Most neonates would meekly accept their sentence of banishment from a social center like the Church. It was better to find other places to associate with Kindred or Kine. They would wait, patiently for the time to have their sentence discharged, for patience came easy to those who could live forever. Alic had never learned that quintessential trait.

It was a concept as foreign to him as purity.

Remorse... frustration... desire... angst, rebellious concepts adrift, anarchy in the making. Emotions whirled in like a storm of mother nature’s unrest leaving more than an imprint on his troubled mind. Alic’s conscience lay crippled on the ground; a pyre of disquiet waiting for a spark to ignite it.

Contradicting the emotions and activity that took place in the scene in front of him, Alic remained motionless, undead and unmoving.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Millie and Riskard. Insticntevly, the sight of the Tremere with the Malk brought him to the edge of the sidewalk. Right before he took a step onto the asphalt, he realized what he was doing and stopped, turning back into the alley. So close, but so far away. The distance was driving a steak into him, leaving splinters in his soul for remembrance when the stake was gone.

Like trained instincts, his hands moved into the long leather jacket, resting on the pommell of a blade. There wasn’t any protection for him now, except the one supplied by himself. As though on cue, Alic turned back to his bike and a can fell from above, scittering across the broken walk of the alleyway. The two knives were out, and Alic’s eyes, like the trained hunter he was, saught out the cause for the disturbance. There, standing on a fire escape with overconfidence was Jon Jon.

Without thought, Alic had decided what to do with the impertinent Brujah. The spark.

Grinning, Alic soothed the beast into a purr. His eyes locked onto Jon Jon’s, turning his clanmates smirk into fear. "You!" he hissed.

"W-wh-wha’ you doing here?" Jon Jon whined. The Neonate could feel the orbs of hate locking onto his. The gaze was like an iron grip and he could not turn away.

Circling his bike, Alic rounded closer to Jon Jon. "You aren’t protected," he said with bluntness. "I’m going to make enjoy making you scream."

Closer he came, still containing the beast, taking pleasure in watching Jon Jon squirm. Looking up at him, he chided, "Are you going to run away, like last time?"

By sheer willpower Jon Jon broke the trance and leapt light footed to the ground, cussing with vehemence at him. "I’m not scared of you, you biker piece o’ s**t!" The words smashed the lock that caged the beast within Alic. His mind snapping, Alic dropped the fighting knife, lunging at Jon Jon with bare hands.

As quickly as Jon Jon’s sentence ended, he was barreled over by an array of flailing fists that came in wave after wave. Rolling with the blows, Jon Jon tumbled backwards, and got to his feet. Unable to dodge any of the blows though, Jon Jon staggered backwards again, trying to step out of range of the frenzied Alic. Fists smashed into his chest, his ribcage shattering. Blood caressed his face, where his jaw hung out of place. Somehow able to get a shot in, Jon Jon’s fist pumped into the crazed Alic, but it was shrugged off, and the beating continued.

Now Alic had his arms wrapped around Jon Jon, an unyielding steel-like embrace. Struggling despratly, Jon Jon tried to get his hands free, but they lay useless at his side as the vice fastened tighter and tighter. The sound of a cracking trunk exploded from Jon Jon’s back, and he fell limp in the hold of Alic.

A bloody thirtsy, enraged cry came from the fangs barred mouth of Alic, as the incisors sank into the terrified face of Jon Jon. Tearing away, Alic let go and Jon Jon fell with a flop, like a rag doll. Boots preceeded to stomp and mangle. All the while, the frenzied Brujah shouted incoherent war cries.

For a second he stopped the mutilation. Than he fell next to the gory form of Jon Jon and drank from him, draining, feeding, destroying, and within a minute Jon Jon was nothing more than dust. Clumps of him fell between the fingers of Alic, who let out a cry; not one of victory, but something primal, almost evil.

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