WARD

"I will do it my self" Jesse says. "Absolutely out of the question," Qui says grimly. "You've been out of the field too long."

Bouchard scoffs. "What's the worst that could happen, Qui? You wanted to run right in, guns blazing. 'Kill 'em all and let Caine sort the dead,' right? At worst, Jesse will fail and you'll get your wish. If not, we can gut Ward before he knows what hit him."

Jesse gives Bouchard the side-eye. "He watch. I may not have been in the field for years, but I'm not a pushover. Jesse just get the others ready. Give me a five minute head start, then come in through the door."

Despite Jesse bravado, He is slightly concerned about his abilities, but as he dig his fingers into the crumbling fissure in the brick wall, His expertise comes rushing back to him, rendering worries laughable as He scale the edifice like a spider, silent and foreboding. When Jesse reach the window, He latch tightly beneath it, listening for footsteps. When none approach, he risk glancing over the sill. The factory is poorly lit, likely to keep the location hidden, but He have little difficulty picking out the guard stationed on the catwalk. Jesse study his movements, getting a feel for where he's going to go next and how quickly he can access the rifle strapped around his chest. Something about him feels…off. Sloppy. Jesse narrow his eyes and watch closely, pleased with what you see. His job just got a whole lot easier—He is almost certain that the enemy is mortal.

The sentry turns his back on Him. Leaving no time to second-guess Himself, Jesse leap over the window, landing silently on the catwalk with padded feet. Not so much as a twitch from your mark. He moves forward silently, melding with the shadows along the wall until He is directly behind the man—He can sense the mortal blood pulsing in his veins. He reach out and wrap an arm around his neck, His other hand covering his mouth to prevent a warning scream. He struggles and almost frees himself, but Jesse supernatural strength prevails over the mortal's training and he finally goes limp in His arms. Jesse slowly ease the body to the metal slats of the catwalk as He eyes dart from side to side. He can't let His nerves get to him. One step at a time. Below, Jesse see the dim outline of Qui leading the others along the opposite wall.

A sharp electrical crackle is the only warning Jesse have before dozens of floodlights blaze to life, immediately followed by an ear-splitting clatter of gunfire as men and women swathed entirely in black emerge from all corners of the factory. Jesse watch in horror as Qui's band dashes for the shelter of an old stairwell, dust and chips of brick exploding in violent fractures all around them.

Jesse peer down through the metal slats of the catwalk and fix your gaze on a shooter directly below, still firing on the remaining members of the hunting party, some of whom are still bunkered in the old stairwell. Baring His fangs, He grip the guardrail tightly and leap over the edge, swinging down. Jesse collide with the man, knocking him to the floor in a heap, unconscious.

He turn to check on his companions, relieved to find them safe and emerging from the shelter of the stairwell. You shift your gaze over to a small office room tucked away in the corner. Your briefing suggested that Ward would be staying inside, but there's no sign of him. As He haze of bloodlust wears off, Jesse nearly trip over the bulky leg of a dead mortal and a memory from Jesse past causes Him to recoil. You used to be one of these creatures. Once, you had been drained of blood, dying in the dirt. But unlike these victims, you'd been pulled back from the brink of oblivion, granted an eternity of power at the cost of damnation.

A meaty hand closes around your Jesse neck and you're forcibly torn from your reverie as some unknown brute hoists you skyward, your feet dangling uselessly off the ground. You hear Qui shouting distantly, followed by a clatter of running footfalls as the others close in on you. Shifting in the monstrous grip, you struggle to catch a glimpse of your attacker and lock eyes with one of the largest Kindred you've ever seen, his craggy face and massive bulk fitting Corliss's description of Ward to a tee, but his well-worn jean overalls smudged with black grease and red-checked shirt hardly evoke the sense of fear or respect you'd anticipated. With your heightened awareness, you can feel each individual muscle in his fingers contracting as he lifts you from the floor.

"Corliss's childe?" Ward grunts, eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes your face. "You're being used, Jesse. This isn't how it has to end."

Ward flinches away and your shot wings him in the neck. He growls in surprise, sucking air in through gritted teeth as his massive fingers clench harder around your neck. "I wanted to give you a chance, Jesse," he grunts. "but I guess you're not ready to hear the truth."

The muscles in Ward's left hand tense around your neck as his right arm wraps around your torso with the speed of a viper. In your peripheral vision, you can see Qui charging forward, seemingly in slow motion as the world revolves around you in a sickening spiral. Ward heaves you backward with such force that the fragile brick wall explodes outward, sending you flying almost a hundred feet into the open air in a graceless arc, your world tumbling around you. Time seems to slow as you descend, jagged pieces of rebar slashing at your neck and chest as you manage to twist aside just in time to avoid being impaled grotesquely on the leaning wall of a partially demolished building. You hit the ground, skidding and twisting through a field of heavy gravel and chunks of pulverized concrete which tear at your open wounds.

When you finally come to a stop, your vision swims, red-rimmed and dark in one eye. You blink, for a moment imagining you must be hallucinating, but then the spinning twin visions converge on each other, manifesting in the form of a cowering mortal couple. One of them has been struck in the head by a fist-sized chunk of brick. Blood oozes from the deep gash, and their companion, who had been holding a bit of cloth to their forehead in an attempt to stanch the flow, has dropped it in favor of shielding their partner. Stinging pangs of desire overwhelm you, and for a moment all you can see is a talking sack of meat and blood.

"Please…" the mortal stutters. "We need to get to a doctor!"

Stupid thing to say, if only because you doubtless look worse than they do. Your hands claw at the dust and gravel as you pull yourself forward, unable to vocalize your desperate need, your only true desire in this moment. Primal Hunger overwhelms years of social programming and Camarilla directives—the loss of Blood as your body mended itself has awakened the Beast within. You must feed.

As you grow closer, you lose focus again and the couple swims before your eyes, their faces changing into ghostly visions. As what remains of your humanity does battle with the Beast threatening to consume you, it digs through long-hidden memories, slowly reeling you back from the brink of madness. The appearance of the uninjured mortal twists and morphs until you are staring into a mirrored set of eyes, a mirrored face. A mirrored soul from a time before it was indelibly stained by corruption.

You would weep to see this earlier version of yourself if you had tears left to shed

Your eyes shift away from your mirror image to his companion, and a sharp pang of anguish wracks your body and mind. Long-forgotten memories of a partner you once cherished float before you, marred by the deep gash on their forehead, a bloody omen of an unforgivable betrayal that will never truly be forgotten, no matter how distant your un-death draws you from your earlier life.

I see a vision of a woman I once loved, smiling and foolhardy. In this moment of pure animal desperation, all you can think of, all you want in the world is to brush your lips against hers and banish the eternal cold of un-death, even if only for a fraction of a second, to relive some of what has been lost, to heal your mind as well as your body. This unearthly desire proves too great to resist, and you draw forward, embracing your lover and pulling her close. She struggles at first, but eventually yields to your touch, a deep groan of pleasure on her lips. The feeling is euphoric. Hot tears stream down your cheeks and your chest constricts with gut-wrenching emotion as your embrace spans what feels like hours of pure bliss. And then there is pain. You're able to ignore it at first, but it returns with a vengeance as your lover is torn from your arms, a sad smile etched on her lips.

"No!" the word rips its way out from the bottom of your black and shriveled lungs. "Not again!" Your eyes shift to the demon pulling your lover away, and you recognize yourself in its face once again. Not as you once were, but as you are now—soul twisted and shriveled, a gaping maw with protruding fangs. You leap forward, ripping your doppelganger away from his prey before plunging your teeth into his neck. "Not…ever…again!" you grunt against his flesh, crimson bubbles flowering at the edges of your mouth as you scream defiance even while you drain your personal demon dry. When at last he breathes no more, you fall back, triumphant exultation fading as your body finishes knitting itself together again. Reality settles around you again, and you feel a biting sting of dread as you turn to take in the true scene.

The mutilated body of a young man lies sprawled on the ground, his neck torn open and hanging at an unnatural angle, expression locked in sheer terror and disbelief. He's tightly grasping the hand of another mortal—he'd somehow held on even as you drained the life from his body. Unlike her partner, the surviving young woman has yet to succumb to oblivion—irregular breathing causes her chest to rise and fall and her eyes drift listlessly until they alight on you, your lips and chin slathered in a mix of blood from both your victims. She tries to scream, but finds herself unable to summon the necessary breath, and all that comes from her lips is the pitiful squeak of a prey animal. She's dying. She knows it. You know it.

"I don't want to die here," she rasps, her knuckles going white as she clutches her dead partner's hand.

Your head is spinning as you sink to your knees before the woman, unable to banish the vision of your lover's face. Her expression of betrayal was not at all dissimilar to the gaze of this young woman, soft eyes searching for answers and wondering why—how you could have done such a thing.

"Please," she whimpers. A darker part of you takes hold, perhaps rooted in the Beast, but more likely wrought of rekindled emotion. You stare down at the helpless mortal with contempt. This pathetic creature is not worthy of your mercy, nor of the memory she had the audacity to evoke.

You kneel beside her and bring your hand to her throat, your dead eyes causing her to shudder and look away. Her neck is a ruin of ruptured blood vessels and ragged skin—you can almost feel the throbbing of what little blood remains in those pulsating veins, but you hold yourself back from draining her dry. Your other hand joins the first in a choke-hold, starving the dying body of oxygen. She sputters feebly, tries to call out for help, and goes limp.

You release her neck with disgust. It's been decades since you've attacked kine for any reason other than to feed. Perhaps you've gone too soft. You'll need to thank Corliss for having the wisdom to send you on this mission.