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Austin Marshal

A rash young TIB agent.

0 · 2,439 views · located in The Abandoned Slums

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Nemo

Description

Special Agent Austin Marshall


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"I'm just here to do my job. If I have a lil' fun with it while I do it, well... is that really so bad?"


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Austin Marshall's TIB Clearance Card



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[[TIB ARCHIVE DATABASE: WELCOME, _User]]

[[TIB ARCHIVE / COMMAND:]]
>/access citizenprofile

[[TIB ARCHIVE-DATABASE / SPECIFICATION REQUIRED]]
>/AustinJamesMarshall

[[TIB ARCHIVE-DATABASE-AUSTINJAMESMARSHALL]]
[[<PROCESSSING REQUEST>]]
[[<NO CLEARANCE LEVEL REQUIRED>]]

/ACCESS GRANTED

Public TIB Archive File
Full Name: Austin James Marshall
Age: 25
Height: 6' 1"
Weight: 178 lbs
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Hazel
Birthday: 4/1Image
Place of Birth: Terra, United States, Los Angeles
Nationality: Terran, Confirmed Citizen
Immediate Family: Edward John Marshall, Marissa Ester Marshall (deceased)
Maritial Status: Single
Occupation: Terran National Government, Social Worker
Medical Record: Citofacin, Attention Deficit Diesorder
Criminal History: Minor Theft, Assault




[[TIB ARCHIVE-DATABASE / COMMAND:]]

>/access classifiedprofile AustinJamesMarshall

[[TIB ARCHIVE-CLASSIFIEDDATABASE-AUSTINJAMESMARSHALL]]
[[<PROCESSSING REQUEST>]]
[[<CLEARANCE LEVEL THREE REQUIRED>]]
/PLEASE PROVIDE VALID CLEARANCE

>/insertclearance W36478 TLGEQ91684 REDWINEWITHFISH

[[TIB ARCHIVE-CLASSIFIEDDATABASE-CLEARANCECHECKPOINT]]
[[<PROCESSSING CLEARANCE>]]
[[<CLEARANCE ACCEPTED>]]
[[<COMMENCING RETINAL SCAN, REMAIN STILL>]]
[[<RETINAL SCAN ACCEPTED>]]
[[<WELCOME AGENT 616>]]
[[<Retrieving CLASSIFIEDPROFILE CBE-42-031>]]

Classified Archive Profile
Austin James Marshall is a Special Agent in the Terran Intelligence Bureau. He is Agent 317, callsign 'Vulpis'. He is primarily a field and reconnaissance agent with a mission-bias towards infiltration, extraction, assassination and counter-terrorism. At twenty-five years old, he is one of the youngest agents in the field. With over five successful missions under his belt, he is also one of the most renown.
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Young Austin, receiving combat training under the TIB.

Agent Marshall was marked by a spotter at age eighteen when he was observed stealing an expensive necklace from a jeweler. When confronted by security, he succeeded in talking his way out of the situation until the stolen necklace fell out of his jacket. Marshall proceeded to incapacitate three security guards before fleeing the store. He was tracked and found living in an abandoned warehouse. After a struggle, he was detained by Agent 489 and was brought back to Veritas where he was recruited of his own consent. His training began almost immediately.

For the next seven years, Marshall mastered every level of field training, from basic to tactical. He studied the cultures and histories of both Terran countries and many intergalactic nations, becoming fluent in over a dozen languages. He completed every available course for weapon handling, from light firearms to heavy explosives. Under the TIB academia, he was schooled in chemistry, physics, biology, mechanical engineering, advanced calculus, paranormal studies, theater, kinesiology, botany, basic medicine and toxicology. Despite destroying many of the training cars, he was taught to drive a plethora of different vehicles, from motor automobiles to heavy transports and even to spacefaring vessels.

Marshall's past is hazy and unclear, mostly because the agent rarely speaks of it. He recognizes having a mother and brother in his youth. They lived in extreme poverty, and the mother eventually died of untreated syphilis. Austin and his brother, Edward, split ways and became stragglers. It was during this time that Austin developed exceptional thieving and stealth capabilities. He also learned how to fight hand-to-hand in the Israeli defense system of Krav Maga, learning from an old master in exchange for whatever liquor he'd managed to steal that day.

Austin suffers from a rare neurological disease: citofacin (cito - quick, facina - action), caused by a malfunction in the motor and sensory neurons in the brain. As the neurons release catecholamine neurotransmitters between synapses, the velocity at which the neurotransmitters move is accelerated beyond all normal human parameters. As a result, the lag-time between thought and action is shortened drastically. For persons suffering from citofacin, thought and action are one. Years of therapy have allowed Austin to train his "disease", focusing himself to prevent every passing thought from being completed as action, consciously choosing what he will or will not do. His condition also gives him a considerable edge on the field. Without any lag time between brain and trigger finger, Austin is an extremely capable fighter and gunman, his kinetic speed almost inhuman. Nonetheless, Austin still struggles to maintain complete control of his disease, failing frequently.

In terms of his character, Marshall is an optimist and an extrovert. He is a great lover of humor and sarcasm, never failing to find something that he might smile (or smirk) at. Although he has consistently shown great bravery and courage on the field, his valor often evolves into blatant recklessness, particularly when confronted with bleak or hopeless situations. He is a risk-taker and a daredevil; the more dire and desperate the objective, the more enjoyable it seems to become to him. A skilled orator and speaker, Austin craves society and the company of others. When left alone for extended periods of time, he has been known to talk to himself. His bright character seems to be a helpful tool for the agent when he is tasked with impersonating a character or acting out a role in his various assignments.

Despite this, Marshall has frequently demonstrated narcissistic behavior and overtly forward sexual tendencies. He flirts recklessly and without restraint and has had dozens of known public relationships, all of which lasted no longer then a month. His ego frequently clashes with other authorities on the field, and Marshall will often abandon a set-plan in favor of a direction or course that he deems more effective. Despite his obvious tactical success on every mission he has been sent on, Marshall has been suspended from duty three times, detained four times and brought up on charges of sexual harassment twelves times.



>/access AustinJamesMarshall missionrecords

[[TIB ARCHIVE-CLASSIFIEDDATABASE-AUSTINJAMESMARSHALL-MISSIONRECORDS]]
[[<PROCESSSING REQUEST>]]
[[WARNING > CLEARANCE LEVEL FIVE REQUIRED]]
[[PROCESSED SECURITY CLEARANCE IS NOT ACCEPTABLE]]
[[<RETURNING TO ARCHIVE DATABASE>]]



[[TIB ARCHIVE DATABASE: WELCOME, _User]]

---

So begins...

Austin Marshal's Story

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#, as written by Nemo
Austin Marshal grunted as the blast connected. Austin's hand convulsed and spasmed, the gauss pistol flying out of his reach further into the beam. He was inside the ship now. Their territory. A trained agent, Austin knew that his chances of survival had just been cut in half.

"You should have called first..." Austin managed through grit teeth, mixing satire and blind fury, "...typical Aschen though, eh? No fuckin' manners."

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#, as written by Nemo
Austin was easily subdued under the armored soldier's enhanced strength, looking dauntlessly towards Montgomery in youthful defiance.

"George Montgomery..." Austin mimicked the Director's tone, "...y'know the only thing that suprises about you is that you still haven't changed your last name after three years of use. Weren't you made fun of in grade-school? Called 'cheese-boy' or something?" The TIB agent struggled briefly against the soldiers grip, fruitlessly of course.

"...as for my abduction and your LDA agents..." Austin began, snarling, "...first I want you to have that lil' bastard over there shave that goddamn' mullet of his..." Austin nodded towards Michael, "I don't think Billy Ray would appreciate it. After he's bald, I want you to drop me off at the government center where we'll discuss what you'll have to do not to face treason charges for this."

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#, as written by Nemo
"It rings an unpleasant bell," Austin winced, "I thought it had something to do with lie-detectin' or shit like that... but I think the designs got fucked around with. Sorta' like mind-control now, huh? At least that's what I know about it. Someone gives a command and it triggers something in the victims mind." Austin forced back an apprehensive gulp. "Triggers whatever was programmed."

"Look, Montgomery..." Austin growled, "...whatever you're planning, forget it. You're too late. I've already contacted the TIB with the neuro-technology Eriaji put in. You'll have marines and Tetris swarming your ass in ten minutes if you don't let me off this shit-hole. Let it go." All a complete bluff, of course.

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#, as written by Nemo
And here it was. The bottom line. Austin had been sarcastic and running-his-mouth up to this point, but now it was time for the serious business. The agent took a deep breath, taking a moment to steel himself for whatever torture he might endure. He was slightly frightened, of course. Austin had never experienced the real-deal like this before.

Looking Montgomery straight in the eye, Austin didn't say a word, employing the tactics he had been taught. He needed to keep his mouth shut no matter what. The agent refused every smirking comment that came to mind. As far as Austin was concerned at this point, he had been born a mute.

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#, as written by Nemo
Goddamn Marlene Angel...

Austin considered blowing on the re-bar for kicks, like a child cooling down a hot beverage, but restrained himself. He looked dead ahead, staring at some obscure point on Montgomery's suit, his face entirely blank, his breathing steady. It was hard to tell if the agent was even blinking.

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#, as written by Nemo
Austin Marshal said nothing, his humble brown eyes barred coldly from the rest of the world as he retreated into a deeper level of his psyche, wrestling his citofacin as he took another deep inhale of breath... savoring the feeling of free air while it lasted.

Looking up into the eyes of Madeline W., he half-grinned once, a brief remnant of the laughing-scoundrel he was washing over his young jaw briefly. This scoundrel had just run out of luck.

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#, as written by Nemo
Austin Marshal took one, numb look around himself, taking a last careful account of everything in the room before descending back into the folds of his mind. Two technicians. One bitch. One very-mean looking machine. He was strapped across the chair from behind, his hands looped behind his back and waist belted around the chair. He was still wearing his jacket, his shield had been lost in the beam. There was a knife in the strapped pocket of his pants that hadn't been swept up, but there was no way he could reach that now. Austin had probably no chance of escaping his current condition.

With a final, weary breath, Austin blew up at the hair matted down to his sweat-licked forehead, grumbling to himself in childish annoyance. The shit he did for his planet. If he ever made it out of this alive, Drulovic was gonna' give him that fuckin' raise. No doubt about it.

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#, as written by Nemo
Austin Marshal exhaled quietly as the drug seered through his veins, lighting his arms in flames and sparking instantaneous pain. In his mind, Austin had begun to employ the unique resistance methods he had trained for with the TIB, using his citofacin disorder to appropriately distract himself with every passing thought. Because of his condition, Austin could give out the answers the Aschens were looking for in a mere passing thought. The key was just to imagine Madeline saying something entirely different then what she had said. That... and coping with the god-awful pain.

"...the fuck'..." Austin mumbled quietly, "...I don't have any fuckin' kittens on base, Geralds. I told you. Now get those goddamned prostitutes out of my dorm, I don't need any STD's today, thanks." In his mind, Austin had literally managed to mutilate Madeline's question into something else entirely. He wouldn't have been able to recite Madeline's true inquiry even if he tried.

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#, as written by Nemo
Austin Marshal flat-out roared as the needle was inserted, throwing his weight desperately about in the chair as his body racked against his restraints. "FUCKIN'A, EDDY!" he bellowed, "GET THIS FUCKIN' HOT GLUE GUN OFF MY THUMB! FUCK!" The pain was purely overwhelming.

As the data collected on the screen, transmitting Austin's very thought, the technicians might have noticed something uniquely strange about the way the data appeared on the screen. The organization of the numbers simply looked physically different then a normal man's might have. Should the AI begin to decipher the collection, it would find that Austin's thoughts and memories were 99% rubbish, tossed around like a salad with the 1% that was actually worth something. Memories of secret codes or TIB info was jumbled impossibly with the color of the bathroom's walls or how Mahlid had hit on Rosie at the break-room last week. Some of it might even be incoherent or incredibly difficult to make out. Such was the nature of Austin's citofacin. Every simple thought, every common acknowledgement, all of it had to be consciously registered by the poor boy and filtered into inaction or true response.

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#, as written by Nemo
Immediately upon seeing her?

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#, as written by Nemo
Austin Marshal would wake up uknown hours later, lying among the insected-infested vomit-covered end of Gambit's Side Alley. Rising numbly, unable to remember much, he looked hazily towards the end of the alleyway. What had happened? Had he been mugged? His bike wasn't here... neither was his cash in his wallet...

"...musta'been one helluva' mugger..." Austin groaned, staggering out of the alleyway.

The setting changes from Main Street to Wing City Highway

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#, as written by Nemo
Austin Marshal rode along to the massive compex, the fluent hum of his MV Agusta F4 heralding his arrival. The TIB agent wasn't much concerned about his mission today, though he was a bit curious. This enormous property had sprung up just south of Wing City practically overnight. No documentations... no state-records... it was like its own little country in the middle of nowhere. Naturally the TIB wanted a bit more intelligence on a place this big with no real paperwork on it yet.

Austin stopped his bike at the gate, flashing his TIB Level Four clearance card. "Agent Marshall," he nodded to the guards, "I represent the Terran Intelligence Bureau. I'd like to meet with whoever's in-charge of this place as soon as possible." Austin's clearance was considerably high. He could see Prime Minister Cranford in ten-minutes tops with a flash of his badge. Of course, not everyone was as inclined to let a government agent into a secure premise...

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#, as written by Nemo
"Thanks," Austin nodded, obeying without objection as he allowed the escort to take him where he would. The agent frequently let his eyes wander, drifting over the building and its various hangars and complexes. He noted with suspicion the fenced walls and army of security. What was this place hiding...?

"So who's in charge here anyway?" Austin asked Chinchin as he drove. Perhaps he could get some information out of the escort while they went.

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#, as written by Nemo
Austin Marshal took careful note of the technological complexity of the interior of the building. Holy crap... what was going on here? A helicopter manufacturer? Some private intelligence agency? The agent put on a friendly face as he was introduced to Stryker, taking a few steps towards the stoic man, ready to extend his hand in greeting should he turn around.

"General..." Austin nodded, "it's a pleasure to meet you. Quite the facility you've been running around here..." The agent warily eyed the television screens himself. This guy seemed to have a camera on every major part of the city.

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#, as written by Nemo
The agent passively took a seat on the intended furniture. "Well exactly as you said General Stryker," Austin returned the smile, "our 'small government' has founded quite a large bit of curiosity in your business here. Most privately-owned industries take up some sort of documentation with the Terran National Government before beginning production. We wouldn't want anything illegal going on here, after all." Austin smiled disarmingly.

"If you could just answer a few of my questions and sign a few papers," Austin continued, "I'll be out of your hair in no time. Perhaps you could start by telling me what you do here? Hellicopter manufacturer, right? Who do you sell too?" Austin's tone was polite and neat, not at all setting the scene for an interrogation. Not yet, at least.

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#, as written by Nemo
"Of course not, General Stryker," Austin nodded, "it's just a security precaution. I'm sure you know all about that." The agent smiled, reclining into the couch as he exhaled, appearing none the least concern with the present situation.

"Well it won't take much to get this little factory 'officialized' as you might call it," Austin reached into his suit, retrieving a small selection of papers, "you'll just need to sign a few documents, registering your factory under the Wing City district, and another allowing for a bi-annual inspection of the building to ensure your company is up-to-par with safety and sanitary conditions."

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#, as written by Nemo
Austin Marshal shrugged, "The Terran National Government simply wants to create the most peaceful and stable environment humanly possible for its citizens," Austin nodded, firing off the answer without a moment of hesitation. "I'd like to say that we don't need to keep records on every little detail... but you'd be suprised how many malevolent forces take root on Terra. This planet is a breeding ground for all sorts of crime and superhuman forces."

The agent backtracked quickly, "of course, that's not at all to say that I'm making an accusation against the establishment you've made here. Your factory seems like a fine place, and if you've really submitted the paperwork already as you say you have, then I see no problem in just waiting for those to get to us."

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#, as written by Nemo
Austin Marshal laughed youthfully, not at all phased by Thunderstrike's considerably wise summary of the TNG. Austin was even a bit startled at how true his words had hit home.

"If you want to talk politics, General Stryker, then stop by the government center sometime," Austin rose, putting the files back into his jacket as he extended his hand once more for Stryker.

"Once those files go through, we'll send an inspector over to take a look around that place. That shouldn't be for a few months, though," Austin explained, "thank you very much for your time, General." By the tone of Austin's voice, it was clear that the agent was done here.

Only he wasn't. Austin Marshall had only just started investigating this place.

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#, as written by Nemo
"That'd be great," Austin nodded, "I'd love a closer look at your factory." Austin's warily eyed the various security cameras and Thunderstrike's suspicious view of several key points of the city. Doubtless the agent would question Stryker about this later, but for now he wanted to be on the general's good side.

"And what about the design?" Austin inquired further, "do you base your choppers off of former military models?"

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#, as written by Nemo
Austin Marshal followed Stryker carefully, listening with seemingly eager intent. "You mean you practically designed these helicopters from scratch?" Austin remarked, "very impressive, General. Few men these days have the technical experience to build something so advanced out of so little."

"A million models you said, though?" Austin cocked his head, "that's an awful lot. Did you ever end up meeting your quota?" As Austin talked, he was constantly scanning the factory, looking out the windows and at every corner of the complex. If there was a blind spot or a less-protected area of the building that Stryker was leading him through, the agent would find it.