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Gil Isom

"Sitrep, solider?"

0 · 447 views · located in Origin

a character in “The Multiverse”, originally authored by Blazezon, as played by RolePlayGateway

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Description


Gil Isom A.K.A "The Gorgon"

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DOSSIER:
Race: Scatteran
Age: Forty.
Height: 5'8".
Weight: 190lbs.
Hair Color: Black.
Eye Color: Green.
Skill Set: Advanced weapons training(Heavy weaponry specialty) and years of experience, learned tactician, practiced hostage negotiator, familiar with demolitions, capable interrogator, intimate knowledge of advanced military operations, intimate knowledge of Van Leugen, and it's gangs, counter-terror training, Invictus training, well schooled in sabotage, logistics, and how to kill anyone dumb enough to get the in way. As well as all the perks and knowledge that comes with being a Scatteran.
BIO:

Gil was, and still is a survivor first and foremost. A potent member of the Scatteran race, he's a born and bred Dog of War. He'd seen and endured some of the worst shares of various conflicts and realized The Coalition just wasn't worth it. They sure didn't pay enough, so when things went bad he jumped ship, and fell in with The Invictus, much like Church. It was a good fit for awhile, but it didn't work out in the end.

Gil always had a mind for a little too much profit, and a little too much collateral.

Ariadne probably would've been happy to try and sway him into staying, but he just wasn't interested. He split for the outer-worlds, the rougher places of the galaxy. Places like Hera Prime, and places that made Hera Prime look like a sunny meadow. He endured, he marched on, he shot on. He fell in with a band of Mercenaries that called themselves The All-Consuming Snakes, it was based off some old myth or some shit.

Gil didn't care, he thought it was stupid, and cheesy, but the pay was good.

Only problem is Gil had no where to go, no position to rise too. The old man in charged was an iron-fisted bastard who only promoted the people who kissed his ass enough, or were related to him, this left Gil as a nobody. Despite his superior skills. He made do for awhile, though, took his time. Slowly gathered and convinced some of the equally unhappy members of the company to come around to seeing him as a leader. A better leader. All in all it turned into a coup, and a failed one at that.

Scatteran arrogance had lulled Gil into a false sense of security, and he underestimated the old geezer.

No, the old man didn't shoot faster, or hit harder, he just knew how to play the game better. Some of the "trustworthy friends" of Gil's weren't either. The night before the coup the loyalists broke in and straight up murdered everyone in their sleep, except Gil. They beat him senseless, stripped him of everything but his ratty clothes, and dumped him on the first backwater they ran into. After a solid month of nearly starving him, and routine beatings while in the brig.

Needless to say, he was pissed. Especially when he realized the "backwater" they had picked was none other than Terra. Stupid bastards.

They did however make sure to strand him in the biggest cesspit they could find on the planet. VL. Weakened and blinded by rage he survived like a rat in the deepest well of the Nillies. He was pretty much at rock bottom when he ran afoul of a local street gang playing at being crime bosses. The two thugs who cornered him demanding money, and to know where his allegiance was got a very quick, very harsh beat-down.

In fact, Gil was so impressed by their utter incompetence that he forced both of the young men to lead him back to their "base", a decent apartment, by Nillies' standards anyway.

Again he was impressed when he managed to subdue to doormen, despite being poorly healed, hungry, unarmed, and more than a bit tired. He decided to see how far he could push it, and fought his way to the very top of their food chain. The boss, surprisingly enough, was just as impressed with Gil's capabilities, as Gil was with his lackeys' uselessness. They struck a pretty quick deal once the haggard man stopped beating the ever-living shit out of everyone.

A hell of a lot of cash for his joining the gang, and his training of the other members.

It actually worked out, too well for old Bloody Nines, the gang's head. Gil quickly turned the wannabe bangers into an actual fighting force, he also set about bringing in other ex-military types. Scatteran, Gardenite, Ex-Invictus, you name it, he found them and pitched the "gang" to them. At first Nines was pretty thrilled at the thought of more warrior's blood in his organization. He was even more thrilled at the fact The South Nillies Gorgons were actually pushing back the upstart Triads, instead of getting turned to paste like usual. But he was smart too, just not as smart as the old merc. Nines say the writing on the wall eventually, but it was too late.

Most of the crew was now either people feverishly loyal to Gil, or ex-military types Gil had brought in. The coup was inevitable, bloody, and swift.

VL was beyond tense at first as Gil took over the Gorgons. The Triads knew it was over, and the Bratva, and Mafia families were getting nervous. The too ended swiftly. Gil had been giving a lot of thought on how to run things, on the dynamics of gang life, and VL. It just didn't add up, not in a way that netted enough green for himself, and everybody else that is. Why fight other gangs, and the police, and The Invictus, and whoever else showed up, all while paying through the nose for black-market weaponry? Why do that shit when you could do all of it, minus the cops, minus The Invictus, minus the markup on arms, all while charging three times as much?

It was simply, there was no goddamn reason to.

At the end of his first week in charge The South Nillies Gorgons were no more, and Gorgon's Watch Protection Services was born. That was ten years ago, and The Gorgon has been riding a wave of calculated violence, fame, and mad money ever since.

So begins...

Gil Isom's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Commisar Ciaphas Cain Character Portrait: Gil Isom Character Portrait: Constrictor Squad Character Portrait: Sidewinder Squad
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Sunbeam gratefully accepted the medical assistance. He had no clue what was in the needle, but if it made his body stop screaming in pain, and kept Python around, he didn't care. Hell, if it worked he'd buy a literal truck load of the shit, and take it back to VL if the road was ever rebuilt. He quickly took his gloves off, and rolled up his sleeve, then did the same for the unconscious Python.

"Hit us, Doc," he chuckled, a surprisingly painful action for him. "Make it quick. Something tells me the fight just ain't over ye-"

"Sunbeam, you copy?", it was Boa, and he sounded pretty damn concerned.

"Yeah?" Sunbeam's creeping feeling about the fight prolonging got a little bit stronger.

"Got a visual, two enemy attack choppers, on your three.", Boa sighed heavily, you could almost hear his head shaking. "Comin' in cold, but it looks like they're packing some heavy fucking artillery."

"So fucking shoot them down, you dumb prick, why you wasting time tell me this shit?"

"That's the thing!", Boa was barking into his comm now, wishing that for once Sunbeam would think ahead. "I'm low on fucking ammo you limp pecker-wood, and I am not sitting in a nearly inert tank to reload. They're also coming in along the bridge. Over the civvies, over the IG detachment, ove-" He paused as as a large heat signature flashed on his HUD, about 1000m away. He couldn't confirm it, but he had a pretty damn good guess as to what it was.

"The blew the next suspension bridge. They've trapped everybody on that side in a kill-box."

"Fucking hell!" Sunbeam swatted the medic away once he got his shot, standing up while his body numbed itself. "How long till our choppers, Boa?"

"No clue, ETA was thirty, so if these things got here first we can't be too far behind."

"How long till another rocket volley?"

"I don't fucking know, what the fuck do you think it is I'm doing with my time?", Boa was just flat out pissed now. "Timing the enemy reload, and positioning? No, I'm shelling."

"The get fucking eyes on them, Boa!", temper had gotten the better of Sunbeam as well. "Figure it the fuck out, and if you have enough time get your sorry ass, and Spitjaw out of the tank. Join me at the IG line. It'll be stupid to sit in that banged up thing, with barely any loaded ammo, if two attack helis hit the scene."

There was a brief radio pause, followed by an annoyed Boa's "Roger.", he really hated it when Sunbeam actually was thinking ahead, because it just made him look stupid.

Sunbeam quickly turned back to the Doc, and now mending Python. The two GW men were still in shit shape, but it was a start. "Alright, you...Imperial..Guard..Thing..Guy." He motioned to the medic, just in case his description left any question on who he meant. "Help me carry my buddy back to your op-base, get me in touch with a commander. Everyone on the other side of the bridge is trapped, and enemy air is coming in. We gotta move, fast."


"DUNH DUNH DUNH DUH, DUHN DUHN DUH DA DA DUHN!"

The poorly tuned "humming" of Flight of Valkyries bombarded the Sidewinder Squad's Comm channel. Even over the powerful, chopping blades of the Apache AH-64, it couldn't be blocked out.

The rest of the squad inside the black death machine collectively groaned as it cut through the midday skyline over the flats between VL, and Wing City. They all knew Timber was going to start "singing" that ever so cliched song eventually. They had a betting pool going even, almost all of them had opted for, "On takeoff", though. He bucked the odds, and made it all the way until they were just outside the engagement zone.

"Fucking hell, Timber!" The pilot was the first to round on him for it. "You just cost me two hundred fucking bucks. Why couldn't you have done that shit on take off?"

"Pffff," the reprimanded man was full on laughing at this stage. "Because, Diamondback. You're a goddamn retard. Rock'n'me agreed to split the pool if I rigged it."

His accomplice shot him a glare, hissing malice at him. "The fuck you tell them for, dipshit?"

"So we could beat your fucking ass," the forth man, Blacktail had spoken up.

Diamondback just laughed for a minute, before calling for a cease to the chatter. He had just gotten visual on two other choppers they hadn't been briefed on. He was unsure of what to do, and patched a call into HQ.

"Commander Gorgon? Sitrep, requesting advice. Two Helios heading to engagement zone. Cannot ID. Orders, sir?"

The other end was silent for a moment, before a cold, gruff voice boomed. "Given the situation it's safe to assume enemy craft. Intel doesn't have any civ flights charted for that area today, either. You are free to engage at will." Gorgon did not like this situation, not one bit. He was even more unhappy being stuck at HQ, waiting for a no-doubt pissed off mayor to show up. With the FUBAR this shit was turning into, he couldn't afford to offend the man.

He just really hoped he was making the right call.

"Roger that, Commander." Diamondback sounded thrilled however. He just really wanted to shoot something. It had been a long, boring ride thus far. "Will brief again after engagement. Sidewinder Squad signing off."

With that he pushed the copter forward at full speed, while shouting orders to the squad. "Okay ladies, get ready for a hot entry. New targets, new engagement. I'm taking down those choppers, but Constrictor still needs back up. Parachutes are located on your left." He chuckled for a moment, "And as always please remember to return your seats to the up-right, vertical position you found them in. Thank you for flying Air Hoorah today. There are no refunds."

The Squad rolled their eyes, giving a collective, unenthusiastic "hoorah" before Timber pipped up. "And you guys complained about my singing? Fuck, this guy's 'stand up' is more than enough to route the enemy."

Blacktail shoved a parachute pack into his arms in response, just glaring. "Time to go, you cheating bastard. I half hope your cord is busted."

"You, and me both brother!" Timber threw the thing on in a hustle and jerked the right side door of the chopper open. "Alright, which one of you is fir-"

Rock, who was still angry about being ratted out, straight up pushed him out of the chopper with a smirk. "You."

"If your done, gentlemen." Diamondback was laughing again, but worried about how long they were taking. Rock and Blacktail offered "rogers", and jumped.

Now that they were deployed, and en route, he was free to engage some helis.

The massive machine guns of the Apache AH-64 roared to life, spraying a wall of lead to the closer of the two helicopters. Diamondback could feel his blood rushing as a wave of adrenaline hit. "FUCK YEAH, SON!", he shouted, watching with glee as some of the bullets hit the back rotor. This was going to be too damn easy.

At least that was his impression, right until the lit chopper unloaded a barrage of missiles towards the ground, taking out the bridge. Both helicopters then immediately jerked around to face him. They were both full on attack choppers. Both loaded with serious firepower, and both carrying eight men inside.

"Well. Fuck."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Commisar Ciaphas Cain Character Portrait: Gil Isom Character Portrait: Constrictor Squad Character Portrait: Sidewinder Squad
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The Imperial medic simply nodded as he assisted the two injured soldiers to the gunline. However with the state of the bridge and the threat of it falling, they were in deep trouble. They did not have equipment meant for escaping this situation, they would need to rely on luck and the Emperors mercy to see them through. "Emperor protect us all...Once we head to the line I will have the vox operator contact command. As for the enemy air support...you'll see." The medic sighed as he helped the man over to the line where the remaining Imperial forces were held up. Once they arrived the medic signaled the man with the large communication device on his back to contact command. "Command, come in command. this is the 124th along with the 412th, patrol teams near the highway. Commisar sir, the bridge has sustained major damage. However someone would like to speak to you..." The Vox operator spoke as he held out his radio to the man when he was ready to retrieve it.

With the arrival of the attack helicopters, they knew they could not waste their time on the choppers. They had to keep the hill pinned down, or else they would get hit by further volleys of rocket fire. Of course with the arrival of a friendly chopper, they were thankful to say the least.

Of course now seen over the horizon. The squad of five thunderbolts were now in plain view for all to see. "Hostile aircraft spotted! Arm all weapons and take them down!" The lead pilot called out at the fighters would proceed with aerial assistance. 5 sets of twin- linked autocannons, massive shells comparable to bolt rounds although at a much larger scale. These heavy fighters also came equipped with twin-linked, a massive energy weapon capable of burning right through the armor of armored vehicles especially choppers. Two fighters focused on the choppers with a sudden strafing maneuvers, peppering the assault helicopters with high grade ordnance only the Imperium could muster. The remaining three began to strafe targets of opportunity on the hillside. The enemy would know fear this day, as what a space marine would say but today was the Imperial Guards glory. And they were going to prove that even the Guard can win battles without the assistance of the space marines. and with that in mind, the squads of Imperial soldiers on the ground cheered and began to fight with renewed vigor.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Commisar Ciaphas Cain Character Portrait: Jaunt Bvetin Character Portrait: Gil Isom Character Portrait: Constrictor Squad Character Portrait: Sidewinder Squad
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A one-sided argument on open commlinks breached the noise floor gaining volume as the source approached, "Quit your whining about Xenos I could still drop you! You're lucky I work for your false queen's contract! Operational merc, currently call sign Charlie Sierra Victor Six. Because I take contracts remotely. Yes, Fine. I'll add the ammo to your bill. Up you go. So I can see if they're checking fire or not so I don't get shot! Have fun! Call me on commlink if you don't die!"

Upside down and clung to the bridge one of Jaunt's sharp front legs extended and flexed around an imperial guard blown off the bridge elsewhere by a round of explosions. The repeater sown into the side of his cephalothorax was repeating for Jaunt as it rather lacked vocal cords. He doubled back shortly after the RPG fire started tearing stone out of the bridge. The hairy brown hook legs tethered with ceramite plates slapped up to hook a crumbling bridge edge to brace with as the several eyed spider chucked the guard back over the ledge. The uniformed man arced high over the wall then landed falling on his ass.

Jaunt scurried away to avoid potential fire. It wasn't hard to figure out where the giant tank was on the bridge. He had a feeling it was the same ones that shot up the group it was looking over. At least he had some intel to give the contractor. Jaunt patiently waited on the underside crammed between struts below the bridge. A partly red bump covered in haphazard flak and ceramite with guns strapped onto quick release mounts. The sawtooth front legs removed a heavy reciprocating bolter with a long shock-stabilizing arm mount on the sides he could clamp his sawteeth into. If that heli he heard tried flying under the bridge it'd get a nasty surprise. Jaunt idly watched bridge pieces and dead people fall into the oblivion below.

The setting changes from Wing City Highway to The 'RIP'

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Character Portrait: Gil Isom
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#, as written by Rulke
It was rare for LogicRoad Pharmaceuticals to do business directly with Terra, after all, there were dangers of investing in Terra Market. In economic terms, it was considered generally a non-starter. With the constant regime changes natural or unnatural disasters combined with the overall political climate being more wobbly than dancing on a Volcano - metaphorical or otherwise. Investing in Terra in any way what so ever just begged for conflict. So papers and news media were extremely puzzled a Triple-A company was so interested in The RIP formally owned by Joran Davrell who had vanished in last few years. This had left the place in what could only be called a total state of disrepair and also certain elements of society had taken to squatting and using the locale to avoid the law and enact their own twisted views of society whether legal or not.

They would, of course, be driven out. LogicRoad interests from a first glance seem totally philanthropic, at a first glance that is. Of course with secret accounts and rumours of outside interest. There were concerns their conflicts may be even dicier than otherwise seen.

Some even suggested there was intent that the new Facility would be made into something far more unscrupulous. Eros, the master of calming the crowd promised that any concerns of this were unwarranted and he only wished to invest in this facility to provide a place for those in society too dangerous or needing extra care would be provided with the utmost care.

The group tasked with clearing the facility was Gorgon Watch a cut-throat organization heavily respected by Terran people, although by those of Non-Terran heritage largely considered militaristic or ruthless. Yet, they were known for results and LogicRoad was paying them triple the rate. The caveat was that it must be cleared within two days or their leader was being commanded by LogicRoad to carpet bomb the place if the area was not clear at that time.

That was the set-up and if Gorgon Watch succeeded they would be provided with a service where any dangerous criminal could be rehabilitated under their service. Of course, not all merely those who are murderers not serial killers or such.

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Character Portrait: Gil Isom Character Portrait: Maxwell Gilbert
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No credit chit, no ride, no comms hardware he could figure out how to use, and thrown out the hospital door in wing city. He awoke in mid-air barely remembering approaching some sewer machinery. As well as some jokers with weapons filling him full of holes while he lay there.

Dark robed men standing in the elevator only stayed for a few questions about his situation before he went quiet too long and they closed the door to leave. He knew where the LZ was with his machinegun as weird-looking as his armor was so better get back to Hq he supposed. What the hell happened! There were a lot more questions than answers and the hospital staff didn't know a damn thing. They did tell him that others were there looking for him.

Theoretically at least he had his sidearm to pass the time for that long walk. He could taste the dirt in a mouth he couldn't find and everything felt just plain warm. Some hour later he got the heebie jeebies when he could suddenly feel the outside of his armor with a dusty wind scraping across it. In order to keep his mind off the irrational need to itch everything he'd stripped the gun a bit to see the size changes and they'd turned the gun into some sort of ferrous capsule launcher at the center of a minigun. He wasn't even sure how it generated electricity but the thing was definitely live! Scorched his fingers on a damned huge white crystal armored in the handle with a lot of thin grey strings. Barrel was larger too with some half-nanite object regulating amperage. Frame of the chaingun was heavy as shit by the momentum moving it around but didn't feel that heavy to him holding it up. He was fairly sure it wasn't charged up yet so it couldn't fire but couldn't explain why he knew. Either way mucking with it passed the time until he managed to find someone to hitch a ride to the Rip. At least they were liked enough for the civvies to offer a ride to someone carrying a weird glowing chaingun. He did still have the gorgon's watch emblem on his shoulder.

They dropped him off as far as they'd get which wasn't too close given the hostile area. He double timed it up the long road eager to get to his squad and back to work. There was a mental reckoning coming for the shit he'd been into and putting it off seemed the very best plan right now. As he saw vehicles he recognized he stopped and raised two fingers straight into the air.

His voice was loud and angry, though it certainly was Maxwell's dulcet furor, emerging from pinpricks of amber light in his faceplate, "HEY! WHICH ONE OF YOU RAT FUCKERS TOLD THE CREEPY BASTARDS AT THE HOSPITAL TO 'TAKE CARE OF ME BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY!'"

The chaingun hung by his side by its mid-handle more than large enough that he ought to need a husk to carry it, but the thick armor already made him fairly large.

The setting changes from The 'RIP' to Van Leugen

Setting

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Character Portrait: Catherine Dumitrescu Character Portrait: Gil Isom
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The all too common rain beat against the heavily tinted window that Gil Isom, one of the cities few "moral icons", had opted to stare out of. He always loved this city, his city, at night, and he felt a little more relaxed with each lamppost, and neon sign that flitted by. It was strange for him, a man who spent a life diving from one foxhole to another only to end up in charge of his own private armed forces, to dread something as simple as a meeting. Here he was though, picking at the expensive gray that barely stretched around his thick neck absent-mindedly.

"Sir?" The ever whine-some voice of the man beside him broke his concentration, and painfully reminder Gil he wasn't alone.

"Yes, Doctor?" Intoned the commander, slowly pulling his gaze from the Van Leugen streets.

He regretted it immediately, the ever unpleasant visage of Doctor Orion Blakeson waiting for him with a sneer. Though an extremely attractive man by nature, blessed with a strong jaw, and noble features, he was a nightmarw. Dr.Blakeson did everything in his power to look pissed off, at all times. It didn't help that he quite literally kept his nose in the air.

"I really must, again you see!" Dr.Blakeson pushed his hawkish glasses up as he spoke. "As I told you at the Tower, and at the first meeting, and in every Security Rep-"

Gil raised a tired hand, the trans-dimensional equivalent of jet-lag making movement a lot like piolting a broken exo. "I've heard your complaints, I've read the data. This is still my choice."

"Sir!" Blakeson's voice nearly cracked, his face screwing up in anger. "I do not accept your dismissive, fasci-"

Gil cleared his throat, and turned to the driver. He tapped the man on the shoulder, startling him.

"Yes sir?" Croaked the driver.

Gil nodded, motioning to the man beside him. "Dr.Blakeson would like to return to the Gorgon One. On foot."

The driver arched his eyebrow, but pulled over without hesitation. There was silence in the back of the humvee, Gil gestured to the door beside the doctor, and the doctor merely sat there. He seemed to mull the choice over, and he opened his mouth to say something a few times, by seemed to think better of it. Eventually he sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"Alright, 'sir'," huffed Blakeson. "This is not what I'd consider a 'fair collaboration' Commander."

Gil chuckled a little, and nodded to the driver, who took off in response.

"It's Army fair, soldier."
The large, jet-black Humvee rolled down the street, just a few miles too fast for the zone. The massive after-market reinforcements welded to every part of the body, and the over tinted windows set it apart from the civilian cars it wove around. It took quite a few random, chaotic turns, veered down every alley it could, and looped around three times before settling on a street.

Slowly the large vehicle hummed its way down the empty road, pulling to a stop just in front of the house of one "Nadya Ivanov".

The rear passenger door opened, and an older man stepped out. He was tall, and even in his well-fitted, mid-quality black suit he looked bulky. His features, though severe, and angular were quite noble, but his usual stoic expression was replaced with something more haggard. He adjusted his cuffs, and with a press on one of them a field of green energy sparked around him, then disappeared. It was a novelty, really, and all it served to do was keep him dry as he shuffled around the car, still sluggish. He stopped as soon as his black wingtips hit the pavement, shaking his hands, and taking a deep breath.

Every cell of his Scatteran being said "Don't do it", but he was out of choices.

Gil stepped forward wearily, a simple plan in mind.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Catherine Dumitrescu Character Portrait: Gil Isom
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The street the house sat on wasn't as busy as most were in the city, and despite the cluster of well appointed single family dwellings, this was for all intents the styx for Van Leugen. There was a grade school not far down the road, and it appeared that most of these homes housed the typical suburban 2.5 kids, a dog, and a minivan population. Catherine was content with that, even if her neighbors weren't terribly happy with her odd hours, lack of spouse, and children. Routinely it wasn't uncommon for her to mutter something less than kind under her breath about the nosy neighbors and the constant attempts to set her up with someones friends-second-cousins-brother.

She had just sat down for what amounted for her to morning tea, after sleeping for most of the day after a long night. Now that MCU had by and large been dissolved for good, or at least that's what she thought, Catherine found herself working for people she normally wouldn't have had any qualms about putting in cuffs. Skimming the news on her tablet while sitting at the small, but tidy kitchen table, she heard a knock at the door. Frowning, her first instinct was to cast out delicate tendrils of thought, to see what exactly lay on the other side of the door. But then she remembered that her neighbors were already suspicious of her, her strange schedule, and even stranger apparent lack of a job.

Sighing, she pulled her robe closer around her and shuffled towards the front door sleepily. "I'm coming, I'm coming.. keep your bloody pants on." She grumbled as she reached for the door.

Opening it, she looked at Gil preturbedly, "Your not the post.. who the hell are you?" She asked.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Catherine Dumitrescu Character Portrait: Gil Isom
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A half grunt, half singular chuckle escaped Gil. He'd held his breath as the door creaked open, expecting to be mentally assaulted, or have the wrong person. It was a pleasent surprise when the right person opened for once , and the fact that his mind wasn't obliterated was a further relief. A little tension melted from his tired face.

Gil straightened his tie a little, the only expensive piece to his ensemble, and cleared his throat.

"I'm not sure how to preface this, Ms.Ivanov," his voice was low, and flowed like rough whiskey. "But my name is Gil Isom."

He gestured towards the western skyline, the looming silhouette of the Gorgon I super-structure was visible from most parts of town. It was a small speck on the horizon here, but the majority of Van Leugen natives had stood under its neon-green glow at least once. He used this as a chance to size her up via the corners of his eyes, sure to maintain respectful eye contact.
She was far from what he expected, especially in the robe

"It's very likely my reputation doesn't proceed me, but I'm afraid yours does." Gil hoped his implication was clear, the old spymaster had no intention of saying anything to jeopardize her cover publicly. He still needed a hint of directness though.

"I think you'd be more comfortable of we spoke inside." He said.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Catherine Dumitrescu Character Portrait: Gil Isom
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"And?" Catherine said, crossing her arms over her chest in mild annoyance. For all intents and purposes, she appeared human enough standing there giving Gil the stink eye. She didn't offer him a hand or do much other than stand there in the doorway looking less than amused. Then he gestured towards the super structure that cast it's lurid green glow through the fog on the horizon. Swearing under her breath she turned and gestured for Gil to come inside. "I know who you are..." She remarked plainly.

The busybodies and nosy-nancies would have had a field day with this one. A large, armored SUV pulling up in front of her house, and ejecting none other than Gil Isom on her front porch. At least that's who he claimed to be, and that's what the surface of his thoughts told her. In fact the surface of his thoughts told her a lot, he was worried about this meeting, and it appeared that there were other things on his mind that lay just below it's surface. "Come in before my neighbors come up with even more inane theories that I have to debunk." She said while gesturing towards the living room. "Have a seat and I'll be with you in a minute." Catherine added as she disappeared down a hallway in the house, presumably to change into something more decent.

This gave Gil a chance to look through the living room and any other public area though. He would likely find it neat, but sparsely furnished. Most personal items, with the exception of a few photographs, were tucked out away from sight. The furniture was relatively new, purchased at least within the last year or two, but certainly not on the cutting edge of anything. It was serviceable and it was comfortable. However he didn't have long to wait, and sit there with his anxious thoughts.

"I must apologize for earlier at the door, it's not often I receive guests this early.. if at all." She informed him returning and taking a seat in a chair across from Gil. She had changed from her robe and pajamas, into a plain black silk blouse tucked into a pair of narrow cut trousers and flats. Her hair, although stark white was neatly styled and pulled away from her face with the addition of a pair of tortishell glasses.

"Now before we start, would you like some tea Mr. Isom?"

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In the perfect dignity expected of one in his position Gil simply vowed his head, and followed the woman inside. On the surface his eyes would never seem to leave the back of his hostess' head, but in reality he swept the entryway in great detail. When shown to the living room he nodded politely, and mumbled a "Thank you."

He strolled around the room for a moment, possesing the eerie agility to walk silently in hard soled shoes.

The Spartan nature of the dwelling appealed to him, and with an approving grunt he pulled up a chair. On the outside it was going well, if not a little too well. He hadn't honestly expected to be let in, as far as he had been informed "Nadya" was a recluse, and people living under false names were usually careful. It didn't set right, but he assured himself it probably had to do with her abilities.

He glanced around the room uncharacteristicly nervously, trying to distract himself from the growing paranoia.

Immediately his eyes fell on one of the few photos around, and frowned. It had "Nadya" in it, but she was clearly a little younger, and the edges of it were faded. She was standing next to someone, and Gil had to resist his natural urgue to examine it. It a pushed just far enough ahead of the other pictures that he half thought it was a trap.

"What better way for a psychic to gauge my intenti-" His trained thought shattered as his hostess returned.

He gave her an uneasy smile, and nodded. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd love some. Its been awhile since I've had the luxury of a real drink."

Gil fidgeted a little, he was known for many things, but by, and large the public didn't know about his crippling social anxiety. In a room full of those under his command, he was a titan, an expressionless pillar of leadership, but here he was just Gil Isom. A man in a suit.

"You have a very.." His brow furrowed a little, searching for an appropriate compliment. "Secure..House."

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Catherine nodded and returned shortly with a tea tray, and set it down on the coffee table in front of Gil. She observed him while pouring the hot and fragrant tea into the cup. Handing the cup and saucer to him, her hands cool and almost cold to the touch despite the warmth of the cup. Looking at him for a moment Catherine briefly remarked, "You are anxious Mr. Insom."

Most of her guests didn't tend to fidget quite as much as Gil did sitting there on the sofa. What exactly was the reputation that proceeded her that he mentioned? She couldn't quite remember if she cared enough to know what some people were saying.

"Ah... The wards are quite unusual aren't they? Perfectly private, no one can see or hear anything inside unless I allow it." Catherine said with a careful smile as she settled back down into her own chair. She wasn't enthused with the idea of company so early, but she would put up with it as long as he remained polite. If anything, she was a stickler for proper courtesy and manners, it was a product of living with the fae off and on for so long. "But I don't think you're here because you want to have tea with me." She said before taking a sip of her tea.

"Shall we discuss what you came here for?"

Brief and to the point, Catherine would rather not waste time over tea and biscuits. There were times when that was appropriate, but she had been able to glean ample information from him between the time he walked in the door and took a seat on her sofa. Human minds were an open book for her, and a thousand years of experience only aided this. However, she had left him at least some privacy and only skimmed the outer surface of his thoughts.

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Gil had quite a few psychological quirks that contributed to his status as Van Leugen's most famous wallflower. The biggest one beyond any doubt was his disdain for human contact, even from inside the thick shell of Obsidian-Tango. Though quite refreshed by Catherine's good manners, he had to suppress a tiny swell of dread. Unwilling to offend his hostess however, he gracefully took the cup, and saucer from her.

The striking cold of her hands surprised him, and it was a testament to his willpower that he didn't jump back, let alone flinch.

He barely caught Catherine's comment, but nodded in agreement. He was nothing if not self aware. Patiently Gil listened to the woman as he crossed his legs, and tentatively sipped at his tea. When she mentioned the "wards" he relaxed a little, but only on the outside. Internally he took it with a hefty grain of salt.

To counter this, based on the tiny bit of literal psy-ops training he had, he kept the majority of his mind occupied with assorted mundane thoughts.

For the most part he focused on the relaxing memories of Apparatus drop-pods. Hurtling down towards Terra in a metal bucket was Gil's calm before the storm, and it helped keep him at ease. He a kept few other things going too, for good measure. Things like how many tonnes of steel the Nanoforges needed to produce this week, and which secretaries called in sick most cluttered the outer reach of his mind.

Like all humans though, he wasn't perfect.

Small, fleeting tendrils of deeper thoughts eventually crept in. Threads all too easy to tug at for a psychic of Catherine's caliber. They would lead to a whole host of things; Flashes of Ayla's face, obscured by her long, bright hair, folders tucked in drawers, drenched in black ink. Though Gil's mind seemed to work a little sideways, it was still easy pray.

"Well," Gil gave his hostess an awkward smile. "I admire someone who's straight to the point." he said, putting the saucer carefully on his leg.

"I'll return the favor then, Ms.Ivanov." He set the cup down too, balancing it with ease. "I came here to see if you, that is if you are who I believe you are, do in fact live up to the reputation you hold."

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"Do you now Mr. Isom?" She asked with a mild mannered smile. "And who do you believe I am?"

Catherine knew full well that Council had during her time with them, handed her a series of solid identities, easy to stand up to most scrutiny. For all intents and purposes she didn't exist, and Nadya Ivanov was just one of many identities over the last at least hundred years. When one identity became too old or too risky, she made sure that they 'died' and that 'family' inherited the property. Sometimes it was someone rather distant, other times it was someone close like a niece or sister. It all tended to work out neatly, especially with a few well placed donations and favors that could be called upon. Catherine didn't believe in bribery, but more so she believed in social engineering to get what she wanted; and with humans it could be as easy as planting a seed of a thought and allowing it to grow with time.

"And what is it you believe I can or better yet will do about your current problem with the girl?" Catherine asked plainly. She had seen the thoughts surface, like the small shallow ripples across a still pond that vanished before you realized they were there. "There are things that you don't wish the public to see, are there not?"

She could make a nice enough living with the mob, giving them access to various bits of small magic. A ward here to prevent spying, or a charm there to increase one's luck at gambling. Nothing too terribly complicated and mostly small time; it kept her entertained and payed the bills. The only thing that kept her from turning Gil away, was curiosity and likely boredom.

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A small smile tugged at the corner of Gil's thinning lips. He sat back a bit, folding his hands, and resting them on his lap as he watched the woman in front of him. It had been a long time since someone had sat across from him, and tried to talk circles around him. He couldn't help but respect her for it.

"For the first part," he spoke a little more slowly, still carefully choosing his words. "I believe Ms.Ivanov, that you are whoever suits you most."

He made sure to make a mental note of that being a complement, assuming she'd catch it.

"For the second.." Visions of Ayla swam through his mind unbidden. "It's a fairly complicated matter."

Looling down, he fidgeted with his cufflinks again, a different sort of discomfort setting in.

"There are things I don't ever want seen, Ms.Ivanov." Gil met her eyes again, a grim shadow falling over his tired face. "My secrets, my lies, they protect lives, and families."

He sighed abruptly, and the shadow seemed to pass, leaving just the tired, older man. He swept his left hand through his thinning air, and took the cup back up with the other, staring deeply into it.

"If you could, would you save an entire city, Ms.Ivanov?" he asked, peering at her from behind the cup.

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Catherine sighed at Gil's question and put aside her tea with the delicate clink of porecelain. "Mr. Isom, Gil, I have been faced with that decision many times. Secrets and lies may cause curses that eventually come home to roost. However it's difficult to not justify such things when lives are at risk." She explained as she laced long and delicate fingers together in front of herself, briefly resting her chin on thrm. On one hand was a heavy silver ring and the other what looked three strands of silver braided and set with three clear stones.

Falling silent, she watched with as the man sat there fighting his own mind. "You're letting your demons have control I see."

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The moment Nadya answered his question there was a strange shift in Gil. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly when she rationalized morality, and something close the opposite of a "spark" glinted in them. Instead of burning with passion they almost seemed to suck energy in. The racing thoughts slowed a little, and he too set his drink aside.

"They aren't my demons, I assure you." he said, leaning forward a little.

He'd started to take a bit of a professional liking to Nadya by now, and the more he thought about it the more he knew the right call. The rather coy woman had made it painfully clear she'd been inside his head, she probably had it figured out by now to some degree.

"I do think my time hasn't been in vain then." he intoned, his strange, unblinking gaze fixed on Nadya. "In the broadest sense I'm here to offer you a substantial amount of money to save much more than a city."

He chuckled, "Substantial by my standards, that is."

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"Oh but it's your curse for certain." She said with a slight shrug. Catherine knew that this situation with this woman bothered him, it was every other thought, behind every question the man asked. He was easy, rummaging through his thoughts had been child's play. He was distracted enough to offer little to no resistance to her gentle probes. Memories, thoughts, feelings, even a glimpse of the soul were all possible with the right touch; however Catherine hadn't delved as deep as the man's soul, that wasn't within her ability. There were rumored to be those who could, but she was not one such individual.

"In vain? You haven't heard my answer yet." She said with a smirk and brief glimpse of fang. "In case you hadn't noticed, I enjoy my privacy and the privileges that come from friends in high places. Tell me Mr. Isom.. what is this substantial amount of money your desiring to pay me? Why should I work for you?"

Catherine was comfortable, and really had little interest in much if anything outside her own small time dealings there in VL. She had relatively cornered the market on magic charms, and the Dragon Court hadn't even bothered to come looking for her. That she was certain she could be content with.

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"Do you, Ms.Ivanov?"

Gil stood up in a single, fluid motion with the grace of a man half his age. His snapped to attention out of decades of habit. He took a somewhat exaggerated look around the room, brow arched.

"I'll be honest in that I don't quite know what all you've done for a living," he strode over to where the scant few pictures sat. "But I handle people who take their privacy very seriously."

He turned back to face Nadya, never losing his blank expreasion. His thoughts drifted from Ayla, and more towards the general protect of Origin. Nearly a million lives were sworn to his service, and each was being shot into the unknown at his command. He had already lost so many Rangers.

He shook his head softly. "People who would die without it." He clasped his hands behind his back, the normal, and supernatural strains on his patience wearing him down. "If a man in an armored vehicle knocked on their doors, do you know what they'd do?"

He had to resist rolling his eyes, she probably did know what he was going to say.

"They'd blink, tell me I had the wrong address, and shut the door." He couldn't help but wonder if he should've called instead. "Because they're well trained, like you are Ms.Ivanov."

Normally he was hesitant to divulge anything to an outsider, but he was defenseless. He also noted her uptick in microagression, which meant thin ice.

"I've found there's four main reasons a well trained agent risks their cover Ms.Ivanov, financial compensation is just the most common."

He made eye contact again, hoping to gain a little insight. "I don't know why you'd work for me, but I do know if you can think of a reason,
I can provide it."

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"Working for you... it would seem to entail allowing you to sleep at night without fear of this monster.. Ayla is her name?" Catherine replied, frowning as she concentrated on picking out the details. He was putting her between a rock and a hard place, almost encouraging her to dive deeper, and she knew that the binding would restrict it as much as it could. "As for an armored vehicle, most people would likely would say it was the wrong address, but I was curious as to what Gil Isom himself wanted knocking on my door in the rain." Half of that was a barefaced lie, the other half was her being trained to read people almost immediately. The rest of it, knowing his name and who he was was talent.

"Well trained... let's say that doesn't begin to cover it." She said suppressing a shudder at a thought. Sleeping One had resulted in imprisonment, torture, and inhumane treatment at the hands of the Council. Eventually her name was cleared, but time in Broadmoore left it's mark, as did the subsequent assignments afterwards. Dissolution of her branch had been a welcome respite from the daily grind of paperwork and managing insubordinate officers who made it their life's duty to seek out trouble.

"And for the love of christ, stop thinking so bloody loud! I've got the gist of it... you two are bleeding tied together aren't you!" Catherine added after a moment. It explained the waning of Gil's energy as he continued their conversation. "How did you manage that one? That is quite unusual... even for a human." She muttered as she sat there thinking. A human mind couldn't stand for this to happen for very long, and sooner or later one would crash and burn; most likely the weaker of the pair.

Sighing, she muttered something under her breath about Gaia and Chronus before turning her attention back to Gil proper, instead of just his mind.

"Alright, I'll agree on one condition."

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A genuine smile crept over Gil's face, and a metric tonne of tension seemed to melt from his shoulders. Though this was far from over, and the mention of a condition did raise red flags, it was a start. It was the first step of progress. Nadya's careful verbal deflections had been taxing what was left of his higher cognitive capacities, and he was half convinced he was walking away empty handed until then.

The abrupt outburst about his thoughts made him want to laugh. "I'm sorry, Ms.Ivanov," he offered her a polite bow.

His hands unclaspped just enough to reach his right cufflink. A very faint click noise could be heard, and then a soft humming. To a normal human the deep red aura that engulfed Gil in response was invisible, but he figure Nadya could see it. He knew too that while it shielded his mind from the average telepath, the woman in front of her could easily pierce it.

It would effectively silence his thoughts unless she sought them out, though.

Gil then stood paitently until Nadya finished, a tiny drop of sweat forming at his brow. He turned, shifting his attention back to the pictures, and hiding a wince. He could feel how injured Ayla had become, a supremely unnerving sensation that left several ribs feeling broken.

"Name it." he hissed through gritted teeth, not out of contempt, but pain.

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"Of course." She said accepting Gil's brief apology the best way that she knew how. The fae mannerisms were still strongly ingrained and rarely did she say thank you; instead she simply agreed that the other was correct in one fashion or another. It limited them or her from being beholden to the other, and substantially increased her comfort with dealing with human manners.

Tilting her head slightly, she observed the aura that covered him and it's color. "Red aura." She mumbled to herself with a frown. That was the color generally associated with friction and survival, and briefly she wondered if they had been foolish enough to tie their vitality and life forces together. This entire thing stunk of half-baked magic and attempts to make something that wasn't there work.

"If you want my help, I cannot be bound or restrained. I am not something to be used as a tool or weapon to your own ends. Your heart is in the right place Mr. Isom, I can see that much."

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Gil stiffened, his body language ever so faintly hinting at displeasure. Being in charge of so much, and so many, for so long had left the man in an odd predicament. Gil wasn't controlling in any natural way, it wasn't an ingrained part of his psychological make up, it was just that he hadn't interacted with too many people not under his command in the last two decades. This would be dicey at best.

He applauded her fierce independence though, and though he didn't outwardly express it Nadya had won a little of his respect already.

"I find myself in strange predicament. I don't want your help, Ms.Ivanov," Gil took a step back towards the sofa, ignoring the pain. "I need it, and that's that's phrase I do not use lightly."

He braced himself by putting both hands on the back of the sofa, keeping a respectful distance from his hostess. He watched her for a second, giving her request brief, but careful consideration. She had seen through him at every turn, and casually demonstrated her ability to sift through his mind. As much as it went against his nature, she demanded a delicate level of honesty.

Gil hung his head, something about the link seemed to amplify the pain, and made it difficult to speak. "Without you, or someone of exceedingly similar talent my largest venture is going to kill several quadrillion people." He intoned.

It wasn't boastful, there was no pride in his voice. Gil was giving the woman a frank accounting.

"It could save even more." he mumbled, before looking to Nadya again. "I agree, when can you be ready to leave?"

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Deep within the city, just outside the glimmer, and flash of the adult playground that was the Nilles sat the Ijzer Startbaan. Often abbreviated to "Zerbaan" by the natives, it serves as one of Van Leugen's misplaced corporatized stretches. More affluent, and clandestine organisations compete for the limited real estate, and monolithic skyscrapers comprise its skyline. On the outer edge sits Gorgon One, surrounded in the never-flinching green neon of Gil Isom's ambition.

The claustrophobic, circular elevator silently slipped through the facility. It shuddered a little as it passed eached floor, jostling it's contents around just enough to make the ride unpleasant. Carving its way higher, and higher through the tower it flew past a barrage of security clearances, and repulsion fields before suddenly stopping. The doors flew open with a soft ding, and a soft, mechanical woman's voice.

"Two-hundred fifty-first floor, Residential," she chirped.

Ayla stepped out just behind Gil, her head sweeping from side to side in an attempt to familiarise herself. The elevator spilled directly into a long, narrow hallway sandwiched inbetween two gigantic walls of what looked like steel. Colour-adjusted LED strips ran along the top, and bottoms of both, giving the hall a synthetic, but warm glow. All in all it was extravagant for Gorgon standards, athough she did question the plush, verdant green carpeting someone had installed.

Gil motioned towards the left wing, strolling off before the woman had a chance to reply.

Ayla sighed, and set off after him. She had no idea what was going on, or why her "boss" had drug her out of the medical bay with no warning, and a request for casual attire. She stayed hot on his heels, growing more uncomfortable with each step, and each passed door. It felt like it took an hour to reach the end of the hall, Gil coming to a quick stop.

Ayla glanced up, "#4071" was spelled in LEDs just above the door. "This it?" She asked.

"Indeed," was all an ever-neutral Gil offered before knocking.

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The greeting for Gil this time was much more polite than accusing him of not being the post or asking who the hell he was. "Ah, Mr. Isom I can't say I was expecting you and.. Ayla was it?" Catherine said opening door to admit the pair. She had recalled a great deal from the earlier meeting with Gil, and could sense the confusion radiating off Ayla; but she also remembered that the pink hair would be rather unusual, despite the current fashion norms.

Ushering the pair deeper into the space, it appeared that things were still in the process of being put away from the miscellaneous boxes strewn about on the floor. They had been rather vaguely labeled in a hurried script and didn't say much than a general idea of their contents. "Excuse the mess, moving doesn't always go as planned." Catherine added thinking that it could have been worse. Her office as a Warden had been a pit, and at one point had functioned as a home away from home with her home never being used. She didn't intend to turn this into such a thing, but it was still early yet.

Like her home previously, the quarters had been decorated comfortably with dark woods with warm greys, creams, and blues. It was a very modern astetic for someone like Catherine, but she had found herself liking it very much. It was a far departure from the pale, sunwashed beauty of the Fae court; but it wasn't at all like the dark, lush, and brooding trappings the Dragon Court had favored either. She found it to be a comfortable, almost normal middle ground. "Please, have a seat." She said gesturing towards a seating area, with a plush sectional and chairs arranged to overlook the view of the city.

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The reaction was mixed when the door swung opened. Gil, appreciating a slightly warmer welcome this time, offered a smile, and a polite bow. Ayla however grew nervous, her left hand darting to her other elbow as her rigid posture crumbled. It seemed realisation had dawned, and her thoughts immediately drifted to the previous three psychics.

Namely the way the first one died, the shredded paste that used to be the man's head took weeks to clean. It wasn't natural at all.

She might've tried to make a superhuman break for it, but Catherine whisked the unlikely duo in first.

"I don't mind a little mess," Ayla offered warily. She wanted to at least seem friendly, but was busy looking around, and taking note of every little personal touch Catherine had added to the place.

Gil, doing much the same, but for different reasons, grunted. "This isn't regulation." He waltzed his way over to a nearby stack of boxes, subtly peering into an open one as best he could.

Seemingly satisfied, he turned back to Catherine. "I won't be staying, I just had to make sure she actually arrived."

"Damn, sir. That's cold." Awkwardly Ayla shuffled over, and sunk into a chair across from the other woman. She could feel Gil's state boring into the back of her skull the whole time.

"Very well," Gil nodded to the psychic. "I leave her in your care." He turned, and made for the door, stopping only for a quick second before exiting.

"Be very careful, Ms. Dumitrescu."