It was almost common sense, now that he realized it. He was reborn as a Kindred, shacked with the beast that tests his will every moment and yet blessed with a body that is no longer effected by age. His muscles no longer wearing away despite his training, his joints no longer aching despite how much he used them. He was born as a new man.

It was time to go back to school.

Ranger School was hell, just like it promised. From the start, he had to do 50 push-ups, 60 sit-ups and six chins ups. Each in two minutes. They only demanded more each day and worse twice over. They beat fear out of him and formed him into a perfect weapon. But he had grown rusty over time, chipped and worn. And he developed new fears. It was time to return to the point of perfection... And then go beyond.

Strenght exercises were key. He had to restore his muscles to their former glory and the grueling pattern of muscle building exercises would do it with him increasing the reps each day. If it becomes too time consuming to do all of the reps, he will just need to add more weight to himself to make it worth doing.

Agility, dexterity and flexibility followed, re-learning to move with the grace he had as a youth. Bending, rolling, sharp movements and full range of motion had to be relearned and the false shackles of age removed.

'Train like you fight, fight like you train.' That was one of the lessons beaten into his skull at Ranger School, and he followed it even in Sacramento. He wasn't going to become a weapon if he didn't strike out. However, the punks he was catching on the street are starting to wise up when they see an old man coming to pick a fight, not that they were much of a challenge anyway. It was starting to become clear that he would need to take it a step further and get to know the seedier side of Sacramento. See if they have some stronger fighters hidden away.

Would also be a good chance to improve his social skills, find better meals than punks he beat up or infatuated farmgirls.

The last part was the hardest. His fear of heights and water was gone thanks to his training, but the embrace cursed him with another fear. Fire. What was once a life giving source of heat was now the bane of his existence. He found himself slinking away from people when they light a cigar and jumping when he passed an image of one.

This couldn't go on. Alone out in the barrens around Sacramento, he sat alone with just a lighter in his hand. All sources of ignition removed all around him. Already his hand was shaking. His thumb on the the slide and a finger on the trigger. It should be a simple act. Push and squeeze, pop goes the flame. He should have been able to do it without a thought. One.. two.. three times he willed himself to light the stick lighter. But he failed each time, his hand purposely refusing to follow the correct steps to bring the flame to life.

Roderick gritted his teeth, forcing his thumb to push the slide forward. His hand shook as his finger slowly squeezed the trigger for the lighter until...

*click*

A tiny flame flicks to life at the tip of the lighter. Several years ago, he might be interested in watching the flame dance in the wind. Now? Now it was the most horrific thing he had ever seen. He held on for as long as possible, his body shaking as his beast raged and thrashed against the cage within his mind. He had no idea how long he held on before the Beast took control, forcing him to toss the lighter away and scamper like a scared child. It's flame flicked off the moment it left his hand and clattered to the ground harmlessly.

Roderick needed another moment before he could wrench control away from the Beast. His first act after doing so was to punch the ground in anger. Again and again as he cursed himself, his own weakness, his failure and the damned beast within him. He kneeled there in the dirt for several long moments before he stood up, walked to the lighter, picked it up and took a seat on a nearby rock. And tried again.

A Ranger never quits. Never surrenders. Especially to fear.