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A Professional

Victor Roske; December 8, 2007

PERSONAL ACTION:

Roske Epilogue Actions, pt 1

"This is it, Alexander. This is where you die."

Roske stands on the roof of Elysium, facing east. Next to him, propped against a box, sits Alexander. Alexander stares blankly eastward, a stake protruding from his chest. They are surrounded by thick banks of pure white snow.

"I guess you thought you'd be able to beat me. That you made me, and that you were stronger, faster than me."

Snow is falling gently on to both men, adding to the thick blanket covering the roof. There is complete silence. To the east, the sky is beginning to lighten. Roske stares at it calmly.

"Dawn has already begun. Soon, the sun will rise, and you will end.

"You entered me into this immortal existence, and for that, I owe you gratitude. Because of the vampiric gifts you bestowed upon me, I was able to overcome the numerous attempts on my life."

He begins to pace behind Alexander, crossing his arms.

"There isn't much else that anybody has for you. You are a brutish, uneducated, imbecilic excuse for a Brujah, and all Kindred will be glad to see you gone."

Roske raises his left arm and examines the stump that was formerly a hand.

"With the sacrifices I made, I wasn't sure if I would be able to beat you. I thought, maybe, despite all of my experience and training here in New York, that you might destroy me. But then, I remembered something important."

He smiles, then chuckles quietly, then crosses his arms once more.

"You might have forgotten it, Alexander. I am a professional. You are just an asshole."

Roske pauses, then enters the door to the stairwell and is gone. Minutes later, an engine starts, and he rides away.

Time passes. Alexander sees the sky become brighter and brighter, he hears the calls of the city emerging from cover after the storm, and then he sees the Light, and is no more.

Influence Response:

Alexander, being immobile, does not respond to your monologue. He looks more like a wax dummy than a living being, with the insects having torn their way out from his cold flesh, leaving his fat and skin mottled with a web of tiny holes.

You do not see him die as you drive off.

You wake up the next evening, rested, mostly healed, and free of any obligations or pursuers for the first time in a long long while. There is a warm kitten situated on your face.

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