April 2007.
"In the end, we're weaker than they are," Julian says, watching a trio of teenagers across the 7-Eleven parking lot. He sips blood from his X-Treme Gulp, then uses it to gesture at the mortals. "I mean, spiritually, we're weaker. We're like scurvy victims or something—we can't heal."
"The Beast," you say.
"I'm not going to ask you what you've done in its grip," Julian says. "Or what you've done on your own and blamed the Beast for. But I know the Beast will eat you if you're not careful. It'll eat your soul and live behind your eyes. When that happens to one of us, the Camarilla call them wights and hunt them down."
"And the Assamites?" you ask.
"I don't know," Julian says. "I never had the courage to ask."