Twenty-three years ago, in the small state of West Virginia, Thomas John Lewis, the fifth of eight Lewis children was born. He was raised there in a small, once upscale neighborhood, now decaying, mainly due to a feud between the Lewis family and the Odens. Unlike his siblings, Thomas showed almost no interest in the feud, knowing that bigger and better prizes than the small decaying town existed.

So when a nomad pack rode through, he seized his chance to leave. He rode with the pack for some time, and while in the pack, befriended some of his former enemies, the Odens. But when the nomads finally reached as far as Dallas, Thomas left, taking his Chrysler Katana and his acquired handgun skill, and headed west to San Francisco.

San Francisco, ever the bastion of corruption, didn't wasted time with Thomas. Almost immediately upon arrival he joined the Underground, a gang whose prerequisites for membership were fangs and a prediliction for vampires. Thomas dropped his name and became DeSade. The gang didn't last long after he joined. It was obliterated when one of the Underground took down the wrong guy in the city street. Two days later only a handful of members remained.

That was then. Now, DeSade is a loner. Very few people know him any way besides professionally. And of those few, even fewer know anything about his past. His prediliction for vampires has become a psychosis. He rarely ventures out into the sun, and if he does he is definitely wearing sunglasses. He typically wears black, occasionally with red. He is pale white, and thanks to a special pair of contacts his eyes are an orangish-green. His once dirty-blond hair is now jet black, pulled back in a ponytail. He is frighteningly attractive. He nightly hunts for blood, usually going to a bar, having a couple of Bloody Marys, while carefully scanning for his next victim. His desire for blood is so strong that if he goes more than a week without, he begins to suffer withdrawal symptoms. He easts his meat raw. DeSade's skill with the katana has been carefully honed to the point of mastery. Someday, he hopes to develop an entire force of vampires, with himself at the head. So far, the society has failed to come about, but when it does, the grim DeSade will lead it to power. But for now, DeSade stalks alone, truly believing that he is one of the undead, as do most of his unfortunate victims.

Whether or not his psychosis can be healed remains to be seen. However, to help someone, you have to first be aware of a problem. And even under close surveillance in a state prison for attempted murder (somehow the charges fell through), the state either did not recognize or did not care about DeSade's condition. It is possible that one or two of his closet friends know all the grisly details. But until his cure, or his death, a vampire walks the city streets, and his name is DeSade.
--Source unknown, 2174

"I don't know DeSade very well--who does? But in the five months he spent here, he changed. I mean, he was always strange, but I think when he got here he was a little more merciful, caring even. But when he left, he was cold. Real cold. Like a bloodthirsty savage, but kind of noble, too. I don't know, he's beyond me."
--George Smithers, DeSade's ex-cellmate

"Shit, man. The fucker's raw. Don't say too much though. Once he fuckin' ran this guy through with his blade, right? The guy's bleedin' all over the fuckin' floor, you know? And he whips out this switchblade to stab DeSade back, and this guy just fuckin' stood there. Just starin' at him. Poor son of a bitch just freezes, kind of, and drops his knife. On fuckin' purpose! Then he got gutted, I mean, DeSade just slashed him from head to toe. Didn't flinch--and then he licked the blood off his blade. Nobody really fucked with him after that."
--Anonymous inmate

"Well, he's good in bed."
--Anonymous female

"He's a psychologist's wet dream, believe me. I wish he hadn't been set free--he's quite complex, and I'm really not sure if society is ready for him. All the time I spent in psychoanalysis with him just made me realize, Freud has failed, Kinsey has failed, all the theories that might apply are null. It is time for another chapter in the psychology books."
--John D. Whitehall, California State Penitentiary Psychologist

"No, friend isn't exactly the terminology that comes to mind when I think of DeSade."
--DeSade's best friend

"Well, the way I look at it, DeSade is the final proof of God's existence. I think that nobody else could have possibly even conceived of a person who is so unique. Just look at him, he's absolutely unlike anything else. Only God could have created someone so demented."
--Deranged philosopher

"DeSade? Hmmm... I don't remember. Does he do drugs?"
--The Kidd, fixer

"He either is really busy all the time, or there's a bunch of DeSade wanna-be's out there."
--Anonymous caretaker

"Yeah, DeSade... I think he almost killed me once--I was really fucked up, not cool like I am now, and he... Where the hell are all these spiders coming from? Oh shit, they're in me! Aaaagh!"
--Street bum, PCP user

"Kiss, kiss."