Corruption.

Status
Not open for further replies.
Leaning away from the microscope sitting in front of her, a groan escaped from black lips as she stretched tired, and sore muscles.
"Would you like some coffee, Dr.?"
"Yes please, thank you Jeremy." she responded as she stood up from her chair. She accepted the steaming mug of coffee, hands wrapping around the mug, she inhaled the rich aroma as the soft steam caressed her face.
"How's the work coming along, Dr.?" Jeremy said after she had accepted the mug.
Running her fingers back through her hair, her features set in a pouty look, "There not! I can't get the friggin Tungsten atoms to stop combing with the carbon rings and to combine with the calcium!"
Confused Jeremy asked, "What does it matter?"
Looking at him under hooded eye, "Because if we can get the Tungsten to combine with the calcium before it decides to combine with the carbon, we will be able to inject humans with the formula and give them nearly indestructible bones. Course too high of a Tungsten content and they will be too brittle and crack if pressure is applied wrongly to them."
Jeremy had as slightly bewildered look on his face at that, "ah....that....makes sense...Umm...Dr. are you busy this evening?"
Looking up from her coffee she gave Jeremy a sly grin, "My dear Jeremy, are you try to hit on a fellow co-worker? And your boss at that?"
Obviously flustered, Jeremy tried to save himself, "What!?!? No! I mean, umm...not a date or anything...just...ugh...like dinner or something...just to grab a bite to eat..."
Giggling like a school girl, "Jeremy, I'm sorry but I've already got some plans for this evening, maybe some other time."
"Oh, okay then. Well I'll let you get back to work then Dr." not sure whether to be relieved to disappointed, Jeremy head back to his work.
Sitting down at her computer off to the side of the microscope, Chimitsu opened an email that was of particular interest to her. "Hmm...the address isn't that far off....heehee! My Lab is right between it and the Ministry of Love!" Erasing the email, and shutting down her comp, she stood and made to leave the building. "Jeremy, be a darling clean up my lab will you?"
Before she left she changed in to some more normal cloths. A pair of jeans with a heart shape cut out on the side of each thigh, and a tight black tee-shirt with a bull's eye target on the back. She made her way to the address give'n in the email.
"Wow, rich boy eh?" she exclaimed as she reached the large metal doors that seemed to be the only way into the estate. Reaching up a finger to the button on the wall she pressed it, "Hi! Anybody home!"
 
The Not so Pearly Gates

Indeed, there would be that instantaneous recognition between the two of them. Michael stood firm within the lobby, those hues of blood-colored disdain filed slowly over the wreckage. Almost like a psychic power itself, Michael began piecing together the events leading to the end result. He could see the faceless soldiers coming in, detonating small explosives, blowing away concrete with semi-automatics and devastating rifles. In the end, it all faded to the resistance losing... failing miserably. And through the darkness of that wreckage was the single beam of light, Seraphim. Gabriel Gaze.

As the image in Michael's mind began to fade, leaving only Seraphim to greet him with a grin, it was returned with that all-too-familiar twitch at the left corner of his mouth. A small grin, and the only person alive who could bring it out of him. Right hand extended, clad within gauntlets of obsidian gloss. The slight sound of metal touching cloth brought him to the realization that the two of them had changed in opposing manners.

When Michael was a child, he was often mistaken for a girl. His hair was a silken silvery hue of purple, those eyes a duller red that bordered the same stark lavendar. That hair extended down well behind his posterior end, and the soft features of his childhood coupled with his all-too estranged 'birth defect' had given him quite the problems during that little program.

Now... His hair was short, and kempt into thick violet locks the likes of which he prided on the fullness in color. Those eyes, once a faint hue full of naivete and the lack of his experiences, were now deep and blood-colored with the souls of those he'd slain out of necessity. Still... to say he wasn't pretty wouldn't exactly be accurate. Extend that hair a bit and give him some breasts, and you can bet that he'd look good in makeup. It wasn't really a fact that someone brought up around Michael if they expected to walk away alive.

As he gave the formal shake, he made it known that he wasn't completely in the dark as to why he'd been transferred anymore. "The decor... Yes, I must say I do. It means I have some work to do, hm?" Apparently, the two of them after meeting, had begun making their way back to Seraphim's office. This was standard protocol, if there was any briefing that was to take place, Michael hardly expected that someone within the lobby should be given access to critical information, good or bad.

After pitching his position in the alleged corner, The Archangel's arms crossed in front of his blackened trench coat, the sound of his gauntlets making a gentle thud against the metallic breastplate beneath the coat resonated like the dull ring of a church bell for a split second. "So... Besides the terrible home decorator you hired, what's the status report?" He wouldn't mind catching up with Seraphim sometime. A drink at a bar perhaps, or a cup of joe. Now, however, didn't seem like the time for small talk. It seemed like one of those situations where you cut to the chase.

It didn't take too long for that green hint of change to touch the wall-- the green where someone's key card had passed security measures, and the door slid open. The new fellow that gave him such an eyeball received one in return... one of Michael's brows quirked upward in curious arch.

"Ever hear of knockin'?"
 
Rill chuckled a bit and spoke without dropping his smile. “Yeah, but its okay ‘cuz I’m a lucky bastard. I always make it out of a tight spot one way or another. If I end up having to take a punch or two that’s all right too though. I trade away my dignity for pride sometimes.” Rill could tell about what Gabriel thought of his refusal to defend himself just by the look on his face. “I don’t blame ya for thinking its silly, I feel pretty foolish myself sometimes. I get to pat myself on the back when after I crawl back home though.” It was true, Rill was quite proud of himself for his self restraint. He’d been practicing it for a long time. Though he would never admit to feeling superior to someone, it was that self restraint that made him feel superior to people like those thugs in the bar. He was prouder of the discipline his training had given him than off the fighting skill itself.
<o:p> </o:p>
“And Ellis might not have quite the ring to it Daring does, but some ladies like the way it rolls of the tongue.” Rill gave Gabriel a huge goofy grin and a soft slap on the back, chuckling a bit. Even though he had just met Gabriel, he talked to him like he was an old friend. It was a trait of Rill’s that caught a lot of people of guard, and made him hard to hate. This was fine by Rill, in his opinion you could never have to many friends. After all, love makes the world go ‘round.
 
Paris leaned back, the seat was wooden and not all very comfortable, but hopefully he wouldnt be sitting for too much longer."Oh yes, Silk isnt it? I could have killed you", he removed his left arm and revealed to everyone in the room his mac-10, as people prepared to shoot he laughed and unloaded it."But if i had killed you, i most probably would have died, which is not at the top of my to-do list right now, Im Paris by the way."

"I take it the attack was not a success? I was waiting and hoping to join in and kill some agents, but i got your email. From a mutual friend, he new where i was and thought if i got bored i could introduce myself, nothing sinister i assure you, though i doublt assurances from people you have just met carry a lot of weight."

"What now my friend?, another drink? Or do we have important rebelly type stuff to discuss? Or even to do?
Its up to you friend."
 
Several hours had passed, and still Salazar had no answers from the Ministry, which made him feel quite uneasy. Salazar rose from his armchair and headed towards the window. He was staring to the courtyard, it was a raining and the skies were covered by darkening clouds. Salazar was thinking about what would the Ministry do seeing that they were vulnerable enough to even be attacked by a group of unorganized rebels. Their defense system was perfect, supervised by Salazar and his scientists themselves, to make sure the system had no flaws. Salazar then thought, that maybe it wasn't the defense system, but something else. He wondered if someone let the rebels inside, a traitor or even a spy. Seeing that no one arrived yet, Salazar summoned one of his employees and told them to send a message to the secretary.

"I want you to tell the Ministry that I would like to have a meeting with them, here in my mansion. We have much to discuss about their "anti air" weapons that my staff is developing." Salazar open the drawers of a small table and pulled out a small cup, then he grabbed with his left hand a bottle of wine and served himself a glass of the delicious liquid. He then left the bottle on top of the table and grabbed the glass of wine, drinking from time to time. "I am sure they will be pleased, after all my weapons are the best of the best. Contact either Seraphim, Michael, Specter or Rober, and ask them when we can have this meeting." The employee noted all the information and left to send the message to the Ministry as soon as possible.
 
Forrest.jpg


A poster of Big Brother hung over his head as he continued to waste daylight at the entrance to the Ministry, thumbing idly while looking up to the bleak skies. Cumulus clouds seemed stretched exponentially into wispy trails of despair across the world Atlas held on his shoulders. Perhaps it foreshadowed an evening storm that was to come, but then again, this sort of austerity always graced the land of Oceania. A constant battle between the Sun and the sky paralleled the pending conflict between the totalitarian nation and Eurasia, and perhaps the Heavens dared to provide the land with physical representations of the malevolent strife to come. No matter what the situation was, however, it always seemed to be reflected by the drifting and pathetic excuses for the clouds that filled Agent Rover’s mind as he laid back on the cold stone below him.

However, he began to sense something. Not a change in the elements, but more like a new life taking form. Immediately he raised himself from his recumbent position, and looked here and there for aura that put his nerves on edge. It was not a powerful or imposing presence by any means, but instead a faint flicker of strength that might have been inherited from another adamant soul. Regardless, this intrigued Forrest so much that he began to stand, his fingers grazing his dormant shotgun while glazed eyes scanned the horizon before him. At first, all he could see was the ghost town before him, slowly decaying as it always was in its subservience to the Government, but eventually, the silhouette of a man entered the scene.

It was a man on a mission. Rover could sense this in the way the stranger carried himself. Those who oversaw the entrance to the Ministry were usually confrontational when a man they did not recognize dared to ‘trespass’, but Rover was of a different breed. No, he actually enjoyed unusual situations like these. Instead of being direct and ferocious, he was more laid back and maniacal, though one might not have been able to pick up on this based on his appearance. His tight uniform clung to him like saran wrap, though it allowed for a wide range of mobility as he took one step forward, his leather boots squeaking almost inaudibly as he caught the features of the messenger.

“A visitor! A servant! Behold, young men, the redolent air of a man on a mission!” he exclaimed, much to the surprise of the guards that accompanied him on that eve. “What’s your purpose, if I may be so rude to ask? I’m afraid I can’t let visitors pass unless they have a... worthy objective. Ya dig?” asked Rover, smiling almost comically as he began balancing on his heels with amusement.
​
 
"Yo, now that I think about it, some food would be nice. I've been living off this candy for a few days now."

Was he truly that poor? No. A majority of their money sat with the rest of his gang; since he was no doubt separated from the rest of them, his source of cash and resources had been cut off ever since. So why was he buying manga and candy instead of actual food? It was crazy, but he'd rather be hungry than bored. It was something he always had a problem with -- no matter how satisfied his stomach was, his boredom often killed the sensation.

"I'll find it myself, though. Then me and Yukio-kun can talk about paying him back; after all, there's gotta be some kinda price for a guy like me to stay here."

There was always the catch; no matter how friendly or accommodating someone was, there was always a hidden stipulation. Why couldn't anything purely stem from the kindness of ones heart and soul? Bastards. It didn't matter, though; hopefully, Lin-chan was doing more than the others were; at least she was willing to work for her share of the profits.

Whether or not he was accompanied by a servant, he'd find the dining hall and eagerly step inside, but something was bothering. A familiar air of awkwardness and overall inability to find himself comfortable. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get rid of the feeling of dread. . .

Work was work -- it didn't matter what kind of it was, someone had to do it. Fortunately, fate smiled down on her when she was fortunate to land such an easy job for a man that didn't look half bad. Being a servant wasn't too hard, but with each and every day that passed, she felt her edge slipping away. Sustenance -- she needed blood, death, combat, to truly feel alive. As nice as it was to simply relax, there was no way she could go for long without sharpening that mental blade.

They had new guests, so obviously, she needed to get to work, right? Tiers curled into the sweetest smile she could muster, hands clasped together over her waist as she stepped into the dining room. Before she even managed to look around, she was already speaking in an upbeat tone, even if her English wasn't that good.

"Hi-hi! How I help you, sir?"

With an sideward glance toward the door, jade oculi met with those of her boss; her smile, compared to his horrified glance, was something worthy of putting on some stupid website as a prank.

"Hi, boss!"


"..Lin-chan?"
 
Silk

Silk sighed and pointed to the paper in front of Paris.
"Read them," he said, downing his shot and ordering two more, "then you'll see what I mean. Keep the map, destroy the other one. This information is crucial to the Rebellion, and if the Agents know we have it, we'll have to-"
He cut off as the little machine in the corner of the room began to beep.
"We have a minute left," he said quickly, "when that light goes red, they're scanning the quadrant. So quickly, don't talk openly about anything Rebellion-related. Capiche?"

The light went on and Silk stopped talking.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Imraldis

The rain began to start as Imraldis stepped through the gates to the inner city, nodding to the Agents guarding the gates as he flashed his Agent ID card. This city bored the living shit out of him, but he had a reason to be here.
"Goddamn it," he muttered as he began walking, his dark-blue coat flapping in the wind, flashing the white of his kimono underneath it, a roughly-clap citizen attempted to push past him in the mill of people trying to go about their work and got a broken arm for his trouble. He started to complain loudly until Imraldis silenced him with a glare and a flash of his Agent ID. The man stopped whining and apologized, not even registering in Imraldis' mind as he kept walking.
"Damn citizens used to have respect," he cursed, the throng around him opening up as his coat flashed a glimpse of one of his katanas and a flash of his extremely irate face. People knew when to move and when not to, and around this guy, it seemed the latter option was a stupid one.

Reaching a crossroad section, Imraldis looked up and saw the Ministry of Love looming over the other buildings. Approaching the building from the North wasn't Imraldis' favourite idea, it looked so much... not better but different from the West and East, but he had to get there fast and from the airport it had been the closest way.
He hated going to the Ministry of Love, mainly because he hated the ones in charge here, particularly Agent Seraphim. Walking ever closer, he felt the familiar feeling of irritation grow inside him and, by the time he had reached the front entrance, he was well and truly pissed.

"I am here to see Agent Seraphim about a mission I need to accomplish as soon as possible." he said as curtly and authoritatively as he could as he walked in, dismissing the guards with his ID. However, to his annoyance, the Agent at reception wasn't impressed. Yet.
"Who may I ask needs to know this?" the man asked, equally as curtly, until Imraldis threw back his coat, revealing his trademark outfit; kimono, hakama and obi.
"M-m-my apologies Agent Imraldis," the receptionist stuttered, "he is up on Floor 13 I believe, that is what I was told last."
Dismissing the receptionist as soon as he had said Floor 13, Imraldis made his way over to the elevators. Luckily, one was down very quickly, as Imraldis was not in a mood to be kept waiting.
Stepping into the elevator, he flashed his Agent ID to one of the cameras to confirm his position and waited, as the elevator made the long climb up to the thirteenth floor.
 
Paris memorised the contents of both pieces of paper. Then he ate one and put the other in his pocket. "HA didnt think id do that did you?"
The look on the assain's face was priceless, it was a mixture of confusement and incomprehension.
Some guy brought over two shots, he didnt know what they were. He grabbed one and downed it.
"mmm" Paris enjoyed the warmth travelling down his throat, he stood up.
"hey baby i think we should go now, we have to sort out our work for the government". He winked at the little machine in the corner, he walked out of the bar after waiting to see that silk had gotten up.
 
Silk sighed at the way Paris handled that then got up, nodding to the other patrons, and walked outside with him.
"Ate the paper..." he muttered, shaking his head and catching up to him.
"I think we should go to a place I know," he said, as they were outside and whispering quietly, "its a mansion, owned by a guy called Tokugawa Yukio. That man you saw before who was with me, Mamoru his name is, he went there I think. Its a good place to be for-" he broke off as two petty Agents walked past them.
"-for people like us." he finished succinctly.
"Its only a few blocks from here," he said, as they rounded a corner and continued down, "and he knows me, or will know my reputation via our channels, so hopefully we can get in."
 
"Haha, real popular with the ladies, eh, 'Ellis?" Gabriel cracked a grin at the other as he felt the man's hand pat his back in a joking manner. This guy was way too friendly for his own good, wasn't he? Gabriel bet he was the kind of lonely guy that waved and smiled at strangers while passing by in the grocery store. He probably even assists every single woman who needs to cross a street, in doing so. In fact, Gabriel imagined that Rill had a device programmed in his mind that alerted him to every elderly woman in need, so that he knew right where to go.

Gabriel snickered to himself, and rubbed at his mouth with a closed fist, in order to rid himself of those thoughts. Poor Rill, he was just a genuinely nice guy, and Gabriel's mind was already going wild with ways to make fun of him. "So, Rill, you seem like a cool guy. Mind goin' for a walk back with me to my pad?" Gabriel blushed slightly, eyes widening as he realized how 'queer' that might have sounded. "Err, sorry, man. I didn't mean for that to totally sound gay. Just askin' to hang out. --Yeah, 'hang out,' doesn't sound fruity, right?"

Poor Gabriel, he was certainly investing way too much time in trying to maintain his masculinity.
gabrielsig.jpg

​
Yukio had grinned as Mamoru spoke of reffering to him as Yukio-kun. "Good, then. So we won't have any misunderstandings. I like to keep a relative level of respect within this place. Well, go head to the Dining Hall, you'll be taken care of."

Yukio arched a brow, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling as he heard the intercom. It sounded like some high-pitched girl. What the? Yukio didn't recall inviting any women here. Not that he was complaining. The only attractive thing in the vicinity was his servant Hye-Lin, and Yukio just had an inkling that she might be entirely out of her mind. Though, he did find her broken English very amusing.

Yukio gave Ansell the go-ahead to let their female guest inside, and Yukio would make his way to the front doors. Poor guy didn't know what he'd be in for once he got there. Expect the Noble to be blushing, flustered, and possibly drooling after that door opened to reveal a strikingly attractive woman.
yukiosig5.jpg

​
Seraphim chuckled at Michael's comment of hiring a 'horrible decorator.' Seraphim felt quite the opposite. He was positive that Michael was the only person he could have called upon to get the job done, the right way. He had moved to sit behind his desk, motioning for Michael to take a seat at the other side, before the door opened and Agent Spectre came inside.

"Ah, Spectre. Is there something I can help you with?" Seraphim felt the initial rise of a raven brow as he looked at the other, but his expression returned to normal shortly afterward. Yet, before Seraphim could even get an answer out of him, his telephone rang, eliciting a chuckle out of the Agent. "Haha, seems I'm quite the commodity today." Seraphim made a briefly apologetic motion in Spectre's direction as he picked up the phone, before pressing the button to activate the speaker phone. "This is Agent Seraphim." "Agent Seraphim, it's the front desk. There's an Agent...Imraldis on his way to see you." "Is that so? Thank you for informing me."

Seraphim hung up the phone, before leaning back in his chair and grinning. "Quite the commodity indeed. I think I'll be needing a bigger office if this continues."
seraphimsig5.jpg

​
How to describe him? One would likely take a look at Agent Weiss and wonder where nature went wrong. He was almost constantly grinning, and if he wasn't grinning, he was frowning, and if not that, he was giving a death glare. Weiss switched between emotions at the drop of a dime, sometimes even quicker than that. It always came as a slight surprise, because his appearance was so porcelain and doll-like in nature, yet his animated expressions and ease of use with his voice, shattered that 'doll-like image.'

And where was Weiss right now? In what was left of the lobby, violet orbs fixed on the amused form of Agent Rover. If there was anyone in this Ministry that made Weiss look like a straight-laced schoolboy, it was Rover. And, perhaps that was why Weiss liked to hang around the guy. There was actually someone in this world nuttier than he was!

Weiss would slip a hand into one of his coat-pockets, retrieving a strawberry bon-bon candy. He popped it into his mouth, wrapper and all, and within a few seconds, would pull the wrapper out of his mouth, tossing it to the ground. A nearing Ministry-worker would step on the aluminum wrapper, causing a slight crackling sound. Weiss turned to look at her, brows burrowed and lips curled into a pout. "Don't look at me like that, Lady. Why don't you pick it up and throw it out?" Weiss accentuating his pouting lips, like some schoolgirl proving she won a bet.

With candy safely placed in his mouth and enjoyed thoroughly, Weiss would walk over to Rover, who seemed far too concerned with the newcomer's presence. "'Ey, Rover. I think I figured out why they never put you on secret missions." Weiss grinned, from ear to ear, as he waited for Rover to ask 'why?' And if he didn't, well, Weiss was going to finish his own riddle anyway. "...Because of that big ol' mouth of yours." No one ever said that Weiss knew how to make friends now, did they?
 
As Silk and his companion reached the gate to the Tokugawa Mansion, they saw a woman go inside the gates.
Walking up to the gate, Silk pressed the intercom and asked to be let in, stating casually the name of a High Ranked Rebel officer and his own number, but in a way that was completely circumspect. Tokugawa Yukio would know exactly who he was, he hoped.
"Now all we have to do, is wait." he said calmly, reaching into his coat and drawing out a pair of dice which he began to roll between his fingers.
"Want to dice while we wait?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Imraldis, extremely annoyed by now, had reached the thirteenth floor, but hit a sort of dead end.
"I'm sorry sir," the Agent who was holding him up said, "but Agent Seraphim gave orders no-one was to disturb this floor."
"Interesting," Imraldis said, pretending to care as he racked his brains for a way to deal with this snit. He had a reputation of injuring lower down Agents who got in his way, but someone always had to test that reputation. Seraphim he was sure was getting tired of the complaints about broken/fractured/snapped bones and injuries of other descriptions but so far, nothing had been done against Imraldis.
"Well then," he said, cutting off whatever claptrap the Agent was spouting, "I guess I'll just go in then wont I?"
"Uh," the Agent was shaken, "No sir," again that peculiar emphasis on Sir, "my orders we-" he broke off as Imraldis kicked him in the groin. hard. As the other guarding Agent came to help him, Imraldis punched him in the chest, winding him, then grabbed his left arm and pulled, fracturing the bone.
"Don't," he said in a venom fuelled voice as he walked past the debilitated Agents, "wait up."

Walking down the corridor, he nodded his head to some Agents, received a nod from others that he returned and ignored others completely.
He hated Agent politics, he cared only for Big Brother, but he was no stranger to the stuff he hated. As he reached an intersection, he turned left, and bumped straight into one of his old recruit-friends.
"Imraldis, good to see you!" Agent Chyma said, his one eye gleaming as they shook hands. Chyma was one of Imraldis' few friends, and Chyma usually worked in the Ministry of Truth, so Imraldis was slightly confused.
When he voiced his confusion, Chyma's face went irate.
"Some bastard Rebels tried to break in," he said, his voice passionate and vexed, "so some of us from Truth were called over to help. Gorgova, you know him, fat, walrus moustache," Imraldis chuckled, "he died, but everyone else is OK."
"Good to hear old friend," Imraldis said, clapping his friend on the shoulder, "but I have to see Seraphim, got an important mission." As he walked on, he called behind him, "and give my regards to Stefan!"
Chyma chuckled as he walked away, it was an in-joke that had survived since the Recruit-days.

Reaching the Door to Seraphim's Office, the guard checked his headset then motioned for Imraldis to enter.
Opening the door with a quiet sense of irritation, his previous vexation had been let off on the earlier guards and seeing Chyma, Imraldis walked in to the Office and saluted, noticing the presence of another Agent. Spectre he thought his name was.
Remaining silent, he waited for his commands.
 
The scent of pinesol masked by cinnimon drifted aimlessly in her new office. Not enough to cause a distaste but enough to be noticed and faintly felt. The flashing monitors spilled information ceaselessly over their pixelated plating. She couldn't help but stare wide eyed forcing her pupils to dialate larger in the hopes of seeping in more information. The room itself was lined with monitors along the walls each propped up on its own seperate desk and each accessable from a single position with a wireless keyboard and oddly a corded mouse. Shauna couldn't help but chuckle.

Three long strides placed her right in front of the command station where she reaced down, seized the mouse in her hand then yanked the cord out of the wall. She wouldn't be needing that. Her hands floated momentarily above the keyboard before finally settling down atop its dust-free surface. Her fingers sat nestled perfectly against its keys, she felt herself take the new model for a test run. Satisfied, she started to work.

R...u...n... p...r...o...g...r...a...m' she started to type and cooed a soft sigh of comfort. The response from the keyboard was perfect, exact, like a perfectly tuned instrument or the trigger on a firearm set just for you. Her fingers reached for the enter key when suddenly everything went black. The windowless office turned from a blinking, bubbling mess of wires and technological glory to a tomb, Shauna couldn't help but scream.

The darkness subdued her voice as if she were deep underwater and breathing in ocean. Her mind frantically tried to get her to move but she couldn't budge, petrified of the lurking darkness. 'Oh no...I can't breathe' she managed to think and finally she did move, her hands grasped her throat, instinct wanting to tear at the thing causing her pain. Collapsing to the floor her feet kicked and pushed until she felt her back make contact with a wall. Tears welled up in her ducts dripping slowly down the bridge of her nose resting for an eternal moment before taking the plunge into the abyss. Her hands reached to either side and felt along the walls hoping to find her way back to the elevator.

There, crawling meekly towards where she thought the door might be, forgetting to breathe cought up with her and she passed out.

In the deepest part of her mind a spark connected bridging the gap between the mysterious agent that had saved her life all those years ago, to the one who had offered so recently such great hospitality. Seraphim, had wrapped her like a newborn in his coat and stood her upright. Her disheveled face and matted hair moved to see her savior and he brought powerful hands to smooth her face and clean her tears. The same impossible smile passed across his lips and he turned to leave, her heart beating in her throat. In the still, calm of her coccooned office she was in love. If only with a dream.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cinnamon masked citrus passed through her nostrils biting at the back of her tongue. The spark caused her to sit up, her face felt like it had barely survived a chicken match with a mack truck. The pain waned quickly and her thoughts were cut short by a blinking light. Big Brothers super computers were booting back up. Thats when she noticed the lights were on. A familiar whirring chided in as the air conditioning activated. Could it be I just dreamed it? she thought pushing herself to her feet. Shauna looked up at the clock and gasped. She was late for the last train home!

Frantically she gathered her things and rushed to the elevator. The tasks she was required to do would have to wait till morning. The elevator rose to the top and signaled for her to enter. Arriving in the lobby at night was alarming. Empty and serene with fake plants and splotchy artwork covering the walls. Quickly, Shauna dashed through the door and began the long, lonely walk home.
 
Caleb.jpg


Chocolate eyes reflected a glint of light that entered his line of vision, as he slowly raised his head to see no bright object before him. Not even a puddle of water met his gaze, but it wouldn’t have mattered for the Sun was now behind a generous amount of clouds, casting the entire city in shadows. The black beings that shielded the cosmic entity from the world glowed around the edges, perhaps a silver lining on a day that didn’t immediately reveal any sort of event to look forward to. Wings fluttered and flapped wildly, and the black crow that served as the bouncer to the bar took off, dipping under and over parked cars as if it were some sort of slalom. Eventually, it would sweep onto an iron-wrought gate of some sort, painted black to accurately reflect the demeanor of the city. Piercing beads disguised as eyes flickered over to Caleb on his crate, and then a squawk was freed from the dark beak.

Mouth agape, the Whitaker man stood up from his wooden platform, and dusted his posterior off as he looked up to a comatose colossus of in the distance. Only its outline was visible through the suffocating fog, but the cashier knew that it was a mansion of some sort. Right then, something clicked in his mind... he knew what this place was; he just couldn’t put his finger on it. The name was on the end of his tongue, preparing for a magnificent dive that would be rated a ‘10’ by a full panel of ornery and stern judges. Bouncing on the precipice of the unknown, it prepared for its miraculous victory; it could only come too soon.

A couple of dark figures traversed the gates to the titan in the distance, talking between themselves in hushed, perhaps frightened whispers. There was a reason that the crow had relocated so easily and without protest, and now, as a pair of omens advanced along the winding path up, he knew that it was time. Caleb found himself jaywalking across the street, eyes still locked on the foreign figure hidden behind a veil of vapor. Perhaps the mystery behind the construct was intensified by his lack of eye wear, but he did not need it. As long as he could make out a few blurry images here and there, he knew that his swollen feet would take him in the right direction.

Caleb was a foreigner on this property. A stray lamb, if you will. He did not let his worn aura jeopardize his mission, however. Quietly, he continued his strong march forward, still avoiding every crack while swaying some. His pearl-colored apron billowed easily around his kneecaps as the breeze picked up some, urging him forward with all persistence. Were Caleb a bit lighter, it might have been able to simply carry him to his destination, but Caleb was a grown man now. No longer could he rely on others as well as the elements to raise and support him. He was his own man, and had his own destiny to pursue. The training wheels had been removed.

Erect pillars stood tall as without warning, the features of the mansion came into view. Caleb halted in his trek upwards as he waited for the two ominous figures to disappear within the confines of the abode before continuing along. Mocha and cream whirled together to form a beautiful color to adorn the entrance, along with brick and statues and shrubbery and whatever else the homeowner chose to wield in decorating the face of this treasured beauty. Caleb’s simple and gray apartment flat could not compare to this, as luxurious comfort seemed to ooze through each crack and each groove. Perhaps he WAS too frugal for this; he didn’t even know what he was doing here. There was a strong divide between rich and poor for a reason. The boundary wasn’t established to be crossed; at least, not so easily.

Caleb Whitaker soon stripped himself of his clothing, removing his pea coat and then untying his apron only to toss it aside and out of sight. This revealed his strained orange shirt that was the advertising billboard for the café, and he ripped that off as well to show a sleeveless ribbed black shirt that clung to his body without restraint. Satisfied, Caleb threw his coat back on over this, buttoning it across the center and tying it around the midriff to look far more presentable, his black slacks not hindered by coffee or its additives.

It was time. Slowly, he picked up the golden knocker to the dream house, clanking far more obnoxiously than he wished. As he awaited a servant or attendant to greet him, he ran his hands through his dark hair, it swooping just across his long eyelashes. It wasn’t his intent to fully rid himself of his vision, his glasses now long gone and irretrievable.

Forrest.jpg


Rover outstretched his hand to receive the necessary credentials to permit the messenger to continue on inside, but when a soft and somewhat eccentric tone cut into the situation, his arm soon lowered. At first, he believed the voice to come from some other dimension, addressing a creature that was not he, but that almost sultry inflection was indisputably recognizable. Most other voices that he could have heard on that condemned afternoon were stark and monotonous, but this particular voice was the complete opposite. Perhaps his conscience was addressing him, but he knew that his own psyche wasn’t as witty, if that riddle could’ve been identified as such. Clicking his tongue a couple times, Agent Rover turned on his heel without any sort of flourish.

“Agent Weiss,” he said with a laugh, itching his lower abdomen while he cracked his jaw unceremoniously. “I think they don’t put me on secret missions because of my lil’ partner on my back, not because of my mouth. Mouths can always be taped or glued, but the roar of Bessie cuts through everything, if yanno what I mean. I’m fine with bein’ an executioner though, you don’t have to worry about being stealthy or none of that.” His eyes narrowed some to lock on the mirrored figure of Weiss, a man that could have been his second half if Rover didn’t possess such a disdain for him.

One thing about Forrest Collins is that he hated anyone and everyone who could compete with his skills for destruction. Rivalries only annoyed him, giving him worry lines and gritted teeth, as he had to try even harder to outdo himself. It was ridiculous really, giving any sort of distinguishable effort when on the job. It was much easier to just have his own expectations instead of exceeding those of his co-workers, and Agent Weiss was one of the few who he had to do just that for. Weiss was a challenge; an obstacle that had to be overcome every time he graced Rover’s presence. That is why Rover was as ferocious in battle as he was; he pushed to that point because of the competition around him.

“I think I figured out why you’re never put on any cool missions,” Rover then replied, almost echoing Weiss’s statement from before, “Because you’d rather chomp on your little candy thingamajigs instead of bein’ useful. Wahey to that!” he exclaimed, punching the air and almost knocking the messenger flat on his back. He had just barely missed uppercutting the stranger in the jaw, but if he would have, it wouldn’t have been much of a problem. Rover had a reputation for hitting things out of random urges, may they be inanimate objects or not. It was in this manner that Rover advanced his bishop and captured one of Weiss’s rooks; now it was the latter’s move.
​
 
Still no answers from "The Party", and Salazar's patience was growing very thin. Apparently, his employee did not delivered the message, that or the Ministry was just ignoring him. Of all things Salazar hated the most, being ignore was among the top of the list, followed by betrayed and deceived. Lacking any more patience, Salazar decided that it was necessary to pay a small visit to the Ministry. Salazar soon picked up his gear and summoned one of his guards to bring the limousine. The guard went downstairs to deliver the message.

Mathias Salazar, annoyed and a little uneasy due to not having any news about the Ministry, exited the room and went down stairs. As we went down step by step, Mathias found himself in the Grand Hall of his Mansion, magnificently decorated by luxurious pieces of art. Heavily armed guards stood at both sides of the giant stairway. Salazar arrived to the first floor, heading impatiently to the front doors. One of the guards opened the door for Salazar as he left the Mansion and arrived to the courtyard. As he had ordered, a limousine awaited for him. Another guard dressed in a black suit and wearing black sunglasses opened the door of the limousine for Salazar, and he entered the car.

"To the Ministry, fast."
 
Spectre informed Seraphim vaguely of his mission, and turned to face the agent who had just entered the room.
"Ah, Agent Imraldis, I assume?"
Spectre held out his hand to greet the man.
 
Last edited:
Yukio blinked as he heard the blip of another person knocking on the gate of his estate. "You can't be serious...! When did my home become a party house?" Yukio sighed, slapping a hand against his face and holding it there, fingertips disturbing those golden lockes of hair. He was going to go to the security room this time. Hurriedly, he would make his way for one of the security rooms, leaning over the monitor which was hooked to one of the outdoor surveillance cameras. That form...looked rather familiar. He knew he'd seen him before in bars, and he was obviously not affiliated with any sort of Government activities. His attire gave him right away as a Rebel. Yukio snatched up the microphone, allowing for his voice to be heard to the Rebel outside. "You may enter. I'll speak with you inside. Watch out for the gates." On that note, the first gate would begin to open, with enough time for the Rebel to get inside, before it would close behind him, and the two gates before him would do the same. Yukio would exit the security room, and return to the front door, where he would finally be greeted by that attractive weapon's dealer, and wait for this newfound Rebel.

...Or perhaps not. Yukio groaned with disbelief as he heard the intercom once again. "...Are...you...kidding?!" Yukio's eyes remained wide as he, again, smacked a hand to his forehead. "Ansell! Let them in. Just let, whoever the hell wants to come in, in. And tell Rusk he better get busy cooking!" Yukio sighed, placing his hands at his sides as he waited at the door to greet his nameless new guests.
yukiosigjail.jpg

​
"Hm? A new mission directly from Big Brother, Spectre? Congratulations, I'm quite impressed! I'm sure you'll handle it flawlessly. Just be sure to check in with the Ministry every now and then so we can keep tabs on you." Just as he finished addressing Spectre, Imraldis had entered into his office. Seraphim would offer up a pleasant smile at seeing the man, followed by another trademark chuckle as he rose up from behind his desk and stepped over to the other Agent, extending a hand in a formal greeting.

"I'm going to have to hear from some injured Ministry workers, aren't I? Haha. Well, not that I can blame you, sometimes I'd like to knock them around too. It's good to see you, Agent Imraldis." A pause as he tilted his head back, examining the older man's expression. It was no wonder that Imraldis would dislike Seraphim, since he was nearly ten years older than Seraphim was, and yet, Seraphim was the head-honcho here. "How can I be of assistance?" He glanced to Michael and Spectre, briefly, before speaking once more. "Or, is this something you would like me to step out into the hall for?"
seraphimsig2.jpg

​
Weiss knitted his brows together, lips forming that obvious pout as he listened to what Rover had to say to him. Weiss took a few deep breaths, fists clenched and body tensing, as he tried to calm his flaring temper. How dare he make fun of his candy-obsession! Weiss glared at the other, before snatching up two more hard candies, unwrapping them, and tossing them into his mouth, as if they were education. He suckled and tossed them around in his mouth in a noisy manner, before presenting Rover with the widest, pearly-white smile he'll have ever seen in his life. Weiss must have a dentist from the Gods if he's able to keep his mouth looking like that!

"Candy keeps me from killing people when I shouldn't be. Kinda calms my nerves, ya 'know?" Poor Weiss. All he wanted was a little bit of friendship with this Rover, but he was just so socially awkward. And if that wasn't enough, Rover saw him only as some batshit rival. Weiss snickered a little. "You know, one time, when I didn't have any candy on me, Seraphim was chiding me for something I had done wrong, and I got so angry that I punched him in the face!" What?! No one would dare strike Seraphim...! Let alone live to tell about it! "...Well, I tried to, at least. But he grabbed my wrist and broke it before I could hit him. That guy is sooo fast. He must be jacked up on Methamphetamines or somethin'!"

What a nice life to live, as a dazed, sugar-fueled Agent. This kid would have been much better off in life if his family had just let him be. Instead of a troubled Prince with multiple personality disorder, he became some outrageously bipolar pawn of the Government. Not much of an upgrade.
 
What the hell is she doing here? Is this what she meant when she said she was going to find a secondary income source? Crazy ass woman. She does look pretty good, though.

It was quite a shock to see her inhabiting the mansion as a servant; no matter how many times he had asked something of her, she always threatened him, or anyone else, with castration and complete and utter torture. The costume made him wonder, though -- just what exactly was she working HERE for? She couldn't cook, and she adamantly refused to do any kind of work other than kill. .

"Lin-chan, what the hell are you doing here?!"

"I work here boss!"

What if Yukio actually did have a reason for hiring her? Was the poor guy lonely or somethin'? He could understand, though; the guy looked more like a feminine, humanoid cow than anything else. Wait, was she prostituting? That was impossible; she tried to kill Reeve for hitting on her a few months ago. Curious as to why his subordinate was working in a place like this, he almost made himself leave the dining hall. He stopped when his stomach growled, bubbled, and roared at him, forcing him to turn back to Lin.

"Okay; why are you working here, then?"

"Because it easy!"

If there was anything more frightening than her skill with a blade, it was her pleasant demeanor; she wasn't working for the man because she thought he was attractive -- she wasn't like a majority of the women that had some sort of odd obsession with feminine males. In fact, she thought he was mediocre at best, perhaps even ugly

"Easy, huh?"

(EDIT: A majority of the post was re-written to flow better, and Mamoru didn't go to see Yukio this time because of the massive influx of guests. >_>)
 
Last edited:
Looking expectantly up at the intercom, she only had to wait a few moments till a dignified voice answered her
"Yes Madam, please come in. Master Yukio will meet you in the Main Hall. Oh, and do be careful of the gates please madam."
With a happy grin on her face she started to move between the gates as soon as they opened, "Okay! Thank you!" Before she moved completely past the first set of gates she noticed two men making their way toward the Mansion. One had bleached blond, curly hair and a shirt that was way too big for him. The other guy, had a menacing air about him, as if he was ready to reach for a weapon of some sort at any moment. He looked quite plain other than the gloves he was wearing. A bit farther back she also saw a coffee boy who worked at one of the coffee shops she liked to visit. He was her favorite <3. He always got her White Chocolate Mocha right! Mhmmmm.....just the thought of the wondrous drink almost got her pinched by the gate! Snapping back to the present she made her way through the gates and up to the magnificent double doors. Not wanting to be caught outside with those men, she quickly opened the right door, and went inside.
"Wow! This is amazing! Who has this much money!.... Well they really need to dust that chandelier though...oh! Hi!" Walking up to the impecably dressed man with gorgeous golden hair, she clasped her hands behind her back and bent forward slightly, "You must be Whity-chan! Your my buyer correct? See anything you want? <3"
 
Having arrived in his black limousine at the gates of the Ministry, Salazar ordered his driver to park the limousine by the entrance of the building. Salazar however, remained inside his limousine and made a direct call to Seraphim. In the meantime, the agents posted at the entrance verified Salazar's credentials, to make sure he was the true Mathias Salazar. Salazar pulled out his cell phone and dialed Seraphim's number, then awaited for the call to be answered.

"This is Mathias Salazar from Salazar Corp. I call you to speak about the new weapons "The Party" has ordered. Your anti air weapons are ready. It will arrive in a cargo airplane near the Luton Airport, here in London. I am sure you know where it is. Also concerning your Ministry's defense system, I would like to be informed of what was the problem. I will send my scientists and technicians to fix whatever was wrong."
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Back
Top