‘N what’s this on me head?” He gestured to the cut there, still red and raw. Elizabeth bit her lip to contain her grin, before she swept the bangs away from the tattoo on her forehead. Then, suddenly, the tattoo shifted, the space in the middle opening up to reveal that it was an eyelid, and hidden by the lines of the tattoo was an eye, right in the center of the crescent moon.

“The eye takes a bit t’be an eye.” She shrugged, blinking at him with all three eyes. It, too, was blue, and stared at him oddly. It made Leigh a bit uncomfortable, honestly. No wonder other vampires went after the Salubri for made up crimes - their countenance was not the most comfortable, and Leigh knew a lot about what people did when they were faced with things they didn’t understand. It was good, and also kind of sad, to know vampires weren’t different.

“Salot was a seer, and the eye is part of the blood. The things we can do well include what’s called Fortitude, which is using the blood to resist damage, like a gunshot; Auspex, which is seeing things with the mind as much as with th’eyes; and the Clan’s gift, Obeah. The version the Furies use is Valoren, but we don’t get that.” She named the three things they could do and counted them on her fingers. “You already used Auspex t’see auras. You can get enough to communicate with yer mind if y’wanna practice in it. Fortitude’s a right good thing t’learn, as it makes it even hard fer even fire t’touch ya.” She flexed a bit with a sad chuckle. It seemed her existence was marked by a bit of sadness, and Leigh suddenly understood. He understood why he was chosen, why she was drawn to him, why he was destined to be one of the Salubri. His life, too, was marked by sadness - not specifically his, though he had plenty of it, but generalized sadness. They were the ones destined to feel their own pain as well as feel for other’s pain without being asked - destined to burden themselves with other’s worries and safety. He nodded, watching her with a new appreciation.

“Obeah, however, is the Good half of the trademark of Salot’s blood.” Elizabeth shifted, drawing a knife from her boot. It shined a bright silver in the lack of light in the room, and for a moment, Leigh was scared. She held it like she was planning on stabbing someone with it. “The main gift is healing, but the only way t’show y’how is, well, this.” She swept her arm out, plunging the knife deep into Leigh’s chest with a deft flick of the wrist. It hurt, oh god did it hurt, and Leigh found himself gasping for a breath he didn’t need. He exhaled, and the pain lingered, but he wasn’t… dead. It just hurt like a bitch. He looked down at the knife in his chest, clearly stabbing into his heart, and the shock of not being dead needed a second to settle. Elizabeth waited patiently while it did.

“If that were even a pencil, y’d be out fer a bit, so best stay away from wood t’the heart, but that knife ain’t shite for stabbing so yer fine.” She reached out, plucking the knife from his chest like she was pulling a flower off its stem. He felt a twinge of pain, and the wound started to bleed, sluggishly and dark. “Now, gonna show y’how Obeah works, then we’re gonna do the same in reverse.” She reached out, pressing both her hands to his chest. Her hands leeched cold into his chest, like pressing ice to the wound, and then her eyes all began to glow. They turned bright white, and her hands were hot, but hot like ice on bare skin, and her hair began to grow dark at the roots. It looked like her white hair was drinking up water from a tainted pool, and after a moment, she moved her hands, and the wound was gone. The hole in his shirt remained, slightly blood stained, but the wound was gone. Her hair stayed dark, even as the third eye closed.

“That’s handy.” Was all Leigh could think to say, looking between the place where he’d just been stabbed a moment ago and the darkness in the other’s hair and the exhaustion on her face. This kind of healing was a medical miracle that he was having a hard time wrapping his head around, but not in a bad way. Elizabeth, for her part, smiled, tired eyed, with a shrug.

“Y’ask the blood to heal, and it does, though it’s not without effort.” She chuckled, bringing the knife up and licking the blood off the blade. “Now, yer a nurse, yeah?” She asked, and Leigh nodded. “Right, then you’ll be apt prepared for this, but remember - use the blood, not yer knowledge. Kindred don’t respond well to triage.” She grinned, winked, and proceeded to plunge the dagger into her own chest.

The panic response that welled up in Leigh’s throat was uncalled for and unneeded, but it overwhelmed him anyway. He’d had a lot of dreams like this during medical school, watching someone, usually a friend, take their own life in front of him, needing him to call on his medical knowledge, but in the nightmares he found he never knew enough to save them. It was a response to how god damn grueling medical school was, and faded after he graduated, but not entirely. He felt his breath hitch in panic and he watched her wince around the knife for a moment and realized she was… fine, if in pain. His medical training kicked in, then, and he slipped closer, calm now, eyeing the wound with a trained eye. He paused, remembering her words, and after carefully removing the knife - he didn’t yank it, he didn’t want to cause her more pain - he pressed his hands to the wound. This time, asking the blood to heal seemed more innate and happened easier, and he could tell it was working. The slit on his forehead opened some and started to glow, though no eye was visible beneath the skin.

His hands started to go dark, though, which was a weird thing.

He pulled back, the wound now gone, to see his hands were stained dark at the finger tips. It looked like he’d dipped his hands in a barrel of oil, the darkness over his fingers a thin sheen discoloring his nails and fingertips, dripping up his fingers. It seemed to be much like how her hair did, except it was his hands growing dark instead. Elizabeth hissed, making a face as she looked to his hands, before letting out a swear.

“Figure this isn’t normal?” Leigh asked of her outburst, trying to shake the darkness off his hands. She shook her head no, making a face like she’d messed up.

“No,” She groaned. “Fuck. I got a bit of a curse from an old bit of shite with me sire and her girlfriend. It’s what stains m’hair. Obeah takes what ails, ‘n it shows up as a physical taint. Didn’t realize it was bound in th’blood like that, though.” She sighed, looking apologetic at the predicament. “It’ll go away after a bit, but I’d wear gloves all the same. Unless y’wanna look like yer nails are constantly dirty.”

“Gross.” Leigh made a face, trying to wipe the stain off on his shirt. It didn’t work. He groaned, because of course his life needed to be harder than entirely necessary, before pausing slightly at a sound. Elizabeth sat up suddenly as well, both of them hearing it - the use of Auspex was instant, instinctive, the blood reacting with him for once and not just at his whim, amplifying the sound - the sound of footsteps on the grass outside, headed to a large side window. Leigh quickly ducked, pulling himself under his sofa, and Elizabeth did the same.

A bright light flashed over the furniture. Leigh winced, the light too much for his eyes, making him hurt like he’d been hungover for days, but it didn’t linger. It swept over the room, and then it was gone, and the footsteps carried the person away from the house. It was just a check in, the police doing one last look, likely, even though they no longer had warrant or authority to do anything about it. Leigh stayed under the sofa until he was sure he heard the police car leaving, before rolling back out from under the furniture. It was blissfully dark, still. Elizabeth grumbled, a little awkward as she was a bit thicker than Leigh was and the sofa was a tad short for her to hide under.

“I didn’t know lights fucked you up like that. Yet one more thing Deacon missed.” Leigh grumbled, helping Elizabeth out from under the sofa. She looked at him in confusion, brushing herself off.

“That’s just you, mate.” She said with a shrug. “Sure, can’t look at daylight fer shite, but flashlights aren’t anything. Sometimes the blood does weird things, though. Takes disease and makes it somethin’ else. Equivalent exchange and all that.” She held up her hands, because she wasn’t pretending to know. Leigh made a note to find himself some decent sunglasses and one of those things that hold them onto the head before he got blinded on a run or something. He sighed, the conversation finally dying down now, both of them healed, if a bit hungry. It was 5:30, which was much later than intended.

“We should probably sleep. You can stay here if you want.” He gestured to his room, indicating she could sleep in there with him, and Elizabeth gave him a look.

“I’m gay, before y’get any ideas.” She indicated, though she headed towards the room al the same. Leigh followed, grabbing a towel on the way, shaking his head at her.

“Well, I’m bi, but you’re not my type.” He indicated, incredulous, like her mentioning the idea of them sleeping together was gross. She grinned, shaking her head, like she was right to pick him of all people. He sighed at her expression, stifling a smile before stuffing the towel under the door so no light leaked through. The windows were already blacked out, and there was no other source of light to leak in, so they were safe. “But I don’t think you’ll get anywhere before sun up, so this is what we got.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Elizabeth grumbled. She stripped - there was far more to her than Leigh ever really wanted to see, honestly, but it wasn’t something he hadn’t ever seen - before crawling into bed, curling up under the covers. “You don’t tell a soul I slept in the same bed as a man, or my ex will jet down here on a rampage.” She said the words only kind of like a threat, and Leigh rolled his eyes, changing into pajamas.

“Your ex?” He questioned, buttoning his pajamas before brushing his hair. He felt suddenly tired, like the blood simply refused to move anymore, like the dog he was walking just sat down suddenly and didn’t want to walk anymore. He yawned reflexively.

“A Fury.” Elizabeth explained, as Leigh crawled into the bed next to her. “She’s the definition of furious most of th’time. We’re… complicated. Best to keep on her good side.” Elizabeth also yawned, reflexively. Leigh settled into bed, feeling heavy, and for the first time in a long time, feeling really and truly tired. It was a strange feeling, but not unwelcome. “Though you’re her kin now, more or less, so she might go easy on you.” Elizabeth chuckled, and Leigh had only one thought as he slipped into sleep.

If this is what dying did for him, he’d be okay with that.

#vampire the masquerade #vtm #ttrpg #fiction #salubri #j. d. dennis #leigh o'connor #elizabeth byrnes #heist

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nosnet · 2 months ago

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Intentional Withdrawal

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period: 2011

Perspective: Leigh O’Connor

Rating: PG

Content Warnings: I don’t know anything about hacking and at this point I’m too afraid to ask

Word Count: 4,172

Comments: Prequel to our “Heist” campaign, before any of these goobers actually got to be vampires. Our DM (C. Todd) gave us homework: think of some kind of job they’d gone on, and this was mine. We did get blown up after this.

There was always one heist that stood out for Leigh, in the back of his mind, as his favorite.

It wasn’t his favorite because it went flawlessly. It wasn’t his favorite because of the time of year, the kind of target, or anything else like that. The Great Fuck You of 2011, as he named the event later, was his favorite because he got to test his skills as a hacker, regain a sense of pride in his heritage through nefarious means, and take the piss out of people that had wronged him at the same time.

It was the middle of March when it started, and it was bitterly cold. The wind was harsh and bitter, biting even, a taste of ice in every breath, which wasn’t usual for March, not like that. He remembered it was partially the cold that caused it, and the memory always brought a smile to his face, because the turn of events after were less like their normal heists, and more like a poem, an epic, slipping from one to another so casually that they seemed to flow in their own form of rhyme. It was like the heist was predetermined and they were just pawns in someone else’s game, and their player was a hell of a chess master.

The first thing that really got the whole mess started was that his old bank was an asshole.

He’d just recently switched banks, for a number of reasons. The bank he moved from had started to do what he could only call acting out, and he wasn’t there for their shenanigans. Everything from delaying direct deposits until he over drafted and refusing to refund the overdraft fees, to having no one ever available to answer phones until several days went by - thus making dealing with any issues nearly impossible over the phone, and a barely staffed brick and mortar store to make it difficult to do anything in person, either - to an app that hardly worked, hardly logged in, and gave him erroneous data, among other shady offenses. Leigh was pretty damn sure they were just a laundering front - because no one ever suspected a bank would be a front for laundering money, but the amount of absurd fees that they pocketed just for shits and giggles had Leigh onto them - which was half the reason he chose to bank with them in the first place. They had good benefits, including not giving a shit about large checks deposited and not verifying where money came from, and he found they had a decent back and forth of not looking at each other’s questionable choices in a mutual act of playing dumb. It was a good deal, but then they’d started trying to fuck with him, and they didn’t realize how much of a mistake that was, because Leigh was the kind of man to fuck back.

He had planned, initially, to finish the move to his new bank first, and then sabotage his old bank for giving him hell and ruining the good thing they had going. That was usually how he rolled, when it came to heists he directed. Ninety percent of the time he was attempting to fuck someone over, and he’d wait until he’d burnt all bridges and severed all ties before he did so. He didn’t run heists for money, or fame, or power. People that ran heists for those things usually got caught. No, he ran heists for the thrill of the chase, the rush of a good back and forth, and to rain hell down on those that wronged him. The money was a cute payout after, but he didn’t need it. He worked, full time, as the data manager and medical scribe for a hospital. He was paid very well, allowed plenty of sick days, and he could have lived in comfort from that alone. But that was boring.

The thing was, however, he didn’t get to sever all ties like he preferred to do, because the bank decided to wrong him in the one way he didn’t like to be wronged. It said a lot that he was willing to compromise his morals and set rules just to ruin the business, but they’d not only hit his bank account badly, but they went straight for his pride as well.

They made his card decline. On St. Patrick's day. At nine in the evening.

Leigh was, as everyone in the bar at the time knew, very Irish. He wasn’t the kind of Irish that usually partook in a lot of the St. Patty’s gimmicks that hit town around the middle of March - no green, no shamrocks, no orange beard - but he did enjoy going to the local Irish Pub the night of. They had good, cheap beer those nights, good music, and he was more than likely able to get himself a handful of free beers from white frat kids amazed at his accent. He liked the atmosphere of that pub in that town on that night, but that evening, it seemed to go stale. His card, which he knew had money on it, came back declined. Not once, not twice, but every time the bartender ran it. Of course, being a regular, the bartender told him he could pay the tab at any point, because he was a man who always had money and who always paid, but it was an embarrassment all the same. To be the token Irish guy in a relatively popular pub on St. Patrick’s day and be unable to buy your own beer was the kind of embarrassed Leigh did not take lightly.

He called off sick the next three days while he planned the heist, and when he met with his group - small, five other people, all decent infiltrators and fighters and talkers in their own rights - he presented a fully planned out heist. This was unlike him, because he was more a fan of picking holes in other people’s plans than planning his own, but this was important and personal and he was damned if he was going to let anyone else fiddle with his grand designs. He had the map down to the second, and no one argued with him on the plans for fear that he was one badly taken playful jab away from blowing them all to hell.

The plan was simple. The bank he’d been with had put all of his money on hold. This meant he couldn’t spend it - causing a declined card - or move it or take any of it out. His money - which wasn’t a small number - was stuck in theoretical limbo until the point at which the bank finished its investigations. Apparently, when he deposited the money, they were fine with it, but as soon as he tried to retrieve any of it, they were suddenly concerned about where the money had come from. It was a power play in the simplest form - he knew if he backed down, kept his money in their coffers and let them do their thing, he’d get all of it back. What they didn’t realize was that Leigh didn’t ever back down. Instead, he came up with a genius plan:

He was going to steal his own money back.

So he found himself, several days later, in front of his own desktop setup, ready to go. The plan was rather effortless on the part of his friends, and required a decent chunk of work out of him, which wasn’t a bad thing to either party. He’d decided, against his usual better judgment, to work from his personal setup at the house rather than use his burner laptop he had for jobs. His laptop was old, with the most recent software and just enough programs on it to break into anything, but it contained no personal information and could be completely wiped at the press of a few buttons. He could very quickly tank the hard drive and throw the thing in the river if he needed, but that wouldn’t be good enough for this one. He needed access to his own records, so he was using his own setup, and that needed some fiddling. Not difficult fiddling, but fiddling.

Step one was to get everyone in place, which went off without a hitch. Leigh needed everyone at the bank by 16:45, ready to go without delay, and for once in their small and insignificant existence, they were on time without fuckups. His group were placed as such: Nomad, the thief, was outside the bank and just down the street, ready to slip in and around the back. Kilo, the bruiser, was at the Starbucks down the corner. He was there to cause a little bit of trouble if they needed a delay. Blue, Mom, and Thorn were hanging out outside the bank, ready to enter.

At 16:50, the three outside stepped into the bank. Their job was pretty simple: they were to attempt to complete a transaction to set up a new account. Now, the bank only ever really gave a shit about new people signing up, so of course they would be more than willing to keep them at the counter past closing if it meant they were getting a new sucker to bleed. At 52 after, Thorn, equipped with a mic, gave the signal: they were at the counter.

“Go for Step Two, Nomad.” Leigh, professionally now just Biohazard, said. He had a mic and so did Nomad, Kilo, and Thorn, so they could stay in pretty open communication. He was so much more comfortable in front of his own computer than on his laptop, but it was a risk. He could be back tracked through information on his computer should someone get in, for one. For two, any viruses that he caught would be a pain in the ass to have to get rid of, so he had to be careful. That, and he was now having to cue their best infiltrator to break in just to give him access to their network to do his business, which was also a risk. But she was good at her job, and he had three screens, all of his quick access buttons programmed, and a fourth tablet jacked in so he could use the touch screen simultaneously. It was almost blissful to be able to use the rig he had. He checked the timer. “Two minutes.”

“Chur.” She was big into her slang, and while normally, Leigh would have made fun of her for her use of slang, he didn’t have time for that. She had two minutes to break into their back door, another minute to slip into their main office, thirty seconds to plant a wifi extender that connected his computer directly to their network, and then a minute to get out. Four and a half minutes was not a long time, and while she was good at what she did, it was pushing it, even for her. She couldn’t even talk to him while she was in, instead giving all her cues by a button on her mic that beeped him.

Beep. She was in with a minute to spare. Bless. He listened to the conversation on the other end, resetting his timer every beep.

“Now, I need you to read--” Beep. 45 seconds. “--because we’re very particular on policy, you know,” Beep. 15 seconds. She was a minute thirty ahead, but he wasn’t going to start running his programs until he got the beep she was out. “Sometimes people try and take advantage of the system, so we have very strict rules here.” Beep. 30 seconds. She was in and out of the bank with a whole two minutes to spare, which was brilliant. Every minute she had left was another minute Leigh had in the system. Now that he could access their wifi, he typed in a few things, opened up a program, and hit run. It spat out the wifi network information - the bank’s name as the network name, and then, surprisingly, a long and complicated password - in thirty seconds, and he quickly connected to their private wifi without issue.

“I’m in.” He said it, and he realized he said it, because he needed to tell Nomad and the others that the connection was strong, that he was in the system, and he immediately regretted it. He groaned, turning off the mic feed for the moment - he didn’t need to hear Nomad anymore, she was joining Kilo to get coffee, and he knew she’d be on his ass about it - turning his attention to the computer.

Now that he was on their wifi, he could do his magic. They weren’t exactly the most technologically adept bank, but they knew enough to cause him a few issues. Being on a closed wifi network was one of them, but the device he’d gotten into their office would essentially ping him through a handful of wifi connections until it thought he was right next door, which let him connect like his computer was just outside and do his dirty work quickly and quietly. It only worked because he was only down the street, and not halfway across the world.

The first step for him was to launch a DDOS against their main web page, which they had and tried to maintain so people didn’t think they were just a front. Between the people at the front desk being distracted by the potential customers who were hopefully playing dumb as hell to buy time, and a DDOS spoofed from another signal crashing their main webpage and causing them more issues than their usual bad app did, he hopefully had everyone who hadn’t already gone home tied up at the front desk or trying to manage customer service calls. That left no one at the computers to watch what happened when his money decided to abruptly leave.

“Let’s find ourselves a patsy.” He said into the mic, to let Thorn know what was up. “Three minutes. We’re two minutes ahead of schedule, everyone, so let’s keep it that way.” He panned screens over to another program, letting it start running, scanning the system for the weakest login credentials that had access to the accounts. He’d run the appropriate person’s login through his cracking program, but he needed to first find the person who would take the least time. Two minutes later, it came up with a name, and he quickly ran the credentials through his cracking program, and a moment later, he had a login.

“Sorry Carol. This’ll teach you to get a better password. Login, one minute.” He chuckled, logging into the bank under the name and password. Now that he was in, with three minutes and thirty seconds to spare, it would only take a few minutes of searching to find the right tab, and he could release the hold on his money, which would then let it be siphoned away. Easy. He could still hear them making a rather large stink over the radio, which meant he had plenty of time. He started clicking around, trying to figure out how they organized their internal processes, but after a minute of searching - he set aside five minutes for the task - he was kicked off the site. He was only displayed a page with the login screen, and an error code - login invalid. Now, he knew his login was valid, of course. He’d found the password himself, and he wouldn’t have gotten into the spaces he’d already explored with a login that wasn’t right. The only other reason he could have been booted off their site was if someone else was fucking around.

He grinned, wide and almost feral, all of teeth reflected in the monitor in front of him. This was the kind of shit that he lived and breathed for, and he could feel himself break out into a slight cold sweat. His heart was racing, his fingers shaking, his breath shallow and sharp in his chest. This was what he was here for - someone else was fighting him. This had just gone from boring and petty, to fun and petty.

“Oh, think you’re cheeky. Three minutes. We’re still three ahead, but I might need all of that.” He grumbled, though he did so with a grin. He retraced his steps, logging into a different account after finding and locating the password - and he went ahead and ran the cracker on several other accounts, as expedience was required. He couldn’t lose the time they’d built up on something as stupid as not having logins ready. This time, however, he set the login’s email to his own, and sure enough, a few seconds later, he got an email alert that someone had changed his password. He clicked the relevant link, resetting the password again, before pulling up another program. It was able to connect the cracking program he used to the searching program, and find the relevant passwords to every account, as well as log in for him. One person couldn’t keep up with changing the passwords on that many accounts, and it bought him a bit of time.

It didn’t take him long to find out how to remove the hold on his account, and he did so, watching the login bot run through the users one after another after another. He had a minute left of his scheduled time, which gave him four minutes of buffer. However, he had an extra step to complete now before he could just transfer his money to another, recently set up, offshore account to stew a bit. There was someone else in the system, and he couldn’t risk the other guy seeing the account numbers he was about to push his money to. So, taking his four minutes, he turned to the login bot. It seemed to be in on most of the accounts, but one apparently continued to give him issue. It wasn’t that the passwords were particularly hard to crack - in fact, the most recent were actually pretty short, simple little things - but that the password had been reset over and over just after the cracker got in.

“I think I found the little rabbit’s hole, haven’t I?” Leigh grinned, because that was all he needed. Four minutes, and a handful of programs, and this other hacker was about to have a very bad day. It was a pretty simple process, and he knew he could do it in less than four minutes, but having the timer ticking away off to his side only made the whole process more fun. He logged into the account himself long enough to find the email address associated, before finding himself booted again. He could almost feel the frustration behind the gesture. He didn’t bother logging back in, however, instead logging into the email and using the email’s login history to track the IP of the owner. He was very quickly booted from the email, but that didn’t matter, because he had the man’s IP address at his fingertips, and two minutes and thirty seconds to cause chaos. He quickly logged into the site again, using parameters built into the back end of the site to block the man’s IP address, making it impossible to log in on his own account. Leigh paused there, savoring the feeling and sound as his login bot finally accessed all the accounts and stopped with a ding as there was nothing else to do.

He then went, traced the IP back to it’s router, and with a quick run of his cracker, logged into the router and proceeded to shut the whole thing off from the inside. He then changed the password to the router to something difficult to crack, let himself chuckle a little, changed the man’s password to his email, before finally going back to his transfer.

His alarm went off. He was 15 seconds over. Whoops.

Now that he wasn’t being observed, however, the transfer was easy enough. It just needed the time to pull every dollar over, which he had allowed five minutes for. He sat back, letting his machine work, tuning back into the radio feed. He could hear Blue and Thorn getting agitated, and the employees were also very frustrated. He could tell they were going to have to wrap their charade up shortly, or there would be cops called. He could, of course, call in Kilo, but he didn’t think he’d need it. The juggalo was hanging out just in case they needed a bigger distraction than just keeping the employees busy, but it didn’t seem necessary. Until the transfer rate slowed the hell down for no reason. Two minutes left suddenly looked like four.

“Ah, shite.” Leigh grumbled into the radio. “Kilo, go for Code Red.” He called Kilo, and he got an exuberant whoop whoop in response, which was about what he expected. He had no idea what Kilo was about to do, but he knew that the man had two rules: one, he wasn’t allowed to kill anyone, and two, he wasn’t allowed to get more than held in the drunk tank. If he caused a problem that got him in real trouble, they might not have had the resources to break him out.

The transfer finally finished, two minutes fifteen over time. Leigh swore, checking back into the radio. He had no idea what was going on anymore from the sounds, but there were clearly staff yelling - something about get the damn clown off the door, we’re closed! - and other voices, Kilo specifically shouting, or singing, something loudly over one radio. However, the money was out, so it was time to wrap. Leigh quickly went through the process of erasing any footprints he had, putting the hold back on his account like it had never been taken off, logging out, scrambling passwords, and shutting everything off. He got logged out and shut the DDOS off before he commed the group again, finding the yelling was starting to quiet.

“Go for Step three. Five minutes. My end’s done.” Leigh sighed, leaning back in his chair, because there was nothing else to do. He could hear the sounds of the chaos wrapping up - apparently, Kilo had posed as a drunk, causing a lot of ruckus but not getting the police called, thank god, and Blue had decided not to put in an account at the bank due to Kilo’s antics. He could hear them all saying goodbyes, the frustrated reps particularly unhappy that it was now fifteen minutes after they should have gone home and they weren’t getting anything out of it. The grumbles stopped, and the singing stopped, and the chaos stopped, and the five minute timer went off.

“Check in. All good?” Leigh asked, over the comms. It took a second, but he got plenty of confirmation after a moment, and all was well. Everyone was out, no one was hurt, save the bank itself, and he didn’t have to rush from his house to help. He breathed out, shaking his head slightly. The steps after this were something he could do without rush, and it was a little sad. The tingle of the thrill was leaving his fingers, and he knew in an hour or so he’d crash. However, he had one more thing to do, though, before he could begin the process of reclaiming his money - first buying crypto-currency with the cash, and then selling the crypto-currency and depositing the funds in his brand new bank account elsewhere, which left virtually no paper trail - and he wanted to do so before he lost the rush of blood from his body.

He went to the banks website - now miraculously better! - logged in, and went to his now empty bank account. Then, with the ease of a practiced hand, he dialed the customer support number for the bank, which he knew was probably the only number that actually reached anyone, and pressed 0 enough times that it routed him straight to a person.

“Hi,” He said, a grin on his face, honest and sincere. He put his accent on heavier, because it was the easiest way to disguise his voice. “My name’s Keith O’Leary, I have an account with you all. ‘Spossed to have a hold on it, aye?” He paused, listening to the rep drone on for a moment. “No, I know, that’s why I’m callin’. There’s nothin’ there. ‘S empty.”

~*~

Three days later, he went back to the pub, with his most recent paycheck in his pocket, and bought the entire bar a round. To the locals, St. Patrick’s day was a holiday that happened once a year, with a notable exception - because for the Irish, St. Patrick’s day is every day.

#vtm #ttrpg #vampire the masquerade #fiction #salubri #j. d. dennis #heist #leigh o'connor

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