Corruption.

[Contra Fates]

Sign Up Thread: http://www.finalfantasyforums.net/cosmo-canyon/corruption-sign-up-and-discuss-17289.html

Date Started: 2/22. [Angel's Address.]
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[FONT=&quot]G[/FONT][FONT=&quot]loved knuckles would rap against the wooden door before him, the attire of this man being that of his usual. A black, well-pressed suit, with a red undershirt and tie--who knew that even those that lurked amongst the demons had a talent for color coordination? Atop his head he wore a black hat, which shadowed his fiery red gaze, for the moment. "Hello? Is this not the residence of Renaud Haze?" The voice was put-on, imitating that of innocence, not one that wished to bring ill-will. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]A perfected killer, a perfected actor...even the words were eloquent. Seraphim could do no wrong. ...But of course that was an outright [FONT=&quot]lie.[/FONT][/FONT][FONT=&quot]"Wh-Who is it?” It was the nervous response from behind the door. “My name is Richard Brier, I’m just conducting a survey on the living conditions of this apartment complex.” “Ah, all right." A male voice came from inside the home, and the door was opened, slowly. "I'm very sorry...I've been very paranoid as of late."[/FONT][FONT=&quot]"Oh? May I ask as to why? --May I?" Seraphim's gaze remained shadowed beneath the rim of his hat, but he'd motion inward with his hands.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]"Oh, of course! Come in, come in."[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Stepping aside, he'd allow the raven-haired devil further inside his home. A mistake, which would be his last.-[/FONT][FONT=&quot]"Now, why was it that you've been worried, [FONT=&quot]Comrade?[/FONT]"[/FONT][FONT=&quot] "It's my neighbors, Sir. They've been telling me that the devil with hair of night and eyes like blood would come for me, they're saying I've committed treason. Surely a man like you could understand my worries." [/FONT][FONT=&quot]"Oh yes, of course."[/FONT][FONT=&quot] "Pardon my rudeness, but you don’t seem to be carrying a clipboard." [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“My, quite the observant one, Mr. Haze.” With a tip of his hat, he'd tilt his head heavenward, revealing the scarlet of iris that lay obscured beneath the rim of black hat. "The Angel Gabriel often said; 'Do not be afraid,' yet the one that stands before you, encourages that terror. I am that man of which you've long feared...The Devil with Red Eyes, Agent Seraphim. May your life have been a fine one, for your death shall be anything but."[/FONT][FONT=&quot] "Oh my dear God!" The struggle would begin, yet soon would it end once the man cried out for help. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Seraphim prided himself on carrying out mission after mission, without so much as a glance of suspicion from neighboring persons. Gloved hands would find themselves snaked around the man's neck, and he'd be lifted off of his feet, eyes wide with the utmost horror. "Please, please have mercy! For the love of Go--" [/FONT][FONT=&quot]"[/FONT][FONT=&quot]There will be no talk of God in my presence. The only word beginning with that sound shall be Government, the institution of which you have betrayed."[/FONT][FONT=&quot] "Please, I beg of you--uck!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Seraphim's hands would swiftly turn, a satisfying snap of bone resounding from the action. Renaud was silenced, and once Seraphim released him, would fall to the floor with a thud. Adjusting the hat that he replaced atop his head, his wrist would be raised to his lips, and words would be uttered. [/FONT]<o></o>
[FONT=&quot]"Renaud Haze has been vaporized. Mission[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Accomplished. Send in the clean up crew."[/FONT][FONT=&quot]"Good Job, Agent Seraphim. They will be on their way." [/FONT][FONT=&quot]He'd press the button upon the watch once, and silently, he'd exit the room, like a shadow. The soft clicks of finely shined shoes resonated on the rocky floors of the alleyway, his hand raised to readjust that darkened hat, obscuring the beauty below it. But was he alone in that alley? Perhaps someone had watched him that entire time as he killed with such ease and lack of remorse. And yet, that was his internal beauty. You wanted, so badly, to make that Devil feel goodness in his heart. Many a woman, and man, had fallen to his Luciferian charms and beauty, died a horrible death as they stroked the long silken hair of midnight. He was an enthralling individual, and demanded attention, even while doing such simple acts as walking past another. But the attraction to the Devil was always strong, undeniable....would even an Angel fall from grace in order to dwell with him in passionate flames? Perhaps.<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Seraphim’s continued strides would direct him back to the shining tower of ‘hope’ in this dreadful city; the government’s central head quarters. Some refer to it as ‘The Ministry of Love,’ yet Seraphim merely thought of it as his playhouse of horrors. Seraphim would pause, glancing at his watch; 0545 hours. Fifteen minutes early. Without fail, Seraphim would arrive at his office at 0600 hours. Yet his ‘last little joy’ of the morning had taken less time than he had expected. No matter. The sun would still rise and set, even if he arrived at work early. But, something caught his attention. He could feel the presence of another, a pair of eyes peering behind glass. As his lifted arm fell back at his side, his blood-colored eyes would shift in that person’s direction. What did a person feel when an Agent like Seraphim was staring at them? Did their heart skip? Was their breath caught in their throat? Seraphim allowed the corners of his lips to be tugged, resulting in a fleeting smile. He smiled at that person, an action that was sure to leave their mind racing.<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Yet, as swiftly as he had turned his attention toward those prying eyes, he would detach it. Rotating on a heel, he would turn his back to the glass, raven strands wavering in the motion. It was time for the Devil with Red Eyes to begin his day. Fourteen minutes early.<o></o>[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot]“Young Lord, won't you even consider listening to reason?” There was a kindly gentleman, back bent and eyes observing the young, golden-haired man with scrutiny.[/FONT][FONT=&quot] “Why should I? My pockets run deeper than the soil this home is built upon. Why not put it to better use?” [/FONT][FONT=&quot]The older man leaned back, his wrinkled face contorted with evident dismay. “You know the fate that befalls those that oppose---“[/FONT][FONT=&quot] “Don't say it, Ansell. Why must you always worry about me? Why not put a little more faith in me, for once?” The headstrong noble paused for a moment, his warm gaze drifting off, before returning to the worried facade of his most loyal servant. “What is my name, Ansell?” [/FONT][FONT=&quot]The servant would blink repeatedly, slightly confused by the youth’s inquiry. “Tokugawa Yukio.”[/FONT][FONT=&quot] “That’s right, Ansell, my name is Yukio. And your name is Ansell.” [/FONT][FONT=&quot]“Where are you going with this, Young Lord?”[/FONT][FONT=&quot] “Yukio means ‘[FONT=&quot]The One Favored By God[/FONT],’ and your name means ‘[FONT=&quot]God’s Protection[/FONT].’ With you on my side, and with that man in the Heaven’s forcing my hand, directing my righteous action…what is there to fear?” Before Ansell could even respond to the youth’s statement, Yukio was already on his feet and heading, quickly, towards an exit. A real man wasn't ruled by fear, he was ruled by his convictions. And in Yukio’s mind, God was telling him that what he was doing was the [FONT=&quot]right[/FONT] thing.<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Against the wishes of his loyal servant and friend, Yukio would find himself, hours later, tracing the streets on the outskirts of town, the pristine white color of his coat making him stand out against his dark, dirty surroundings. He was practically asking to be bait for the more mischievous persons that lurked in the shadows. A cool shiver ran up his spine, as a hint of paranoia began to settle in. He glanced around him, and quickly turned, finding himself in an alley in back of some unused factory. A rich man striding along through these streets at night was a dead man walking.<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“’Ey, look what we got ‘ere!” [/FONT][FONT=&quot] A sudden, raspy voice caught Yukio off guard, and he found himself frozen in place. Before Yukio knew what hit him, there were five men that had thrown themselves at him, hands grabbing, hitting, tearing. “Get off of me!” Yukio shouted, struggling against the muggers that held him down. He was about to grab for one of his weapons, when he felt cold steel pressed against his throat. Not good. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]“We know what some well-dressed prick like you is doin’ here! ‘Bet you went and ‘[FONT=&quot]vaporized’[/FONT] some poor sod, didn't ye’?!”[/FONT][FONT=&quot] Yukio’s eyes were struck wide at the man’s words. How dare they?! Quickly, Yukio’s hands were set in motion, one gripping the blade-wielding wrist, and another slipping into his coat to retrieved one of his most prized possessions, a sawed-off, white, double-barreled shotgun. He swung it in an upward motion, striking the chin of the big-mouthed man. He jumped forward to get away from the other attackers, only for one of them to sneak a boot before his own, and tripping him. Son of a… “Do you really think I'm an Agent!?” Yukio skittered across the ground, managing to finally rise up to his feet, shotgun aimed, and his other one also removed from the hiding place of his coat. He kept one gun trained on that mealy-mouthed man, while the other was pointed in the direction of his other attackers.<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“My name is Tokugawa Yukio, the last of the Samurai royal bloodline. I am not, in any way, shape, or form, involved with the Government’s Agents.” Yukio paused to glance down at his outfit…wrinkled, torn, and dirty. He grimaced. He so hated to have his appearance tarnished! “How dare you attack me like that! Get a move on, or I'll blow holes in you wide enough to stick my hands through!” The more verbal of the bunch didn't move a muscle, until Yukio took an angered step towards him, finger stroking the trigger of his gun. A flash of animosity in those azure eyes, and Yukio’s hand was forced…in a sideways motion which struck the barrel of his gun against the man’s face. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]The man doubled over, stunned, before finding the will in him to speak.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“This crazy son of a bitch is gonna shoot us because we got his clothes all dirty. You're just like the rest of ‘em! I hope you rot in Hell, you greedy fuck!”[/FONT][FONT=&quot] Yukio was seething at this point, eyes alive with a silent rage. The offending goons finally turned tail and ran ahead, leaving the stained and unhappy noble to hang his head, returning his guns back to his coat. Softly, he spoke to himself, aloud. “…And these are the people[FONT=&quot] I risk my life for.[/FONT]”<o></o>[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot]Pale, bare hands were shoved within the confines of his jean pockets, head tipped back and piercing emerald eyes staring towards the heavens. He looked like a young man, entirely disenchanted by life, and this much was true. An exasperated sigh would leave his lips, before his head would come back down, eyes idly trailing the sidewalk before him. His jagged style of black strands rocked with each step he took. He was so overcome with a strong sense of boredom, as though nothing he could do would satisfy his need for the most important thing in life: To feel alive.<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The sun in that grayish sky was setting, causing an ominous overcast of reds and yellows. Yet this youth saw no beauty, nor horror in that setting sun. To him, it was merely a passing of time, another uneventful day nearing its end. He found some sort of relief in that notion, which was coupled by the sight of a nearing pub. Nothing like ending a dull day with some gin and the prospects of a bar brawl. Gabriel briefly smiled to himself as he approached the pub, hoping that the men inside were soon to be gravely intoxicated, with their tempers flaring and egos soaring. If Gabriel left that pub without letting his fists fly, he would be sorely disappointed.<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]After opening the door and stepping inside, he’d scan over the populace of the pub. No one seemed to be hitting the booze too hard, just yet. He’d step up to the bar counter, taking a seat on one of the stools and motioning to the bar tender. “Give me whatever’s going to get me senseless the soonest.”
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[Ryvius]

Rill sat at what he thought was an inconspicuous corner of the bar, though it wasn’t that far from the bar’s front. Not that anywhere in the bar was, there wasn’t a lot of extra space in the room. He just sat there, looking down at his glass of syrah and taking the occasional sip. He was already tired, and was lost in thought as he often is. He had more students at his dojo than he should, given he was the only instructor. He shouldn’t have accepted so many, but he just couldn’t seem to say no. That was a character trait that had gotten him into a lot of trouble in the past, especially when it came to his awkward romantic life. He was somewhere between his romantic life and his early childhood when a sudden jolt both ripped him away from his daze, and caused him to spill his drink, leaving the pinkish color of a red wine stain on his white shirt. A few drops fell onto his pants as well, though the stain didn’t show nearly as apparent on his blue jeans. It seems while Rill was lost in thoughts over a single drink, some of the other patrons had drank a few more than they should have, and an especially loud one bumped his back into Rill while he was telling some manner of story. Rill frowned, but didn’t make anything of it. Hopefully he wouldn’t be bothered anymore, he would leave soon anyway. When he got home he could get out a little soap and hydrogen peroxide and hopefully get the stain out of his shirt. Unfortunately, this simply wasn’t the case. While the large man recited the names of the women he’d loved, and exactly how he’d loved them, his drunken attempts at acting the story out seemed to drive him against Rill again and again.
<o> </o>
“Please stop bumping into me.” Rill, finally annoyed enough to take action, had turned his head and spoke in the flat and commanding voice his students had all learned to fear. Unfortunately for Rill, and fortunately for this particular buffoon, these were not his students, and they didn’t follow his commands. The loud one picked him up by his collar, lifting his entire body several inches off the ground. “Donchu tellme…what to do you little shhhit!” He cocked back an arm and let a punch loose at Rill. Despite still being held in the air, he barely had to move to dodge the punch. The man was big, and very strong, but he was also drunk, stupid, and untrained. Rill could beat him easily, he could kill him in a few seconds if he wanted to. He could knock him and everyone listening to his story out cold before hitting the floor. He could probably kill every person in the room in less than a minute. That was exactly why he wasn’t going fight anyone, At least not if he could help it. “Let go of me, I’m not going to fight you.” He grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted his way out of his grip. He didn’t even look back as he was walking away. Just as well, since someone stepped in front of his path to the exit anyway. It seemed the big man had friends here. Rill looked around the room. Out of the people in the bar there were 3 prepared to fight him. The man who had grabbed him was roughly the size of a small bear, and drunk off his ass. There was another man beside him, somewhat smaller, but still drunk. The man in front of him looked like he was going to be the most trouble. He was much skinnier than the other two, but he was also sickeningly tall, probably close to 6’5’’, and his arms had a lot of reach. If he was drunk he wasn’t showing it, Rill guessed he knew exactly what he was doing. Filthy sadist probably hung around the other two just so he could get chances to fight more often. It would be hard to get by him and to the door without hurting anyone. Rill’s mind raced, trying to find a solution that didn’t involve fighting…

 

[DKnight]

"Three years today. It's been three years since they killed her. She was pregnant. Those monsters took my whole family. I served them so well and still they took them from me."

Daniel sat in his room alone. He spoke aloud as he remembered the moment his life was forever change. His body temperature began to rise just thinking about it. He tightened his hands into fists and stood up.

He could hear people outside. They belonged to the resistance as well. This small group of rebels lived in an underground community where the government could not find them. There were many different groups, but they were spread out all over. Most didn't even know the others existed. Daniel was one of ten people who knew how many groups were out there. The reason was because he and the nine others were the first to escape the governments trap. Now they go around establishing group after group. They all stayed in contact, keeping track of their numbers, but never revealing locations. The group Daniel was with now consisted of sixty people. It was almost time for him to move on.

There was a knock at his door.
Daniel immediately relaxed.
"Come in."

An older man came into the room. The look he gave Daniel told him the man was confused as to why he stood in the middle of his room in this manner.

"We are about to proceed with the mission Shadow . Will you be coming along?"

Very few people knew his real name. Daniel Carter was legally dead. At least to everyone's knowledge he was killed in a freak accident. Everyone knew him only as Shadow Demon.

"Yes. Thank you."

 

[Toxic Variations]

The Ministry of Love was quiet, as usual. It was hard to imagine, behind these sleek polished walls, hundreds of people suffered excruciating torture. If you weren't taken to Room 101 ( a chamber were you're worst fears were made manifest ), right away, you were made to sit in a tiny cell with only a single telescreen as your companion. You might be kept there for weeks, even months, perhaps years. What made it unbearable was the daily sessions where you were physically beaten. Five, usually six on one. Then you would be starved, turned into a corpse of what you used to be and finally, when you longed for death, you were taken to Room 101. Quiet! If you listen closely you might hear a faint cry, perhaps a pleading cry, filled with horror. Ah, you foolish, stupid people. If only you had followed the rules and gave your loyalty to your government - you could've lead a life of plenty. Big Brother understands you, he enfolds you in his arms - you need only give him your heart, your soul. Refuse him and you live in misery. There is no mercy to be had for dirty traitors. Raphael stood in the cell of one such ' criminal ' - a young man who he had been tailing for weeks, what you might call an insurgent, a terrorist, a disrupter of the public peace. The gentle rays of the morning sun did not quicken or still his unimaginable heart. Look. The man had already been beaten by low level guards, shamed and terrorized, and now he was shaking in a puddle of blood. He seemed as if he were close to fainting. Ah, but he couldn't just yet! Raphael moved down so that he was kneeling - The stench of sweat, vomit, it rose from the now motionless body at his feet. He felt absolutely nothing as he looked at it. Perhaps there was some beauty in the blood, which was now caked and drying, in the man's hair.

" Such a pity. "

Raphael whispered. His voice was soo soft! But it was, as always, a monotone. It was velvety, the voice of a guiding angel.

" What you might have been. Mr. Stephens, can you hear me? "

A gurgling sound was all the response Raphael would recieve. Raphael reached out with his right hand and curled his fingers into the matted hair, pulling the head up so that glazed eyes could settle on his face. " My - My wife, my child -- y - you haven-- "

" They were brought in just yesterday. You betrayed them. You sold them out for a chance to save your own life. You remember, do you not? "

Those blood red eyes were void of all sympathy - they were, in a sense, the eyes of a machine.

" Your wife's throat was cut this morning and your little girl, she was skinned alive and thrown to the dogs. No smile came upon Raphael's mouth. " There wasn't much left, but I was kind enough to bring you her remains. One last chance for a betrayer father to embrace his daughter. The daughter he put to death. "

Witin his other hand, Raphael held a blood stained bag and slowly he opened it and emptied out the bones, of the traitor's child, upon the man's head. Shredded meat still clung to them. The young man would toss the bag aside and walk out of the cell as his prisoner roared in agony. Casually he would remove the blood stained glove, from his left hand and toss it away. There was a faint splash of blood, against his left cheek, which he would wipe away with his other hand. He didn't chuckle like a comic opera devil or seem to rejoice in what he had done - he simply walked away, cold and detached from the horrifying display of cruelty he had thus exhibited. An hour later he would emerge from his office to see Seraphim returning. It was proper conduct to salute one's surperior officer and Seraphim was the first, the highest ranked Agent in the Ministry. Raphael would stand at the door leading into Seraphim's office.

" Ah, so you have returned. Victorious as always. How long did this one last? "

He was, of course, refering to the poor unforunate whom Seraphim was sent to vaporize. Thus he would wait patiently for an answer. Inhuman eyes met inhuman, drinking in each other - as they often did, since those days of dark childhood.

 

[Fair_Game]

She smelled of stern perfume and sloppy sex. Her high heel boots clicked affirmitively against the pavement each footfall more of a strut, more of an act of defiance. Well manicured french tipped fingernails swooshed through the air popping in time with her hips like a metronome. Long blonde, seductive locks pristinely preserved with all the chique chemicals. She was a red light district dame dressed to the nines. And she was straddling confidance, and winning. From her pressed off-white blouse to her pinstriped short skirt and stockings, one hand clasping delicately to a briefcase, her bosom heaving from breathing air with purposeful lungs. A platinum blonde ambition, more than that, a success.

Shauna Cartridge watched blankly as her idol spun the revolving door into the government building. She peered seemlessly over her magazine as the goddess lifted a shining finger to signal the elevator. Shuddered solemnly as the blonde beauty tipped her head, flirted casually, punched lightly, giggled, and disappeared into the higher catacombs of the headquarters of 'Big Brother' himself. Images flitted through her head of life beyond the pearly gates of 'Big Brothers' wide open arms. She saw herself there, confident. She'd give anything to be that person.

The library anexing the 'Big Brother' HQ was open early hours and featured a wonderful coffee shop, plenty of reading material, and at 4 am it was the loneliest place on earth. Rows of bookshelves spooled off in all directions, a pair of comfy laz-y-boys sporatically dropped in for people needing to sit 'right now!' Obviously crafted to be ironic its banisters were bare, lighting hung on a grid exposed, clear glass windows unblemished by streaks and blinds. Shauna set down her magazine, People and none she would ever be, and straightened out her knee-length skirt tugging patiently at pieces of lent. She counted, 1...2...3... it was surprizing how comforting her fingers found the task. It kept her busy, made her look neat, calmed her nerves but best of all, she wouldn't have to think.

These days she was scared of her thoughts, there were the 'thought-police' of course, agents of 'Big Brother' who had the ability to invade thoughts. Some could control them, some could just read them, some were stronger still. None of that worried Shauna really, all they wanted was to get a handle on the rebellion. The rebels were something to be frightened of, they ruthlessly, senselessly harmed anyone and everyone in their path just to further their own selfish ambitions. But still none of that worried her, there was 'Big Brother'. Her eyes fluttered up to the small camera overhead, a deep pool of black lens protruding from a small white box, and the red light like a beacon in the dark. It was the red eye of the government, they were always watching. What scared her most, aside from all the people coming and going, the long away threat of war and the life inbetween. She'd do anything to avoid that life.

Her hands stopped their busy work and cupped her warm mug of coffee, she brought her lips to the rim and blew softly at the warm steam rising slowly into her face. She meticulously turned the cup until she found the imprint of her lipstick, then took a sip. The warmth filled her throat and slowly permeated through her body. The library was empty, she had taken great strides to insure that it would be. Every day she would wake up at 3:00 take the 3:45 trolley into town, then walk over to the library at 4:00 and wait for her office to open up at 6:00. No one on the streets, silence and safety, just her and the eye of BB and her silent prayer :

Please...for the love of God...

Watch over me.

The heavy minute hand resounded in a thick metallic clack, the sound shook through the library and Shauna was awoken from her brief daze. 5:45. Time to go to work before anyone else arrived. She grabbed for her purse then started to head for the door. The beautifully calm outside world waited devoid of others, it was a wonderful parody of her own situation. She was looking at the beautiful world, moving and bending and turning. And she was trapped in a glass prison surrounded by the maddening deafening roar of her own thoughts. The massive clock ticked away only instead of running forward it was running backward, counting down the time she had left, before...before...

Her fingers touched the glass, awoken again from her vivid thoughts but abruptly she was shocked to see someone outside the glass world. A tall figure standing stark against the pavement and stone, his mere presence contradicted the very steps to the ministry of love. A work of Escher in practice. He managed to place one firm boot on the bottom step before stopping abruptly. The man wore a stern look that shreiked of pain and anguish but as he seemed to spot lonely Shauna his grimace transformed into a freakishly soft smile.

One step ahead, one step ahead of me, the thought raced out without a chance to catch it. She raised a single hand to her lips, afraid that her unexpected gasps might be overheard, afraid that the figure might chance a look at the loud sucking and blowing of air. Then to her horror the figure turned, slowly pulling his whole face to hers. In her mind the distance closed between them, she felt a wash of white as dozens of birds took to the air, streaking to the sky in a blur. Her eyes passed from winged beast to winged beast, captivated in a furious sea of feathers, seeking shelter from their cries. Abruptly the ghostly visage of the birds lifted and all she could see was the deep red gaze of her possessor.

 

[Donald Trump]

Paris woke at 9, a little later than usual, and he acknowledged that with a grin as he glanced down at his still sleeping companion, whose blonde hair covered the pillow. He laughed at the irony of it, she thinking she was rebellious for indulging in a night of pleasure, whilst he was the real rebel.

Her father worked for the government, he had no doubt of this, and she would have followed him into his line of work. He left some very anti-government leaflets around her house, hoping her father would find them. And then what he thought? Either she is vapourized or, her and 'daddy' would become rebels.
He didnt know which option he preferred, sure they would help the cause. However, he was sure if they vapourized her, they would surely torture her first, and she would tell them about him.
It would certainly give the government and their agents a little bit of a fright when they go to bed at night, not knowing if he was out there, watching them.
He laughed at his own ego as he opened the door to leave.
With his hair covering his face he easily blended in to the crowd. After checking that no one was watching, he melted into the crowd and vanished

 

[Nami]

The little girl cranked the handle on her serinette as pedestrians walked by. Her companion, a capuchin monkey, danced to the tunes she cranked from her rather large music box. The monkey, wearing a small top hat that fit his head, would entertain his small audience with parlor tricks. He pulled coins from behind the ears of children, made ribbon come out of the ears of mothers, and juggled anything from balls to knives for the amusement of the men. Even in this decrepit land there were people who held onto hope, people who persevered. One woman in particular, a silver-haired elderly woman, came by every day. Every time she would stop and smile, a sad, wistful ghost of a smile. She listened in appreciation, then dropped a small coin into the monkey's hat.

The duo didn't have much to fear from the government. Even though they lived at the helm of corruption itself, the duo remained aloof. The girl and the monkey were not native residents of this land. They were refugees from a neighboring country. In their eyes, this country provided them with a breath of relief. It didn't matter to them that they were barely regarded as rational beings. The little girl was considered to be "disabled", inferior. The Agents knew she was Deaf. The girl's monkey companion was held in even lower contempt than the girl. The monkey was viewed to be like a dog, a mere pet. Indeed, the duo had nothing to fear because they were not even considered a threat. It was a laughable concept for a Deaf child and a monkey to even dream of opposing the government. Yes, it was laughable indeed.

The girl continued to crank out the music that she did not hear. Her serinette played more loudly than older, more standard ones. No one would have ever guessed that she crafted the serinette herself. A "disabled" person wasn't capable of doing anything "normal" people could do, after all. The girl was well aware of the video cameras and the microphones hidden throughout the land. She didn't care. Many people did not even know that the signals she made with her hands were of a visual language, not random grotesque movements. Yes, the duo were citizens, but outcast all the same. The duo could not afford to care about anything but their own survival.

When the audience left, the girl got the monkey's attention. "Jack, please take these coins and buy us some fruit," the girl signed.

The monkey smiled. "Yes, ma'am," the monkey replied in mock salute. Jack tended to be lighthearted even in the most dire of circumstances.

The girl gave the monkey exact change. The monkey left, went to a nearby vendor, and returned with two apples. The girl set down her serinette and enjoyed her apple along with Jack. Jack studied the girl's face as she ate. Nimble hasn't been smiling lately, Jack thought to himself. When the duo finished, the two finished their entertainment for the day. They packed their things and searched for a place to pitch their tent.

 

[Dean Winchester]

(I am a bit lost but I'll try to keep it up)
It was in an office of the United Kingdom where his story began to unfold. Agent Jonathan Saint was renown for never failing a mission, never. He was also known for his "sophisticated" methods for interrogation, which included many strategies to "persuade" anyone, no matter what it required. On that day of August 3rd, a man was brought to his office in London. The man was clearly worn out, cuts and bruises all over his face and he was spitting blood. Agent Saint leaned on his armchair as he toyed with the Desert Eagle handgun aiming to random points of the office, while finally, the aim landed on that poor man's head.

"I see you haven't cooperated with us. If you don't tell us what we need, we would be forced to be more, rigorous in our "methods". What do you need to say?" Saint sounded arrogantly as he mocked the poor man. The agents tossed the man and he landed before the Saint's desk. Saint rose from his chair as he put in the magazine and reloaded his gun. "See, I'll give you another chance to save your life, tell us where are the rebels?"

"Go and f*ck yourself!!" The man spit some blood on Saint's choose and replied disgusted and furious. Saint stared disgusted as he pressed the cannon of his handgun against the man's forehead. He smirked, knowing that for this once he had the ability to decided the fate of this man. Saint was now judge and jury and the verdict was made: death. He carried on the sentence as he slowly pulled the trigger saying "wrong answer...your family will meet you in hell soon enough...oh by the way, your daughters will call me "dad" from now on.." then "die" BOOM, a thunderous sound, a simple bullet came out of his handgun, piercing through the skull, brain and clearly sprouting from the back of the man's head. Blood was splattered all over the place. Annoyed, Saint put his gun back in its holster under his tuxedo, on the left side of his torso. He turned around and walked towards the window as he stared at the streets. "Someone clean this mess...cut his body and feed it to the sharks...buy the newspaper and tell them that he faced a tragic death while....erm....fishing? Hehehehe" A malicious smile was drawn on his face but soon he became serious again "do it now."

 

[Reality.Fantasy]

Pale sunlight raked the deserted street before him, illuminating various constructs that portrayed no notion of importance to the young civilian. Atop an unlit streetlight sat a black crow, a stranger in these parts yet making his presence known as abrupt squawks escaped its dark beak. Glistening black orbs noticed a disturbance in this desolate location as the bird hopped on the cold pole, turning himself ninety degrees to see a human traverse the sidewalk further down the pass. Every crack was skipped, every thatch of manifesting weeds paid no mind as he advanced quietly, hands stuffed into the pockets of a tightly wrapped pea coat. Typically, this young man would be of no particular accent to the scene, but in a location where there was no other object or person that contrasted against the grey hues, the passerby was of utmost interest to the seemingly omniscient crow. It was as if this boy were the object of his affections, but the species gap between the two prevented not only any sort of kindling, but any sort of interaction as well. Alas, the divide between man and beast was too painful to pay any mind for an extended amount of time, lest the bird be driven to lunacy and depression.<o></o>
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A terrifying squawk tore the man’s gaze from the pavement before him up to the isolated streetlight upon which the winged creature sat perched. It returned his scrutiny with another squawk and a bit of flitting of the wings, then turned and faced a building that seemed squeezed between two other buildings a ways up from the man’s current location. Raising a brow, the man crossed the narrow road before him and moved closer towards the buildings that he passed, the cold and lifeless window panes looking outward to its brethren across the street, staring at each other with grey, impenetrable faces. However, everything seemed to be bathing in the ashen sunlight on that morn, portraying a façade that gave them the illusion that they were more enchanting than they actually were. In a city that told the world that it was organized and perfect, at its core it was nothing more than a decaying and cadaverous hamlet. How many hopes and dreams had to deteriorate before London was finally disbanded?<o></o>
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The crow looked down to the building where the man had halted, observing in such a way that made it appear as if it were always leaning forward. Its imposing survey did not affect this static man in any way as he looked ahead towards the rubicund horizon, then back to the way from which he came. As usual, it had been a long walk, yet enjoyable as it had gone without interruption once more. It was a forlorn walk each and every day, but that did not matter to him. As long as he got to this place successfully, everything was all right with him. Of course, he was not a loner by nature, but with how active and chaotic his childhood had been, it was nice to enjoy some alone time once a day, even if it was just a simple stroll. Despite how abandoned this part of town seemed to be, he knew it would come to life as soon as he unlocked the door, as if someone out there had created this world just for him. It would have made more sense to arrive at this place—his job—much earlier in the morning, but not everything made sense in London. No, something about this town was sinister in nature, the way everything seemed so... opposite and surreal.<o></o>
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“Oh, are you kidding me?” he asked aloud as he dug through his coat pockets. Traditionally, he would have heard the ever-satisfying jingle by now, but on this ‘blissful’ morning, no such sounds reached his ears. “I swear I picked up the keys on the way out... and I am NOT walking back now,” the pedestrian mentioned, yet again looking back the way he came and shuddering at the thought of retracing his steps. There was no way in Hell he was about to do that, and yet he surmised he just might have to if none of his other co-workers came to unlock this solitary door for him. The portal to a different world remained fastened in mockery of his plight, tempting him to make a wrong move under the eyes of Big Brother.<o></o>
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“Hey! Is anyone out there?!” he said in a heightened voice, looking out to the other buildings in blatant desperation. “I am uh... locked out! What am I supposed to do!” His strained voice resounded dully against the doldrums, yet he was impassioned to find a solution to his problem. Yet, how could he find an answer in some random passerby? Was this man really so madcap for salvation?

 

[Soul Saver]

((Reality.Fantasy, that hurts my eyes, sorry.))

Spectre, or "Brandeth" sat in his Jaguar Daedalus saloon, flicking through news items and listening to classical symphonies all the while. Waiting for that call...
Saint had better hurry the hell up, I don't have long. Secure line or not, this is not where they think I am.
Spectre could only imagine what was the issue. Torturing another criminal, or something. Surely he could hurry the heck up. The comline would only be secure if it was from the agency.

The bespectacled man observed a bunch of troublesome-looking youths hanging around the street corner. Smoking, probably breaking at least ten by-laws.
If I wasn't undercover, I'd bust every single one of those scumbags.
The hot sun was making him feel very uncomfortable. Spectre turned up the climate control.

 

[Contra Fates]

[FONT=&quot]He could sense it; the tensing of her muscles, the surprised arching of her back, the quickening of her pulse, and her shortness of breath. Another badge added to his pride, to know he held the ability to stop a person in their tracks, and make himself their entire area of focus. Perhaps it was attributing to his harrowing red gaze, or perhaps…the notion that he was one of the first Agents, an Elite. Ah, but why would he need to cross paths with such a girl? That poor young woman on the other side of the glass didn’t have the slightest idea when it came to the schemes running amuck in his mind. Her innocent, corruptible appearance forced an urge within Seraphim...an urge to destroy. What use does this world have for the kind-hearted and pure? People like her need to result to one thing: being hung upon the strings of the master puppeteer: Big Brother.<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]<o> </o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]That brief encounter with the widened eyes behind glass would cease, as Seraphim began his approach to his office. He was early, and perhaps a bit curious about whom he would see in the Ministry at this time. He had always been so punctual, so routine, and had always seen the same faces as he walked through the main lobby with that regal stride. As he neared office, he would greeted by the familiar face one of the most promising Agents in the Ministry: Raphael.<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Good day, Comrade. I’m afraid the last one lasted mere minutes before he squealed. You know how I do hate to cause any sort of public disturbance.” <o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]<o> </o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Seraphim would lift his right wrist, glancing over the time. “Ah, and here I am, more than ten minutes early to my post. I do wish Big Brother would give me more challenging targets every now and then. Although, with the increasing number in The Brotherhood, perhaps you and I both will be dispatched to handle more important matters.” His eyes drifted to meet with the other’s, perhaps the only other pair of red eyes Seraphim had become familiar with in his life. Seraphim often wondered if those eyes were attributed to the process he had undergone to become an Agent. Though, Seraphim was the only other Agent to have red eyes, due to an error made on O’Brien’s behalf. Raphael’s colorless hair brought Seraphim to the conclusion that perhaps he was an albino, a strange idea to consider. Albino’s were weaker than your normal humans, and for Raphael to have pulled through it all, made him a remarkable subject. Of course, Seraphim, though keen, was not entirely aware of the impact he had on Raphael as a child.<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]With a nod of his head, Seraphim would step past the other, into the doorway of his office, with a hand placed on Raphael’s shoulder. He’d pause, hand remaining still, as he glanced at him once more. “You reek of Death.” A pause. “…I daresay that excites me.” Another curling of the lips, before he’d remove his hand, and step into his office, closing the door behind him.<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]<o> </o>[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]<o>

</o>[/FONT]
​

[FONT=&quot]Those green eyes were surveying the inhabitants at the other side of the bar. It appeared that a certain drunk-buffoon was bothering one of the other men in the bar, who seemingly wished to be left alone. He politely protested against the other’s actions, and Gabriel was rather impressed. If that man had been grinding up on Gabriel, he would have him eating the shattered glass of a beer bottle within seconds. That redhead certainly had some restraint, but as he twisted his way away from the offending man, it didn’t seem as though it would be doing him much good. Two of the men rose to a standing position, eyes glazed…except for one. The one who appeared the most sober would likely be the hardest to take down. By the look on their target’s face…he had no intention of fighting. Oh, what a pacifistic fool!<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]<o> </o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]That hero-nerve in Gabriel was instantly touched, and after downing the rest of his mug of gin, he’d be on his feet. All the red-haired man wanted was to leave the bar without a fight, which he made rather apparent. While, Gabriel on the other hand…wanted nothing more than a messy, bone-crushing bar brawl. Gabriel approached the taller man, facing his back, before shoving his foot into the back of his knee, sure to deactivate his current state of balance, and perhaps cause him to stumble. Afterward, Gabriel would step back, a cocky-grin plastered upon his face.<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]<o> </o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Hey, Sasquatch, if you want a fight, why not pick on someone who’s willing?” Briefly, he’d glance over to the apparent pacifist, as it to motion a silently spoken ‘Go on.’ With Gabriel’s hot-headed actions, the path to the exit was currently open. Returning his attention to the undoubtedly angered giant, Gabriel would grin, swinging his flat hand against the man’s cheek. He had just…backhanded him! That was an action a woman might take, and perhaps, that was the desired affect that Gabriel was going for. Only a coward picks a fight with an unarmed man…so Gabriel would teach him and his goons a fine lesson, by humiliating them in any way possible.[/FONT]

​

[FONT=&quot]<o></o>[/FONT]

 

[toyohisa]

The eyes of a carefree man curiously studied each spine, taking in the names and translating them into English in his head. Grabbing a piece of candy from one of his pockets, he eagerly bit down on the end of the light blue candy, idly chewing on the sweet licorice-esque candy. Green occuli shifted from each row, picking out the more amusing Japanese mangas and sliding them into a bag which held everything from horror to romantic zombie comedy books. Brushing lengthy strands out of his face, Mamoru skillfully evaded and dodged the other inhabitants of the store -- most of which were complete and total otaku, or just perverts looking for the hentai section.

"Guh, no wonder this store smells like rotten ass."

Tossing his bag onto the front counter, he leaned his physique against the pokemon cards and games, biting off a piece of the blue candy.
Holding it under his tongue, his left hand slid into his pocket, grabbing what cash he had and placed it on the counter. For some reason, he didn't care too much about the change and simply decided to leave before he was asked any stupid questions; he was sick of the damn mudkip inquiries. Grabbing his items from the counter and slinging the bag over his left shoulder, Mamoru left the store and made a left turn at the nearest side street. He still had quite a bit of time before he needed to get back to his little makeshift home and it couldn't hurt to wander the place, could it? After all, his thoughts were always properly guarded and no one would even think of him as the type to "rebel." To a majority of the people he met, he simply came off as a Japanese businessman and nothing more.

His surroundings gradually became less and less populated, featuring more of the city's less favorable bunch. Pulling the bag from over his shoulder, Mamoru rummaged through the sack and grabbed the first book he saw: it featured a baby with an almost stereotypical mafioso look, but with an added top hat! With a goofy smile, he eagerly opened the manga and began to read on his peaceful little journey back to his "home. . ."

Well, nothing's perfect, unfortunately. His deep interest in the contents of the manga resulted in the clumsy collision of himself and another man. Dropping his book on the street, a visible vein popped out of the side of his forehead, shaking his fist toward the offenders in question alongside various curses and jinxes toward them. If anyone paid close enough attention to the obscenities flying from his mouth, the most amusing of them would have been something about the degradation and removal of a certain male part, as well as the word "assclown." Grumbling, he crouched down and picked up the book, carefully dusting off the cover. Holding the book close to his chest, the young man playfully cried over the injustice done to the poor book, as if the baby on the cover had actually been hurt.

"I'm so sorry, Reborn-kun! I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

With a sheepish grin, he slid the manga back into his bag and stood, narrowed eyes glaring off in the direction they ran off to. The fact they didn't bother to give him an apology, or even an acknowledging wave pissed him off even more than usual. Scratching the back of his head, he allowed his gaze to shift to what it was that made them run in the first place; a male dressed in white, with what looked to be a sawn-off shotgun in his hand. Clearing his throat, Mamoru idly spoke to the man, though he didn't care whether or not he received a response

"People these days, huh? You'd think they were monkeys or somethin' with the way they act. Those assholes got my book all dirty and everything."

 

[Soul Saver]

3:30 PM. And still waiting...
Spectre opened up one of those Nutra-Shake cans, and pale liquid oozed out.

Seraphim, Saint, Raphael, all the other agents, either couldn't remember or were forbidden to speak of their histories prior to working for the agency. Spectre was no exception. Having a family, was an intolerable weakness which could be turned against an operative. As it had been against the insurgents who would topple order and justice. They paid the price for their criminal actions.

In the last operation Spectre had been in, he, along with Special Agent Seraphim and the late Major Braun had played a major role in weeding out dissidents in the South Western sector of North America. Over a duration of one month, there had been a crackdown on groups who would spread hate against the Directorate, using illegal means of communication to do so. The perpetrators were caught by surveillance and infiltration.
Spectre had set up a deal in restricted technology, posing as an elite engineer.
Such restricted government technology would have allowed the rebels to communicate using chips implanted into the brain. Only trusted insiders are allowed such potent technology. Spectre and most of the other agents included.
However, the rebels recently developed counter-tech to detect the use of such devices.
Thus, I cannot risk using it.

Oh, look who's making obscene gestures.

The street trash across the road obviously had a bone to pick. Because of the car?
Spectre sat back, smug at the sparse future of such wasters, and shut the tinted window.

Coming around the corner, was a man who appeared more interested in some sort of comic than his path, face obscured by whatever he was reading. His clothes, though... familiar... Mamoru! Spectre was for the most part obscured by tinted glass, however, and looked the other way.

 

[AddleBoy]

The lone samurai stood in the path of four assassins. It wasn't long till the samurai was completely surrounded. Normally, a four-on-one attack from all sides would be a futile effort to survive for the lone warrior, but this was no ordinary samurai. The samurai dispatched each of his attackers with supreme skill and ease.

The first assassin had the main blood vessel in his neck cut. His blood sprayed everywhere like a water fountain.

The second assassin had his stomach sliced completely open. His guts fell to the ground.

The third assassin had half of his head cut clean off. It would be the only time he would be able to see what color his brain was.

The fourth assassin was pierced so deeply by the samurai's blade that it was if his very soul was pierced.

Having slain all four of his attackers, the samurai took the time to cleanse his sword of their blood. He took a white clothe and ran it down the length of the blade. He was about to sheath his sword until he heard footsteps coming rushing toward his back. There was a fifth assassin?! The samurai began to face his opponent, but he was too.....

*CLICK*

There was a robbery last night at the store on the corner of OOOO and OOOO street. Police say that no one was injured during the robbery, but the criminals are still on the.....

*CLICK*

Today, we will be learning how to properly cook....

*CLICK* *CLICK* CLICK*

*Sigh* "There's never anything good to watch on TV....," Akiko said to no one in particular. She sat at the coffee table in the middle of her small apartment and flipped through the few channels she had on her tiny television. Frankly, she was just plain bored. Her shift at work wasn't for a few hours, and she had nothing else better to do.

Eventually, Akiko's channel surfing came to an end when she was content with the program that was on. It was an old TV show that Akiko and her master occasionally watched together. They stopped making new episodes and all they ever show now are re-runs, but it was still a good show. It also brought back some old memories.

Akiko often wondered how her master was doing all alone. She left the dojo almost a year ago and never went back. It was all thanks to her master that she was living like this. She was living on her own, had a job, and was able to support herself. This was good and all, but things became extremely boring. Her life was like her favorite TV show: nothing but re-runs. The same characters and the same situations, day in and day out.

"Maybe a change in scenery would be good?" she asked her empty apartment, and of course it didn't answer.

See turned the TV off and got prepared to leave. Her keys, wallet, and the fruit knife she always kept with her were all dropped in her jean pockets. Akiko left the apartment and made her way to the ground floor. The apartment complex was three stories tall and Akiko lived on the top floor. She prefer using the stairs more than the elevator for the little exercise that she got. She made it to the small lobby area and was about to leave the complex when she heard a woman's voice calling her.

"Oh, Akiko! Could you come here for a minute?"

Akiko made her way to the reception desk in the middle of the lobby and faced the woman who was seated there.

"You got a package today and I need you to sign for it," the receptionist explained as she handed a clipboard and pen to Akiko.

"Oh, okay," Akiko responded while signing her name in the appropriate space. She handed the clipboard back to the receptionist and added, "I'm about to leave. Could you keep the package here until I get back?"

The receptionist nodded in affirmation and watched Akiko leave the building. The receptionist was about to get back to her work when she realized that her pen was missing.

She clicked her tongue. "She took my pen again...."

 

[Dean Winchester]

(I edited my previous post)

After all the mess was cleaned, Saint decided to leave the office and have a walk through the streets of London. Having kept his promise, he ordered his men to arrive at the house of the man he killed before, and then they sent his wife to the prison and took the two daughters the man had left. Now Saint would raise them as his own children, they would have his name and he would be their only father. Cruel as he was, for Saint the world was his play ground, and the people in it were just pieces on a chessboard, waiting to be moved by the master hand. As he walked, Saint had a clear sight of the blue sky, the only thing in this world he couldn't fully control. The seas and oceans were guarded by his agents, nothing was unknown to him. The police, the government, anything that could be tainted and bought by money could be easily corrupted. He heard his cellphone ringing, it was expected to be one from the office. A man with an horrified voice spoke, it was clearly that Saint never tolerated failures.

"Where the hell are Raphael and Seraphim, I remember telling you that we were having a meeting this afternoon."

"But....but sir....we don't know where they are!"

"Shut up! Find them and tell them to contact me. I swear by my life that if the rebels live another month, someone will die....and I mean it..."

Angrily, he hung the phone and placed it in the pocket of his pants, he then walked towards his black BMW, pulled the keys, opened the door and entered it. Saint was clearly disappointed, but being mad wouldn't solve anything, so he decided to go for a ride. He started the engine, the car roared and he accelerated it, rushing through the streets not minding anyone that was on the way.

 

[Toxic Variations]

Was a morning, fresh and innocent in it's beginning, more bloody then this? There was divinity in the blood, surely, even in the blood of thieves, rapists, murderers. If one could take enough blood, dive into it's sacroscant depths, then surly one could come close to heaven. Raphael had no memories of his early childhood, but the glorious stain of blood was ever present in his mind. It was much like the shade of long stem roses at twilight, forever beautiful, forever precious. Could he take it into himself and cease to be empty? No. Never. A monster does not seek redemption, he falls into hellfire and there he makes his home. One memory, which seemed to linger in his mind, was one of sunlight filtering through a dirty window. This sunlight alluminated the image before his eight year old self: It was a kind and noble countenance, shining with knowledge - it was the face of Big Brother. Big Brother is watching you. Behold the great brown eyes, set underneath dark brows, the mouth turned up into a stern and yet loving smile. Regal. Perfect. "You see him, yes? Open your eyes and look. A young woman, a nymph in a white lab coat, was kneeling beside him. He is a kind and noble man. The leader we've all been waiting for. Ah, such a memory and it ended just like that. He could recall nothing else from that day. What he did recall, were the festival days, were Dr. O'Brien's children were allowed outdoors, to participate in various activites. One of these activities were the dismemberment of what the good doctor deemed - failures , failed attempts at creating suitable Agents. Ah, the various hunts in the maze ! Where, tragically, the slobbering - mindless - test subject was released to run for his or her life, or cry piteously as a dozen children fell upon him, like a pack of lions, tearing limb from body. There was no such thing as pity, sympathy, hesitation in their ranks - obstacles, imperfect servants to Big Brother's name, were not allowed to exist. Raphael had been among them and, like many, it had given him great skill in knowing just how to hunt and kill with great effiency. He might have been one of those unfortunates, and true enough, he came close to it. His strength was not sufficent and his mind, innocent as it was at that time, kept trying to revert back to a time when he was - well, he could not remember that boy now. As he stood in silence, he would listen to the voice of Seraphim. Oh? Well, of course. A man is a man and man is nothing more then a weak pile of bones - ever so easy to break, to bend to your will. You wanted to somehow understand him, but the lack of human feeling could only turn you away. A weapon, honed from birth, has no need of such things. Seraphim's hand descended upon his shoulder - and no smile, no smirk, came forth over his mouth after that comment. Eyes closed, hiding away the mark of his monstrosity. The Brotherhood, didn't have a chance against them. But come, then, come and face oblivion and you'll soon see, you dirty trash. You'll see.

" Is that so? "

Was all that was said, as those scarlet eyes opened and flickered down to the hand on his shoulder. A savior's hand, bathed in unquenchable fire. A flashback of a Seraphim as a child, the same hand there upon Raphael's shoulder, the voice in his ear, forcing him not to give up. To live. Let the hand remain.

" He squealed like a pig - Stephens. On and on he begged for his life, on and on - until he gave up his own wife and child. Man, such a filthy, cowardly beast. "

Raphael drew his left hand across his mouth and then he stroked his bottom lip with the tip of his index finger. Two weeks ago he was brought in and yesterday he endured the horror of Room 101. Raphael did not smile, he seemed in deep contemplation of what horrific acts he had done to the poor creature. He did not make another reply, but he would answer his phone as it rang. The voice, on the other end, was filled with terror. A meeting was to be held: Saint's orders. The man was furious! Seraphim and Raphael were to contact him immediately. Very well. He would inform his surperior of this. Raphael would knock on Seraphim's door and, once he was allowed admittance, he would step inside and close it behind him.

" A meeting is being requested by none other then Saint. Ah, he wishes to be contacted immediately. "

 

[Donald Trump]

He walked with his head down, unobtrusive, just part of the crowd. Occasionally he bumped into people, few of them cared, and when someone did give him a challenging look, he would straighten up a little, and the would be challengers would almost run away, tails tucked in between their legs. He glanced sideways, and in bar saw the makings of a brawl, one guy who evidently didnt want to fight being confronted by three who did.
Another approached who seemed to be warning off the three aggressors, didnt he know this would only further provoke them? He thought for a second of breaking it up, but for all he knew they well might be friends. Besides he had better things to do, he had heard rumours of a rebel meeting and he wanted to be their.

To satisfy his curiosity really, he wanted to see if they were actual rebels or children of members of the 'inner party'. He suspected the latter, if so he would organise them and arm then, perhaps an attack on the ministry of love? He would stay in the shadows and watch them die, rebellion is not for the faint of heart. Who was he kidding? He hated those who thought they were unfortunate or thought they were 'extreme' as he had heard one of them put it. But if they were 'real' rebels, people like him. He stopped himself from thinking that way, and consoled himself with the thought of all those dead poser rebels. He smiled, and kept walking

 

[The_Oathkeeper]

It’s that day again… Dante thought, his contemplation accompanied by a somehow melancholy smile, twirling a rose absent-mindedly between his thumb and forefinger. Has it been three years already? Hm…feels like it was just last week. Then again, it’s not like I have any decent conception of time. The youthful Rebel looked up into the dark skies and chuckled in spite of himself as he reflected on his memories of that abysmal day. His recollection was as vivid as his vision of the present, though he couldn’t help but be amused at himself for harping on the subject for such a long time. But I digress. She’d want me to move on…‘Course, there’s no harm in getting my revenge first. Dante supposed, casually pushing himself off of the wall he was leaning against. He tossed the rose over his shoulder as he walked away with both hands slid into his pockets. “After all, it’s just a bad dream, right?” He reasoned under his breath.

As he always found himself doing on such abysmal days, Dante wandered idly through the city, though he kept a watchful eye out for any particularly disturbing activity. Well, at least something that could be considered disturbing to the average human being. Truth be told, the citizens of this particular dystopia had become frightfully accustomed to such events. Day-in and day-out, they would go about their miserable routines without giving so much as a second thought to the muggings and attacks that would occur. Some had given up hope altogether, whereas others were strong enough to remain somewhat optimistic about their situations, though the indifference remained the same. The few exceptions to this rule- the ones who recognized this madness for what it really was- were those who had joined the Rebellion, and Dante was fortunate enough to be one of those exceptions.

Still, he couldn’t help but find it ironic that he was one such freedom fighter. After all, that kind of nonconformist behavior was what had lead to Julia’s ‘vaporization’ in the first place. Still, despite acknowledging the irony and slight hopelessness in this battle he fought, Dante was in no mood or mindset to just quit. He had every intention of seeing this fight through to the bitter end, if not for Julia then for those miserable people he was forced to watch suffer every day. Dante was sure that it was what he would’ve ended up doing, anyway, if only because Julia would have ended up convincing him when push came to shove. Besides, it’s not like he had anything better or at all remotely interesting to do with his life. After all, he only had his ability to fight to contribute to the world, really.

It was then that Dante was snapped out of his moment of reflection by what sounded like a fight taking place not far from where he was standing. While, as usual, most failed to so much as turn away from their daily routines for a split-second in response to the sudden disturbance, Dante didn’t hesitate to get himself involved. Reacting almost on instinct, he set off for the apparent source of the commotion at a pace that, though far from leisurely, didn’t look too suspicious to the average citizen. Though Dante wasn’t given much time to get to his assumed destination. Just as quickly as the skirmish had begun, the sounds of conflict died down, leaving him to wonder who had emerged victorious or even if this was something that involved the Agents at all. In any case, the fight was over, it seemed, but there was no reason Dante couldn’t go to check it out for himself. He didn’t see any harm in it, anyway.

However, before reaching the source of the disturbance, Dante’s eyes fell upon something that appeared harmless at first glance, but, to the trained eye, could easily have been taken as quite suspicious. In a car parked on the side of the road was a man staring observantly into the very alley Dante was headed towards, all the while with a rather apathetic expression in his cold eyes. Theoretically, it could have been anyone staring at anything and was really no cause for any sort of alarm. However, Dante recognized the possibility of that man being an Agent. If that was the case, and he really was spying on someone, then whoever was in that alley needed assistance as soon as possible. So, trying to look as natural as possible, Dante meandered into the alley and immediately recognized one of those within as “White Wolf,” a fellow respected member of the Rebellion.

“Hey, Wolf Man, you might want to pay close attention to the potential Agent spying on you from that car over there.” He indiscreetly motioned behind him as he approached the two men in the alley, careful not to appear at all hostile or tense.

 

[Fair_Game]

The apparition vanished as quickly as it had come, and Shauna was left alone in the cold hollow halls of the vacant library, the cold click of shoe to stone reverberated in her ears and she awoke from her trance realizing her fingers were wet with tears. 6:01. She was late. The figure had been gone for a full 14 minutes and yet she had stood motionless the entire time. Was it fear?
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The morning would roll in like the tide, bringing people as branches and seaweed. They would stack up and ask debilitating questions, and if she remained petrified she’d get even more questions from her co-workers.
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Her palms went to her eyes and cleaned the residue of tears from her cheeks with a sleeve. Praying her cheeks weren’t flushed, she turned on her heels exclaiming ‘excuse me’ as she brushed past people entering the library. Quickly, she darted up the steps to the ministry and frantically pressed the button on the elevator. 3…2…1… she thought counting down the seconds before the elevator would open. The doors swung open to an empty carrage so she stepped in and slammed the door close button. Shauna collapsed as the doors shut, breathing heavily.
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Things had been like this since she took the job, constantly avoiding people, hiding embarrassed behind her computer. Ignoring others was a full-time job. Moments in a quiet elevator were treasured and she took the opportunity to collect herself.
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‘The man with the red eyes must have been familiar,’ she thought but for some reason it still hadn’t registered. ‘But the birds…I remember them.’
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It had been dusk, dark and humid from the lifting rainstorm. Shauna stood still at a crosswalk as the pitter patter of rain stopped resounding in her ears. She reached out one hand to be greeted by only air. Retracting her umbrella she crossed the street and entered the back alley that would quickly get her home. Large birds lined the high wires that stretched overhead, their loud cawing formed ominous thoughts in her head. Shauna however, had just received a letter of acceptance into a government job. Her mother would be pleased.
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Then, turning a corner she was suddenly grabbed and thrust to the floor. Sneering men placed filthy hands atop her white sweater, she blushed and screamed until she tasted something copper and meaty. One man held a hand over her mouth and wrists while the other was grabbing handfulls of her clothes tearing at her like a lion pouncing on a gazelle. A thin metal blade slipped under her shirt ripping up the lining. Soon she stood in only her underwear, tears streaming down her chin, mixing with the oily mess of working men hands and leaving smear marks across her flesh.
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Right before she passed out she saw a flash of silver and felt herself careen onto the pavement, bashing her head on the steps. She was then awash in the fluttering of the birds and the sound of gunfire.
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A few moments passed until a figure stood above her and placed a gloved hand to her throat, feeling for a pulse. Finding one, he wrapped her in his trench coat and helped her to her feet. And then he was gone, leaving her shaken and confused as fresh rain fell.
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Saved by an Agent of Big Brother.

 

[Contra Fates]

[FONT=&quot]If there was one thing to be known about the original process of creating the Agents, it was that it was inhumane in every single aspect of the world. The children were bred to be monsters, and those outdoor-hunts were the pinnacle of that. There were a lot of memories of that time that both Seraphim and Raphael had shared. While the newer Agents had undergone a much less flawed process, they were able to forget about most of their past. Seraphim and Raphael, on the other hand…did not. It was perhaps the most alarming part of their character. How could they so blindly and loyally serve a government that had done such vile things to them? For Seraphim, it was simple. The government gave him a status, and a position…that gave him power, respect, and fear. He could freeze a very person’s soul by merely glancing at them, and could make the final moments of a traitor’s life absolutely horrific…while not having to do anything else except invade their poorly guarded, accessible mind.<o></o>[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]So Stephens ended up just like so many others? A shit-ridden coward, who instead of enduring the pain of his own torture…begged Raphael for mercy. By doing that, he sold out his wife and child…and they were murdered in a harrowing fashion as a result. Perhaps Raphael was thankful for those early-life child-hunts they had gone on, for it made it much easier to kill children.<o></o>[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Seraphim had just sat down behind his desk when he felt Raphael’s presence at the other side of his office door. Raphael would never bother him, unless there was a reason for it. “Come in.” Seraphim would lean back in his large, leather chair, arms moving back as his fingers were steepled at the back of his head. Ah, so they were wishing for some sort of Agent meeting? Seraphim scoffed.<o></o>[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Let me guess, Agent Saint is getting so trigger happy that he wants to call for a meeting so we can start handing out target-notices like candy. When will he learn that he doesn’t make the calls in this Ministry? If Big Brother felt it was necessary, I would have been ordered to do it myself.” Seraphim sighed, his arms returning at his sides as he rose up from his seat. He’d slowly step to the front of his surprisingly ornate desk, leaning his weight against it, arms folded and one leg crossed over the other in an oddly feminine fashion.

“Contact Saint and Spectre and tell them to meet in the Conference Room on the 13^th floor.” Seraphim shook as his head as he walked towards the door, standing before Raphael with a faint grin. “Apparently patience is a virtue that they do not so easily possess.”<o></o>[/FONT]

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[FONT=&quot]Those golden lockes lay before his face, disheveled and obscuring the azure eyes behind it. He was angered, and once he heard the words of another person, he straightened up, instantly, cheeks flushes and gloved hands flying about his form, patting down his clothing, brushing off the dust or dirt on his clothes, and straightening out his hair. Always, Yukio was a man of appearance, which was he always stuck out like a sore thumb. Though, he’d likely learn to dress a bit more..discrete while visiting these areas of the city, despite his personal distaste for commoner’s clothing.<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Monkeys? Perhaps those vermin could be categorized in such a way. Ugh...sorry, about your book?” Yukio arched a golden brow, perhaps a bit annoyed by the man’s concern for his book, and not the roughed up Nobleman in front of him. But of course, only Yukio wished for the entire world to make him the center of attention.<o></o>[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]And there it was. Another person approached, and instantly, Yukio was stirred. His eyes quickly examined their appearances. First, he would scan the young man with the book. He was wearing a suit, which was a bit alarming to Yukio. Could he be some sort of demented Agent playing a game of cat and mouse? No, no. Agent’s don’t do that around here, Agent’s just go and---<o></o>[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“Hey, Wolf Man, you might want to pay close attention to the potential Agent spying on you from that car over there.”

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Son of a bitch! So an Agent was tailing him?! And to make matters even worse, this man before him called him Wolf Man, an obvious play on the fact that Yukio was ‘White Wolf.’ This was turning into a very, very bad day for Yukio. Yukio’s shocked expression spoke for itself, and he’d quickly shake his head, as though to jolt him back to reality. “The name is Yukio, thank you.” He’d shake his head again, placing a delicately gloved hand to his forehead, disturbing some golden strands in the process. “All right. I know a decent pub around here, how about we talk over some drinks?” He glanced between the two of them, not really caring if they accepted his request, either way. He just wanted to get away from that potential Agent as quickly as possible.[/FONT]

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