Let's Play: Vampire: Bloodlines

[Odjn]

Originally Posted by Mike McC

I assume it's already patched, being that I got it through Steam. Unless Steam does it weird, in that case I have no idea how to patch it.

I got it off steam and it did not have 2.3 installed (the first fan patch that doesn't do anything but bugfix).

[Sifright]

Hmm who is interested in running/playing a vampire masquerade rpg using openrpg?

edit: pm me if your interested in getting a game underway.

Also so as not to be totally off topic dfm hurry your ass and update I need more VtM goodness

[Kepor]

Originally Posted by 42PETUNIAS

Why would I dislike that? Everyone loves Robox.

Very true sir!

[tzimisce]

God. Kitten. Update. Now.

[Mike McC]

If I were DFM, I'd totally delay updating after seeing that.

Out of spite.

[DFM]

Snuff's Enough



Head to the pay phone. Wait for the ring. Answer with the secret code. Go to the drop off. Secure the package. Get out while you still can.


It's a god damn spy movie.



The Red Spot isn't far from Flynn's palace of pleasure, a convenient trend I've noticed along the Hollywood shops. Nobody loitering around, which means nobody to scare off a studio crew wanted in five states. Death Mask Productions. Almost as stupid as their code phrase.



I've never dealt with snuff peddlers before, they don't have much use for the kind of equipment I marketed. Maybe if I'd opened up a hardware store instead.


Hmph.



Would have made a killing on hacksaws.



I stand beside the phone for all of five seconds before it rings. They're either great at customer service or they're desperate to unload something.



"The moon is a terrible mistress..."

I manage to keep the groan from erupting out of my throat.

"...who dances the night with demons of dread."

"Plaza View Motel, room two."

The line clicks silent. These aren't the people who made that tape. Whoever made that, whoever's behind those walking soccer balls knows something about the dark and the gloom clawing at the corners of the daylight. These are just a bunch of high school dropouts trying to run an illicit business.

A bunch of kids playing at being monsters.



They have no idea.



The rooms are arranged in a horseshoe pattern around a central courtyard, arena seating over a dried up pool.



I slip up the stairs until I find room two, nestled away on the second story. I think I'll take the tape and kill him. Rid the world of a murdering rapist and spare him from a far grislier fate when whoever really made that tape gets a hold of him. That's being double good.

Light flickers from underneath the door, irregular and spastic. I rap swiftly on the door and it swings slightly inward, almost ajar. I press my palm against the wood and push it open with a smooth shove.



Now I'll never make Cardinal.



The walls and the carpet are stained a deep, sickly red and the bed's been shredded almost to confetti. Either the best end of the month sex I've seen or I'm too late to be an angel of mercy.



Everything in the room's broken and overturned. If my tape was here, it's gone now. There's a key card on the dresser, stamped with the logo of that internet cafe a few blocks down the road.


I'm almost feeling sorry for these people.



But if I don't leave there with part two of Mengele's home movies I'm going to murder every last one of them.



I suppose I can't think of a better place to hide truck loads of women.



I walk into the cafe, the sulfur stench of Funyuns and Mountain Dew slamming into my overly-sensitive nostrils. It takes a few moments, but eventually the entire room is staring at me, probably for every reason under the sun. Too old, too well dressed, too stoic and too... what'd Romero say? Something about being a striking piece ass.



At least I've got the skin color down.



I cross the floor until I reach the door to the back. I push it open and step inside.



There's a uniformed woman manning the service counter. She blinks as I walk behind her and starts to stutter, someone addressing an unexpected superior.

"H-Hello, ma'am. Are... you with the head office?"

I ignore her and head to the only other door in the room, nestled against the far wall. There's an electric lock on the handle that makes an authentic clicking sound as I swipe the card through.

"Uh... ma'am, if I could help-"

There's a roar from somewhere behind the door. An angry, guttural roar. I can almost hear saliva splashing against the wall.

"W-what the fuck!?" I'm surprised she's still in the room. I pull the forty four from its holster and point it at the floor with one hand, the other squeezing around the handle as I cock the hammer.

"Leave. Now."

Her footsteps slam against the tiles, mixing with the screams of stampeding patrons. I raise the magnum and push the door open.



Nothing.



Stairs leading up, at least there's only one way to go, which means nothing flank-



The door at the top of the stairs explodes off its hinges, metal and wood sailing through the air as a walking meatball slams onto the far wall, legs twisting as it vaults down the stairway towards me, claws leaving massive tears in the plaster. Even before I pull the trigger, my armor rips up from under my skin, bone and leather hardening around me as the cannon shell exits the chamber.



The monster's blown out of the sky, the force of the blast twisting it backwards and sending its corpse crashing to the landing at the top of the stairs. Christ, I'm late again. If I don't start stopping these things before they happen-

The monster's halfway down the stairway wall before I notice it, pieces of its skull flapping behind it as it runs. I pull off another shot as it nears the bottom, hitting some kind of artery as it explodes in a shower of dust and blood and fire.



I hope there's not a lot of those things around, I'd hate to think there's nothing left of DMP before I even get a chance to talk to them.



I head up the stairs and step out onto a cheap production set. Bedrooms, parks, a library... all settings for the usual low-priced smut. Doesn't really scream torture rape, though.



There's a howling from somewhere above as another monster drops off the rafters towards my head, narrowly missing as I jump backwards. At least all the physical danger I'm constantly in is making my reflexes better. I fire two rounds into the monster as it hits floor, coating my armor in a layer of slowly dripping red.



Another scrambles across the floor from somewhere near the back, but I put it down before it can cross half the distance. There's a scuffling sound from somewhere behind me, and before I can turn a walking meatball slams into my back, arms wrapping around me and teeth tearing at my armor. I twist my arm over my shoulder and jam the gun down, ramming the barrel against its flesh and firing. Not smart but what-

Another hits the side of my head and I stagger in a circle while it tries to rip through the most armored part of my body. More scurrying. More monsters.













Someday I'm going to have to ask Jack how he deals with this kind of shit all day.



I don't know how many more of those things are crawling around, but I don't think anyone from DMP's still around unless they managed to hide in a closet.



Looks like one of the meatballs hit her while she was trying to run. No other wounds besides her torn open back, so either she's new or the real Death Mask Productions studio is further down.



No more sounds coming from the ceiling or behind the walls. Should be clear for a little longer, anyway.



Well, that's a little closer.



There's clattering behind the studio's far door, probably the direction I'm supposed to go.



'Round the corner and down the stair
Butt 'n bend with Burke 'n Hare



At the bottom of the stairs there's a man on the other side of some reinforced glass. He's panicking, shoving something into a desk. He barely has time to close the drawer before it's over.





Got to be the tape I need. Door's locked with a security code, but forty four should be able to get through the bullet resistant glass, if- I can hear something coming from below me. Not claws scrapping against metal or the hissing, snarling sounds of the living nightmares, but something... softer. Almost like... whimpering.



I hesitate a moment before heading down the hallway towards the noise. If one the girls is still alive down here...

[DFM]

Death Mask Productions. The heart of the monster.



And there it is. A fresh mattress on a rusted bed frame, surrounded by an ocean of long dried blood. Hmph. There's a meatball sniffing at the bed, unsure. It turns around as it hears me and I put two through its skull.



Hm. In a shoddy, cheap way it reminds me of some of the Oman dungeons I'd toured. Odd things to get guided tours to, sure, but I was a guest of honor and his highness was awfully proud of them.



I stop and eye the first set I come across. It seems so strange, now that I'm closer. Fresh, satin white against a sea of blood and grime. Hm.



Poor girls.



It's funny, looking back, but I used to be terrified of something like this happening to me. Sam always called me paranoid, like she was the logical one.



It's too bad they'd never come after me, I could have taught them some... how'd Boris put it? Some 'Red Army Shit.' The whimpering's getting louder.



He's curled up in the corner, probably pissing himself. Not what I was hoping for, but beggars can't be choosers.



"Oh jesus! What the fuck are you? S-Stay back! Stay back!"

Oh, right. My skin softens, bone melting back underneath the surface and the cold, gray color returning. Forgot about that.

"Better?"

"F-F-Fuck... What the fuck are you?"

"I'm Winnie the fucking Pooh, you Neanderthal." I raise the magnum against his forehead. "Now tell me the code to the storehouse door." His eyes somehow open wider.

"W-W-What? Why do you need in there?"

I shove his head back with the barrel. "That's really funny, because you're acting like you're not a worthless, soon to be dead shithole." I jerk the gun and fire a round into the wall. He screams and falls onto a pile of boxes, bits of debris landing on top of him.

"Q-Q-Quiet! P-P-Please!" He looks around, fear oozing out of every pore. "They'll hear us!"

"I'm shaking." I crouch down, smiling as I tap the gun against his temple. "See me shaking?"

"Alright, Jesus... it's seven six two three, now help me out of here!"

"Nah." I spin the gun in my hand, stopping it when it's pointed at the ceiling. "We're not done here. You're with DMP, right?"

"F-F-Fuck it, yes! I'm with DMP, are... are you some kind of five oh?"

"Ask who I am again and I'm just going to shoot you. Where'd you get the tape?"

He lifts himself until he's sitting against the wall, boxes tumbling out from under him.



"W-What... what tape?"

"You know what tape."

"...W-We didn't make that shit!"

"I know. You're not that good." I check the cylinder. "Where'd you get it?"

"This house... this creepy house in the hills. One of the guys found it... we just copied it... put our names on it, it's... it's worse than any shit we ever did."

I can't help but chuckle. It comes out soft and low, but not from me. Every wall, every surface is echoing my laugh until it seems like the entire room is anticipating his demise. He tries to sink into the floor.

I don't know how I did that.

"Is that so?" I glance back and the blood splattered set pieces. "...So how many of the girls here actually got their candy? Or doesn't that work on kids these days? Did you have to move up to losing a puppy?"

He squirms, trying to get away.



"It's not like that! I... alright some of it was bad, yeah, but... it was never anybody who mattered! Just... runaways, junkies... doing them a favor, mostly."

"Mostly." I stand, watching him stare up at me. I straighten my arm out, pointing the gun at his head. "You know this thing's mostly empty."

He closes his eyes, covering his face with his hand. There's a crash from a nearby room, followed by claws scuffling across the floor. I lower the gun, and he turns just in time to see the maw close around his face.



Poetic.



When its finished eating I double tap the trigger and head back to the storehouse, punching the code on the security lock.



Wonderful. Now I can take this back to Isaac.



A second wave of the monsters falls on the studio, blocking the way between me and the cafe exit. Probably to make sure the job's been done.











They're not too much trouble.



No cops yet, always a plus. 'Course they've probably been pretty busy lately.



Plenty of good points for today, I think. You know...

Somewhere there's a stretch of road a little girl's going to walk down, maybe a year from now, where someone from DMP was suppose to grab her and stuff her in a van. Now... they're not going to be there to do it, and that little girl is going to keep walking.


Hmph.





Makes you think.



I get to Isaac's and greets me curtly. I don't mention the trouble I went through and he pops the tape into the VCR.

















Isaac stops the tape, flipping off the television set. He's excited.



"The house on the tape, I know it. It's in the hills, King's Way if I'm not mistaken. My guess is that the fiend that made this tape is using these creatures to hound the Nosferatu, which would explain they're sudden absence." He scratches his chin, almost talking to himself. "They're trapped."

"So if I'm going to find them, I'm going to need to stop these creatures at the source."



"I'm afraid so. If the prince wants you to see the Nosferatu, you're going to have to get at them through whoever made this tape and I doubt he's going to draw you a map. King's Way looks like your only bet."

"Alright. Thanks for the help, Isaac. I'll be sure and clear the place out so they don't come troubling you again. Good for Camarilla relations and all that."

I turn and place a hand on the door.

"One... more thing."

"Yes?" I turn.



"Do not trust LaCroix. If you play his lap dog, the only thing you'll get is a dagger in the back for your trouble."

"Not if I put mine in his first." I smile so sweetly I'm almost surprised, but Isaac just shakes his head.

"You're doing it wrong, Helen. Do not play the damned politics of the Camarilla. It isn't going to last."

I take a step back into the room. "...What makes you say that?"

"LaCroix. He thinks fear is power, but he's wrong. You beat a dog enough and it's going to fear you, but the minute you turn around it's going to strike." Isaac leans back in his chair, nestling amongst tasteful opulence, command radiating from his every change in posture. "Real power comes from respect. One way or another, Helen, if you're going to get anywhere you need to remember that."

"I..." I pause a moment before recomposing myself. "...thank you."





I was never a leader. Even when I was raking in billions I still did almost everything on my own. I never read Machiavelli, I never even read Lord of the Flies. I'd been so set on taking over I never thought about what I'd actually do when I did. LaCroix is cold, calculating and doesn't care what happens to me, but he knows how to lead. If the Camarilla's really on as unstable ground as everyone says, I might just push the whole thing to collapse.


And then I'd have nothing.


After this is over, I might just strike out on my own and start over. Maybe ply the small arms market again for awhile, 'till I get back on my feet. So I'm an undead predator. So what? No reason I've got to focus my whole life around it. I near the omnipotent taxi driver and pull out my phone. One new message. Weird, I wouldn't think anyone would have this number. A line of text flashes on the screen.

A gambit has been played. The king leaves himself open.

The origin address doesn't say anything but a friend.

Well, that's great. A gambit. Who's making a gamble? Let's see... LaCroix's switching assignments, sending me after the sarcophagus and the sheriff and Nines. That could be a gamble if there was something about one of the investigations he didn't want anyone finding out. If it was about Nines, it makes sense he'd send the sheriff... but for the same reason, it wouldn't really be a gamble. If there's something he's not telling me about the sarcophagus, it could be a gamble to send me after it, but unless the sarcophagus... hmm... maybe that's his gamble, that I won't just open the thing when I find it? That seems like it would expose the entire world though, not really just him. Look into this sarcophagus business a little more closely, is what I'm getting.

But who else could be the king? Isaac? He's sending me to a house of monsters that have been hounding the Nosferatu, maybe there's a link between him and the creatures I might blunder onto? Hmm. Speaking of creatures. I punch a number into the phone and set it to my ear as I get in the cab.

"Mercurio."

"Hello, Merc. You're sounding much better."

"Yeah, thanks Helen. It's been a rough couple of nights, I'll tell you that much. What can I do for you?"

"Get anything on that hardware we discussed?"

"Yeah, matter of fact. Just came in today. You gonna swing around my place and pick it up, or you want me to drop it off somewhere?"

"Im on my way. Good to hear from you again."

"Yeah, you too. Keep it safe."

I flip the phone shut and open my mouth when the driver interrupts me.

"Santa Monica, yes."



A half hour later I'm standing outside Mercurio's apartment, pounding on the door. He swings it open, revealing enough blood to rival the home of DMP.



"Heya, Helen. Good to see ya again."

"Jesus, don't you ever clean up around here?"

"Eh... most of this is pretty fresh. 'Nother deal went bad. Don't worry, it ain't mine this time."

"Have anything to do with me?"

"Nah, picked up your SPAS 15 this morning. Cleaned, oiled and just waitin' to put a hole through somethin'. WP rounds in the second magazine, there. Still gotta pay, but I'll give you the saved-my-ass-and-make-one-hell-of-a-broad discount."

I half smile.



I give him the money and do a quick check on the shotgun. Not that I don't trust him, it's just that there's a lot of little problem quirks on the models that can be hard to spot. I check the spare holster in my jacket. Collapse the stock and the thing actually fits. This is amazing.

"Hey, I've been thinking. What're the chances of landing a full blown flamethrower?"



"Heh. Pretty good, they're a popular item. I blame the movies. Everybody thinks they're a riot 'till they set their friends on fire. I got a Vegas connection for those, but, eh... last time I was out that way I had to shoot my way to the state line."

"Don't kill yourself on my account, just asking."



I say goodbye and head out the door. Merc's small time, but he's a good guy. When I get back in the cab, the driver doesn't even talk, just starts driving to the hills.


Someday I'll get used to him.



A few hours later he drops me off outside an abandoned house, more modern than I'd been expecting. Right porch, right door... this is definitely the house.



Let's fucking roll.


-------------------------------------

I AM SORRY THIS IS LATE I'VE BEEN DEALING WITH RELATIONSHIP BULLSHIT. ALSO IT WAS ONLY LIKE A WEEK OR SO COME ON GUYS. I AM ALSO SORRY I AM SO TIRED AND DIDN'T WRITE TO MY FULL POTENTIAL.

Sin City edit:

[Jagos]

Dude, update when you want. But I like the Sin City edit.

-Edit- Krylo has made my night. That is just too funny...

[Krylo]

Man, haven't I taught you anything?

The universal solution to relationship problems is to stick a dick in her mouth. I mean, I get where it'd be hard to concentrate on writing an LP with your dick in someone's mouth, but on the upside you'd be all "I couldn't get around to this LP because I was too busy getting my dick sucked" instead of all 'wah wah relationship problems.'

[DFM]

Jagos I don't think you know me very well.

Krylo you should replace Ann Landers.