Vancouver by Night

Vancouver by Night
Beneath the glass towers and endless rain, the Kindred of Vancouver play a game older than the city itself.
By day, the streets glitter with tech money, film crews, and tourists chasing the last sliver of wilderness at the continent's edge. By night, the Masquerade frays.
In the mirrored condos of Coal Harbour, Toreador muses auction ecstasy and secrets to the highest bidder.
Under the viaducts of the Downtown Eastside, Nosferatu broker heroin and memories in equal measure.
Across the water on the North Shore, ancient Lupus shadows watch from the pines, waiting for the night the Camarilla finally oversteps.
You are the newest predator in this wet, neon jungle, Embraced into a coterie that never should have existed.
Your Sire vanished the same night you rose.
Your blood sings with a forbidden lineage that makes Princes nervous and Sabbat scouts smile.
And someone, or something, is leaving beautifully arranged corpses on the seawall, each one drained, each one smiling.
The Camarilla wants order.
The Anarchs want freedom.
The Second Inquisition wants your head on a hard-drive.
And the thing that sleeps beneath Stanley Park wants breakfast.
Welcome to Vancouver.
The rain hides the screams.
The mountains hide the graves.
And every kiss comes with teeth.