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Victor Creed

"I despise my humanity as much as you cherish yours."

0 · 1,523 views · located in Los Angeles

a character in “Wolves Reign”, originally authored by Caged Bird, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

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"I´m not your friend. I'm an animal at heart. I'm the animal who dreamed he was a man,
but the dream is over, and the beast is awake, and I will come for you, because it's my nature."






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Full Name

Victor Creed

Nicknames

Der Schlächter("The Butcher" in German), Fang, God of the Hunt, and Death Dealer. However, they do have some more choice words to call him behind his back.

Species

Human Assassin with traces of Werewolf extract in his veins

Sexuality

Heterosexual

Age

45

Physical Appearance

Victor has blue eyes that are almost muddied; the color being somewhat muted. He has a lot of Slavic features that come from his ancestry, a tall stature, and thick frame/build. Not overly fond of grooming, he allows his facial hair to grow into full on 'Mutton-Chops', but keeps his brown hair shaved close to the scalp in a buzz cut. A few more notable features that he possesses that tend to stand out are his animal-like mutations, including sharper-and-longer-than-normal teeth, with two pronounced canines rather more like a wolf's canine teeth than a human's and retractable claws of several inches where ordinary humans have fingernails and toenails.






"There are no heroes or villains. There’s just what I want and how I’ll get it."






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Personality


Victor Creed is a man driven by dark emotions. He exhibits many traits stemming from excessive anger, greed, and narcissism. He rejects and even resists the slightest inclination towards humanity. In many ways the sole driving force of his personality is the basic animal nature of all higher mammals. However, that's not to say these traits are forged completely out of malice. Much of Creed's mindset is evident steeped in the destructive environment of war. Most of his memories are of being in a battlefield. In this environment he relies on a predatory mindset to not only survive, but thrive. His persona is so used to these grim surroundings that he's actually content in arenas that would be adverse to most people. It can even be argued that the coping mechanisms employed to make the mind more adept to difficult situations has gone into overdrive with Creed and that is why he is so comfortable with war and violence.

However, the dark emotions that guide him aren't all dark. Victor Creed was enraged by what he believed to be a major betrayal by Jimmy. This is quite telling in the sense that it shows how much Creed trusted him as a brother and fellow soldier. This is a man he fought besides and by all accounts trusted with his life during the most difficult times in either of their lives. Between the two of them, they had years of experience and trust. On the battlefield even a few years can equate to a lifetime because of the survivalist nature of war. So when Jimmy betrayed that trust and brotherhood, it enraged him to a point that his sole focus in life is to make his victims suffer. His predatory nature, which is guided by intense focus on prey, only reinforces this notion.

Between his desire for vengeance and his outright rejection of humanity, it's only natural that the Werewolf injections he receives from his employers would bring out the worst in Creed. He embraces the ability to out match the animals he hunts. To him all these physical tools and burning hatred are a means to an end. This is the nature of the prey/predator mindset. Fang has his prey and his sole mission in life seems to be the capture and destruction of this prey. If not the wolves, he would find another source of prey and dedicate all his anger, hatred, and strength to subduing it. For this reason he is a very dangerous human being and formidable foe to anyone who gets in his way.






"There is no good and evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it."






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Likes||Dislikes

Victor takes pleasure in the hunt, the thrill of the chase. Being a Wolfsbane Warrior has become his life to the point of him being willing to inject himself with werewolf saliva to be stronger and faster, a better predator. He has nothing outside of work that he invests his time into, so he has no other enjoyments in life. But that's not to say he doesn't know how to have fun in between jobs...he gets off on infuriating his co-workers and manipulating people to his way of thinking. He likes to watch them squirm and make them uncomfortable.

Fears||Weaknesses

He's believes that morality in humanity doesn't truly exists. He has the hardest time understanding anyone with unselfish motives, as he doesn't possess any himself. To him, in this day and age, you can't give anyone the benefit of the doubt so one of the weaknesses he has is that he doesn't trust. Anyone. This leaves him alone against his enemies more often than not. Another weakness he has is his past. Though he'd NEVER tell you, he misses his brother even though he feels betrayed. Family is a sore subject with him and tends to send him flying off of the handle. His biggest weakness? His temper. This man takes pleasure in some sadistic pastimes to pacify is anger, and he is definitely not one who can calmly or rationally debate with you.
Skills

Victor has skills in armed and hand-to-hand combat due to his various training by The United States Armed forces and The Wolfsbane Warriors. He also possesses an accelerated healing ability that allows him to regenerate damaged or destroyed areas of his body and cellular structure far beyond the capabilities of an ordinary human due to the weekly Werewolf injections he receives from his employers. But that is just one of many capabilities the injections have afforded him. The list goes on and on like: He has superhumanly acute senses like that of a Werewolf--able to see objects with greater clarity and at much greater distances, his sense of hearing is enhanced in a similar manner--allowing him to hear sounds that humans cannot, he has highly developed sense of smell to track targets by scent--able to track targets with an impressive degree of success, even if the scent has been eroded by natural factors such as weather conditions, and possesses above human strength and speed. Now, its is obvious to say that while these skills make him above human, he is in no way matched evenly with a real Werewolf. However, it does even the odds a bit.





Should the whole frame of nature round him break, in ruin and confusion hurled,
Victor, unconcerned, would hear the mighty crack, and stand secure amidst a falling world.






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History


Once upon a time there lived two young boys, James 'Jimmy' Howlett(age 7) and Victor Creed(age 10), who both resided in the Northwest Territories of Canada. The boys were close friends, though Victor-whose homelife was quite a bit more worse off than Jimmy's-relied on the friendship like he relied on air while Jimmy just admired Victor's temerity. However, their lives were forever changed when one night Victor's father came to call as Victor was sleeping over at his friend's home. The man staggered in the doorway, drunk and enraged, crying out a name...but it was not Victor's name he called, it was Jimmy's mother's, Elizabeth's. Jimmy's father, John, then ventured downstairs, leaving the pair of children in James' room to find himself staring down the barrel of a loaded pistol. At the sound of a gunshot, Jimmy raced downstairs to witness his father dying, and his mother watching helplessly from Thomas Creed's grip. Victor’s father released her to confront James, tossing her aside to tell him that it was time that he learned the truth. However, James was far too angry to listen, running back upstairs past Victor to retrieve the gun from his father's nightstand drawer. With a pained cry, he made it back to the bottom of the stairs before firing the gun, the bullet miraculously finding it's target, hitting Creed square in the chest. The man slumped to the floor, and with his last breath, told James that the man he killed was not his father, and that HE is in fact James’s father. James was confused, angry and scared, and upon looking to his mother, she appears to be afraid of him, asking "What have you done?"

Jimmy ran outside, pursued by Victor, who tackled him. James immediately, with tears streaming down his face, cried that he did not mean to kill the man, thinking that Victor was angry about his father’s death, but instead of accusing James, Victor told him that his father got what he deserved. Victor then noted that they were in fact brothers, and they must look out for each other now, and get rid of anyone who gets in their way. He convinced James to not go back inside, that his mother would never accept him because he was a killer and the boys went on the run together.



Flashforward to years later, the boys-now hardened men-had run as far as America and enlisted in the United States Army. They were then moved to be based out of Budapest Hungary. There, in Budapest, the brother's thrived. War suited them both finely. It wasn't until they were sent out on patrol to recover a missing officer that things went south. When their troop found the AWOL captain he was in a transition, phasing into a werewolf. The officer slaughtered every other member of their squad before James and Victor were finally able to bring him down. When they returned to base, the US army didn't believe their story, instead believing the brothers must have turned on and murdered the men themselves, and brought them in for execution on the firing line. Facing down the guns, Victor said, “Live together, Fight together, Die together. Fitting enough, brother." Grateful if he had to die, it'd at least be by his brothers side. Luckily for the pair of them, the gun squad was called off so a man by the name of Daniel Huston could speak with the prisoners.

Turned out the man was a rather high ranking official with an alternative to offer them. He gave them a choice, between being executed, and being part of a specialized team, with “special privileges.” The Wolfsbane Warriors. He revealed that Werewolves were still alive and present today and that the men had demonstrated exceptional and invaluable skills that he took a particular interest in. The brother's, obviously, took the latter option and joined the force.

Flashforward once again a few years further to both James and Victor, fighting side by side on a different sort of battlefield. They were two of the top Assassin's and while Victor prided himself on this, it left James feeling a bit ill at ease. Then one faithful night, his uneasy emotions came to a head as they executed a mission that was decidedly resting in a moral grey area. A group of Fencers-humans who sell and for to Werewolves-were herded up at gunpoint and questioned. Huston threatened the lives of all the Fencer's, saying that he would kill them all unless they told him where the wolves were hiding. Most of them didn't know, and those who did refused to tell, so Huston gave Victor the permission to butcher everyone, who complied with alacrity until James stopped him, turning on his brother and fighting. Jimmy was able to calm him down, as the Fencers escaped, and realizing what he has become, James decided to quit and asked Victor to go with him. Victor refused to leave, and said that they wouldn't just let him just walk away; James ignored him and raced off into the night, evading capture.

It wasn't long after this that Huston approached a sullen Victor with another offer, this one more extreme than the last. The government wanted to test the effect of injecting humans with wolf DNA, just enough to 'enhance' their abilities, but not enough to change them. It was dangerous and if Victor agreed, he ran the risk of overdosing and being turned to which then they'd have to kill him. Seeing no reason to go on living without his brother at his side, and filled with a rage and hunger to kill like he had never felt before to relieve his own emotion distress he heartily agreed. Now he works under Victoria Striker and receives his weekly dosage from her in secret-none of his fellow assassin's being aware he is a guinea pig for something so volatile. He reports to her the effects of his treatment and she reports back to her superiors.

So begins...

Victor Creed's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ian Bohen Character Portrait: Maia Murdock Character Portrait: Lauren Silverstein Character Portrait: Coren Somerhalder Character Portrait: Camille Elliot Character Portrait: Victor Creed
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The Emerald City
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Seattle, WA
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America was no stranger to war. Over the long, bloody centuries, the New World had been captured and fought over by a succession of conquerors before finally claiming its independence. But all these merely human conflicts were fleeting in comparison with the shadowy, ageless war now being fought in the moonlit streets and alley ways of downtown Seattle.


A war that, at long last, might be nearing its end.


The Werewolves had been losing ground for a little more than two centuries, ever since their crushing defeat back in 1809, when a daring assault team had penetrated one of their hidden fortresses. The government then believed Adam, the most feared and ruthless leader ever to rule the wolf horde and the original werewolf, had been killed at last, his men scattering to the wind in a single evening of purifying flame and retribution for humankind. Yet the ancient feud had proved unwilling to follow Adam to the grave. Though the Werewolves were fewer in number, the war had become even more perilous--for the moon no longer was the only time during which they could shift. Older, more powerful wolves were now able to change form at will, posing an even greater threat to humanity. For close to 200 years, the Wolfsbane Warriors, an elite squad of human assassin's, had pursued the surviving man-beasts, the weapons changing but never the tactics: hunt the wolves down, and kill them off, one by one. A most successful campaign...or so they thought. But deep beneath the the city streets the wolves live and plot their revenge, their resurgence, their revolution.


Cut to the aforementioned city streets, the dawn of a new day where the human world continued on in blissful ignorance of the war that still posed a threat to their way of life, of the war that they still believed to only to exist in the pages of their history books...Driving rain pelted the rooftops, while the howling autumn wind carried a hint of winter's bite. A grotesque stone gargoyle, oily black and slick with rain, perched on the crumbling ledge of Gray's Security Firm, an imposing, three-story block adorned by long faded elaborate stonework. The oldest edifice in the district, whose ground floor now housed a dry cleaners and a loan office, overlooked The Square, a busy hub of pedestrian and auto traffic located near the heart of the city. Buses, taxis, and other various vehicles zipped along the streets below, braving the torrential downpour.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Victoria Striker
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VICTORIA STRIKER
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In the torrential downpour and in some of the worst stop and go traffic on the West coast, a black Mercedes zipped along, skillfully moving its way through the congestion. Once past the Square the traffic eased up and the shiny black car came to a stop in front of a crumbling stone gray building with a dry cleaners and loan office taking up the bottom floor. The two other stories appeared to be occupied by an office labeled "Grey's Security Firm".
Two pairs of long legs in tights and shiny black stilettos came first out of the passenger side of the vehicle that were unexpectedly revealed to be attached to a woman with silver-hair as she climbed the rest of the way out. She stopped with the car door open, halfway leaning into the vehicle and said to the driver on the other side. "You get a scratch on this car and I'll have you fed to the wolves." And with that she slammed the door shut by the silver handle and walked towards the dry cleaners.
Despite the rain and clouds that shrouded the sun the woman wore a pair of black sunglasses above an unsmiling glossy mouth, giving away not a hint of emotion. Her lean figure was covered by a navy blue raincoat with black buttons and a sash that pulled tightly around her hour glass waist. Once inside the decrepit dry cleaners she stripped the raincoat off and threw it onto the counter of the lethargic looking attendant at the front desk and walked past saying, "I should be expecting my morning appointment soon, message me immediately when he gets here."
"Yes ma'am... Ms.Striker." The young man replied with exasperation just as she made it to the elevator in the back, hidden by the rows of dry cleaned clothes. The boy was actually a rookie Assassin, only paid to watch the front desk and guard the entrance. Obviously this was not what he had in mind when he joined the Wolfsbane Warriors. He didn't know a thing about dry cleaning either.
Inside the steel elevator Ms.Striker swept a white security card inside and pressed the button for the third floor. It creaked upward at a slow pace and dropped her off at the designated floor. Piece of shit building the damned government chose this time for us.Ms. Striker thought venomously.It was no more than two months ago the headquarters had been moved to this grungy building after their last location had been infiltrated by wolves. The government saw it as strategic to move them to a less distinctive place. The outside of the building was unappealing by the shady looking businesses (both owned by the Wolfsbane Warriors) and appeared too small for any large operation. But even though there were only three floors that could be seen, there were actually three more floors below ground that made the building suitable for their purposes. The interior was also not so bad once one got past the main floor. Ms.Striker had made sure that the government took care of all needed renovations: aesthetic and utilitarian wise.

On the third floor was where Ms.Striker's office was located along with other administrative staff. Down at the end of a white sandstone corridor behind obsidian doors was where she presided over the Wolfsbane Warriors with an iron fist and what some would say even the whole city of Los Angeles. In essence Los Angeles' fate was the fate of the world at large. If she failed to protect Los Angeles, the city the wolves' and the Wolfsbane Warrior's central hub, there could be no hope for the rest of the world where populations of werewolves were less dense.

Ms.Striker did not slow her stride until she was behind the black doors of her office. When she closed the doors behind her, she leaned against them for a moment with an exhausted sigh that was sharply interrupted by a deep phlegmy cough. The cough took over her body with deep convulsions from the hacking until she was finally able to get rid of the sick glob of mucus from her lungs that she spat into a Kleenex from her pocket. Damn this mortal body.

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Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Victoria Striker
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VICTOR CREED
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Icy rain sluiced down Victor Creed's face and figure, forming muddy puddles around his heavy boots as he stood outside Grey's security firm/Mr. Chang's dry cleaning/the Remembrant loan office. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The prestigious Wolfsbane Warriors under the guise of a security firm, seemingly warring for space against menial small businesses. It was all a ruse of course, they owned every piece of it, but still... Victor mentally shrugged. The seedier in appearance, the better he supposed; as long as they were hidden and he could keep on hunting. The smoggy morning air smelled of ozone, presaging thunderbolts to come. The crowded sidewalks around him were choked with umbrellas, obscuring his view of the pedestrians scurrying about in the rain, defying the storm from beneath their concealing bumbershoots. Victor clenched his fists in annoyance, his sharpened nails digging into calloused palms. He needed his fix for the day, his strength to hunt the things that preyed on these unwitting simpletons. He needed to go see Ms. Striker. Victor sighed with frustration as he pushed open the door into the building and marched on through at last. Rainwater dripped off of his beaten, dark leather duster and pooled onto the polished floor as the sound of his entrance heralded a bored glance upward from the desk jockey skimming some pubescent magazine-cover clad with an attractive woman of generous 'means'. He scowled at the attendant as he strode by, poor miserable whelp looking taken aback by the seemingly near one-hundred-plus kilos of barely contained murderous intent. "Tell Ms. Striker," He growled, words dripping with venom, not breaking his stride. "That Der Schlächter is here to see her." The boy swallowed once and nodded, not so much as managing a peep.

Once in the elevator, he swiped his authorization card and lit up the button for the third floor before he threw a supercilious smile back as the doors closed. "Be seeing you..." The man called out forebodingly. When the doors finally drew completely shut and the lift began to rise, Victor pinched the bridge of his nose. Why on Earth did the government insist on hiring nervous little ratlike men to run downstairs? Every time he had to look at that kids ugly mug, it just about ruined his day. Luckily, making him just about wet himself made up for it. Finally, the elevator opened with an obnoxious ding as it released him on the third level where he all but stalked down the unnecessarily grand hallway to the ominous obsidian doors of Ms. Striker's office. He knew lesser men would have cowered and knocked appropriately, but he hadn't the patience and simply shoved them both open like he was entering some saloon in an old western film.

"Ms. Striker..." He rumbled, letting his tongue trace the rough contours of his fangs before he flashed her a malicious grin. Not that she'd even admit it, as tough as she was, but he knew he made her uneasy just as well. It was all in the eyes, ignoring the calm facade on the exterior. She knew what he could do, and what kind of 'man' he was, and that was enough to have most quaking in their shoes if the desk jockey was anything to go by. Striker was a stone cold bitch, everyone knew it, she could take down the best of them with a flick of her thin wrists and she didn't bother with pleasantries-which would almost have inspired respect from Victor, except he honestly couldn't stand to take commands from her. If she was such a man eater, then why bother with the physical show? He eyeballed her stick-thin stilettos as she tottered around on them with the grace of a beauty queen. He hoped for a moment that she'd trip and break her neck. Victor was simply a mad dog on a chain and she held the leash...for now, and it begrudged him. "Sorry for not knocking, I'm in a bit of a hurry. Hope I didn't keep you waiting?" He apologized with mock sincerity.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Victoria Striker
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VICTORIA STRIKER
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Victoria was gazing out the wide window of her office when Victor Creed came busting into her office like a gunslinger from the old West. If she was surprised it didn't show on her face as she turned to directly face him. She looked passively at him, an imperceptible twitch of her eyebrow the only indication of annoyance.
"Sorry for not knocking, I'm in a hurry. Hope I didn't keep you waiting?"
"Don't apologize, insincerity doesn't suit you Mr.Creed." Victoria replied sharply, "whatever it is that has you in a hurry, I'm sure can wait."
Despite Victor being an imposing brute of a man, or perhaps half-man, Victoria didn't put up with insolence well. She languidly made her way over to her desk made of glass and black wood. The whole office was largely made of polished white stone and windows that gave a panoramic view of the crumbling part of the city the Wolfsbane Warriors now called home. It was sparsely decorated. No pictures of family or friends except for a single photo on her desk of her late husband and last leader of the Wolfsbane Warriors, Remus Cross. Most things were utilitarian as much as they were for decoration.
She dragged the black leather chair in front of her desk allowing its chrome legs to scratch against the floor until resting it beside her desk close to her own chair.
"Have a seat." She commanded as she scooted into her desk and pulled out a legal pad of paper.
The black phone on her desk rang and she picked it up with an exaggerated roll of her blue eyes, "Ms. Striker speaking..... I know this. Next time perhaps you want to message me before he gets up here." She hung up the phone with a press of a button, not bothering to hear the apologies or excuses of the rookie on the other side.
"The half wits they send us these days.. And they wonder how we could be infiltrated." Victoria commented aloud,"it seems there are fewer people with any raw talent for the job of wolf hunting."
Out of the side drawer of her desk she pulled out a syringe, a small vile of clear liquid, rubber string, cotton swabs, and a bottle of alcohol, and set them atop of the glass surface of her desk.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Shavon Griessel Character Portrait: Victoria Striker Character Portrait: Jason Stackhouse
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VICTOR CREED
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As usual, her blase attitude irked Victor. He had long suspected that Ms. Striker had only once served as a Wolfsbane Warrior in the field to advance her own position within the order; in a Patriarchy based largely on seniority, a reputation as an assassin provided an efficient shortcut to the upper echelons for a woman like her. Being the infamous Blue Riding Hood had made Striker's name, and, at least as far as Victor was concerned, she had been coasting on that triumph ever since. To his perpetual annoyance, the Assassin regent had zero patience for any attitude that contradicted her seat of power. The silver fox pulled a chair deskside, metal scrapping on marble with a sound reminiscent of nails on a chalk board, bidding Victor to sit at her feet like some obedient dog. She produced a paper and pad for his little 'questionnaire' and his dosage for the week--his pupils contracting and dilating at the sight of the needle and syringe. She quickly and impatiently answered the phone on the first ring and hung up all before he had made it to the seat where he slid down in the chair, legs extended, ankles crossed and fingers intertwined, hands resting on his chest. "The half wits they send us these days.. And they wonder how we could be infiltrated. It seems there are fewer people with any raw talent for the job of wolf hunting." Victor smiled, still predatorily, but somewhat less so than before, his fangs peaking out from behind thin lips. "At least we can agree on something." he replied, his voice heavy with bemusement, his tone always low like the growl of a wolf mixed with dark chocolate and velvet and sex. "Lets see, I am not craving raw meat, feeling the urge to bay the moon...or chase cars and neighborhood cats." he chuckled. "No transformations, no sprouting hair in places I didn't have it before." Victor sighed. "Did I miss anything of import? Lets get on with this shall we, Ma'am?" He was ready for his injection and the question and answer portion of the testing he endured was the worst part of it, so tedious. He hoped the rapid fire responses would suffice, after all, did she not wish to be rid of his company?

Most did. Victor Creed was hardly a ray of sunshine. The warrior cocked his head to the side curiously, eyeing her up and down. But maybe he had been barking up the wrong tree all along. She may be ruthless and heartless but then again so was he. She was older but perhaps she still had game in between the sheets...not that she'd ever let him know. She was missing out, women like her usually loved to be dominated in secret.


Setting

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Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Victoria Striker
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VICTORIA STRIKER
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Victoria jotted down Victor's rapid responses on the pad of paper in her fanciful cursive handwriting and did not bother with further questioning. This hadn't become her favorite task to handle. She thought it was a risky experiment the government was ordering her to do on an already dangerous individual. Plus she would be ticked if Victor were to transform, because then she would be forced to kill one of her top Assassins and the Wolfsbane Warriors couldn't afford to lose anymore Assassins: neither from death or desertion.
She sanitized the crux of his forearm with a cotton swab and wrapped the rubber band around, tightly tying it,and waited for a vein to pop up. She filled the syringe with the clear liquid from the vile; As she did so, she noticed Victor observing her up and down, with a curious look she was all too familiar with. A small sadistic smirk crossed her face, her blue eyes dancing with mischief, before she pricked him with the needle without warning, causing him to cringe and squint his eyes from the unexpected pain. It was no longer her agenda to seduce men; the last man she had ever been with, romantically enough, was her late husband. Now that she was essentially on top, the only people she needed to use her charm with were government officials.
Once the liquid was all pumped into the burly man's arm, she removed the needle and cleaned it. Her expression was as casual as ever, as if she had not just vindictively assaulted him with the needle. She knew the only reason she could get away with it was because the shot had some sort of strange euphoric effect that seemed to disarm him for some moments after. This also made it a perfect opportunity to inform him of some decisions that he would otherwise try to intimidate her out of in a right state of mind.
"Now that that's taken care of. There is one more thing.. The full moon is the day after the next. Most areas of the city are covered by Assassins, except for the East Industrial which we all know is a hot spot for werewolf activity. You will be covering that area." She informed him as she put away the injection supplies back into her desk and his head lulled back in a cloud. She situated both hands on top of the glass desk, folding her long fingers professionally together in front of her, patiently watching him. Victor was coming down from his high, his cloudy green eyes now focusing on her. She took advantage of the last seconds of the shot's effects to break what would be the most agitating news for him, "but you will have to go with a partner. There is no choice on this."

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Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Victoria Striker
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VICTOR CREED
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A wolfish condescending grin slid across Victor's face, fangs protruding that seemed altogether too white and sharp as his veins stood out like vines of clinging ivy in hungry anticipation of the needle. Victoria put her paper pad away and completed the necessary steps to administer his injection; Victor shirking off his jacket sleeve, baring his bare arm for her to tie off, though Victor wouldn't have minded if she just got on with it and stuck the needle in, his finger's drumming on his knee at an excitable pace. He soon regretted thinking along those lines though because that was exactly what she did, all but stabbing him unexpectedly with malicious glee.
That bitch.

He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of a complaint but he was unable to refrain from wincing, the needle tearing the sensitive flesh in the crook of his arm. She looked all too pleased with herself, lips pursed together in a closed lip smile, eyes sparkling with mischief. Victor soon forgave her effrontery though as the 'drug' began to take it's near instantaneous effect. His eyes rolled up inside his head so that only the blood-streaked whites were visible, his eyelids fluttering lightly. A layer of cold sweat glued his dark cotton shirt to his spine beneath his heavy duster. His vision flickered in the artificial light of her office, briefly going color-blind before reverting to normal again. His arm throbbed in sync with dizzying pounding inside his skull. His teeth ached within his gums, as if they were being twisted out of shape. It was painfully delicious and empowering.

Ms. Striker's voice pealed like thunder overhead through his high, cutting through the lupine howling inside Victor's skull. "Now that that's taken care of. There is one more thing.. The full moon is the day after the next. Most areas of the city are covered by Assassins, except for the East Industrial which we all know is a hot spot for werewolf activity. You will be covering that area...but you will have to go with a partner. There is no choice on this." An angry snarl built at the back of Victor's throat. A savage part of his soul awakened by the injection yearned to take hold of her and show her he could not be commanded. "I. Don't. Play. Well. With. Others." He replied, voice almost inaudibly low and rumbling.

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Character Portrait: Maia Murdock Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Victoria Striker
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"I.Don't.Play.Well.With.Others."

Victoria arched a condescending brow at Victor, seeming unthreatened by the low savage tone of his voice. "Well that sounds like a personal problem I don't really care about." Victoria told him bluntly. Deciding distance between her and Victor was wise, she stood up from her desk and wandered back over to the window. She slipped her hand in her skirt pocket and fiddled with the thin silver alloy razor inside, turning it again and again between her fingers, poised for an attack. Most people she didn't believe would have the gall to attack her, but Victor was a different species of Assassin.

"I can't have you patrolling that area without proper back up. Plus it is a very large place, you would hardly know where to look without instruction. Your new partner knows the area better.. Oh, what is that girl's name.." She pondered for a moment, her starlight blue eyes gazing upwards in thought as she tapped her free pointer finger on her bottom lip. "Chandra I think it is? Griessel's daughter who has been absent from us for a while." She explained, giving up on her recall of the girl’s name, “I am tired of her grieving process. She is not the first person who has lost someone in this line of work.. Anyways, you two are the only Assassins without partners so you are stuck together for now. You will need to go fetch her by the full moon.”

At that moment, three Wolfsbane soldiers stumbled through the her office doors in a hurry, looking pale and alarmed.

“Ms. Striker! We are sorry to barge in like this, but there has been a terrible incident involving several field agents.”

Victoria whipped around, “For God sake's, does anyone know how to knock around here?” she first commented, ticked to have her door busted down for the second time that day, which was more important than more bad news. Bad news was something she was accustomed to. In an exasperated manner she sighed and put her hands on her hips, “.. Oh, just get on with it.”

The three men looked nervously at one another, trying to get each other to go first. Two of the most revered Wolfbane Warriors, Ms. Striker and the Death Dealer himself, stared at them with icy impatience. It was a tough crowd to give the bad news to.

“Several.. 8, actually, soldiers were killed this evening.” One of the soldiers finally continued, “The culprit was a young female werewolf, Maia Murdock, recently transformed that we have been tracking for some time now.”

Victoria’s face did not move except for her lips which pursed themselves in a grim line, “You mean to tell me... That some of the top trained Assassins in the world.. Were taken out by a single mutt?" her voice was venomous, "That’s not possible.”

Mutts were what transformed werewolves were called since they were not considered pure bred wolves, even by their own kind. The soldier swallowed the heavy lump in his throat, “Well, not alone we don’t think. There were at least two people based on the evidence at the scene. We are not sure of the species or identity of the second, although we suspect it is another werewolf based on the carnage. We are still investigating.. ” He came forward with a manila file with papers inside regarding the case that he handed to the first command.

Victoria snatched the file like a viper, causing the soldier to jump and then flipped through the notes inside idly, “Are the local law enforcement involved?”

“There were policeman when we arrived on scene, but they were dismissed and are being debriefed now.”

“Good.”

Victoria abruptly turned away from the soldiers and briskly walked towards Victor and handed him the folder, “There seems to be a change of plans then.. Mr. Creed, you are to go get your partner Ms. Griessel now and get to the bottom of this incident immediately. She is located on 202 Winter Street.”

With this, she sat down at her desk and began to work on a stack of papers in front of her. The soldiers stood there confused, unsure if they were dismissed or of what to do next without direction. Victoria looked up not a moment later and glared at everyone in the room, expecting all of them to have already left without any final words.

“That’s all.” She said, waving her hands dismissively to shoo them out the door.

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Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Shavon Griessel Character Portrait: Victoria Striker
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Victor let her prattle on like she weren't in danger from the soon to be explosion of rage that bubbled and stewed in his chest as he tried to find his center for control. A dead Ms. Striker meant no more injections. This thought calmed him from the point of ripping her little bobbing head off with his bare hands to a seething silent state. When she finished her one sided conversation, he was about to argue his point with words as sharp as knives and a tongue that snapped like a whip as he only could when so high, so hopped up on adrenaline that his heart beat at the pace of a wolf's, but he was quickly interrupted by the two biggest bumbling idiots he had ever had the displeasure of working with barring the teenager down stairs.

They too burst in unannounced, but Victor suspected it was out of urgency and not an act of defiance. He calmly rolled his sleeve back over the crook of his muscular arm and slid his coat back over that shoulder, knowing full and well they'd have eyes for their boss and not for the dark shadow in the background. Yet with all of that excitement, none of them seemed to be able to find words, killing the time they had saved by not knocking. He found himself quietly hoping she would tear them a new one, he did so enjoy giving witness to one of Ms. Strikers infamous tongue lashings as long as they were not directed at him.

Unfortunately, the conversation proceeded without too much incident and had Victoria shifting Victor's premade plans around like he were little more than a pawn on a chess table, not the knight-no, king that he was. She swiftly passed off a tan folder to him like she couldn't be more disinterested and shooed him along with the others away.

Victor Creed rose from his chair, the folder being crushed in the death like vice grip he gave it with one hand and his elongated nails from the other digging into the arms until he was completely in the upright position. "Ma'am." He replied obligingly with a dip of his head and a bite to his words before turning around to stalk out of the room. This wasn't the last she'd hear of this, but for now, he would give her the pleasure of bringing down his high. Besides, he was ready to go hunting.

ImageAs soon as he hit the hallway, the other men closing the office doors behind him, he turned tail and slammed the closest one against the wall, having hoisted him up by his shirt collar so that his feet dangled precariously a foot from the marble floor. "Any of you ever interrupt me when I'm talking to her again and they won't be able to find your bodies without dredging the entire Mississippi." He threatened, voice as level as a loaded gun. He unfurled his fingers and let the man drop to his knees painfully before rotating back around to face the others. The tension was palpable. "Got it?" He barked in question before they all shook their heads too dumbfounded to say anything. "Good." he purred, turning away dramatically so that his duster swirled around his legs then billowed behind him as he walked to the elevator. His fellow Assassin's opted to take the next one.

When he made it downstairs, the pimply adolescent was no where to be seen. Probably hiding under his desk from me, Victor mused as he strolled out into the newly turned night, hiking his coat collar up around his neck to brave the cold so that it stood perched on his shoulders like two clandestine ravens. The wind whistled around him like it wanted to forget the first time it tried to kiss the tops of the city buildings but swallowed a mouthful of air instead. He found the howl comforting and familiar.

Victor didn't take the bus, the metro, a taxi, or a car; he rather preferred to walk, letting the ice in the air crystalize around his burning heart. It wasn't too long until he found himself outside the address Striker had given him. 202 Winter Street.

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Character Portrait: Ian Bohen Character Portrait: Lauren Silverstein Character Portrait: Coren Somerhalder Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Shavon Griessel Character Portrait: Elizabeth Harrows
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Image"Of course I would be honored to have you teach me...but you certainly have your work cut out for you, Alpha. I am not a werewolf by birth, so I am not as strong as the others and I have no skill in fighting. You are starting out with a very raw piece of material."

Ian studied Lauren with quick and calculating indicolite eyes, a faint smile as sharp as a knife creeping up his face. "I've worked with much less, trust in that my dear." He intoned, voice ominous though he wasn't really intending for it to be. "As it so happens, the full moon is drawing near, and there couldn't be a more opportune time to work. You are at the pique of your physical abilities and your skills will be much sharper now more than ever."

He leaned to rest, it seemed, upon the thick crumbling stone of the capacious wall behind him, one knee bent where his foot pressed against that wall his back propped against; then crossed his arms over his broad chest, the kind of arms that came from exercising his body as much as he exercised his intellect, and he seemed almost meditative as he looked upon her eager countenance. "I want you to report to me tomorrow in the Sparring hall, at high noon, not a minute later or the session is off and I'll have to pawn you off on one of my lesser lieutenants. I haven't the time or patience for games or anything less than one hundred percent commitment from you....You're dismissed." Ian stated, throwing a playful wink her way, belieing the seriousness of his sudden command.






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ImageVictor's mouth drew up into a jester's smile, or more like a macabre horror film caricature or version of a jester's smile--all sharp teeth and malice before he let lose a low riotous laugh that seemed endless as Shay pulled him into an crampt stairwell. And he allowed it for only the reason that he found the whole of the situation oddly amusing. How very typical of a woman to be beguiled by tanned skin, a crooked grin, and lean muscles. Their sex was no less affected than his own by the charms of a beautiful body.

"Calm down Red..." He resounded, long and drawn, dubbing her with a nickname not out of affection but a vague disrespect. "You're not in trouble...yet." He only continued to smile, making his face a perfect mask of comedy from the almost proscenium arch of the stairway, as she appeared to size him up. "You know it wasn't my idea to partner up. I'm hardly the company man. I only said I'd work with you because Striker asked me so nicely." Victor purred, cocking his head to the side as he towered over her dainty form, scrutinizing her in return. "What a funny little thing you are..." He sighed before taking a step toward Shay, too close for comfort in fact, an intimidating tactic. "But don't worry, I won't tell on you as long as you stay out of my way tonight." His warm breath washed over her alabaster skin. "We've been ordered on a hunt. Some mutt has killed eight of our own and we have to track the bitch and put her down."

ImageA plethora of sounds on the tessellated surface of the night came swirling in on the freezing air, a dim mingling of countless human voices. Victor's eyes clamped shut tightly, unable to drown out or control his hightened senses--his sensitive ears. He could hear everything around them for a three block radius, right down to the couple fighting and throwing glass things in the loft above their heads. He wanted to growl but refrained while in such close quarters with another assassin. victor'd hate to have to explain her death to Striker...and her death would be certain if she discovered his secret.

"Now are you going to go put away your delicates and unmentionables so we can leave or am I going to have to go without you and explain your noncompliance to our boss?"






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Image"There she is, up and at em." Coren breathed in relief; his eyes crinkling up at the edges as he smiled lightly, iris' so bright it seemed as if the blue sky was fixed forever in those eyes.

Her friend babbled on abnoxiously, prattling off apologies as if she had them to spare. "I think, I'm just gonna take a taxi back to the apartment." Elizabeth replied, still looking a bit faint and flushed in the cheeks. Coren drifted out of the conversation momentarily to scan the crowd around them. Every tight and corded muscle in his body set on edge in his state of fear. She had drawn so much unwanted attention his way.

"So, what's your name anyway?" She asked, pulling him back into the conversation and out of the panic attack that was forming in his constricting lungs. "Huh? Oh! Coren." He rattled off before considering the fact that he should have probably given her an alias and not his actual name. "Lets uh..get you out of the floor and into a seat, okay?" He asked as he pulled her to her feet, ignoring the nevous clinging grasps of her friend Carrie to Elizabeth's shirt. "You gave everyone quite the scare Hannah Montanna, you're not doing any drugs here lately are you?" He teased before gently guiding her-his hand on the small of her back-to an empty spot on the metro bench and taking the spot next to her, curious as to what could have made her pass out so abruptly.

He sighed balefully, running a hand through his matted locks as Carrie took the available seat nearest him.

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Character Portrait: Ian Bohen Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Rose Wilson Character Portrait: Shavon Griessel
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"Without me, you would be nothing; just a stray dog scavenging for scraps, Rose Wilson. I gave you strength and I gave you a purpose, you should be grateful, and this is how you repay me? You think it is your place to debate my direct commands? I could tear you apart with little effort for such insolence. All I ask of you, is your obedience. You can choose to accept this...or not...but I think we know what would come of that, though." Ian replied, his icy calmness sending a cold shiver up Rose's spine, she wanted to remind him of the times she'd be more indispensable than the supplies Coren had gone to get, remind him of why he'd given her such power with the pack and how many times she'd remained loyal, no matter how wrong she thought Ian was. But her intelligence kept her in line, she wasn't going to feed the house fire with more fuel, she would have to suck it up and douse the flames herself. "You will go and retrieve this wolf simply because I say so, and you will not collect Coren or Lucas. Am I clear?"Image
"Of course, Alpha. Clear as crystal." Rose said, finally looking up as she ran a hand through her hair and gave a weak smile. "My apologies, Ian." She immediately spun on her heels and made her way out of the room. Once out the door, Rose rested against the door and let out a sigh, partly out of frustration and partly out of relief. Rose looked to her left and the same guy was standing there.
"Miss Wilson... Rose waved her hands at him.
"Blah blah blah. No." She told him. "I don't have time for this matter, tell one of the lieutenants." She went to walk past him but stopped herself. "Oh and make sure no one goes into the Alpha's quarters without his expressed permission or if they have urgent news or information that he has to hear." With that Rose strut off to her quarters to quickly change into a pair of black leggings, a black jumper, black furry body warmer and black boats before laving the sewer and taking out her mobile phone.
[To Group:Sympathisers and Group:Fencers]
[Red Alert! 8 Wolfsbane Warriors have been allegedly slaughter by avsingle werewolf. If anyone has any details, please respond asap. As always, be carefully, especially tonight.]
Rose then made her way to the crime scene, as soon as she arrived the scents of blood, wolves, expert hunters and a human. There was no one an ordinary pup killed the hunters, especially ones that Rose recognised the scent of. Rose looked around the scene, she recognised a young red head, the rogue of the Hunters. Rose looked to the man she was accompanied by, his scent was mixed, werewolf and human. Rose knotted her eyebrows and took out her phone, listing the scents and also noted the odd hybrid mix, that Rose assumed was impossible due to Wolf DNA being dominant and turning anyone with it into another mongrel, or so Rose thought.

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Character Portrait: Maia Murdock Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Rose Wilson Character Portrait: Shavon Griessel Character Portrait: Logan
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Victor was so caught up in trying to pick out a scent from the plethora of smells to be found in the middle of the city that he hadn't paid too much attention to the fact that Shavon had been talking, let alone been talking to him. She could have directed her speech at a tree or a large boulder and he wouldn't have cared or noticed. A part of him should have fretted over the ill use of all of his senses, after all, it was a hunters job to be sharp and wary at all times, always self-aware, but he had a target in his sights. He was so ready to taste blood, he cared for little else so he allowed his other useful gifts and attentions to fall into disuse.

It wasn't until Shay had forcefully grabbed him by his coat arm and tried to wrench him into a stop that he paid her any heed. He sighed through his nose as she made him wait there for nearly a whole damn minute for her to finish her phone call with their boss-he knew it was Striker not only because Griessel had gone out of her way to say the woman's name so Victor understood why she interrupted his tracking but also because he could hear every word the geriatric said on the other line. What the fuck could she possibly want? She sent us on a job and now what, she is going to call us off of it? Can that bitch make up her mind? He internally groaned, seconds away from ripping that tiny annoying little cellular device out of Shavon's hands and breaking it in half with one good twist. His compatriot for the evening was fortunate though that he was only thinking of doing that to her mobile and not herself.

However, the conversation took an unexpected turn away from where he had thought it was going to somewhere he had always secretly hoped it would go, and at the very same time, hoped it wouldn't. Logan. He stood there, jaw clenched so tightly, his teeth felt as if they might shatter at the mere mention of his younger brother's name. Logan, here? Why here? Why now? Why with some kid? His brain unraveled like a ball of yarn being batted mercilessly as the women's conversation rattled on, wordless noise in his ears like the roaring of ocean waves. It wasn't until she had long since hung up and cleared her throat to speak directly to him that her registered anything she was saying.

"So.. There is some new Intel on our mission. Your brother is with the girl we are tracking right now."

Victor was done playing games, done with pretenses, done keeping secrets. Nothing mattered to him in that moment besides locating his brother.

Image"I heard..." He growled, literally growled, voice like the rumble of an oncoming storm--foreboding. "If she thinks, if YOU think you can keep me from him, I will rip your throat open with my teeth and hers too along with anyone else who tries to stand in my way!" He bellowed, gripping her by her arms and a fist full of her coat lapels to jerk her upward so she could be face to face with him--feet dangling precariously inches from the ground. Face to face with his terrible scowl and the fire that burned behind his eyes, so that she may see, finally, that he was just death dressed in a man's skin and bones, nothing left resembling human.

"I am-" Victor started before he let her slip through his fingers and hit the ground, landing on the balls of her feet like the skilled assassin she was. A scent had just been carried on the breeze like a gift from God, or perhaps the Devil, depending on whose side you were on. "What-?" He whirled around with a sudden speed that surprised even himself. He had caught that scent he was searching for from the crime scene, that scent that was obviously canine. The girl, the werewolf child, she was there now. Victor caught sight of a head full of inky curls bolting in the opposite direction, her obviously having caught on to them, and like hell he'd let her escape him with the whereabouts of his brother on the line.

With inhuman speed he took off after her, tearing across the space between them like a panther locked onto it's prey, barely managing to keep his run on two legs instead of four. His claws extended, fangs bared as he reached out to grab ahold of her coat collar...

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Character Portrait: Maia Murdock Character Portrait: Camille Elliot Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Rose Wilson Character Portrait: Shavon Griessel Character Portrait: Logan
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Rose watched the two hunters, she felt the ginger one's eyes skim her but thought nothing of it, taking in the scents that surrounded the scene. Until the man lifted the ginger girl. Rose could smell the anger from him, he was definitely the product of wolf DNA but he wasn't a werewolf. Rose watched as a young girl fled from them, she instantly knew it was the werewolf she was after!
Rose sprung into action, running straight after the girl, who was grabbed by the oddly scented man. Rose's heart stopped, the wolfsbane warriors had her, they had the werewolf. Rose watched, the girl was only a pup and Rose was definitely not capable of fighting the man, even if she did engage the hunters it would be futile to help her. Rose heard the girl scream "LOGAN!"
Rose picked up the three scents mixed again, female werewolf, female human and another male experiment and start to run after it. The scents lead her to an apartment complex that was across the street. Rose wondering why the girl would call out for a human, called out the same name. "Logan!" She yelled out numerous times, hoping whoever he was, would be able to hear her call. She cried out multiple times, hoping someone would respond.
She watched as a man ran up to the guy holding the pup, Rose took in their scents, similiar, like that of family, however the wolf DNA that was in them was different. Rose watched as they prepared to fight, there was no way she was going to risk herself for a single pup, she'd sit back and observe the fight, if it got too heated and she was at risk of losing both the pup and the experiment she would intervene.

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Character Portrait: Maia Murdock Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Rose Wilson Character Portrait: Shavon Griessel Character Portrait: Logan
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Rose watched as the pup and hybrid attacked the Wolfsbane Warriors, the mongrel pup was skilled for an abandoned pup, especially one that wasn't born a wolf, she was handling a well trained hunter, a hunter that Rose recognised the scent of, not specifically hers but her father's and it sent a shiver down her spine, Rose had dealt with the Griessel family on a few occasions.Image However, it was the hybrid that interested Rose more, his scent was a mixture of human, more specifically a hunter, and wolf blood. Rose witnessed large silver like claws swiftly protude from his knuckles, causing Rose to gasp as he confronted the Hybrid hunter. Rose could sense the full moon and it made her smirk, maybe the pup had a chance against the hunters, Rose rested against a wall and continued to watch the scene unfold, Ian would be displeased with her lack of intervention but she would definitely be able to manipulate a tired mind easier than an adrenaline fuelled mind.

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Character Portrait: Maia Murdock Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Rose Wilson Character Portrait: Shavon Griessel Character Portrait: Logan
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Logan hesitated, if only for a moment. Jimmy? Baby brother? This man acted as if he knew him, as if he hadn't a clue Logan had no memories, and yet he was in fight mode. Whatever familial bond they could have shared, obviously didn't affect this man's purpose, his job. Take Logan down, take the girl down. Or perhaps he did know something about Logan's memory loss and he was simply playing on his self doubt, leading Logan to believe this man knew something he didn't to make him hesitate so he could go for the kill. Well Logan wouldn't be played for a fool, and he wouldn't go down without a fight...

-


Victor arched a sinister brow as his statement hung in the air between them like a pregnant pause. What on Earth had happened to his brother? He looked like a kid without a clue. Of course Victor was a changed man too, not the same weak completely human individual he had once been and it was clear Logan wasn't either, but there was more than that behind the seams. Logan didn't even appear as if he recognized him....

He opened his mouth to say something, after all they had stood their silently long enough and Victor thought he might as well probe his brother for answers while they stared one another down but before he could force the words from his throat, Logan pounced.

-


ImageLogan slammed into Victor with enough force to knock them both to the ground, their bodies impacting like two semi's in a head on collision. They rolled around on the sleek, rain wetted pavement, both trying to shove their extended claws into the others throat but only managing to come within inches before their opponent deflected their swing. Logan could help but smugly think, even amidst this chaos, his claws were a bit more lethal than this strangers own. However, what he failed to stop and realize was that this stranger had similar human on wolf DNA to be able to fight him in such a way. He failed to realize there might actually be something to this mans claim to brotherhood or at the very least that he might have some insight to how Logan had come to be the creature he was as this stranger shared that common tie.

His razor sharp blades scrapped against the asphalt, metal ringing at a teeth grinding pitch, as the assassin deflected another attempted stab. Even with Logan on top, seemingly having the upper hand in the fight, the man laughed out. "Atta' boy, Jimmy! You've learnt a thing or two since I last kicked your ass!" The Assassin seemed positively gleeful and it was a perplexing notion to say the least. To rejoice in bloodshed was one thing, but he didn't seem to want to truly kill Logan at all. He seemed more concerned with proving he could come out on top in a fight as opposed to going for termination of his opponent. Like they were merely playing a game and when it was all said and done would go home and replay the night in their minds eye with fondness.

"You still keeping up with this brother crap, bub?!" Logan shouted as he tried to ram his claws in the man's side once more only to have the strangers grip on his wrist keeping the blades at arms length. "You'll always be my baby brother Jim, even if you're pissy with me." He laughed through gritted teeth as his brow broke into a sweat. He couldn't wriggle free as Logan straddled him, pinning him to the ground with his legs as he pushed his claws closer to his ribs, and his strength was waning. He wouldn't be able to keep Logan's claws at bay for much longer but he didn't seemed concerned. "You feel like you've proved your point yet? Ready to give up the charade?"

-


Suddenly, the unmistakable clatter of gunfire upset the night, sounding from the park area Victor and Shay had originally come from. The acrid smell of cordite assailed Victor's nostrils as a silver bullet, then two and three hit Logan square in the chest. "NOOOO!" Victor screamed, voice a borderline roar as Logan fell backward off of him. The assassin clambered to his knees to hover over his brother, eyes wide with concern. "Jim! Jim! Jimmy!?" He cried desperately as he shook the man's shoulders. His little brother didn't move, not with a ragged breath or a flutter of his eye lids, leaving Victor to assume he was lost to him, life taken by some trigger happy idiot who thought himself a hero. He turned back to look over his shoulder at the assassin with the gun that approached, Victor's bestial nature betrayed by his blood-streaked bright eyes, sharpened incisors, and clawlike fingernails. A white froth foamed at the corners of his mouth as he lunged for the human with outstretched claws. Victor dropped his college to the ground like a brightly painted marionette whose strings had just been slashed by a razor. Blood spurted from his upper thigh as the human stared in shock at his perforated leg. From the bright red color of the blood, Victor knew that he had opened his femoral artery. He couldn't hear his gasping over the roar of the gunfire that still sounded from the rest of the assassin team, but he saw his chest heaving erratically as all the color drained from his face. The man was as good as dead. His rose to his feet to face to rest of the kill squad, assuming they were still firing because they had a new target, him, but he quickly realized his assumption had been wrong. They hadn't even seen Victor take down their team member, too focused on taking down a target behind him, Logan.

Logan. He was still alive? He couldn't believe it as he turned around and laid eyes on his brother who had risen from his place on the ground and ducked behind the corner of a nearby building for cover from the hail of bullets. The impassioned assassin tossed the men and women firing aside like rag dolls. "STOP! STOP! Don't shoot, no kill order from Striker!" Victor exclaimed, his frantic commands sounding like a whisper amidst the thunderous racket of gunfire.

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Character Portrait: Maia Murdock Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Rose Wilson Character Portrait: Shavon Griessel Character Portrait: Logan
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In the blink of an eye, Logan had been dead; he and Victor's shared blood and history ghosting into smoke as substantial as just another of the Wolfsbane Warriors lies. He had been so overcome with grief, he couldn't have been made to care about living, so he just began hacking and slashing at the one responsible for taking the only life he cared about, hoping someone behind him might rise to the occasion and manage to kill Victor himself for such a crime as killing one of your own, put him out of his misery. But then he had seen it, what shouldn't have been but was. Logan wasn't dead, no more dead than Victor. The sight of that surly gaze, wild hair, and pair of mutton chops(Seriously? They hadn't seen one another in years, and he still modeled his facial hair after his big brother.) disappearing around the corner had inflamed the desire...the desire to protect all that he had left. He was fueled by the slow burn of a satisfying simmering anger towards they who had driven him to such shameful depths of desperation and he would not cease until he had killed, maimed, or seriously injured every man and woman with a gun in their hand.

Then, suddenly, it was as if a whistle had been blown. He dropped to his knees, covering his ears with both hands, teeth bared and eyes squeezed shut tightly as if he could lock out the noise. The pain rattling around in his head was unimaginable and he'd of done anything just to make it stop. He couldn't focus. However, just as soon as it had began, it was gone; leaving him disoriented and with a vague ringing tonal drone in his ears, masking all other sounds around him. His partner, Shavon, approached him, gun raised as he locked his bleary eyes with her sharp ones, but instead of granting the wish he no longer wanted-a quick death, she began shouting at him.

"Your brother got away, you idiot! He's not dead! There's no point in attacking them! Obviously their bullets had no affect on him anyway! Just!...Just calm down." Her voice was like the crack of a whip, assaulting his newly sensitive ears.

ImageHe shakily rose to his feet, eyes frantically darting around to see if they had gathered spectators with their scene. Luckily or unluckily-depending on how you looked at it-for him, they were all too preoccupied with chasing Logan down. Victor turned his attentions back to his tag along for the evening and growled. She knew his secret or else she wouldn't have used, what he now realized was an ultrasonic emitter, a tool in the Assassin's arsenal for disabling werewolves. He could feel the warm sticky trail of blood that trickled out of his left ear, and for the hundredth time that evening, he became enraged once more. Perhaps he was just that perpetual state tonight.

Victor marched up to Shay with a fire in his red tinged eyes and ripped the emitter grenade off of her belt, claws lightly scratching the soft flesh of her stomach. "If you ever do that again, there will not be enough pieces left of you for them to find." He promised, words coming out like a string of curses, clipped and bitter, his voice bellowing so lowly it was animal sounding. He balled up his fist and crushed the device in his hand, letting the splintered shards fall to the ground in a rain of steel, eyes unblinkingly locked on her own. Leave it to him to not be grateful for the help he was receiving. He hadn't a clue what she planned to do with that information, or what she must have wanted for him, but blackmail would have had her killed quicker than she could get the words out and right now he didn't have the time to deal with her; he had his brother to get back.

Victor pushed past her to where her quarry laid unconscious on the ground and bent over to throw the little girl over his shoulder roughly, as if she were no more than a sack of flour. "I'm taking her to Striker." He informed, daring Shay to oppose his decision. He hoped if Logan escaped, he'd be able to draw him back in with the kid, and if that failed, perhaps he could use the kid as a bargaining chip with Blue Riding Bitch for his brother's freedom. Now Victor just wished the Werewolves and the Assassin's, with their all-encompassing selfishness, would just tear each other to pieces with the force of centuries of spite and hate and just leave he and Logan alone...

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Character Portrait: Maia Murdock Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Rose Wilson Character Portrait: Shavon Griessel Character Portrait: Logan
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Image Rose looked as the assassins turned on each other before grabbing the girl, she sighed the man ran off instead of saving his friend. "Screw her." Rose simply sighed before running after the man, his odd scent making him easy to find no matter how far away he ran. Rose was then surrounded by the scent and didn't know where he was, then something lifted her by the throat.
"Why are you following me?" Rose tried to breath as the man tried to crush her throat. Rose swiftly swung her leg into his groin and he dropped her.
"You bastard! I'm trying to help you!" She coughed as she lay on the floor, sucking in as much oxygen again.
"Why are you following me?" He grunted, the pain in his groins must have subsided as soon as he leg go of her, Rose stared at the long claws that protruded from his fist. Rose stood up slowly, her palms open and her movements slow.
"I'm only trying to help you." She told him, looking him in the eye and her face covered in sincerity. "I know what its like to lose people because of the Wolfsbane Warriors." She told him. "Let me help you." She stretched out her hand for him to shake.
"Why should I trust you?" He asked and Rose shifted her weight to the other foot. Rose looked in his eyes and took in his scent,
"Because I'm the only person offering to help you." Rose told him, her point blunt but her tone sweet and inviting.

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Character Portrait: Maia Murdock Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Shavon Griessel
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"Excuse me? She’s my kill! Put her down and I'll finish her! Striker isn’t gonna go along with this whole hostage taking bullshit or whatever you got planned, anyway.” Shavon shrilled, stomping after Victor in a huff.

ImageHe turned on his tail too quickly, the back of his dark heavy trench coat flaring out behind him like the wings of some enormous bat. This didn't leave her much time to adjust course--to stop before she was suddenly standing all too close to him. "Oh you have no idea the things Striker is willing to go along with, I can attest to that, and if you were so keen on a kill, then you'd of killed her, not left her lying there to be picked up. Maybe you've forgotten how things work here Red, but let me remind you...." He rumbled low before taking another step forward so that he was crowding upon her personal space. "Your little vacation was really a one of a kind thing...everybody thought it was so strange...." He trailed off, supercilious grin crawling up his face at a spiders pace as he adjusted the unconscious girl slung over his shoulder. "This isn't exactly the kind of profession you leave unless you're leaving in a pine box...They put up with a certain level of shit from you because of who your daddy is..." His smile only continued to build in malice as he corrected himself. "Was. I wouldn't push it if I were you...Just some friendly advice." He spat.

Feeling rather satisfied with his statement that could be perceived as a threat, he left it at that and stalked over to her tiny red BMW, throwing open the trunk and dropping the child wolf in it gracelessly with a soft thud. Victor then turned her limp body over to where she laid on her stomach and pulled her two hands behind her back and brought them together at the wrists. Every Assassin was armed to the teeth with the latest technological advances against werewolves, but mostly it was the older, simpler tools that never went out of use, like for instance the silver threaded zip-ties Victor kept in his pocket. He bound her wrists then her ankles and flipped her back over onto her back just as she started to moan and come to, eyelids fluttering open.

This little girl, for whatever reason, would be the ticket to getting his brother back. The very thought of it engulfed his shriveled up and blackened heart in hope and anticipation.

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Character Portrait: Maia Murdock Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Shavon Griessel Character Portrait: Victoria Striker
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Gray's security firm was a relatively new addition granted to the Wolvesbane Warriors by the government less than a decade ago, a building that could serve as an office to be open during business hours with a bevy of unsavory secrets hiding beneath the ground level. The Headquarter's, known by the Werewolves as Ordoghaz ("Devil's House"), was located about an hour north of downtown, outside the picturesque little district of Edendale, a focal point for tourist's visiting the area also called 'the Square'. Victor sat sulkingly in the passenger seat as they pulled up outside, arms folded over his chest, not bothering to avert his gaze from the muddy floor board. Their captive had spoken sometime earlier, obviously letting the pair of assassin's know she was officially conscious, but Victor hadn't been able to make out her muffled complaint or snark through the lid of the trunk. The rest of the trip had been spent in uncomfortable silence.

Shavon knew better than to pull around front where they could be spotted lugging a bound body inside so she peeled into a back narrow alleyway just large enough for a car to pass through that led to an underground parking garage. Mounted security cameras scoped the approaching vehicle out thoroughly before a set of spike-crowned gates baring any unauthorized entrance swung open automatically, allowing them access. His female compatriot parked in a vacant spot and jerked the keys out of the ignition as Victor hauled himself quickly from his seat, not taking any care to refrain from slamming the door of the compact BMW before he made his way around to the trunk side, wrenching it open and staring down the small, newly turned wolf inside. "Don't test me by trying anything stupid, mutt." He threatened. "You're a long way from anyone that could help you and stuck surrounded by people who'd love nothing more than to gut you." He jerked her up and slung her over his shoulder again, not paying her struggling any heed and flashed Shay, who had just exited the vehicle, a scowl before he stormed across the otherwise empty lot over to a dingy silver elevator that would take them down further to a more sinister level of the building. The brooding warrior allowed Shay to punch in the long complicated security code on a dial pad since his hands were otherwise occupied, their personal security cards would not grant them access to this level, but couldn't refrain from sighing as the lift lurched and proceeded downward too slowly for his liking. A moment later, the elevator dinged forebodingly and opened to a concrete hallway that stretched to a pair of heavy pure silver double doors....

The room through those doors was darkly lit and cavernous. It was the interrogation and testing center and the very bowls of Ordoghaz, a stark contrast from the plush and comfortable waiting rooms and offices upstairs. Along the concrete walls of the huge circular room that dwarfed the entire buildings upper floor lied prison cells. Muffled groans and whimpers escaped from the gagged mouths of the very few captive wolves that had taken residence there years ago. Victor paid no attention to the wolves incoherent bleatings. They were just animals, after all. Strung up like sides of beef, and stripped to the waist, they hung limply from a metal bar in their sectioned off cages, their flesh was battered and bruised. The pairs sudden arrival accompanied by a new prisoner attracted little notice from them however. The wolves there had long since given up any sense of hope for themselves or for anyone else. A few of the lesser exhausted heads swung toward them, examining the bloody and disheveled group through disinterested eyes, before returning to trying to rest as best they could before they were pulled off the rack for tests or questioning again. Victor, Shavon, and Maia barely caused a ripple in the flow of despair working its way around the despondently appointed chamber.

In the center of this derelict area rested a makeshift laboratory. Test tubes, beakers, retorts, and other chemical apparatus were arranged on crude benches fashioned of splintered plywood and metal struts. The dark, dingy locale was somewhat less than completely sterile, the assassin acknowledged, but who cared? They learnt what they needed to from the captives, both biologically and word of mouth wise. Most times they needn't even torture every individual, because bearing witness to torture could be just as effective on the mind, hence why the room was circular so the other prisoners could watch what transpired at the center. Victor quickly decided he preferred this room to the rooms upstairs as he shrugged Maia off his broad shoulder and plopped her in a steel chair in the rooms center.

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Character Portrait: Maia Murdock Character Portrait: Victor Creed Character Portrait: Shavon Griessel Character Portrait: Ryan Johnsheed
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Victor waited and watched Shay quietly like a predator would his prey, analyzing her little outburst, dark eyes locked on every movement she made while keeping Maia in his peripheral. Truth be told, the wild haired pup's sharp tongue had been grating on his nerves a great deal and he was near to the point of cutting it out of her pretty head altogether. Shavon had seemed to have had enough of it too, but the longer that she spoke, the more he realized the likelihood that she was more sick over her surroundings than annoyed by the brat. Her threats were a warning to the wolf, an attempt to try and coerce her to be quiet so that perhaps she'd have a fighting chance at a quick and relatively painless death.

Just like a woman to have a weak stomach. Not many could stand hovering around the Were cells for too long, the stench of the rotted and infected flesh alone would drive away even the strongest of men, but sympathy? Sentiment? This was weak gut in a whole nother respect. It reminded Victor of a certain assassin....and speak of the devil...

Image"Sorry to interrupt...I was not aware that someone else had plans." Victor sighed through his nose. Of all the people to run into down there, Ryan Johnsheed was not a face he hoped to see if he hoped to see anyone's face at all. The suave assassin introduced himself to Shavon with a flirtatious but polite air, ignoring Vic altogether. A growl rumbled in his chest like he were a phone set on vibrate before he cleared his throat to gather attentions. "We have a captive, therefore we have business to attend to here, Ryyyyan." He drug out the other man's name like one drew a sword on his opponent, with a smile on his face as sly as a desert coyote. "You're being quite the distraction. What were your plans exactly?" Victor cocked his head to the side and folded his arms, hoping to bully the other assassin into leaving.