Announcements: Cutting Costs (2024) » January 2024 Copyfraud Attack » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Member Shoutout Thread » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newcomers » RPG Chat ā€” the official app » Frequently Asked Questions » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Adapa Adapa's for adapa » To the Rich Men North of Richmond » Shake Senora » Good Morning RPG! » Ramblings of a Madman: American History Unkempt » Site Revitalization » Map Making Resources » Lost Poetry » Wishes » Ring of Invisibility » Seeking Roleplayer for Rumple/Mr. Gold from Once Upon a Time » Some political parody for these trying times » What dinosaur are you? » So, I have an Etsy » Train Poetry I » Joker » D&D Alignment Chart: How To Get A Theorem Named After You » Dungeon23 : Creative Challenge » Returning User - Is it dead? » Twelve Days of Christmas »

Players Wanted: Long-term fantasy roleplay partners wanted » Serious Anime Crossover Roleplay (semi-literate) » Looking for a long term partner! » JoJo or Mha roleplay » Seeking long-term rp partners for MxM » [MxF] Ruining Beauty / Beauty x Bastard » Minecraft Rp Help Wanted » CALL FOR WITNESSES: The Public v Zosimos » Social Immortal: A Vampire Only Soiree [The Multiverse] » XENOMORPH EDM TOUR Feat. Synthe Gridd: Get Your Tickets! » Aishna: Tower of Desire » Looking for fellow RPGers/Characters » looking for a RP partner (ABO/BL) » Looking for a long term roleplay partner » Explore the World of Boruto with Our Roleplaying Group on FB » More Jedi, Sith, and Imperials needed! » Role-player's Wanted » OSR Armchair Warrior looking for Kin » Friday the 13th Fun, Anyone? » Writers Wanted! »

0
followers
follow

Selena Delacroix

"I'm starting to appreciate all the grey spaces in between black and white."

0 · 327 views · located in 22nd century Earth

a character in “Spireheart Network: Redux”, originally authored by Ion, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description



Image

Image

ā€œHope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soulā€”and sings the tunes without wordsā€”and never stops at all.ā€




Image

Image

ā€œNobody is so easily summed up, you knowā€¦ā€



Nicknames: Lena, to people close to her, though her codename is Gale. Alsoā€¦ for all anyone on her team knows, her last name is Cross.

Age: 26

Gender: Female

Elemental/Human: Elemental

Element/Skill: Waterā€”Weather




Image

Image

ā€œI was once told that you can dress up the truth all you want, but in the end, it would still have a way of making itself known.ā€




Hair Color: Black, though the underside is dyed a soft lilac color.

Eye Color: Violet

Height: 5ā€™6ā€

Weight: 127lbs

Build: Svelte is the operative word here. Selena is fit without being terribly muscular, bearing herself with grace and apparent tranquility.

Complexion: Fair

Identifying Marks: None in particular, though the eyes and hair could perhaps be considered distinguishing. Thereā€™s a small scar on the inside of her left wrist.

Appearance: Selena is a visage of classic, timeless elegance. Her mixed heritage has given her generally small features that are not entirely without strength, and training has stripped her of any excess her upper-class lifestyle might have generated. Generally hourglass-shaped, she wears her dark hair long, trimmed right around her waist or so, the underside dyed a pale purple color. It sets off her slanted eyes rather well, actually, though that wasnā€™t the reason she chose it. Most often attired neatly in skirt suits, occasionally without the blazer, she seems to favor soft colors. She is immaculately well-kept, and for all outward appearances, without blemish or stain.




Image

Image

ā€œIs there poetry in your soul, too?ā€




Likes:
+Swimming
+The smell of rain
+Her coworkers
+Banter
+Literature
+Puzzles

Dislikes:
-Baseness, in humor or demeanor
-Her fiancƩ
-Violence, though she will resort to it when necessary
-Sycophants

Skills:
1. Water Manipulation: Selena awoke to her abilities relatively early in life, and as a result, has had extensive training in their use. She is gradually pushing towards the creation of small-scale weather phenomena, but right now, her most notable talent is called stasis. The human body, as it turns out, is mostly comprised of water. With deliberate focus, Lena can take advantage of this, rendering a foe immobile or puppeting their body to a certain extent.

2. Intellect and Analysis: While not really a genius in the usual sense, Selena is quite sharp, and relatively good at picking part things like motivations and psychologies. This gives her an edge as an intelligence analyst, and the fact that she is highly educated only serves to underpin this knowledge.

3. Charisma: Thereā€™s a certain magnetism about her that makes her an excellent choice for negotiations and undercover work. Though not deceptive as a rule in daily life, she can lie quite well, and her acting is nothing to shake a stick at. More than anything, though, sheā€™s simply charming, in her own sort of way, and it tends to disarm those who might otherwise consider her a threat.

Personality: Selena was born high up in society, and to some extent, this shows. Well-educated, articulate, and generally serene, her demeanor as well as her appearance reflects a certain sense of class not always found in a profession like hers. That said, she is in the business of working for Signetā€™s field team, and so naturally, thereā€™s a layer of steel beneath the silk, one could say. She is not the kind of person to panic at the first sign of trouble, and indeed her cool rationality is one of her major strengths. She rarely allows her emotions to dictate her reactions to things, though thatā€™s not to say they never get the better of her. She is, after all, only human, elemental powers or no.

Even with all that said, there is a part of her thatā€™s still quite naĆÆve. She very much believes in the good in people, and her inherent gentleness makes her dislike of violence something of an issue for her, though not one she refuses to overcome. She may not be very trained in formal weaponry, but her control of her element is precise and impressive, and she can and will turn it on people when she needs to. She never enjoys this, and would prefer to negotiate rather than fight, but unfortunately not everyone feels the same, and that is something sheā€™s learned too well.

Lenaā€™s dislike of the rebel elements in her city stems largely from the belief that there is a better solution. She sees the Spirehearts as a great benefit to people, and for this reason, their unconsidered destruction comes across as an awful idea, likely to leave only chaos and anarchy in its wake. That saidā€¦ she has seen the outer environment, and believes that perhaps something can and should be done to restore it to the way it used to be. Whatever that thing is, however, it is not an overthrow of Signet and a destruction of the Spirehearts.





Image

Image

ā€œWhatever will be will beā€”if you let it.ā€




Birthplace: Beijing

Known History: It is not public knowledge that Selena is the daughter of Signet CEO Sebastian Delacroix, but she most certainly is. Her mother was his first wife, the daughter of the director of Signetā€™s operations in China. Like New York, Beijing is one of the worldā€™s last surviving sanctuaries, and for the first ten years of her life, Lena was raised by her mother Liang there, seeing her father a few times a year when he came to visit. She grew up with the best of everything, save perhaps the best of friends, since her security was of such paramount importance to both her parents and she was rarely allowed the company of other children.

Her mother was rather softhearted, and Selena came to be the same, cultivating the virtues of compassion and kindness wherever possible. In some unspecified incident, Liang Delacroix disappeared, and Selena was brought to New York to live with her father, a much quieter and less energetic child than she had been. Though rarely seen publicly, her life was the object of much scrutiny and public speculation as she grew up, perhaps natural for the daughter of the most powerful man in the world. Fortunately for her, she scarcely resembles herself as a (somewhat awkward and gangly) teenager, and has managed to stay clear of cameras since her university days, which grants her a certain degree of anonymity.

Itā€™s in her personnel file that she attended a prestigious university, graduating with dual degrees in psychology and literature, and joined the rank and file of Signet at the age of 22. Her skills in analysis earned her her spot as the field teamā€™s eyes and ears, which means sheā€™s usually left behind in a tactical van or nested in a nearby building with a bank of consoles when a field operation happens, which is the only way her father as going to let her have the job. What he doesnā€™t know (that she does sometimes find herself in the field) wonā€™t hurt him.

Unfortunately, her disappearance from the spotlight hasnā€™t stopped him from treating her like most daughters of the wealthy still seem to find themselves treated: that is to say, bargained off in a marriage arrangement to the son of a business ally. Her fiancĆ©, she dislikes, mostly because heā€™s uselessly sycophantic and essentially incapable of disagreeing with her father on anything because of it. Sheā€™s also pretty sure he prefers men, not that this matters much in the long run. In an uncharacteristically ill-thought-out move on her part, she took up something of a casual flirtation with a fellow agent, Atlas Whitehaven, when she first joined Signet four years ago, and is quite chagrined to realize that she may well be falling in love with him.

So begins...

Selena Delacroix's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kiana Shamshiri Character Portrait: Felix Grelen Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Alice Dreygon Character Portrait: Atlas Whitehaven Character Portrait: Celero de Tempestas
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image



New York City, 7:00 AM



The dawn sky graced the rigid skyline of New York City. Carrier shuttles puttered through the air, delivering their passengers to their workplaces. Down below, citizens bustled through the streets. One particular shuttle carried Felix Grelen, current leader of the rebel Network. The scruffy man looked out the window from under his hood, towards the giant hulk that was Signet. A look of indifference passed over his features, which quickly dissipated. No need to think about them now. He wasn't at work, was he? Felix smiled as his stomach growled slightly, and he remembered his job.

The shuttle landed at it's station near Times Square, a docking platform with adverts and kiosks lining it. Felix stepped off and began walking down the street, which was alive with morning commuters, to a glass-walled cafƩ on the corner. The door slid open, admitting Felix into the sleek establishment. Silver, white, and black was the theme here at Viva La Java, the best damn coffee joint that would support the Network. Felix stepped up to the beveled counter, and gave the bell a ring.

A short, young, auburn-haired girl with light, yet fierce, features came to greet him. "Cat, there you are! I was wondering when you'd get here. We got your order in the back. 2 sacks of regular and 2 of vanilla, right?" The young lady relayed to Felix, using the nickname he wore in public. For some reason, she insisted on calling him Cat. Maybe the chin-whiskers? "Hey there, Ellie. Yeah, sounds about right. I'm sure the customers will love it. Go ahead and deduct it from our account." Felix greeted and instructed, which Ellie heeded right away. "Alright, all done. We'll get it over there soon. Here, have a cup of this new stuff, since we had extra. It has orange and hints of vanilla in it." Ellie handed the man a paper cup of the piping hot brew with a smile, and Felix took a sip.

"Hm, that's pretty good. You think you can add a bag to the next order?" Felix asked, and the girl nodded. "Sure thing, Cat. Take care now!" Ellie cautioned, and Felix gave her a kind nod. Stepping out of Viva La Java, Felix had a visible smile on his face. The proprietors of the coffee house, Ellie and Thompson Henders, were a father and daughter team. The Network, wanting to establish economic ties and assets, chose to reach out to the Henders, since no one could protest to a good cup o' joe. At first, they had refused out of fear, not wanting to be shut down for working with rebels. However, that changed once Ellie's mother went missing after an eco-rally. Signet was obviously behind it, and out of anger, they befriended the Network, and established a friendly partnership. They both supported each other, with the exchange of money and supplies hidden in the bags of coffee beans.

Felix walked down the street, and turned into an alley. Taking out a key card, he opened the backdoor of an old brick apartment building. Inside, it was abandoned, broken furniture and dust everywhere. Felix slid another key into a hidden reader, and a floor tile opened, revealing a ladder down into darkness. Felix quickly descended down the ladder, closing the tile and shortly arriving in one of the Network's security checkpoints. It was a simple scanner in an old piping room, with guards positioned at the entrance. Staring into the scanner, a gentle light pulsed over his retina, and confirmed his identity as Felix Grelen. Nodding to the guards, he stepped into the atrium from behind the storefronts. "Morning, everyone! The coffee and things are on their way, so you'll get your fix soon enough. Get ready for the day, folks! Today we do some more recon." Felix instructed, briefly before metal crates fell from a grate above them, briefly hovering before hitting the ground.

"Oh hey, lookie there. Go ahead and pop it open, fellas. And where's Kiana? We need to get the plans sorted out." Felix asked as he shifted into work mode.

The setting changes from New York City to 22nd century Earth

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kiana Shamshiri Character Portrait: Vasska Kresh Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix Character Portrait: Felix Grelin
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Ion


Image

New York City, 7:15 a.m.



ā€œYa,ā€ the woman bit off in a rich contralto, ā€œI am aware.ā€ Her accent, the rolling, slightly guttural one of a very particular wasteland tribe, made her clipped words sound all the more imposing, perhaps, impatient as they already were. The voice on the other end of the phone, masculine but clearly frightened, trilled for a few seconds after that. Her eyes narrowed, sweeping the central room of her apartment with displaced suspicion. The rat was trying to scurry out from underneath her, and she didnā€™t like it. Cowardice didnā€™t sit well with Kiana, and they needed this shipment to come through, or they were going to be unarmed for too long. Operations were starting to pick up, and they needed every spare bullet they could come by, to say nothing of the guns themselves.

ā€œAhmq nfran,ā€ she hissed lowly in her native tongue, then shook her head. Not worth becoming angry about. Hanging up on the call, she tossed the phone onto the sleeping mat on her floor and threw open her closet. Now she was going to be late for the meeting this morning, and the bearer of bad news, no less. Such was the lot of someone in her position, perhaps.

Shrugging into her trademark trenchcoat, Kiana tied up her hair and pulled on her preferred boots, lacing them with deliberate, quick motions. Some things, you could rush. Making sure you wouldnā€™t trip at a vital moment was not one of them. Returning to her kitchen, she poured the abandoned hot water into a thermos rather than her usual cup, dropping the teabag in after it. She didnā€™t like coffee, though most of her comrades seemed to live on it. Well, except Vasska. He just ate animal carcassesā€”sometimes almost entire ones in a sitting.

Treading with catā€™s paw softness down the rickety stairs of her fire escape, she jumped the last story or so and landed in a crouch, threading through the alleyways and backstreets that were not so closely monitored by Signet. And why would they? Nobody up there in the big, shiny buildings with official titles and more resources than sense wanted to see a bunch of starving homeless people and criminals, now did they? For these were the only people Kiana passed on her journey. Several of the bums tipped their hats or threw her a half-mocking salute, and she simply grinned in response. These people always had their eyes open and ears to the groundā€”the best intelligence network she could think of, anyway. The criminals scattered, having learned some years ago that tall, dark woman was not a potential victim, and neither was anyone else if she happened to be around at the time.

Reaching a particular manhole, she glanced around a few times before lifting the cover, climbing down the first few steps of the ladder before replacing it over the top and sliding down the rest of the rungs, to land lightly on a slightly-damp stone floor. The main sensation in this place was auditory: a steady dripping of water. Counting bricks, she at last came upon what she was looking forā€”a nearly unnoticeable divot in the cement walls. Sliding her nondescript identification card into it, she took it out when it was returned, slipping it into a pocket of her coat and stepping forward as the wall slid into the ground. Inside the second room was the retinal scan. She hated these; every time, she wanted to blink when she should be holding still.

Whether she was getting better at fighting that instinct or the software had learned to compensate, she was let in after one scan this time, and ascended a staircase to the main hideout through its secondary entrance. Just in time, apparently, as she heard Felix inquire after her location and Vasskaā€™s snarky answer. Blinking languidly, the Lieutenant approached the other body-manipulating elemental from behind soundlessly, casually planting a booted foot onto his back when he bent over one of the crates. ā€œPerhaps, if you were less talking and more listening, you would know where the ā€˜stupid chickā€™ was,ā€ she speculated, her tone just as deadpan as her catlike movements would suggest. Returning her foot to the ground, she shot a glance at the boss.

ā€œBad news, Felix. The weapon dealer you found, ya? He isā€¦ pancaking.ā€ She meant to say ā€˜waffling,ā€™ but occasionally Kiana confused her English-language idioms, and in this case picked the wrong breakfast food. ā€œI do not think he will provide what he promised, the rat.ā€ She looked displeased by this, if a few steps short of angry. She was far from as volatile as some of her comrades, after all.




Image

New York City, 6:45 a.m.



In Signetā€™s New York, the sun rose always at six a.m., or so it seemed. Whatever the case, Lena rose with it, most of the time, and spent the next forty or so minutes preparing for her day. Daily preparations were a routine, honed almost to an art form, and one that she found soothing, in their own way. Just as well, when the rest of her life had a tendency to be anything but. Every day at the office was something new or unexpected, and that was to say nothing of the rest of her life, which was quickly unraveling in front of her eyes. Sometimes, she almost wished she could return to the days when sheā€™d been so flawlessly together at all times, controlled, cool, and always collected.

In the end, though, that wasnā€™t what she wanted, and she knew it well enough.

Taking up the briefcase beside the desk in her room, she used her other hand to collect the jam-coated toast from the plate on the counter, slipping her feet into the red heels by the door. Violet may have been her motherā€™s color, but sheā€™d always preferred red, after all.

As design would have it, she lived no more than ten minutes from her office building, one of Signetā€™s so-called ā€˜field offices.ā€™ From the outside, it was rather nondescript, if a little nicer-looking than most, a sky-cutting spire, perhaps made to be reminiscent of that which it stood to protect. The entire structure was of steel frame and glass panel, though reinforced so many times it was entirely unlike what most would think of when it came to glass. Her team made its home on the thirty-third floor, and this morning, she was alone in the elevator. That was quite normal; she was always the first person into the office, like clockwork.

These few minutes, before anyone else arrived, gave her a chance to situate herself in front of her bank of consoles and read any reports that had come in overnight. Today, there was just one, something about Delta Team zeroing in on an arms dealer suspected of supplying the Network. Interesting, but it could wait until later. With a flick of her fingertips across her glass interface, she sent it to one side of the curved screen that synchronized all of her hardware, and tapped something else, bringing up a list of personnel files, then the next brief. This was what she needed; the field team was going to be sent out today.

Glancing over the brief, she sighed. They were going to need to split the team then, which meant twice as much work for her. Not an issueā€”she was more than capable of handling the extra load, and she knew it. It was simply that the fact that so much work lay before them meant that the Network was gaining ground. An undesirable circumstance at best.

ā€œRecon and infiltrationā€¦ now, who to send where?ā€ The team had a variety of talents, and part of her job was assessing those relative to the mission data she received and making recommendations to Mr. Serafino, the leader of Alpha Team. Well, for a start, Mr. Turinn would be valuable for the reconnaissanceā€¦

The setting changes from 22nd century Earth to New York City

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Gabriel Turinn



New York City, 7: 00 a.m.



Gabriel was awoken by his alarm clock. He slowly rose with a throbbing headache. A soft groan escaped his lips as he shut the alarm up, using his powers to drop a shoe on it. Next to his bed was an empty bottle of vodka. He was almost sure it had still been full when he got home from work yesterday. Clearly he hadnā€™t been able to control his drinking habit last night. He sighed and rolled out of bed. He limped towards the bathroom, one hand pressed against his head, and got under the shower. As the hot water streamed over him, he felt slightly better. For what was probably the hundredth time he reprimanded himself for his lack of self-control. Perhaps one day he would take his own advice. He didnā€™t stay in the shower for too long, knowing he was risking being late. He quickly put on a white shirt, black pants, black shoes and a red vest. He cast a final look in the mirror and put on a pair of sunglasses. His eyes were bloodshot and definitely didnā€™t help his already haggard appearance. Today was going to be a rough day.

Next he went to the kitchen and opened his fridge. He was met by a disgusting smell. Apparently the pizza from two days ago was still in there. Just one more thing he had forgotten about. He slammed the door of the fridge shut and quickly opened a window, desperate for fresh air. Slowly the nausea was fading away. He supposed this meant he would have to pick up something to eat on his way to the office. He then turned on his coffee machine, watching the lights flash on for a second before going out once more. He gave it a short tap on the side before accepting it probably wouldnā€™t be making more coffee anytime soon. He opened a cupboard, looking for something else to drink, preferably something strong. Then it dawned on him the empty bottle of vodka had been the last one. He sighed, donned his grey trenchcoat and took his black suitcase before running down the stairs. He closed the door behind him and tried to look at things in a more positive light. At least the lack of food had saved him the trouble from doing the dishes for now. Maybe he should force his neighbour to clean the place up. It wasnā€™t as if the old man had anything better to do. It was either that or buying a new place.


As he stood outside, enjoying a brief ray of sunshine, he lit a cigarette before continuing his walk to work. He stopped at a local store to buy an apple, some sandwiches and a cup of coffee, grateful for living in the centre of New York. It was probably the only reason he was only occasionally late. Finally he reached the offices and took the elevator up. He tried to ignore the looks of other co-workers. He could feel them judging him. As the anger started rising he fought the urge to lash out and calmly ate his apple. If heā€™d hurt anyone, theyā€™d probably dock his pay check for at least a month. At the 33d level he left the elevator and entered the offices.
ā€œHello,ā€ he spoke calmly as he tossed the apple in the trash bin, doing his best to come across as casual. To his surprise, the place was completely empty, apart from Gale of course. Now that wasnā€™t right. Usually almost everyone else had already arrived and were ready to give him some scolding glances.

ā€œIs no one else here yet?ā€ he mumbled, the surprise clearly showing on his face. He checked his watch and a frown appeared on his face. Surely it was at least half an hour later than that? Then he realized he hadnā€™t checked the hour as he left his apartment, merely assuming he was risking being late, as usual. But since the place was almost deserted it seemed his alarm had gone off way too early. It was nigh impossible for everyone, with the obvious exception of Gale, to be later than him.

ā€œWell, well,ā€ he muttered, resisting the urge to swear. He knew a certain mister alarm clock that would meet mister trash bin really soon, ā€œapparently my clock was off,ā€ he added with a slight grin, trying to sound good-spirited rather than frustrated. He sat down at his desk and put his suitcase down. He quickly gulped down his coffee, crushing the plastic cup in his hand and doing his best to stay calm. He disliked the idea of freaking out in front of Gale. She was alright and a great co-worker. He probably even respected her, and that was a rare thing. He took some quick breaths before getting up and walking towards Gale. He cleared his throat and did his best to avoid sounding like someone who suffered from a hangover:

ā€œSo, whatā€™s today got in store for us? Any dashing young maidens we have to save from the Network?ā€ he asked with a slimmer of hope. Just one day he would like to have a truly glamorous mission. Then again, he was more than willing to settle for ruining the day of at least one Network operative. His day might be bad, but he was confident he could make someone elseā€™s day a lot worse. He just hoped he wouldnā€™t have to use his powers too much today. After heavy drinking it was always a bit more difficult to focus and if possible, he'd like to avoid making an embarrassing mistake such as telepathically sending a message to the wrong person...

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Ignatius Serafino Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Ramiro
Image




New York City, 6 am




The sound of busy downtown traffic woke Ignatius up early, as it so often did. He knew it would be this noisy when he moved in, but he stubbornly insisted on being at a walking distance from the Signet HQ, in case of an emergency. He didn't really mind being woken up early, as it gave him some more time to get ready. He took a shower, had breakfast, all the usual routine. It had been long since the last good raid, and he was starting to wonder wether that was a good thing or not. He put on his suit and grabbed his case. The clock showed he was still very early. He headed over to the HQ first, to check on the guards that had been on duty that night.

The guards on the entrance hall were chatting on about some tornado in the news. Their shift was almost over, and they were all very tired.
-"What do you all think you're doing? Your shift isn't over yet." He said as he walked in. The guards, caught by surprise, quickly stood up and remained silent. They didn't usually see Serafino this early in the morning, and they weren't expecting him to show up without notice. Normally he'd contact HQ before meeting with someone.
"Today's shift will be off your paycheck. You're here to keep watch of the building, not to gossip like a bunch of idiots."

After supervising as the guards for the morning shift came in and took their places, he quickly walked back out of the building, leaving the guards confused and shocked. Those who had been working with him for some time had gotten used to his character, but the new guys were still very much afraid of him. And that was the effect he was going for, after all.

Back in the street, he checked his watch: 7:15 am. He was going to be late if he didn't hurry. Getting in his shuttle, he headed over to the Field Office. Glaring down at the city below him, the people and cars flooded the streets like an army of ants. "Few sights could be so inspiring and deppresing at the same time." -He mumbled. After a couple minutes on the shuttle, he got to the office. The building was quite tall, but it paled in comparison to the HQ he was used to. He had been working at the Field Office for almost a year now, and he still didn't like it.

The elevator was somewhat crowded, but then again, the whole damn city was. Once it got to the thirty-third floor, he stepped out and looked around the office. Surprisingly, only a handful of people had arrived, including Gale, as usual, and oddly enough, Gabriel.

"Good morning everyone. What news do we have?" he said as we walked over to his desk.

The setting changes from New York City to Signet Incorporated

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Atlas Whitehaven Character Portrait: Ignatius Serafino Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image




ā€œWake up sleepy head,ā€ a gravelly voice crisped into the cool morning air. ā€œWake up sleepy head.ā€ It came again but this time with more guttural urgency. ā€œWake up sleepy head!ā€ This time it was punctuated with an exclamation of slight panic.
Inevitably it was enough for Atlas to pull himself from his pillow and glance at his noisy bed companion. ā€œIā€™m hungry you lazy bloke.ā€

ā€œI should have never of taught you to say that.ā€ Atlas grumbled as he peeled his one silver eye to look over the form that currently inhabited the pillows on the far side of his king sized bed. It wasnā€™t a gorgeous woman or even an ugly one for that matter- honestly it wasnā€™t even human. That nagging presence was Merlin- Atlasā€™s African Grey. He had apparently flown in when he had noticed a lack of his ownerā€™s presence in the kitchen- or at least that was the said ownerā€™s perception of the current interruption. Merlin just stared at him with glassy black eyes and reiterated: ā€œIā€™m hungry you lazy bloke.ā€
ā€œYes yes- stop being a cad.ā€ With that he rolled over to glance at the clock with a high sense of trepidation. He rarely ever overslept being the well-oiled machine he was, but there could always be a fluke in his system.


05:26

Atlas was apparent in no danger of losing his punctuality, but he was finding a hard time explaining Merlinā€™s urgency. They had been on the same schedule for years now, and yet the bird seemed to be a bit tweaked by something. ā€œCome on- letsā€™ get you something to bloody eat.ā€
Just garbed in his underwear he made his way to the kitchen to find the reason for Merlinā€™s disturbance: her name was Giselle, and she was currently lounging over the counter in one of his best dress shirts and sipping on some coffee.
ā€œIā€™m going to need that shirt back.ā€ Atlas remarked as Merlin flew past him and landed quite squarely on one of the many perches situated about the condo.
ā€œWell you are going to have to take it off of me,ā€ she purred softly.
ā€œI really donā€™t have the time.ā€ Atlas lamented.
It was then that the blonde approached him, and looped her fingers around the buttons- popping them off one by one. Each patch of succulent flesh made it harder and harder for him to stand his ground on the matter. ā€œReally?ā€
He knew he was going to regret this. ā€œI can spare a bit.ā€ He leaned in and brought his hands to her waist, and pulled her in quite tightly to his own form. ā€œThat is my favorite shirt.ā€

ā†’ ā†’ ā†’


As they say: time flies when you are having fun. Atlas found himself a bit less than punctual as he rode the elevator up to the Field Office that morning. He was dressed perfectly as usual: gray suit and waistcoat, darker gray button up (that still smelled sweetly of Giselle), his pearl white tie, and that black eye patch covering his right orb. Atlas had pulled his hair back and only a few ebony plaits hung around his well shaven face. While he may not have been deemed the most attractive of the Signet males- he did have quite a bit of charm to make up for it.
ā€œGood morning you lot,ā€ Atlas stated with a grin. ā€œApologies for my tardiness- I had a bit of a hard time getting my clothes wrestled together this morning.ā€
It was then his eye fell on Gale and his smarmy grin softened a bit. ā€œAgent Cross- I see you are as gorgeous as ever.ā€ It was the usual sort of compliment he gave to the female species, and yet it meant something entirely different when speaking to her. Atlas hadnā€™t quite figured out the nuances of his feelings yet, but he had to say they were far more complicated than some one-night stand and polite bedside manner afterwards.

He didnā€™t let his gaze linger, but instead gave a placid sweep to the other two before settling on the horizon. It wasnā€™t as if he blatantly ignored the other two, but they werenā€™t of the female spectrum- and even though both of them had handfuls of crisp golden hair he highly doubted they played for the other team.
ā€œSo I know I wasnā€™t invited in here to brighten up this drab scenery with my dashing looks. What is our mission this time?ā€

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Atlas Whitehaven Character Portrait: Ignatius Serafino Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Ion


Image

New York City, 7:30 a.m.



Selenaā€™s single monitor screen (hooked to several towers, all off the main Signet network and encrypted with puzzles and security measures more analogue than would be expected of such a supremely digital organization), pinged even as the door opened, and the flashing red icon that flew up on the screen alerted her to high-priority information. Opening the file, she spared a glance backwards. ā€œMr. Turinn,ā€ she greeted. In the office, it was not uncommon for the woman to address her colleagues so, though over time most of them had learned that it wasnā€™t really a measure of formality on her part, just a personal quirk, perhaps. ā€œGood morning to you as well.ā€ One corner of her mouth turned up. Heā€™d offered no such greeting, of course, being a little more brisk and to business about it, and naturally, sheā€™d called attention to it.

But she was not offended. Oh no, her skin was far thicker than that. She just tended to tease her coworkers from time to time. Nevertheless, she did afford him a direct answer. ā€œNot yet, though if all is true to routine, they will be joining us momentarily. And ā€˜dashingā€™ is not usually the word one hears associated with the maidens, but we shall see.ā€ Turning back to her screen, she quickly read over the information contained within. These documents tended to be coded, not at the level of the technology, but within the information itself, and as such, what filled the center of her screen appeared to be a bunch of jumbled characters that didnā€™t align much.

It was all about method, however, and she was able to unwind the masking and understand the meaning of what she was seeing with the ease of practice.

The head of the field team was the next in the room, his query directed more generally, though she was of course the only one who would be able to answer it. ā€œGood morning, Mr. Serafino. There is a new assignment,ā€ she replied mildly, ā€œBut I shall wait until the half hour to brief.ā€ it was, after all, the standard time for such things, and would grant the opportunity for anyone else to arrive. She rather disliked repeating herself, after all.

Scanning a particular line of the text, she frowned, fingers flying across the flat, touch-sensitive surface that served the same role keyboards once had. Another document was brought up, this one in plain English and containing a three-dimensional photo of a man, head and shoulders. Closing that out for now, she adjusted a few other things and was just finishing lining up the material for the briefing when the third member of the field team arrived. She was torn between warm amusement and a truly unfortunate (and quite recent) kind of dread at Atlasā€™s appearance, but she was quite a bit better than letting it show on her face.

ā€œAnd you have not lost the gilded edge to your tongue since yesterday, Mr. Whitehaven,ā€ she replied smartly, gesturing politely for all of them to be seated at the central table, if they would. Their requests for information would go unanswered no longer. Selena tapped the surface of the table, bringing up a three-dimensional map of New York City, which automatically zoomed to the edge of what had once been the Long Island area, and was now simply a very large industrial sector, focused on shipping and resource processing for the Spireheart. What was visible to the team was a long section of docks, behind which were arrayed a large number of warehouses, most of them poorly labeled or entirely unmarked. An excellent indication that they were owned by Signet.

ā€œThis is cryogenic storage facility number forty eighty-two, also called the Ark,ā€ she began, shaking her head faintly. So many of these things were still new to her discoveryā€”as a child, sheā€™d never thought to ask where her food came from, and chances were good that most people who didnā€™t work for this corporation didnā€™t really know, either. ā€œIt is primarily used for the long-term storage of certain plant germs and animal genetic materials which are deemed currently unable to subsist in external environmental conditions.ā€ In other words, plants that could no longer grow in the soil of the wilds were put on ice while Signet scientists worked on soil enrichment programmes. The animals were simply of those species unable to adapt to current ecological circumstances, waiting until such time as their respective biomes could be recreated.

A sweeping gesture with a finger sent the map a little further down the oval-shaped table, and it was replaced with the three-dimensional model of the man from earlier. The topical details of his face placed him at a rather haggard-looking forty-something, with scraggly grey hair and significant burn scars on one side of his face. ā€œThis,ā€ she said, ā€œis Dr. Victor Fleche. A Signet biological engineer, with fifteen years of experience as the head of the Ark Project, which was responsible for putting the materials in the Ark together. Three days ago, Dr. Fleche disappeared from his home sometime between the hours of seventeen and twenty-three, and he did not report to work the next day. Beta Team has been working the missing persons case, but there was a break in it yesterday, and they need us now.ā€

Another two faces appeared, rotating on some central axis so as to be visible to all at the table. One was a woman, perhaps mid-thirties, with a short haircut and a recognizable symbol tattooed onto her left cheek: a stylized leaf within a broken circle. The insignia belonged to a very violent faction of (thankfully poorly-funded) ecoterrorists, Gaia. The man next to her looked remarkably similar in facial structure, though his face was free of any distinguishing marks, even if his nose looked to have been broken a few times.

ā€œBeta Team believes that Dr. Fleche has been kidnapped by these two, Rachel and James Dwyer. Both are known members of Gaia, and there is reason to believe they intend to use the doctor to gain access to the Ark. Preliminary psychological analysis suggests that they may take the plants off cryo and try to reintroduce them to the wilds, a task which will unfortunately prove fruitless and destroy the Ark Project in the process. We have orders to make for the Ark and lay an ambush for the Dwyers. You are encouraged to take measures to safely recover Dr. Fleche, but upstairs wants it known that the first priority is the Ark. Weā€™re being given leeway to set this up however we like, but it has been impressed most carefully upon me that we are not to fail.ā€ That was putting it rather nicely, considering the wording of the documents sheā€™d received.

Taking a deep breath and releasing it, Selena glanced around at the assembled team members. ā€œQuestions?ā€

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Atlas Whitehaven Character Portrait: Ignatius Serafino Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Gabriel muttered a quick apology when he noticed he hadnā€™t greeted Gale. He blamed it on the headache, it was quite difficult to stay focused when he felt as if a steamroller had just driven over hishead. When she turned towards her screen, he walked back to his chair. The nausea seemed to be returning. He dug through his pockets and got some painkillers out, which he promptly swallowed. Then he opened his suitcase and got some notes out, briefly going over them. He should have done so yesterday, but after his third glass he had given up on it. One of them was a background check on his neighbour. Unfortunately, the man was a model citizen. A model citizen with a terrible taste in music as far as Gabriel was concerned, but that was not punishable. Not officially at least.

When Igniatius entered, he made sure to greet him, not wanting to make the same mistake twice.
ā€œMorning,ā€ Gabriel muttered with a wry smile as he put the notes back in his suitcase and clapped it shut. The painkillers were slowly starting to work, too bad they had a terrible aftertaste. He once more searched his pockets, this time coming up with a mint package, ā€œanyone want some?ā€ he asked as he quickly put one in his mouth, ā€œtheyā€™re not bad. I got them from my neighbour after I threatened to smash his music system. He said it should help me relax,ā€ Gabriel paused as it dawned on him. He quickly spat the mint out and started cussing.
ā€œFor the love of.. I hope these are just mints and nothing else. Is my neighbour a drug user?ā€ he asked himself as he quickly got the notes out once more and went over them, now slightly more focused. After flipping through the pages, he mouthed a final curse. He put the notes away and tossed the mints package in a nearby bin.
ā€œAs far as we know, heā€™s no drug user. I suppose the mints should be fine, but, Iā€™m not taking any chances,ā€ he grunted, vowing to have some words with his neighbour this evening. If something had been wrong with those mints, there would be hell to pay.

As Atlas arrived, Gabriel waited for him to stop flirting with Gale before welcoming him as well. The man was simply unbelievable, no doubt headquarters would one day receive a complaint about sexual harassment or something along those lines. Regardless, he was good at his job. As long as he didn't start hitting on anyone Gabriel himself fancied, he didn't mind too much.
ā€œHey there, Iā€™m sure your clothes put up quite the fight. If I were a piece of clothing I wouldnā€™t like to be worn by you either,ā€ he joked. He was quite glad he wasn't the one being late for once. After Gale's gesture, he walked up to the table and sat down, folding his hands together and focused on the map. There was work to be done. A shade passed across his face when he saw the docks. He hated the smell surrounding those and absolutely detested seagulls. The beasts were loud, obnoxious and seemed to love using him as target practice. The wretched beasts had already ruined a coat, a suit and two pair of jeans.

As the briefing progressed, his mood improved slightly. He did his best to memorize the faces, hoping they would put up a good fight. While he hated them, tat the very least those Gaia fools posed a challenge most of the time. He resisted the urge to make a derogatory comment at the expense of Beta Team. Naturally Beta needed help, and, as was their habit, they had come running to Gabriel and his colleagues.

When Gale had finished, he raised a hand. The headache and nausea had mostly faded. When he had their attention he cleared his throat:
ā€œYeah, Iā€™ve got two questions. One, what sort of animals are we protecting here? Iā€™m allergic to rabbits you see, so if one of those things are in there, Iā€™d like to steer clear from them. It would be quite embarrassing if I betrayed our ambush by sneezing at a bad time,ā€ he paused for a second, remembering the nature of the Ark, ā€œThen again, I suppose genes shouldn't be too problematic. They usually don't have fur. It seems I'm still not completely awake," a small flush crept across his face.
"Everyone, please disregard that first question and if possible, forget I've ever asked it. Second question, ā€œhe continued with an apologetic smile on his face, ā€œare the Dwyers going in alone or can we expect them to have help? I know ecoterrorists are bold rather than smart, but going in with just two and a hostage, that is very risky,ā€ he concluded as he leaned back in his chair, doing his best to keep the anticipation out of his voice.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Atlas Whitehaven Character Portrait: Ignatius Serafino Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image




ā€œMister Whitehaven?ā€ Atlasā€™s brow rose in speculation. While had addressed her formally- his was more to mock the sheer sterility of their mannerisms. When Gale stated it- well- he felt an odd notion that passion was bled right out from that statement. ā€œI donā€™t even get a wink afterwards, or asked how my day was. For shame. I think Iā€™m losing my touch.ā€ Those digits crisped down his waistcoat and glided over the threaded buttons- it was a motion that he participated when he was lost in a deluge of pensiveness. Either way he moved to the table to take a seat, and gave Gabriel a coy look as the other made a somewhat callow comment about his dress. ā€œI take fabulous care of my clothing- and Iā€™m sure your opinion of ā€˜being worn by meā€™ would change given a bit of persuasion.ā€ Atlas left at that- he didnā€™t want to traipse all over proper etiquette in the Signet Corporation unless he was assured he couldnā€™t get his hand slapped for it.

As Gale Cross began that briefing Atlas made himself comfortable and pulled up his own personal display. There were countless little tidbits about the Ark and itsā€™ importance, but it was painfully obvious was it was supposed to simply be used for: the preservation of what little life the planet had left. So he flipped away from the specs about that massive genetic storage facility and onto reading about Dr. Fleche and the Dwyers. In a world where the existence of natural flora and fauna were an extreme rarity eco-terrorists like this had a tendency to pop up left and right like daisies (Atlas tried not to chuckle at that slight pun there). Rarely ever though did they make a move like this, and successfully as well.

ā€œIdiots,ā€ Atlas mumbled underneath his breath as Gale gave their intention with the genes in the Ark. They would ruin years of saving the world by attempting to ā€˜save the worldā€™. He wondered if this ā€˜Gaiaā€™ even knew what they were striving towards, or if they blindly followed impulses and thoughts as such. Atlasā€™s finger flipped through what meager reports they had on Gaia before returning his attention back to the center of the table and to his other two comrades.
All the dark haired fellow could offer to Gabrielā€™s banal rambling about rabbits was a concerned look on the otherā€™s mental stability. He turned his attention back down to his reports in hopes of not showing the non-descript boredom that passed by his eye. ā€œThat is a point, but I donā€™t think weā€™ll see too many forces considering they would lose their- well already lost- element of surprise by moving a larger group in. Because these warehouses are for Signet use only- someone moving in with a sizable force would be discovered.ā€ Atlas then paused. ā€œThat being said- we can figure that theyā€™ll be armed- especially if they plan to keep Dr. Fleche doing what they wish. So do we suspect that these Dwyers are humans or elementals? Because that might change the game.ā€

The setting changes from Signet Incorporated to 22nd century Earth

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kiana Shamshiri Character Portrait: Felix Grelen Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Atlas Whitehaven Character Portrait: Celero de Tempestas Character Portrait: Ignatius Serafino
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Ion


Image

New York City, 7:38 a.m.



Selena had been about to clarify for Gabriel that all they were dealing with was genetic material and not actual live animals, but fortunately he seemed to figure that out on his own. It likely would have been a bit embarrassing for him if sheā€™d had to say something that everyone else already knew. Actually, it was probably a bit embarrassing for him anyway. She fought off a sympathetic flinch, exercising her discretion and waiting for all the questions to make it into the air before addressing any of them. It would help prevent redundancy, in all likelihood.

Picking up a tablet from her desk, she flicked through a few screens until she had what she wanted. ā€œBetaā€™s reports indicate that Gaia as an organization has a membership estimated at a couple hundred, but not all of those would be field operatives. As Mr. Whitehaven suggestedā€”ā€ there was a pointed look here directed at Atlas: business hoursā€” ā€œThey would not likely utilize all of their resources for one operation, especially when that risks drawing attention. Unfortunately, the report is rather unclear about just how many are expected at the warehouse today, which means Iā€™m going to put an educated guess at between three and six.ā€

She frowned at that; she was going to have words with Beta Teamā€™s leader if the man didnā€™t sharpen his operatives a bit. At this rate, their shoddy work was putting her people in danger, and Selena Cross did not take very kindly to that. To date, they were the only squad without a proper fatality in the last ten years, and while some of that had nothing to do with her, there was no mistaking that she did everything she could for her team, even when she was stuck behind a desk instead of out in the field with them.

ā€œAs for the restā€¦ Rachelā€™s a known Elemental. Mind, specifically geared towards puppetry, so that probably means itā€™ll end up a showdown at some point, Mr. Turinn. Use cautionā€”sheā€™s quite good. The data says that James Dwyer hasnā€™t displayed any Elemental powers, but if his sister has them, Iā€™d exercise caution anyway. Since I donā€™t know who else theyā€™re bringing, I canā€™t help you with that, but Iā€™ll be tapping the cameras at the site, so if I recognize anyone, Iā€™ll let you know. Vanā€™s here in ten, gentlemen.ā€

That would give them time to grab any gear they thought necessary. For her part, Selena picked up the usual communications unitsā€”specially designed to fit over the ear without impeding hearing from the actual environment. The tactical vans contained a wide range of electronic equipment, but she took her tablet as well, since it contained all of her personal software and configurations. Better to be overprepared than underprepared, which was perhaps why she felt so personally offended by the Beta report. It wasnā€™t all that noticeable, but the slight tic in her left eyebrow and the way she compressed her lips into a thin line might have given it away.




About half an hour later, she was passing out the comm devices, letting the team work out their strategy for themselves. Her job was just to fix it and tell people where to go if things went south. ā€œBe careful out there,ā€ she said, her tone quite far removed from the businesslike efficiency she usually infused it with. But then she brightened, and shot them all a half-smile. ā€œWouldnā€™t want to lose our spot as the Alpha Teaa, now would we, gentlemen?ā€

So saying, she pulled the back door of the van shut and settled herself in front of her consoles, which were now showing her a live feed of all the cameras set up around the warehouse. Well, except Camera 4. That was apparently out. Selena sighed and shook her head. No finesse at all. ā€œGale here,ā€ she said into the communicator. ā€œIt looks like your targets have knocked out a camera on the southeast side of the building. Thereā€™s an entrance there, so they may already be inside.ā€




Image

New York City, 8:00 a.m.



Well, this was pretty standard. Williamson and Theodore were at each othersā€™ throats (she wasnā€™t sure why they were always like that, but they were. Did they really hate each other so much?), Vasska was wondering when he would get to be the blunt instrument with which things were hit, Porter was talking so fast he tripped over his own tongue. Felix, as usual, oversaw everything with the patience of a martyr, which was an idiom she did not understand, because didnā€™t martyrs usually die in the end? She did not desire that any of her comrades should die, especially not on a mission such as this.

She shook her head, though, at the mention of uniforms. ā€œUnless we plan on infiltrating as, how you call, janitors, we wonā€™t need uniforms. The average Signet operative wears a suit and tie to work, so as long as we all look a little bit different, we can pass with the credentials, yes?ā€ It wasnā€™t really a question; Kiana had been with the Network long enough to know details of this nature. The point was just to not look any different from the rest of the people in the building.

ā€œMore of concern is this,ā€ she said, pointing to Vasska, or more specifically, to his external skeleton parts. ā€œThis is very unusual, even for Elementals. And so is this,ā€ she pointed to his hair, which was very blue. ā€œGood for standing out, not for fitting in.ā€ In an office that size, it would be expected that not everyone would know each other, so strangers wandering in would not be a major problem if they had the IDs, but you saw someone like Vasska once, and you remembered them. You would likely know if someone looking like him worked in your office building. It would be worse if anyone recognized his face from those wanted posters on which he figured in prominent detail.

ā€œSuits we have in storage. But if he walks in there like that, the cat is out of the bag.ā€ Perhaps surprisingly, she didnā€™t completely butcher that particular idiom.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Atlas Whitehaven Character Portrait: Ignatius Serafino Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, his hands folded behind his head, and gave everyone a confident smile when Gale mentioned Rachelā€™s powers. It was his time to shine After moistening his lips he spoke up:

ā€œNothing to worry about everyone, nothing to worry about. Iā€™ve been working on some tricks that should help me when facing a puppeteer. She might be good, but I stopped being just good years ago. If you all can make sure Iā€™m not disturbed during the confrontation, I should be able to take her down nice and quick. Though if you see an opportunity to just knock her out or something, donā€™t let me stop you,ā€ he added with a vicious smile. While he liked the idea of a personal confrontation, he wished it could have happened on another day. He wasnā€™t sure heā€™d be able to breach her mental defenses with a hangover. At the very least it would take him a little longer. He just hoped time wouldnā€™t be too precious down there. Heā€™d never hear the end of it if he failed to defeat some ecoterrorist.

He rose calmly when Gale concluded the briefing and went to grab his equipment. He settled for a light laser pistol he could easily conceal. After a brief moment of hesitation he also grabbed two smoke grenades. He doubted their usefulness, but he had a hunch. After doing this job for some time he had learned to follow his instincts. Besides, it could always serve to disorient Rachel. He surveyed some other equipment, but decided to leave it that. His mind would take care of the rest. He swallowed another painkiller before rejoining the rest of the group at the van.





After a short trip they arrived at the location. Gabriel got out of the van, took the comm device from Gale and put it over his ear. He then lit a cigarette and leaned against the van, waiting for Gale to survey the place with the cameras. If possible heā€™d like to get through today in one piece. It wasnā€™t long before she got in touch. He resisted the urge to swear when he heard her first report. He hated going in blind. And if the terrorists were already inside, that put them at a major disadvantage. He hated those. Usually it was the other way around. He let out a hoarse sigh and looked at his partners:

ā€œOkay, thatā€™s just great. We havenā€™t even done anything and already things are broken. Well, such is life. I suppose it means we will just have to hurry up. If theyā€™re in there, it probably wonā€™t be long before they do some permanent damage and Iā€™m sure Signet wouldnā€™t appreciate that. Now, do we just go in there and rely on the fact that weā€™re better than those terrorists?ā€ he smiled slightly, ā€œor do we try to come up with some sort of plan? Iā€™d like to get the jump on them. It should improve our odds of saving dr. Fleche and would make it easier to take those eco idiots down without too much of a hassle,ā€ he exhaled some smoke and crushed the cigarette beneath his left boot.

ā€œAre there any entrances nearby that might allow us to intercept them, assuming they went in at the southeast side? Or will we have to chase them and hope we can catch up to them in time? Also, before I forget. Do we have a psychological report on Rachel, Gale? If so, could you perhaps try to get your hands on it in the meantime? I know she likes trees and animals, but the more I know about her, the easier it will be to create her own personal hell,ā€ he muttered, reprimanding himself for not thinking about that earlier. It was his job to mess people up mentally as efficiently as possible and right now he was definitely slacking.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Atlas Whitehaven Character Portrait: Ignatius Serafino Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image




Psionic users were annoying. Atlas grumbled to himself after Gale mentioned that tiny little detail and he attempted to formulate a game plan against whatever attacks they would launch at him. The quickest solution he thought of was lancing a bullet straight between their eyes. ā€œDoesnā€™t sound too tricky.ā€ It was then he wrapped his knuckles against the table underneath him. ā€œKnock on wood though.ā€

It was then Atlas gathered his weapons in a somewhat somber glee even if he would have liked to smile a bit more while pocketing them. His beloved sword went to his hip, his two guns, and his ā€˜last ditch effortā€™ boot knife. ā€œWe are in your hands Miss Cross- please do be gentle with us.ā€ Atlas said with a sweet smile. ā€œWhile we are not so nice to some eco-terrorists.ā€




The ride was short and uneventful. Atlas prepped his guns, and made sure that there were enough bullets to rid this world of whatever stupidity they would meet at this warehouse. He also took that time to glance over at Miss Cross. These were business hours and she was one of his teammates, but that didnā€™t mean that he didnā€™t find her strikingly gorgeous with a superior intellect to match. Currently he hadnā€™t quite formulated the perfect time to ask her out, but he figured it would come sometime soon when they werenā€™t riding in a van with his fellow Signet members. Atlas had gotten somewhat fed up with the glancing of eyes and exchange of words, and he figured that action would have to be taken lest someone else figure out that their mission planner was a single stunner.

As the van came to a complete stop- Atlas exited with the rest of Alpha Team and only offered a bemused smirk when Gale stated that they should do their best to keep their position in Signet. ā€œOf course- how else did you think we were going to do?ā€ He then offered a wink before pouring out to take care of their terrorism problem. He slid the comm device into his ear and gave Gabriel a look. ā€œSeriously you need to get better smelling cigarettes.ā€ He paused as he heard Gale come through the comm. ā€œRight. Sounds good.ā€
Gabriel stated his peace about a possible plan and Atlas nodded along with him. ā€œIā€™ll go in the southeast entrance and stir up trouble. If you can get around to a different entrance- you could take them by surprise with your magical mind tricks.ā€ Atlas pulled out one of his guns. ā€œIā€™m sure they expect some sorts of resistance by now- especially if theyā€™ve taken out a camera. So Iā€™ll give that to them.ā€ He smiled. ā€œSee you on the other side.ā€

With that Atlas made his way towards the warehouse and the offending entrance. Quite right the camera was out and the door had been unlocked with what seemed like Dr. Flecheā€™s security code. He had to assume that they would have to pause at each security lock to let the doctor do his thing, and so Atlas hoped he could catch them when they hesitated at the next one. ā€œMiss Cross any signs of them yet? Am I heading straight towards them or do I still have some time?ā€

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kiana Shamshiri Character Portrait: Felix Grelen Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Atlas Whitehaven Character Portrait: Porter Buchanan Character Portrait: Ignatius Serafino
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Ion


Image

New York City, 8:32 a.m.



Call her old-fashioned (and really she was by comparison), but she had never liked the holographic disguises. The technology was just imperfect as all get-out, with a tendency to malfunction or even just waver slightly at the worst of times. Apparently, Vasska had a second layer of disguise, however. She hadnā€™t known he could do that, actually, and might have to look into expanding her own powers in that direction as well. Getting noticed was all well and good on their less-clandestine missions, but she could really use the ability to blend in a little more on occasions like this. Women didnā€™t usually come in six-foot-tall varieties, nor such dark ones in the city. All she had to make herself less obvious was a machine she didnā€™t trust much.

Maybe she could talk to Porter about putting his mind to work on improving the standard design sometime. If not him, perhaps one of the doctors would do it, but the Network used the disguise modules so infrequently, and not everyone shared her suspicion about them.

The briefing finished, and like the rest, she collected the illusion module and the information on the person she was impersonatingā€”a man, actually, since even a hologram couldnā€™t make her shorter. One of those nondescript, middling-build guys that filled offices everywhere, probably. The attendant voice-alteration software was a little more reliable in her personal experience, though it was still weird to hear a light tenor where her husky alto usually registered. Jeffrey Leighton was her name. Well, his.

She entered the building separately from the others, and last. Leighton actually worked on the first floor, in the front offices. She could have smacked whomever had decided it was a good idea to make her into an PR monkey. That meant talking, and accent or no, Kianaā€™s way of speaking was rather distinctive. Sheā€™d just have to avoid it as much as possible. The Signet psych eval mentioned that Leighton was a bit dull when not in front of an audience, so sheā€™d just have to assume that being taciturn wasnā€™t going to be an issue.

She nodded to a few of the other office employees on her way in, aware that her job was to maintain a clear exit in the event that one was needed. Elevators could be hacked and used to get everyone to the first floor in an emergency, but theyā€™d still need to cross a very large lobby filled with people, many of them armed.

Settling into Leightonā€™s office, which had an ideal view of the goings-on in the lobby and also just outside the building, she started reading through his papers, figuring that at least, she could get an idea of what the Signet Public Relations spinning doctors were up to lately. Why were they rotating, anyway?




Image

New York City, 8:17 a.m.



ā€œHard to say,ā€ Selena replied to Gabrielā€™s question about possible exits strategies for the Gaia team. ā€œChances are good that theyā€™d try to get out the same way they came inā€”minimize evidence, avoid needing to take out another camera. If you make a left now and move around the building about thirty degrees, thereā€™s a service entrance you might be able to use to sneak up on them. Cameras there indicate that thereā€™s nobody in the immediate proximity, butā€¦ā€

She paused a moment, typing rapidly and bringing up all the other cameras in the building. Biting her lip, she thought it over for a moment. ā€œOkay. Thereā€™s one person looking in your direction. I have visuals on at least five others, but these cameras have blind spots. Iā€™d estimate you have between three and four extra.ā€ That was a best guess, and all she had to go on were the building schematics and general observations about the body language of those present.

ā€œAll I can tell you about Ms. Dwyer is that she shows signs of psychopathy,ā€ she replied to the request about a psychological report. It made her dangerous, but also easy to provoke, if that was what Mr. Turinn desired to do. There were also studies about higher frequencies of mental illness in psionic elementals, and that occasionally, those irregularities gave their powers strange properties, but the research was still new, and unconfirmed.

ā€œMr. Whitehaven, youā€™re headed in their direction, but if you take a straight shot from the southeast entrance, the only person who should get a visual on you is Dr. Fleche. Iā€™m not sure how heā€™ll react, but given his present circumstances, he might be of some help.ā€ Mostly in the ā€œkeeping quietā€ area of things. The more of a drop they got on these operatives, the better.

Locating a third entrance, she sent Mr. Serafino towards that one, so heā€™d be able to flank the group and provide Atlas with some backup, hopefully enough to keep Ms. Dwyer unaware of the other psionic in the room. She was troubled, however, because there was just no telling how many of these other people were Elementals or humans of any kind, and not knowing was the worst position to be in. Isolating each of them, she took three-dimensional stills with the cameras and uploaded these to her systems for facial recognition scans, but the computers knew them no better than she did. Not goodā€”Gaia must be gaining support, or theyā€™d always had far more than suspected. And why were there so many people here, anyway? Logically, this operation should have been kept smaller. It was true that Rachel Dwyer was not always rational, but her brother was quite linear in his thinking from the information she had, so he should have stopped anything incredibly peculiar before it started.

Presently, the majority of the group was clustered around the large mainframe computer console. Dr. Fleche stood off to one side, facing the way heā€™d come in. Against his temple rested a cold steel barrel, attached to a gun held by a man her systems didnā€™t recognize. A woman, not Dwyer, appeared to be handling the computer, assisted by James, the brother. A few more looked at the screens, apparently searching for something in particular. The rest were scattered, including she suspected a few in camera blind spots, either poking through the room, which contained mostly cryo tubes and crates holding both digital and analogue data, or watching warily for intruders.

They had to be looking for something in particular. It was the only thing that explained the intent with which they searched the computer. Even Dr. Fleche wouldnā€™t know where everything was just by memoryā€”the Ark was huge, and ran several floors underground as well. On a hunch, Selena logged into the systems via a remote signalā€”something that perhaps an intelligence analyst should not have the credentials to do. But her ā€œotherā€ credentials were the ones she used, and after a few backtraces and traps, she pulled up on her own screen what the ecoterrorists were looking at.

ā€œNowā€¦ what do you want?ā€ she murmured thoughtfully.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Atlas Whitehaven Character Portrait: Ignatius Serafino Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Gabriel followed Galeā€™s directions until he stood in front of the service entrance. He drew his gun and placed his other hand on the door handle. He slowly pushed it open and made eye contact with the person looking at the entrance. The manā€™s mouth was already opening but Gabriel was faster.
ā€Youā€™re mine now! Here's the deal: You didnā€™t see me. As a matter of fact, Iā€™m not even here, Iā€™m just your imagination. Nothing to worry about. You're not going to tell your companions about this, because they'd just mock you,ā€ he commanded mentally. He gave the man a final look before quickly sliding out of sight and releasing his hold over the hapless terrorist. He could have killed the man, but that would have drawn unwanted attention. It was better to keep a low profile for now. His head was already starting to ache. He leaned against a crate and stowed his gun once more. He then looked around the corner, analyzing his surroundings. He saw the poor doctor Fleche and some people crowded around the computer. So far he couldnā€™t see Rachel. He withdrew behind the crate and spoke softly:

ā€œIā€™m inside, unseen so far. If you want I can mess with someoneā€™s mind and make him start an argument or something, but it might tip Rachel off. I can also,ā€ he continued but quickly stopped when he heard footsteps approaching. He swore. These people were way too vigilant to his liking. He took a deep breath and focused again, peaking around the corner. A woman nearby was rummaging through a crate. She hadnā€™t seen him yet, but if he didnā€™t do anything, she might spot him soon.
ā€œOkay, Iā€™ve got a plan,ā€ he whispered, ā€œI think I know how to create a nice diversion. Iā€™m going to mind control a woman nearby and give her a smoke grenade. Sheā€™s then going to walk back to the group, shouting she has found something. Thatā€™s when Iā€™m going to make her throw the grenade on the ground. The following confusion and smoke screen should allow us to deal with most of them before they know whatā€™s happening. Atlas might be able to get to doctor Fleche as well in the process. Any thoughts?ā€ he asked, his one hand already taking hold of the smoke grenade.


Then he felt something metal and cold against the backside of his head. He didnā€™t need to turn around to know what it was. Someone had just put a gun against his head.
ā€œNow look who Iā€™ve found here,ā€ a woman mumbled, followed by a slight giggle. She didnā€™t sound completely sane. Gabriel resisted the urge to swear, this was probably bad. Time to buy some time until he saw an opportunity to
ā€œHi. Iā€™m Larry, the new guy in case you didnā€™t get the memo. I take care of catering. Pleased to meet you. If youā€™d put that gun away Iā€™d turn around you and take your order. Today weā€™ve got a Waldorf salad and our renowned veggie burger,ā€ he spoke in a hushed tone. The last thing he was, was to attract more attention. Right now his captor seemed too busy gloating rather than signaling his presence to the others. He could still save this. He just hoped heā€™d be able to take care of this woman in time. He needed to be ready to take care of Rachel Dwyer when she turned up.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Atlas Whitehaven Character Portrait: Ignatius Serafino Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Ramiro
Ignatius sat quietly in his chair, watching closely the warehouse's projection, trying to roughly memorize the Ark's layout while paying attention to the briefing at the same time. He was mostly interested in the number and nature of the enemies, but that was precisely what they had the least information about, which was certainly no good scenario for them. The people ion the team were among his division's finest, but they might fall short if the terrorists were more than they expected, or if they had multiple elementals with them. At any rate, the mission was more about preserving the Ark than about eliminating the terrorists, so going in with a big squadron would likely tear up the whole place during the fight. There was also a hostage, which would likely know the details on what Gaia was after exactly, so recovering him alive was certainly something to look for as well.

This mission clearly had no room for collateral damage, so he chose not to take too many firearms with him. A single handgun would secure a long-range confrontation, and his set of knives would cover short/mid range combat. He'd do better to avoid using his fire, since lighting the whole warehouse ablaze was obviously not an option. He took all the standard Signet equipment, along with the communicator and got into the van.

He spent most of the trip wondering what the terrorists might be up to. The obvious motive for this infiltration was, as Glae had said during the briefing, to release the species in the Ark into the wild, but surely these eco-terrorists would be aware of the current state of the outside world. It didn't make much sense to him that they would so carelessly risk vital samples like those. Whatever the case was, the best way to find out was to recover Dr. Fleche.

As he got off the van, he started inspecting the warehouse, looking for any signs of activity inside. The street was typically noisy, and the warehouse had no windows, so there wasnt anything to see. As Gale directed him to one of the entrances, he readied his knives and carefully entered the building. The cameras showed there were several people inside, so he'd better be silent.

The entrance's hallway was clear, but he could hear a conversation coming from one of the adyacent rooms. It was mostly unimportant chatter, nothing relevant to the mission, so he just crawled past them and moved on. Taking on two guards was too risky for him at the moment. He came across a short man with a gun standing on the blind spot of one security camera. He slowly creeped up behind him, making sure not to make any sound that could catch his attention. When he was right behind the guard, he knocked the gun from his hand and stabbed his chest, while covering his mouth. The gun fell on the ground with a metallic sound. He hastely dragged the body to another room, making sure not to let any blood on the floor. Unfortunately, the gun's noise had attracted another terrorist, this one a tall woman, who was quick noticed the absence of the previous man.

"Where the fuck did Tom go? He's not on his post" She said through her communicator. Taking a glance at her, he recognized her as Rachel Dwyer. Confronting a pupeteer is no smart thing to do, an Ignatius knew this. He did not want to employ his fire unless it was absolutely necessary, so he walked away slowly and reported to Gale:

"I've found Rachel, she's near the South entrance. Should I leave her to Gabriel, or have a go myself? They've noticed a guard is missing and will be getting suspicious"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kiana Shamshiri Character Portrait: Felix Grelen Character Portrait: Celero de Tempestas Character Portrait: Porter Buchanan Character Portrait: Vasska Kresh Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK



Porter Buchanan

SIGNET FIELD OFFICE BUILDING, NYC
8:33




"Connecting Life"

Five huge telescreens sizzled these words into every eye that paid a passing glance as it hung from a mechanical stalk in the middle of the main lobby of the Signet Field Office. A long digital ticker tape trilled across the entire length of the main lobby noting the rise and fall of stock. A sea of white shirts, ties, and black slacks hurried churned underneath the display set. Some ascended the nearby escalators into the overlooking first floor offices. Others stopped for a cup of caffeinated motivation at the coffee machines by the rather spacious employee lounge. An information and help desk strictly maintained by a diligent crew directed any and all queries to unreachable forms of higher management. Each and everyone of these busybodies scurried to send reports and file data in the bureaucratic marvel that was Signet. Operative Celero de Tempestas pushed her way through the crowd. disguised as the perky but inexperienced secretary, Sasha Connaway. Operative Porter Buchanan flicked through his terminal display, disguised as the easygoing and slackerish Service Technician James Federov. With one look, the two made their way to the very back of the lobby where two helmeted Securitas guards stood for id checks.

Nothing, thought Porter as he attempted to uplink his Terminal to a nearby camera; the machine remained unresponsive. Knew it. All this tech is off the main grid. Could manually hack them given 150, no 138 seconds, but then I risk detection and counter-hacking. Not worth the time. He walked up to the guards and flashed his identification in tandem with Celero, earning a dismissive grunt from the guards as they waved them through to a glass elevator giving a choked view of the New York skyline in the shadow of the Spire and other scrapers surrounding it. They entered the elevator alone and without incident. Porter waved a hand over the holo-display to select the 34th floor. The Network operatives watched the street fall away as they rose higher and higher.

"First day on the job?" spoke Porter, words chosen with care. A microphone bug in the elvator was practically guaranteed and he had no intention of revealing his identiy in a glass cage in Signet Field Offices. He watched Celero shift nervously, the disguise holograms mimicking her queasy look.

"Yeah," she said. Her eyes wandered aimlessly avoiding Porter entirely.

"Don't panic." An uneasy silence filled the elevator. Eventually the elevator pinged to a stop and they emerged onto the 34th floor. It was a simple corridor, with a trio of guards manning a checkpoint by the servers. "ID's please," asked one of them, a young looking woman no older than 25 with a severe overbite. Once again, Porter and Celero flashed their ID's. The security officer peered at the cards and at the two of them. The security guard fixed Celero with a bored stare and she jerked her head to Porter.

"The hell're you with him? Yer Carson Mikado's bitch right? Mr. Carson's office down that way?" Celero froze as the Network operative she slowly worked her mouth.

"Well uh..." Immediately the poorly shaven guard behind Securitas Overbite nudged his dentally inferior friend. "Fuck off Sellie. Stop messing with her. Mr. Mikado is right by the servers down the hall," he managed with a grin. Overbite scowled at Shaves and muttered something about "first day pranks" as Porter and Celero walked down the hall until the guards were out of sight. They stopped at the server room enterance, a pair of opaque glass doors Celero nodded to Porter and stood by the entrance to keep watch and wave off any potential genuine service staff. Porter checked his watch. 8:40. Excellent. No one should be inside. He entered the room and stood in front a central control hub, the gentle hum of electricity marked the passage of zettabytes of information flowing through hundreds thin, liquid cooled towers. Porter reached into his pocket to peel back the sticky portion of the Network bug so that it stuck to his index finger. He brushed a single gloved hand ran over an interface port. The bug disappeared into the mainframe. Porter brought up the display on his Terminal.

It took 4 seconds in total for Porter Buchanan to establish uncontested control of every piece of Signet tech within a three block radius of the Signet Field Office. It took a second to de-encrypt the entire Signet anti-hacking system, another lazy iteration of the defense runtimes guarding mainframe Signet datastructres. Another two seconds and he received a confirmation signal from a number of Network techs on standby confirmed that Network hackers had their grubby little fingers on the information. One second later, his personal expropriation code gave him administrator access to every piece of tech, from the cameras all the way down to the coffee droids.

Porter gave a wan smile.

He flexed his fingers and keyed in a command.




The digital ticker tape flickered once. A pencil pusher looked up with tired exasperation; the ancient thing had just been fixed as he wordlessly keyed in a report to maintenance.

(This report reached maintenance a few hours later unmodified. It could have put the entire Network in jeopardy, losing many of its operatives in the protracted investigation and eventual discovery by Signet analysts. This mundane maintenance report held the Network's very existence in the balance. Maintenance took one look at the header and deleted it without hesitation.)

The ticker tape froze in front of a certain Keith Grandenson. For few seconds the words "Expropriation complete" flickered in front of him. The ticker tape then resumed normal operation.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Atlas Whitehaven Character Portrait: Ignatius Serafino Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image




Atlas pressed his digits further into his comm piece to hear Gale over the odd static that was rolling through the dedicated line. Nothing was supposed to be giving interference. ā€œUnderstood,ā€ he remarked calmly and altered his trajectory. If they could secure Dr. Fleche there would be minor concern on who they opened fire on in the warehouse. The terrorists would lose their bargaining chip, and it should be a painfully quick mission. Yet there was something that didnā€™t sit quite right with Atlas. ā€œAgent Cross are we supposed to be getting any interference? Iā€™m catching moments of static. These are dedicated lines- nothing should be able to jam our line unless they know the frequency. Right?ā€ He was far from a technology expert, but he did remember a few things that had been explicitly drilled into his head from Signet. ā€œThey would only be hurting themselves in they spam jammed the comm units.ā€ That second part was more or less a mental reminder to himself than an informative statement to Gale- she was probably very well aware of what it would do.

Gabriel popped in momentarily to offer a plan to Atlas- one that would hopefully give him a window to Dr. Fleche. ā€œSounds good. Iā€™ll be at the ready.ā€ Of course that involved him having the good doctor on standby- which inevitably meant that he needed to make contact with the other man. Atlas approached the otherā€™s position. He was able to hear them before he saw the man. Slowly he slid down the corridor, and padded his steps all the while so wasnā€™t detected. When he managed to make eye contact with Dr. Fleche he brought a finger up to his lips in the universal ā€˜shhā€™ motion. The man just stared at Atlas wide-eyed almost as if he was attempting to communicate a thought without words or gestures. That pale gray eye implored Dr. Fleche to expand on the terror in his eyes, but there was only a stunned rigidity to his face.
ā€œGabriel,ā€ Atlas stated in a husky low voice. He hated to be so informal, but he was quite literally in a jam here. Yet as he was greeted with nothing but silence he had to decide what to do. ā€˜Not a very brilliant A-Team moment right now.ā€™ He thought somewhat stormily. That gray eye of his pressed against Dr. Fleche once again but the man just stood there. It wasnā€™t as if he was being uncooperative- it was more so as if he had a gun to his head.

And that is when Atlas saw it. Of course the doctorā€™s captor was more interested in what the others were doing, but the agent had no doubt that he was a mere muscle spasm away from pressing down on the trigger and blowing a hole through Dr. Flecheā€™s head. Atlas knew he couldnā€™t fire at the man for fear of hitting Dr. Fleche, and he couldnā€™t approach them more closely for fear of the man using the doctor as a meat shield. While the mission had stated that the doctorā€™s life was more or less expendable- Atlas at least wanted to offer somewhat of a decent attempt.
Atlas grabbed his gun and whipped it forward. In a brash move he yelled: ā€œduck.ā€ And the doctor did so. His intended captor jerked his head around in enough time to get a bullet between his eyes. Of course this unfortunately alerted those at the computer. The doctor managed to crawl briskly over to Atlas where he pointed behind him. ā€œThe way is clear behind me. Hurry outside- we should have a Signet member waiting for you.ā€ It was then he pressed his hand into his earpiece as he took cover. ā€œDr. Fleche is headed your way Agent Cross, but I may have alerted them to my presence. Iā€™m going to try to take them down as quick as possible, but backup would be much appreciated.ā€ There was another squeal in his earpiece and he hoped that someone got that message.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gabriel Turinn Character Portrait: Atlas Whitehaven Character Portrait: Ignatius Serafino Character Portrait: Selena Delacroix
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Gabriel had heard Atlas all too well, but was in no position to answer. He just hoped it wasnā€™t urgent, but given the nature of their mission, it probably was. As he tried to turn around slightly, he immediately felt the pressure of the gun increase.
ā€œNo, no, no Larry. You keep perfectly still,ā€ the woman continued to speak, ā€œso, youā€™re ā€˜cateringā€™ eh? Tell me, how do your brains taste? Because theyā€™re pretty close to being blown out of your he-ā€œ she stopped talking when a gunshot echoed across the Ark. The pressure at the back of his head decreased. Gabriel decided this was the best chance he was going to get and turned around, grabbing both wrists of the woman and pushing her against a crate. He kicked her in the stomach with his knee before releasing his hold and grabbing her head with both of his hands.

ā€œI could use my powers on you, but this is so much more fun,ā€ he whispered as he studied her face. She was easy on the eye, he intended to change that before she caught her breath. He slammed her head first into the crate, repeating the process until the gun slid from her hand. He then dropped her and picked up the weapon. He surveyed it quickly and then noticed the safety was still on. Not only were these people clearly deranged, they were also amateurs.

His musings were disturbed by Atlas. This time he did respond as he checked the gun.
ā€œYou got Fleche? I donā€™t know how you did it, but good job, Iā€™ll be with you momentarily. I had a slight problem, but itā€™s resolved now,ā€ Gabriel muttered as he ran from behind the crates, coming eye to eye with the woman who had been searching through the crates before. He had completely forgotten about her. Luckily for him, she was even more taken aback. He raised the gun and shot her in the chest twice. Without making as much as a sound, she dropped to the ground.

Gabriel heard numerous shouts coming from nearby and slid closer. He saw numerous terrorists looking around fervently. One of them wasnā€™t, as he was clearly dead. So much for subtlety.
ā€œYou think you might have alerted them?ā€ he snapped into his earpiece, ā€œIā€™m pretty sure they are alerted. Ah well, thereā€™s nothing we can do about that now. Here we go,ā€ he took the smoke grenade and hurled it at the group. As the smoke started to spread he fired the gun at them, trying to avoid hitting anything important. After a couple of shots it was out of ammo. He quickly tossed it aside, drew his own gun and decided to move up to a new position. As he leaned against the crate he searched for Rachel. According to Ignatius she had been near the southern entrance. No doubt sheā€™d get here soon. He took a deep breath, if she showed up he would have to confront her. He just hoped most of the other terrorists had been dealt with by them. It was rather difficult to defeat a fellow puppeteer when the bullets were flying across the room.