This was the part Max hated, the waiting. It wasn't even the weeks, or sometimes months, of waiting it took to prepare his body for the Chrysalis. Nor the waiting it took to digest the knowledge needed to take the next leap towards perfection. No, it was the insufferably long wait to fall into the Chrysalis itself. So close to Torpor, without any of the mind-salving benefits. He hated to admit it, but it reminded Max of his Embrace. The darkness closing in, the feeling of the soul slipping away from the body, only to be forced back in at the last second; irrevocably changed into something new by the experience. It was like waiting to die, all over again. Well, that and the smell of gasoline.


The problem with a Chrysalis is, you never know how it will turn out. You spend so much time planning, preparing, training your body for what's to come. If everything went well, you came out the other side changed for the better. If you came through the experience, but without changing, you still counted yourself lucky. At least you came out of the little death with everything where it should be. The unlucky few who didn't were Lost to the Dragon. Which was a polite way of saying they turned into slathering, mindless Beasts. For those poor souls, “lucky” was being hunted down and destroyed before they destroyed someone or something they cared about.


Max swore long ago when he first joined the Ordo he'd never let himself come to that end. That was why he was currently at the bottom of a bathtub, several inches of gasoline covering him as he tried to clear his mind. Samantha stood nearby, holding a marine flare gun in a relaxed position by her hip. Once Max surfaced, she'd ask him a question; a failure on Max's part to answer like a rational , logical being would result in one hell of a pyrotechnics show.


Max relaxes, trying to clear his mind so he can enter the trance-like sleep of the Chrysalis. The coldness of the gasoline helped, Max drawing his blood into his core. The cold seeps into his joints, his body stiffening as the animating Vitae draining out of his limbs. He opens his mouth, letting flammable liquid flood down his throat, into his lungs; adding a cooling numbness to his chest. Max's eyes close; his whole body growing cold, stiff and lifeless as the Mekhet delves deep into his own mind.


The trick of a Chrysalis is getting close enough to Torpor to make one's body transmutable without actually slipping into the Sleep. And hiding yourself from your Beast long enough that it doesn't break free of it's cage. Max focuses on the growing haze around the edges of his mind. His body is cold, slowly losing feeling in his digits. It creeps up to his elbows and knees, the liquid in is chest pushing the numbness out to his shoulders and hips.


The haze begins to spread as well, Max can feel his mind slowing; edging towards slumber. The numbness of his body floats away as well, leaving him with only the vague awareness of his own mind. This was a close to sleep as he dared get; Max reaching out for the constant, gnawing hunger that haunted every second of his waking life. The lust for blood drove everything a Kindred did, every machination and scheme invariably lead back to the need to provide that hunger the stolen Vitea it screamed out for.


But the Beast that Max found was no snarling wolf; decades of repression and weeks of starvation had reduced it to a whimpering pup. Max could only smile, it was easy to push the desire for blood to the back of his existence; a once ravenous hunger reduced to subsisting on scraps. The fire that burned blood to keep his undead body animated would be stoked by his will, not it's own desires.


A moment of triumph, and then it was gone. Max could feel his mind float too far away from his body; too deep into the fog of sleep that threatened to swallow him in the hazy grey fog that had crept into the farthest reach of his mind. He pushed it back, making his body answer once again to his will. Precious blood began to course through his limbs once more; his body burning with feeling once again. His mind exploded as well, the fog rushing away from him as Max forced his body to reawaken. He opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling through the distorted lens of a foot of gasoline. Max pushed himself upright in the tub, forcing himself to cough to clear the liquid from his lung and throat. As his head breaks the surface, Samantha brings the flare gun up, pointing it with hands at her Master. “How do you feel? ”, she asks softly. Max lifts his head, smiling a little at his Ghoul. “Flammable.”, is the answer, Max coughing once again as more of the gasoline is forced from his body. “Put that thing down and hand me a towel.” ...