It was a beautiful night; silent, full of stars, and yet heavy with a vague promise of danger hanging in the air. Most of human cattle felt that way about absolutely every night. Nobody knew when Sekhmet's children would appear to sink their fangs into their necks; to drain every remaining drop of life-giving liquid called blood. Rowena didn't need to bother with such futile concerns, mainly because she belonged to the opposite side of the barricade. She was watching her subordinates running around seemingly in circles; in reality, their movements had a distinctive pattern to it that only a trained eye could spot. Her face was an epitome of composure; unreadable smirk didn't betray a single emotion outside of hard-earned satisfaction. Finally, it would all end tonight. As ludicrous as this little rebellion was, government couldn't have allowed the Hekans to lead senseless guerrilla wars against their rightful masters. Letting them scream phrases like: Humans are friends, not food wouldn't have exactly demonstrated complete control over the mankind. The ungrateful task of exterminating the nuisance had been assigned to Rowena, probably as a form of especially sadistic punishment from her beloved higher-ups. She had spent past few years chasing after Darien, group's infamous leader, wandering through whole continents. The guy had been slippery as an eel, dodging her every attempt to drag him to the justice... Until now. Rowena had managed to get her hands on Darien's close confidant and had a polite chat with him over the cup of coffee... Well, let's just say that few traditional methods such as flaying alive had opened his mouth fairly quickly. The taste of victory was sweet. "Ma'am?" saluted young vampire with sandy blonde hair. "Everything is ready." This single sentence disrupted her thoughts; Rowena just nodded in acknowledgement, her smile widening. Result was closer to horrible grin straight out of horror movie than sincere display of happiness. "Good. I think I should grace the poor man with my charm. Hand me the speaking trumpet." She clenched the instrument and raised it to her lips. "Hello, Mr. Darien, also commonly known under alias Future Corpse in my department." Distant laughter could be heard from the crowd, but the woman ignored it completely. "Rowena Finchley speaking, your number one fan. Sadly, I can't go inside to greet you personally because of that absurd rule about entering people's houses. Would you be so kind as to grant us your invitation? It'd be really distressing if I had to detonate the explosives we have placed around your building. Distressing, yet perfectly understandable from the viewpoint of my boss." Her voice had a light tone to it, as if she was discussing the weather with him. "I can't really guarantee you personal safety since I was taught not to lie, but your precious underlings could be spared. After all, you're a rare breed."