Who is the modern Rebar Killer?

Pandora’s Case

  1. Pandora calls Fabien as “Lord Fabien”.
  2. The back door to the Makom Bar was locked post-murder. This says that the killer was Fabien or someone inside the bar.
  3. No one heard anything. This seems to rule out ghouls and from above point, the only vampire in the bar was Fletcher and Fabien.
  4. The girl kept talking about cigarette. This seems to be a very personal thing for Fabien as only he, Lou and Campbell knew about his memory wipes.
  5. Now coming to Safia. She knew as much about the case as Fabien did. The most important: The killer is not a kindred. She was a pro in using ghouls to do her dirty work.
  6. The killing happened at night which was very not-like the old rebar killer. Though this could be a situation where Safia would try to nudge Fabien to a conclusion that the rebar killer was someone who could get out in the day but not anymore. This would inevitably point Fabien to Campbell. This could be Fabien doing this to himself as well.
  7. Now coming to the limo. Since, its definitely not Campbell or Lou. It would be either Safia or Fabien who orchestrated that. Wealth is not an issue for both and it could be another nudge for Fabien to point to Campbell.

Verona’s & Revenna’s Case

  1. A ghoul living inside a makeshift place in a construction site is very suspicious. Why would a ghoul belonging to the court need to do that? It points to either Safia or Fabien.
  2. Again, Revenna also killed in the night. This again points to a vampire rather than a ghoul.
  3. Again, this killing also tries to make Fabien remember something. The theory that the death threat letter was sent to the wrong sister due to “postal issues” also seem unlikely as the trigger was “sister” which tried to jolt Fabien’s memory to Rosalind. If Verona had not received the letter, the “sister” word would have been unlikely to have come up.
  4. Some theories try to treat Fabien as someone who would never hurt an innocent. That is not clearly true. We can see that in the flashback to the new year party of 1925. He didn’t even comment about the upside down corpses being drained.
  5. The only cases Fabien actually showed some emotion towards a mortal is when he’s personally involved. I’m gonna explore on this when I get to Reggie and Misty in the future cases.

Dale’s Case

  1. Fabien can theorize that maybe he is the modern rebar killer, while in the opening conversation with Campbell and Benny. He explains it like his Malkavian mind is making him keep investing and trying to make him remember comparing to Safia keeping sticky notes.
  2. Dale has indirect connection with Safia here, due him being Willem’s ghoul. But. Why would Safia do this? Makes no sense killing Dale. Who knows? Maybe to isolate Willem.

Biker’s Case

  1. The Biker is large and strong. The killing happens at night as multiple vampires witnessed it.
  2. In this case, we get to know the real name of Guru. Its David. Is it a coincidence, that a mortal named David delivered the death threat to Verona, who lives in a construction site an alley away from David the Guru? I think not. Another personal connection with Fabien.
  3. Misty says the killer is vampire, so its final at this point. Unless, Safia herself is running around killing people in this fashion instead of researching the nomad, the arrow firmly points to Fabien.

I’ll keep updating as I go through more materials and my playthroughs. I’ll keep my comments open for discussions.

Qa’id al-Mazhar – Scene 2

[Scene Opens]

The air was thick with cold incense—an ancient blend used in Alamut for truth-speaking.

Chains clinked softly as Corvin, stooped and malformed even by Nosferatu standards, shifted in his chair. His flesh sagged in folds, but his eyes were sharp. Clever. Paranoid.

Across the stone chamber, Qa’id al-Mazhar stood in the shadows.

He did not sit. He did not approach.

He watched.

“You’ve been quiet,” Corvin rasped, voice like dead leaves. “The others screamed threats. Promises of fire. But you… nothing. Why?”

Qa’id stepped forward, each footfall echoing with sovereign intent.

“Because I do not threaten.
I uncover.
And I decide.”

He circled the Nosferatu like a slow-moving predator.

“You leaked names. Locations. Feeding patterns. You warned Anarchs of raids before they occurred. Three Kindred are dead. One burned in the sun. One staked and dissected by alchemists. One—a child of clan Toreador—danced on camera before she died. Viral. A million eyes.”

Corvin smiled. It was rotten.

“Proof is thin, Qa’id. Rumors and whispers. Do you kill on that alone now?”

Qa’id stopped. Tilted his head.

Then turned to a nearby table. Laid upon it: a file. A bone pen. A severed ear—still fresh.

“Thin rumors, yes. Until this.”

He tossed the file on the table in front of Corvin.

Inside: photographs. Handwritten logs. Maps. And worst of all—a blood pact contract, written in vitae, sealed by Corvin’s own thumbprint.

Corvin’s smile faltered.

Qa’id leaned in—not with rage, but with inevitability.

“You’ve served the city for two centuries. You outlived purges, princes, even Sabbat sieges. But tonight, Corvin… you stand before Judgment.”

Corvin tried one last gambit. Desperate.

“You need me. You kill me, the Anarch cell goes dark. I have leverage. Connections—”

Qa’id raised a hand again. Silence.

“You had leverage.
Now, you are the message.”

From beneath his robes, Qa’id unsheathed the same ritual dagger.

But he did not strike immediately.

Instead, he turned to the hidden balcony above—the Prince, the Primogen, and several neonates were watching silently behind one-way glass.

“Let it be seen,” Qa’id declared, voice like a chime in a tomb, “that this city tolerates no treachery in the guise of age. No decay in the bones of its elders. No secrets traded for false revolutions.”

Corvin growled, twisted, spat.

“You’re just a tool. A relic on a leash. What will you be when they turn on you, Qa’id?”

Qa’id lowered the dagger briefly.

“Then I shall judge myself, as I judge you now.”

And with a single downward stroke, he cut out Corvin’s tongue—before delivering the killing blow clean through the heart.

The Nosferatu’s body convulsed. Then stilled.

Qa’id stepped back, wiped the dagger, and addressed the silent observers.

“Send word to the Anarchs. The mole has been removed.
The sword remains.”

He turned and left. The only sound behind him—the slow drip of blood, falling like a metronome onto stone.

[Scene Ends]

Qa’id al-Mazhar – Scene 1

[Scene Opens]

A low hum echoed across the ruined opera house as Kindred murmurs fell to silence. The chandelier swayed, throwing fractured light across velvet-red walls now faded and cracked.

At the center of the stage, the accused—a trembling Toreador fledgling, no older than twenty in appearance—stood bound by silver wire, blood dripping from her wrists. The Prince watched from the balcony above, face hidden in shadow.

Then the doors opened.

Qa’id al-Mazhar entered without fanfare.

Not a footstep echoed. His long crimson-black robes whispered like dry leaves. Silver thread in the fabric shimmered faintly—Arabic verses, runes of old judgment, each one a crime and its sentence.

All eyes turned. No one spoke.

Qa’id ascended the stage like an executioner approaching the scaffold, stopping just before the accused. He studied her, his face calm, carved from still stone. Gold flickered in his eyes, not of warmth, but of heat tempered by restraint.

“You gave sanctuary to dilution,” he said—his voice low, steady, final. “To a bloodline outlawed by tradition and praxis. You knowingly brought rot into the Ivory Tower.”

The fledgling sobbed, stammering, “She wasn’t harming anyone… she was trying to help us—”

He raised a hand. She froze.

“Intent does not absolve corruption.
Ignorance does not erase responsibility.
And mercy, when misapplied, becomes betrayal.”

With a smooth motion, he unsheathed a curved ritual dagger—etched obsidian and bone, older than the city. He dipped his finger in the fledgling’s blood and painted three sigils across her chest:

  • Treachery.
  • Deception.
  • Dilution.

The crowd leaned forward, breathless. Even the Prince was still.

Qa’id whispered a prayer in an ancient dialect, then turned to face the gathered Kindred.

“This is what happens when you forget who we are.
When you forget that blood is sacred.
When you forget that laws are written in the vitae of those who broke them.”

He turned back to her. The fledgling met his eyes, tear-streaked, then closed hers.

A single, clean strike. Her head rolled to the floor. The body slumped. The dagger dripped, black-red.

Qa’id stood over the corpse, then faced the audience.

“Let this be remembered.
I do not kill out of cruelty.
I kill because you must not forget.”

And then, as silently as he had arrived, he turned and walked back into the darkness—leaving behind the scent of blood, the echo of fear, and a very loud silence.

[Scene Ends]