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One of the campaigns I ran used Vampire the Masquerade to power a superhero campaign. Gynock was a player character in the campaign and fell under an obsession. In a storyteller format-based game, I didn’t want a simple “oh, you double botched, that isn’t good” on the mind control, so I wrote up a story … 5,000 words … to translate the game mechanics into a narrative for the player.

Part 1 opens with Gynock waking up with his brain marbles still thoroughly shook.

He had been hearing beeps for a while before opening his eyes. He quickly closed them as the uncompromising white flooded his senses. The light was so bright that it hurt his eyes. He opened them more slowly this time, barely lifting them so that his eyelashes protected him from the worst of the glare. A voice from the brightness cheerfully welcomed him saying, “Oh good, you’re awake.”

He tried to see if he could speak. “Kind-of,” he croaked. He wasn’t certain if the sound made it past his lips.

“Have a little water” and he saw a bottle condense out of the white haze before him with a sipper straw attached. He greedily sucked the water into his too dry throat.

He flexed his hands discretely as he gulped the liquid; both were braced against something, as were his legs. His right hand had tape across the back. So he was restrained noted the combat portion deep within. The rest of his brain was fuzzy, not functioning. Something had happened.

“Good afternoon, I don’t believe we have met. My name is Dr. Reed.” The voice had changed to something deeper, more rolling. His inner self noted three people in the room and was disturbed because he couldn’t place the exact locations by sound alone, although he knew he should be capable of it. “What is yours?’

The question stumped him for a moment, then his tongue gave the answer before his brain could find it in the cotton wadding acting as his brain. “Gynock.”

“Good, good.” replied the doctor. “And what is your last name?”

Gynock thought a moment and “Pran” welled forth on his tongue and in his mind concurrently.

“And your birthday?”

Confused he answered, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” replied the doctor in a noncommental tone.

“No, my wife keeps track of stuff like that.” He had a wife? Trying to search through the slush, he confirmed it. Closing his eyes completely, a small dark-haired woman formed behind the lids. The glare was getting worse the more awake he got.

“What’s her name?”

“Destinee.”

“Does she have a last name?”

“Yes, Pran, same as mine.”

“What is her maiden name?”

Gynock’s eyebrows knitted as he tried to think of it. His tongue didn’t seem to know the answer either. He wanted to answer, but he had none. Finally, compelled by the haze, he answered with a quip. “Don’t think she was ever a maiden.”

He heard the doctor sigh before the man continued. “How many children do you have?”

“One.” And the dam broke in his mind, all centered around his little girl. A rare smile touched his lips and he volunteered, “Melodie Pran.”

“You are her biological father?”

Annoyed at the intrusion as he sorted through his partially restored memory, he threw back, “Of course.”

“And the biological mother?”

“Destinee.”

“Good, good.” said the doctor. “Do you know where you are?”

“A hospital.” He had certainly spent enough time in them during his short life; the scent was unmistakable. This time Gynock opened his eyes slowly but all the way. He now remembered he was light sensitive. There were three men in the room, he was pleased to note. One was a nurse type hovering over the two suits, both with clipboards diligently taking notes. The closer man was asking the questions.

“What do you remember last?”

He thought back: the group had gone to Waco and arrived at the house. The target had come to the door. No wait, not the target … “Moonblossom,” Gynock whispered in reverent awe.

“Good, good. What else do you remember?”

“Is she all right?” That became of driving importance despite the haze and the need to answer the questions being asked. That her perfection should not be harmed was the most important thing in the world to him.

“What do you remember?” the doctor continued in his calm steady voice, not answering Gynock’s question.

Gynock glanced around the room again. No windows and one door. He was restrained. He could be at HQ, though he might not be. He didn’t recognize anything or anyone. He still felt the need to answer the questions, but something inside him was holding him back a second. It seemed to be the training his wife put him through long ago. The fuzz must be from drugs, not injury. He wiggled his right hand again; an IV was taped there. He had gone through that for months when he was a child recovering from the fire. Truth serum? Maybe, but not anything he had previously been exposed to.

“Not much.” He answered, tapping into the training. He still needed to answer and could only answer the truth, but he could sidestep a little. “Was I knocked out or something?”

“Alright then, please tell us what you do remember.”

Were they enemy, friend or some normal hospital just going through the normal tests of establishing identity after a head injury? “Like I said, not much. Moonblossom answered the door.” And filled it spectacularly, as thoughts of her now filled his mind. She had been in danger. He remembered trying to make certain no one hurt her, then his memories just stopped.

“Good, good. And after Moonblossom answered the door, what happened?”

The compulsion to answer built, but he was able to trump it with a programmed response. “I need to see my wife.” Gynock wanted to ask for anyone else other than the evil that had brainwashed him in childhood, but this was a safe harbor they had formed in his mind when she had molded him.

“That is not advisable until we make sure you are up to it.”

He snorted in derision. “She has seen me worse.”

“Mr. Pran, we are trying to do what is best for you.”

“What is best for me is knowing she is nearby.”

(Words 978; first published 5/10/2020)