“When you think of power you most likely envision money, underlings and guns. If that is the case, forget what you think you know, as you are sad sad little childer. Run home to your Masters if you think this. Go …GO!”
The speaker leaped onto the hood of one of the many junked cars that surrounded the group. “Power” he continued “is something that we’re denied by the those bastards in Chicago!” A smattering of enthusiastic replies began to come back from the crowd. This would take more than words. Using the powers granted to his potent generation, the speaker attempted to influence them with his Presence.
“Power, is the ability to say NO! Power is the ability to shrug off the commands of your Sire!” The speaker saw that his power was working and that this message touched upon a chord with some of the youngest in the crowd. He focused on that point, the irony not lost upon him. “The Blood protects them, it insulates them. The power, IT IS IN THE BLOOD!”
The agreement of the crowd took many forms. Over time, two main camps formed. Some howled for the blood of their Sires, while others demanded that they establish a second free state, here or in Gary. The two groups split slightly, with the would be diaberlists taking up position on one side of the junkyard.
By watching and feeling the crowd, the Anarch Speaker identified the most hesitant members in the crowd. “Dammit, none of them look right. Nonetheless…” he thought to himself. “THERE” he yelled as he pointed a hand that looked too young “THAT KINDRED WITH THE BANDANNA! I SENSE IT, SHE IS A SPY…SHE…”
He never even had a chance to finish before the crowd fell upon her. This happened more quickly than he had seen in either Joliet or Gary. Black veins seemed to be in fashion this spring.