Maybe there is a curse on Hell’s Kitchen, or at least that’s what the rumor is. With all the chaos I wouldn’t be surprised for our streets to have been jinxed by some awful hydra headed witch intent of damning us even further. The whispering around the Elysiums is that the power hole left in our hood will be hard to fill. With Steve, Rai, and Juan dead or missing, that brings the count up to 9 vassals in a matter of months. That can’t sit well with the brass. Not to mention that two of those disappearances are a direct result of a one very psychotic Nosferatu and his sire bent on killing the “wicked” around NYC.
The fact that the Doctor isn’t ash is only due to the fact that me and the old man were there to save his ass when the shit hit the fan…So, here’s the rub. The larvae and master slaughter the two hounds and their entourage of neonates sent in to investigate, I see this and bolt for the closest Elysium, contact the Sheriff and the blood hunt is on. We move in groups fighting our way into the youth center, and as we get to the worm master all hell breaks loose. The deranged “Draugr” pulls some trick that causes us to turn on each other, with claws and knives out we take a few good sized pieces out of each other until we snap out of it. Then the scream…we turn and the doctor is in the maw of this thing, huge, and black chewing on his neck like a chicken wing. If that wasn’t bad enough, Juan turns and tries to scare me away as I move in to slice this thing to bits , and again he’s vanished along with the boogie man after using the Doctor as a chew toy. I grab him and bolt to safety leaving the old man and Rai to fight the Draugr with the sheriff. I didn’t see what happened after, but the old man only brought what was left of Rai, some knives and clothes. Looks like the baddy got a few more licks in before going down.
And if that wasn’t enough, Juan comes back to finish the doctor. Like a fucking snake he sneaks in through the back door to kill him while his wounds are being tended. If it wasn’t for someone spotting him he would have done it too. We can’t find him now, long gone I’m sure, but if we do his requiem is forfeit along with his boogieman sires. So here’s to religious fervor, one large clawed middle finger.
So here we are, beaten to hell, torpid, or worse. The Kitchen is going to be a lonely place for a while, I hope the old man likes to play cards. Oh, and merry fucking Christmas.