Quinn meets some resistance initially, but it fades quickly as Jacobs opens his mind to her. The first things she sees are two men. One wears a black hoodie with a black cloth face mask that is seen everywhere currently. The only discerning feature this man possesses are his striking blue eyes, which shine almost like sapphires.
The other has long dark-brown hair pulled back into a pony tail, a well groomed beard, and olive skin. His brown eyes seem to pierce into Quinn's soul as the image flashes through her mind.
Then the events of the evening in question begin. Seeing through the eyes of Mark Jacobs, Quinn is led through a dilapidated warehouse. There are 3 rows of chairs set up that split down the middle to form an aisleway leading to a makeshift stage. Cyrus is standing upon the stage, his face twisted in a mixture of arrogance and impatience. When he speaks, it's almost as if her attention hangs on every word. "Welcome to my church, you may call me Cyrus." Cyrus leans down and extends a hand to Quinn Jacobs, and helps him up onto the stage so he is closer. The man never breaks eye contact. "What is it that brings you here? How can I help you?"
"I have cancer." Jacobs replies, Quinn can feel the dread of hopelessness as the words leave Jacobs' mouth. "The doctors say there's nothing else they can do. I suppose when ya got nothing to lose, you're willing to try anything."
"I see.." Cyrus replies, his voice trailing off. "Let me ask you, what will you give for another chance? Your time? Your money? Your soul? The Lord has allowed me the opportunity to take your ailments and make you whole again, but everything comes with a price." The man's words drip with an unbridled charisma that Jacobs had never seen before. Without even realizing it, he was already nodding.
"I would give anything."
"Then come," Cyrus says as he motions for the flier man to step up and hold out his arm, "drink and be made whole." Cyrus cuts the man's wrist and blood oozes from the wound. The smell of iron fills the air and Quinn feels the horror that Jacobs felt. When Jacobs hesitates Cyrus gets his attention again and, looking Jacobs directly in the eyes, speaks one work. "Drink."
The word echoes in Jacobs' mind. He wants nothing more than to run, but he finds it impossible to move anywhere but toward the masked man. Without even realizing it, he had already taken three steps. He tries to stop but a force compels him further. Closer and closer until he's holding the man's arm and bringing his lips to the cut. From the first taste of the sanguine ichor, he can't get enough. The power flowing in the man's veins electrifies Jacobs as he drinks, and whatever spell he is under keeps him going back for more. After what seems like an eternity, everything goes black.
"...rue the day they excommunicated me." When he awakes, Cyrus and the man are sitting and conversing. Snippets of conversation flow freely, though most of it is lost as Jacobs reorients himself. Cyrus notices him first and speaks. "Ah, you're awake. Good. I have your first assignment." He smiles a wicked smile. "But first, you took more than you should have, your sire is going to need that back."
There is a rush of footsteps and Jacobs looks back just in time to see a gaping mouth of razor sharp teeth.
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