74

You were desperate then, and you knew you had to obey. They paired you with another desperate young Cainite, a charming young man named Julian Sim who talked too much. He was something that other Kindred called an Assamite, and back then you didn't know if that was another clan like the Brujah or another sect like the Camarilla. No one ever bothered to tell you.

Julian had the eager energy of a congressional page and the glittering, patient eyes of a reptile. He was out for himself, and so were you, and that gave you something in common.

You remember Julian's lime green Geo Tracker crunching to a halt over gravel. You jumped out and felt the sand beneath your feet, still hot hours after sunset, though the night air felt cool. Julian was well dressed despite the rough work, but back then you always wore the same thing when out in the desert: coveralls with the name you used sewn on a patch.

Not your real name, of course. That person died in the bathroom of a coffee shop.

You still call yourself Brujah.

---

The memories flood back as you drive through the night, the lines on the road blurring together. You had been a different person then, new to the world of the Kindred, struggling to find your place. Julian had been your partner, for better or worse. The two of you had been sent on a mission by the Camarilla, a test of your loyalty and worth.

The task had been simple: track down and eliminate a rogue vampire who had crossed the wrong elder. It was a brutal assignment, but you had no choice. Failure was not an option.

Julian had been chatty during the drive, filling the silence with stories and jokes. You had barely listened, focused instead on the mission ahead. When you arrived at the target's hideout, Julian's demeanor changed. He became focused, methodical, like a predator closing in on its prey.

The fight had been vicious and quick. You had used your strength and speed to overpower the rogue, while Julian's precision and skill ensured the kill was clean. In the end, you stood over the ashes of your target, bloodied but victorious. Julian had grinned at you, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

"We make a good team, Brujah," he had said, clapping you on the shoulder. "We should do this more often."

You had nodded, but inside you felt hollow. The mission had been a success, but it had also been a reminder of what you had become. A killer, a tool of the Camarilla. You had done what was necessary to survive, but the cost had been steep.

Now, years later, you are on a different mission, but the stakes are just as high. The memories of those early days with Julian remind you of the choices you made, the path you followed. You had done terrible things in the name of survival, but you had also learned valuable lessons. Trust no one. Always be prepared. And never forget who you are fighting for.

Selene stirs beside you, breaking your reverie. "We're getting close," she says, studying the map. "The sanctuary should be just ahead."

You nod, focusing on the road. The forest looms in the distance, a dark and foreboding presence. The sanctuary is their last hope, a place to regroup and plan their next move. The werewolves won't stop hunting them, but with the sanctuary as their base, they have a chance to fight back.

As you approach the entrance, a sense of determination fills you. The war is far from over, but you have survived this long. You have faced impossible odds and come out the other side. You will continue to fight, not just for yourself, but for Selene and the others who depend on you.

The night belongs to you, and you will reclaim it, one battle at a time.

Julian grimaced as he wrestled with the water. "I want to do more than survive, Fangwild," he said. "That's all our elders do. They endure. They persist. What kind of existence is that? Now, I'm not an idiot—I have better things to do than run off into the desert and get destroyed. But can you really do this for another fifty years? Mortals uploading their brains into computers and colonizing the poles of Venus and we're dragging water through the desert in a Geo Tracker?"

A hot desert wind whipped Julian's black hair around his head as he counted the gallons of water. The Camarilla gave you a job they considered necessary, even vital. Desperate migrants stumbled through this part of the desert, fleeing violence in Mexico and Central America for the promise of a better life in the States. Without water, many died. Aid groups dropped water and supplies for the migrants.

The year before, the Camarilla had infiltrated and supplanted one of those aid groups, replacing their members with…you and Julian. Your job: position the water above the scattered lairs of the Nosferatu elder, the one known only as Reremouse. The victims he claimed would give him enough blood to prevent his full awakening.

"This sucks," Julian said as you checked the GPS coordinates on your Garmin. "I mean, I know what we are. I know what we do to survive. But this is just so…so stupid! It's inefficient and wasteful. This was how the world ran two or three centuries ago, Fangwild, before anyone invented flowcharts or assembly lines."

Fangwild nodded, his thoughts heavy with the weight of their task and the treacherous path his life had taken. His mind wandered back to the betrayal that had shattered his relationship with his brother, Brujah. Fangwild had led him into a werewolf ambush, a decision driven by a complex web of fear, manipulation, and the desperate desire to prove his loyalty to the Camarilla.

"Julian, sometimes survival is all we have," Fangwild said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "We follow orders, we do what we must, and we endure. It's not glamorous, but it's the reality of our existence."

Julian sighed, his frustration palpable. "I get it, Fangwild. But we have to find a way to do more than just endure. We need to carve out a place for ourselves, a purpose beyond this endless cycle of survival."

Fangwild didn't respond immediately, his thoughts drifting to Brujah. He wondered where his brother was now, if he was still alive, if he harbored the same resentment and anger that Fangwild felt. The betrayal had torn them apart, and Fangwild couldn't shake the feeling that he had lost a part of himself in the process.

"We'll find a way, Julian," Fangwild finally said, his voice firm. "But for now, we have a job to do. Let's get this water in place and finish what we started."

Julian nodded, his expression resolute. They worked in silence, positioning the water above the lairs of Reremouse, ensuring that the Nosferatu elder's hunger would be sated without fully awakening him. The task was grueling and thankless, but they completed it with the precision and efficiency that had become their trademark.

As they drove away from the desert, the sun beginning to rise behind them, Fangwild couldn't shake the feeling that his past was catching up to him. The betrayal of his brother, the endless cycle of survival, the constant threat of the werewolves—all of it weighed heavily on his mind.

But Fangwild was determined to find a way out, to carve out a new path for himself and those he cared about. The journey ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty, but he was ready to face it head-on. The night belonged to them, and they would reclaim it, one battle at a time.