The “Lupine Breakers” Union - Pt 1
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Vic Hëlix ----------
The tangerine sky slowly disappeared, leading into the darkness, as the star of warmth and light sank below the Los Angeles cityscape making way for the chill of death and it's followers. The reaper emerges to drag another soul to their fate this night. On the outskirts of the city, far from the ambiance of harsh luminescent street lights, crowds of people, and the otherwise prying eyes of their constituents, the Sabbat deviants lie beneath the ground in their newly established sanctum, their
”playground” as it was sometimes referred to. A derelict, multi-level maximum security correctional facility that hadn’t seen use in decades, purchased years ago by unknowns with money to burn, and heavily guarded by Anarch “muscle”. While many of their Sabbat brethren thrived in recruiting through political manipulation and backdoor deals to further the Sect’s cause, a select few deemed it appropriate to amass their own army of supernatural creatures to join the ranks of the ongoing war. It was a bold decision for such an unsanctioned and illegitimate movement, but to these young upstarts, they had the answer that would sway the tides of battle in their favor.
The Garou. “Lupines” as the kindred refer to them, or simply “dogs” to many who'd rather see them scraping and begging at the feet of their vampire masters, reducing the race of fierce warriors and spiritual shapeshifters to mere cannon fodder for a war their captives would rather steer clear of. To the Garou Nation, they see all vampires as created by -and followers of- the Wyrm, better left to their own internal wars, tearing each other apart in the name of power, greed, and a thirst for more of what they don’t have. “Clear the earth of undead rot..” The werewolf tribes would say. “And allow Gaia to thrive once more, unfettered”. But there they were once again like the unwelcomed cockroach, chopping at the foundations of the creator, pursuing and pushing the Garou to fight for hearth and home, their ancient rights, the spiritual realms, and survival of their species, just to steal them away, systematically break them down until they serve the interests of their Sabbat masters.
“Two more for the meat grinder...” The pale, greasy-haired adolescent stood with an elbow propped against the wall and the other holding a phone to his ear, staring out into the large center “pit” that would soon be full of violence and carnage. “This’ll be fuckin’ epic too, bro. Did you see the pics I sent you when we picked this bitch up in Washington last month? Massive fuckin’ werewolf, probably one of the biggest I’ve seen! She can fight like a mutha fucka. Shit, outlasted the other two dogs of her tribe. Those assholes went down hard, but this bitch stood strong. And bro, she has
horns growing out of her fuckin head! And-”
The kid, interrupted by the other’s loud voice on the phone, paced back and forth for a moment before responding. “What? How do I know it’s a ‘she’? Well...shit bro, it wasn’t that tough to notice the lack of a fuckin’ cock ‘n balls! What, you think I’m some perv? Y-you know what, don’t answer that…”
Another long pause came as the other spoke, eliciting a sour expression across the kid’s face as he shook his head in disbelief before continuing his rant. “Right, right, I get it bro.” The grungy kid pulled a pack of smokes and a zippo from his tattered leather jacket. “Besides, that bitch
Eva and her band of assholes is a joke. She’s too busy hanging out with hotshots in tinsletown, fuckin’ anyone and anythin’ who gives her the time of day! So much so, why the fuck would she care about us and our little arrangement out here in the middle of nowhere?”
He fired up the tip of the cigarette and pulled a long drag as he listened to the other, responding with a “mhmm” and “yeah”, before a response came. “Yeah, yeah. Well, for the last year we’ve been doing this shit, I haven’t heard one fuckin’ peep from any of my contacts regarding Eva’s concerns. I’d like to think we’ve done a pretty fuckin’ good job of movin’ ‘round enough to keep her off the scent. But either way, I say fuck her up her prissy little ass!” He slammed his fist into the concrete wall, forming a series of large cracks that left shattered pieces of rock and dust, followed by a calming sigh escaping through his pierced lips. “Anyway bro, I gotta jet, so I’ll see you here in a couple of hours...”
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Wild cheers, disjointed arguments, excessive heckling, and general rowdy behavior of the growing crowd filled the upper levels of the octagonal-shaped prison’s center hub, which looked down into the “war pit” several feet below. Dozens of guys, gals, and otherwise -a mix of young white, black, hispanic, and asian vampires- lined the viewing area which was enclosed by thick metal bars that showed signs of rust and oxidation, and like much of the old interior, stank of rot and mold. However, the upper spectator areas had nothing on the lower pit section which contained the deadly fights as best it could, the three Black Spiral Dancer opponents pacing back and forth -two currently in
hispo form, and the other
crinos- awaiting their time to make a name for themselves, as well as serve the Wyrm in the most vile way they knew: destroying another of Gaia’s creation.
Along the perimeter of the arena, housed the cells for each contender, warded and augmented by the deep spiritual magicks of the sect’s Mage allies for more effectiveness in keeping the “monsters” inside. It wasn't perfect, but when dealing with the likes of the Garou, every little bit helped. In this instance, however, the one the vampires feared the most was a creature they'd scarcely come across, a werewolf they never imagined existed.
“Portador de la muerte!” A deep booming voice echoed through the hall, and a resounding roar of the crowd commenced at the name they came to know well in recent days.
Death BringerShe could hear it, even without heightened senses, the vampire “MC” and his bassy voice permeated every nook and cranny of the stronghold, as it did each night of their “games”. Since birth, the female werewolf’s primary tongue had been that of the Garou language, however, she also understood the human language to an extent as was customary within the Black Furies to teach their pups early on. But as of late, she wished her ears and mind would block out those words as they resonated more than any others in the past several weeks of her captivity. It was as though the blood-sucking Wyrm sympathisers felt the need to create an identity for her many exploits, label her for their own entertainment purposes. But this was still Los Angeles, was it not? Everyone had an identity, for better or worse…
But I have a name…it’s ”Victoria”.She’d recite this in her head as a reminder of who she was, the name her adopted kinfolk gave her as a newborn when she had none. These Sabbat had no idea who she was or where she’d come from. They only saw the potential to exploit a “war dog” for their own benefits, to mold and shape the beast into their personal tool of destruction. A tool she would not so easily allow them access to as long as she still drew breath.
The cell she’d been held in since being torn away from her caern, her tribe, and her life, was filled with nothing but the weight of dread. It wasn’t the constant stench of days old urine, excrement, vomit, or even the rotting human flesh and bones they’d left for her as a “reward”, but rather the growing presence of the Wyrm. It encompassed everything around her, from the brick and mortar walls, to the thick rusty chains with silver-lined collars used to keep her weakened, sapping the spiritual energies that otherwise breathed life into her being, allowing her to call upon the gifts Gaia bestowed. But there was that emptiness, an absence of Gnosis, and the looming emotional disconnect from her spiritual ancestors all within the twelve-foot-by-twelve-foot prison she'd been confined to. They knew this, as that was all part of the “Lupine Breakers” plan to whittle down any semblance of the Garou’s psyche, bit by bit, until there was nothing but a husk and unconditional loyalty to its new masters.
Vic’s large ears perked and her once shut eyes cracked open as the sound of the cell door unlocked and swung open, revealing six Sabbat members armed with silver tipped spears, and assault rifles with enough ammo to put down a herd of elephants.
“Alright big girl, you know the drill.” The lead vampire pulled at the four chains secured to the Garou only several feet from him. “Nice and easy...or you’ll get the business end of this spear jabbed into that pretty skull.”
The young Anarch back peddled and two others grabbed the slack, as they began leading her out of the cell on all fours as her massive ten foot stature and bulk wouldn’t allow for room to stand otherwise until she cleared the small space. The incessant snarls and barks of the
Dancers were heard along the other side of the pit, anxious to put down the one threat to their existence. Vic ignored them -casting their threats in the Garou tongue aside- but rather stared at her vampire captors with hungry and fiery eyes as she lumbered along the cold floor, biding her time as the Rage within began to grow once more. But she knew better than to attack them, as the many slow healing scars across her face and body reminded her, and the silver they held as their only defense against her wrath would soon be diminished as time went on.
Patience had to be on her side.
Fuzzybootz
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