The Hound stepped over yet another body. There were quite a few of them spread out over the restaurant. There still were some survivors, but their numbers dwindled by the minute. He grabbed a young woman in an insanly expensive dress by her neck and lifted her above the ground with one hand. She whimpered quietly, her mind almost gone due to the horror of the situation. The Hound sat her down on a table, grabbed her shoulders and sank his teeth in her neck, splashing blood all over his face and the nearby wall. Some would say his table manners were terrible. Well, at least he used a table.<br/>Pretty Boy had a woman pressed up against the wall, Beowulf ate of the floor, an overweight buisnessman there with his mistress, not even half his age. This was one night he'd wish he had kept his dick in his pants. Not that there would be more nights, not for him.<br/>Pretty Boy was, as his name implied, a very attractive man and extremly vain, with a male model kind of face and a good head of hair. He was wearing tight leather pants, a fishnet shirt showing of his amazing six pack, and over it all he wore a leather coat similar to the one the Hound was wearing, but without the red armband with the swastika. He was the only one in the group wearing no nazi symbols, he was their under cover man, as under cover one could be while wearing a fishnet shirt. He often got accused for always thinking with his dick, to wich his reply would often be: "I have an amazingly large brain then."<br/>Beowulf had been a Neo-nazi before his embrace and still dressed accordingly. He wore Doctor Martens with white laces, jeans and a white t-shirt, and his head was still shaven. His body was covered with tatoos of nazi, germanic and norse symbols. His head might be shaven, but he had a big, angry red handlebar mustache that revealed his hair color to those interested. He was a loud and and cheerfull, his laugh was infectious and he laughed alot. But there were something ferral about him, something wild that hinted that he could explode into violence without any warning.<br/>These days none of them really cared about the Nazi ideology. The reason they all more or less dressed as Nazis could be boiled down to three things:<br/>1: They all agreed nazis looked really cool.<br/>2: Nobody messed with nazis. If a person was crazy enough to be a nazi in this day and age he was probably crazy enough to really hurt you if you tried to start something.<br/>3: Being a nazi was like a carte blanche for doing evil. Nobody ever asked you for a motive, cause doing evil was what nazis did, right? If they burned down a video store nobody would ask why, cause it obviously was because of them being nazis. Quite usefull for the Blood Hound Gang, as they sometimes refered to themselves. Everything they did had a hidden motive.<br/>One of the gang's members was a good example of this relaxed view of what made a nazi or not. Abdul was born in Eqypt, but had emigrated to the States a couple of years back. Unfortunatly for Abdul he wasn't really right in his head, he had an unhealthy fascination with fire. This lead to him burning down several buildings, one of them federal. No one ever got seriously hurt, wich was a good thing for Abdul. His trial took place during the weeks following 9/11, wich was a bad thing for Abdul. Instead of recieving the mental care he was in need of, he was tried as a terrorist and sentanced to a long time in prison.<br/>Things were looking pretty bleak for Abdul, until the Hound had him sprung from a prison transport. All Vampires had a great fear of fire, one of the few things that could really hurt them. The Hound could have use for someone who knew their way around fire, so he had Abdul Embraced. Abdul took to being a Vampire as a duck to water. Fitting in with the Hound and his gang proved more difficult though. While they all agreed Abdul seemed like an ok enough bloke, they knew dragging an arab around would be bad for their image. It was decided that Abdul would be wearing a gasmask at all times, to hide his Egyptian features. Abdul was a pretty good sport about it. In fact, whenever he got hold of some cash he hit E-bay, looking for more WW2 memorabilia. The coat he was wearing, moldy as it was, had been worn by an unlucky german at Stalingrad. The Weremacht helmet, complete with the hole from the bullet that killed it's first owner, had been taken as a souveneir by a british soldier at the beaches on Normandy. Abdula now went by the name Steiner and was as happy as he'd ever been.<br/>Their final member was not the least by any means, at least not when it came to size. A hulking brute who stood well over 2.30 meters and with huge, bulging muscles, he looked like he had been fed steroids with his mothers milk. He was of an obscure bloodline of the clan Nosferatu called the Gargantua bloodline. All Nosferatu was deformed in one way or the other, and had problem with all social interactions. The Gargantua vampires was not only deformed and socially inept, they were also thick as door knobs. They were however living battering rams, and the Hound had made sure to get one for his crew. They first called him Major Mayhem, but later changed it to It, after It had problems remembering his first name. To many letters.<br/>It was dressed in combat boots and leather pants. His massive chest was bare except for a bunch of leather straps across his thick arms and chest. He was wearing an SS officer's cap and a gimp mask to hide his hiddeous features. The others made him face a wall when he was feeding so they wouldn't have to look at him.<br/>"Anything?" the Hound asked. They all shook their heads.<br/>"Don't get me wrong, she is a tasty treat this one, but she's human," Pretty Boy said. "I haven't found a witch, warlock or lycan among them."<br/>"Me neither," Steiner said with a loud burp, sounding strangely metalic through his gasmask. "And I don't think I can drink another drop, I feel sick."<br/>With a loud crack Beowulf hit Steiner over the arm with his baseball bat, shattering bone.<br/>"Aooooo, what the fuck!" Steiner wailed.<br/>"Mend that bone, expend some vitae, then you'll have room for some more," Beowulf laughed.<br/>"Dick," Steiner said sulkingly while making sure the bone mended correctly.<br/>"Stop fooling around," the Hound said angrily. "So no one got anything? Humans all of them?"<br/>"I think we have to face facts, boss," Beowulf said. "We've been royally screwed, and not in a good way."<br/>The Hound looked like he had drunk vinegar.<br/>"Well...shit." He looked around furiously. "Who gave us this stinking tip then? Leasons will have to be learned, examples set!"<br/>The rest of the gang looked at eachother nervously.<br/>"I think it was Gino," Pretty Boy finally said.<br/>"Of course," the Hound raged, "trust the fucking Italians to fuck everything up. They couldn't even defeat a nation who's soldiers wore little skirts, and red balls on their shoes. Red balls, I swear to god!" The rest of the gang stood well clear of the Hound when he raged like this. It was far to easy to fall under his crosshairs. The rant went on for several minutes.<br/>"Fuck," he finally said after calming down a bit. "We need to cover our tracks here. Steiner, get on it. A leaking gas line I think, a tragic accident. Make it look good, this is a pretty upscale place. We don't want to leave any traces of us ever being here, and absolutly no traces of bloodless corpses. After you are done, get gasoline. Lots of gasoline, we are going to say hello to Gino."