Realistic or Modern CODENAME : PANGEA - [OMEN_OF_THE_END] <ACTIVE DOCKET>

[A L M O S]

​

You received an information docket, a series of hardcoded encryptions that seemed to suggest various bits of information, yet which never seemed to make much sense on their own. These fragments led you to various publications over the course of the last 30 years, obscure doi codes, barcodes on specific prints on rare and hard to find maps, translations of classical Russian literature, lyrics to French pop songs, etc. etc. To some of you, this posed quite the challenge, to others… it hearkened back to a time where these things were the commonplace trades of the spy game.

Eventually, among the various cyphers and clues, you managed to decrypt the name of a location.

THE SKELETON COAST[sat_IMG:SSA_NAMIBIA_WESTCOAST]. A dead stretch of coastline running up the western banks of Africa. The area, known for having the vast Atlantic to one side, and the unforgiving Namib Desert on the other [DRONE_RECON: SKELETON_COAST] - notorious for not only being the oldest desert in the history of the world, but also as having the tallest dunes on earth, forming a veritable mountain of sand between the inner continent and the ocean.

Another reason for its name, besides its barren wasteland qualities - lies in the various ships that line its coast [PROFILE:STRANDED_ATLANTIC_VESSELS-THE_TRAWLER]. Large rusting vessels having washed up on shore over the years, long since emptied of anything valuable by scavengers and time. These corpses of seafaring vessels past provide an eery backdrop to hundreds of miles of beach, which in turn serve as a gateway into the desert.

Few come here. Fewer still remain here for any stretch of time. The desert is set between two towns [Luderitz and Walvis Bay] which are connected by a 500+ mile backroad [the only road moving north along the coast, about 80 miles inland] around the desert. In this stretch, there are no trees, no animals [save fish from the ocean], no fresh water, to shade, no stone, no roads, no power, no plumbing.

Only when CHIMERA proved that your governments were compromised and that your lives were forfeit - did you come to realise that this was not an elaborate brochure… but more, an invitation - To a safe haven, which you have identified CAMP_TRAWLER.

---------------------------------------​

YOU ARE BEING HUNTED. Your handling officer has called you in. You know that this is a death sentence disguised as a briefing. You know that taking on your government, while not impossible, would be ill-advised. Especially now, when they know you are close. You find yourself without any of your allies or resources. You can escape, barely - with only your most valued tools and items - and now, you are on the run. You know they are coming for you with all they have, but - unfortunately (for them), you know all their methods, because you designed some of them.

You need to SCUTTLE - retreat into the shadows, to a place where they won’t follow. And then you need to lie low for a few weeks, maybe a month - let the trail run cold while you plan. This is clear to you. You have no allies you trust. No friends. No safe houses you can go to while the heat is on. But where to go? You know of only one group of people who you can trust to do the job. One group of people competent enough. It will be dangerous… but you know them. They are the closest thing you have to family or friends. Your beloved part-time enemies. The only people to have actually challenged you in the last few years. Fighting against them had been like chess between good friends, none killing another for fear of destroying the board.

And now it seems like one of them… The Hunter has offered you an invitation and a safe haven. Seems it is true what they say about great minds. There you will all meet, and together you will start to set right the world, and wrend it free from the chaotic clutches of CHIMERA

[FIRST POST REQUIREMENTS: USE THE FIRST POST TO CREATE YOUR EPIC ESCAPE SCENE, WHERE YOU EVADE, OUTSMART, AND OUTPLAY YOUR GOVERNMENT. HOW DO YOU ESCAPE? AND HOW DO YOU MAKE YOUR WAY TO CAMP_TRAWLER? FIGURE OUT WHAT YOUR CHARACTER GRABS IN THE LAST MOMENTS BEFORE THEY FLEE. WHICH PEOPLE THEY CONTACT, WHERE THEY GO FIRST, ETC. ETC. - PS. IF YOU WANT, PM WITH THE OTHER SPIES, MAYBE SOME OF YOU CAN HELP EACH OTHER?]

 

[A L M O S]

LOCATION: THE_SKELETON_COAST
DATE: 10/07/2018
TIME: 17:44

AMBIENT - CAMPFIRE AND WAVES AT SUNSET

The gentle and repetitive crash of waves had long since receded into his subconsciousness. He had arrived at this spot less than two days ago. If they had managed to follow him, they would have arrived by now... The sky, currently awash with mingling golds and purples, calmed his mind even more, as the sea breeze envigorated his lungs. It was already cool, and tonight - just like the ones before, would be freezing. The ache in his knees and back attested to this. The coast was as unfriendly as he recalled it from his youth. In the mornings the early sun was more often than not obscured by rolling mists, which covered the dunes in an icy sheen. The mists would eventually dissipate around 11:00, giving way to the intense heat of the midday sun, before the tall dunes will again cast long shadows in the late afternoon - bringing with it growing darkness and cold once more. Christopher sniffed, the noise cutting through the ambience.

Feeling the water tug at the line, he walked forwards, boots sinking into the wet sand a bit, as his fingers ran over the line of his fishing rod. Tug. Wave. Tug. Wave. Tug... tug-tug? Quicker than most people can think, he flicked the tip of the pole up, and to the left, smirking as the hook secured itself, and the fish started to retreat into the deep waters. The coast was mostly bare of any rocks and became very deep very quickly. Which meant he could let the fish run. Tire itself out. He was in no hurry. As the line sang, unrolling from the rod at great speed - Christopher looked over his shoulder towards the fire he had made a bit earlier.

The camp itself was set in a half-moon dug out from the side of a dune. It was set out along the inner edge of said half moon, a large tent at the centre, and a few smaller ones extending from there. All in all, there was enough sleeping space for 8, a kitchenette with gas appliances and extra wood, a makeshift mobile 'intelligence office' - currently only monitoring radio waves, and store for his beach buggy. All the tents stood open towards the ocean, their backs against the wall of sand rising behind them. Set in the centre of these tents, there lay a few washed up logs, arranged for seating around a fire pit, dug deep enough to keep the most of the direct light out of sight. The breeze from the ocean dissipated the smoke enough for him not to worry about giving away his position.

The fire needed tending to. With a heavy sigh, he reached for the handle of the reel, before reigning in the spool. The fish gave a good fight, but the slow, monotonous repetition of pulling on the line, reeling in, pulling on the line, reeling in - eventually won out - as the respectably sized catch was secured. Taking out a gutting knife, he quickly set about cleaning the fish. Along the belly, a perfect slice - not cutting into the entrails. A quick flick of the wrist - sending the innards flying into the wash, a feast for the various ocean crawlers that resided just offshore. Using the back of the knife, he started removing the scales, each stroke of blade loud against the natural armour. One. Two. Three. Four. Turn, One. Two. Three. Four. Turn. One. Two. Three.....

<<flashback>> Gah! The sound of gunfire rang in his ears. It was a familiar sound. Gah! Gah! Gah!, reload. Gah! Gah! Gah! Gah! reload. The sight on his scope barely had time to covey the sudden flashes of red, before it was on another clean target. None of them were lethal. They were lackeys. They did not deserve headshots. Sent to draw out The Hunter, while their handler hid in his watchtower - behind reinforced glass. It was almost depressing to think that these were the people sent to get him. He had been called in. Knowing that it was a trap, he deliberately 'confirmed' in a way that gave away he knew something. Then he waited for them to track his phone to his apartment. A deep sigh, before he started to pack up his things. They had reached the tower - having approached from the south. They would be near the top in less than 5 minutes. Another deep sigh.​

​

It was the end of an era. He was officially retired. An old man, going to the beach. At least he would have company. If they managed to escape their nooses as well. The agents were on the second floor, and he smirked as they set off a silent tripwire. A remote laying to the side flashed a green light. He picked it up. He had never liked bombs... but at least they were fun to look at. Beep!​

​

A massive explosion took out the top three floors of the building, just before the agents reached them. Inside one of the rooms, there lay variously used shells, a male body burning against a wall, dressed in the same coat and boots Christopher preferred. It had the same dental records, the same height and approximate weight. Even the same DNA... or rather, the DNA he had given them. Not that he cared much. His former employers will get rid of this corpse as quickly as possible. Don't want to tip off yet uncorrupted of the force. If there was to be a detailed investigation as to whether it was him... well, that would take time. Time, which they did not have. Not if they wanted to catch him.​

​

About one kilometre further north, Christopher stood in another building, slightly taller than the one currently burning. Luckily the explosion took out the windows of the top three floors as well. No bullet holes to find. As he packed up his things, the police and media started to circle the other building - having been tipped off anonymously less than 20 minutes ago - just as The Scorpions flooded the top floors. Once disassembled, the rifle fit well into a guitar case, as Christopher put up his hood. Less than an hour later he was on the highway leading north. <<flashback>> ​

​

Suddenly back at the camp, Christopher watched the blood flow off his hands, and into the water. His eyes blinked for a few moments before he sighed again. With a groan, he rose up and started walking back to the fire - using his fishing rod as a cane. Apon arrival, he threw a few more logs onto the pile, before entering the kitchenette. Lightly seasoning it with some lemon and garlic - he stepped outside, before sitting down on one of the logs and starting to cook the fish over the fire - closing his eyes. Listening for any sound of movement. Hearing nothing, he looked back over the water. Waiting. They would come. They needed to.

 

[High5ives]

Interrogation

noun

The process of asking questions of (someone, especially a suspect or a prisoner) closely, aggressively, or formally.

Alternate Definition

noun

The act of placing someone in a hell so severe, that their mind breaks and their will crumbles. Often used by men lacking mercy, morality, or humanity.

There is a preconceived notion of what an interrogation entails. The pain is obvious, notorious even. Everyone already knows that an interrogation inherently means enduring intense pain. However, few men or women take into account the mental torment that takes place. For a man skilled in the sadistic art that is interrogation, it is as much a test of mental capacity as it is a tolerance of pain. Many men can indefinitely stand against physical torture, but when faced with a test of the mind, they fall apart quickly. There is no one way to break someone, to learn their secrets. Each and every man or woman have their own distinct point at which they will crumble, for a skilled interrogator, it’s only a matter of time before they find it.
~-~-~-
The streets of New York were never silent. There was always something going on, a gas station robbery, a civil protest, some sort of festival. It truly was the city that never slept. However, if you’re willing to creep through barbed wire, vault brick walls, and break into the old abandoned warehouses that dot the old shipping yards, you can find a bit of quiet.

It was late, well past midnight. Vincent had been camped here for several days. After serving his country faithfully for so many years, he was sure they were coming for him now. His handler was acting strange. Typically the man was borderline nuts, but the last time they had spoke, Vincent’s handler was oddly calm. It was unnerving, enough so that Vincent was on his guard. A week later and a car bomb had gone off outside his condo in Brooklyn. Luckily, Vincent wasn’t there, but it confirmed his suspicions. Vincent was no longer an agent of the United States. He had been forced to go rogue.

That did have its advantages though. Going rogue meant there was nothing holding Vincent back. No assets to protect. No team to look after. Most importantly, no boundaries restricting what Vincent could and couldn’t do.

In the middle of the third floor of the warehouse, a single light hung from the ceiling, casting its beam down upon a man sitting in worn wooden chair. Around both wrists and ankles, leather straps, well belts. Duct tape covered the man’s mouth, the top half of it covered in blood that trickled from the man’s nose. With all these restraints, the man was not blindfolded. Fear was a powerful weapon. He needed to see what was coming.
A looming figure stood less than ten meters in front of the man. His once clean suit was dusty and dull looking, but that didn’t distract from the man’s imposing form.

He took a step into the glow of the light. In his hands, a Cinderblock.

“Jensen, you know me. You what I do. You know what I’m going to use this for if you try screaming again, don’t you?” Vincent said slowly, shaking the Cinderblock in his hands as he looked down upon the man.

The prisoner screamed, at least as well as one could with tape across your mouth. It was muffled, quiet, but enough for Vincent to hear nonetheless. It was intolerable. Vincent couldn’t allow Jensen to think he was lenient. That would lead to hope, and hope kept a man silent. Vincent had to retaliate.

He turned and walked away, entering a small foreman’s office before promptly returning with a crude metal table. It’d do.

Vincent moved with a rather terrifying grace. Despite the brutality that was taking place, despite the pain he would inflict, the man was unphased. Reaching out, Vincent gripped one of Jensen’s wrists firmly, undoing the belt that strapped it to the armrests of the chair.

“Put your hand on the table, Jensen.” Vincent said. He didn’t yell, or grumble, or anything of the sort. Vincent’s voice was smooth. Regardless, he commanded attention. You’d be a fool to ignore the man.

Jensen’s eyes widened, gazing up at his captor in terror. His hand slowly, shakily, reaches out, finding a resting point in the table.

“You know what’s coming?”

Jensen nodded.

His broken form squirmed in fear, his eyes darting left and right, avoiding the heavy concrete held in Vincent’s hands. He made no sound.

“And you know why it’s coming?”

Jensen froze.
“I’m going to do this because you don’t know how to fuckin’ listen!” Vincent yelled, slamming the cinderblock down onto the table with a crash, though not on top of Jensen’s hand as you’d expect.

Jensen snapped his hand back to his chest, away from the table. Muffled sobs, moans really, echoed from the man as tears pooled in his eyes.

“Physical pain isn’t going to convince you of anything, will it, Jensen?” Vincent said with a sigh. “I’m going to take the tape off your lips now, ok? You make a noise, and I’m going for your wife once we’re through here.”

Jensen was dead silent, choking back his tears and sobs and Vincent strapped his wrist back into place.

“I’m going to take that as a yes, ‘Ight Chief?” Vincent reaches forward with one hand and slowly peeled away the strip of duct tape. “Jensen, who wants me dead?”

Jensen remained silent.
“Why are they targeting me”

Again, silence.

Vincent sighed and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m going to ask once more. Who put a price on my fuckin’ head!?” Vincent suddenly snapped at the man, stepping forward and slamming the heel of his foot into his prisoner’s chest.

As you’d expect, Jensen flew backwards. Falling quickly before hitting the ground, the back of his head slamming into the metal chain floor. Jensen quickly began to sob. The pain wouldn’t stop. Not until Vincent had everything he wanted, and even then, Vincent would probably kill him to cover his tracks.
“I-I don’t know!” Jensen cried out just before Vincent’s shoe came sailing through the air colliding with Jensen’s cheek bone.

“I swear to god, Jensen. You say that one more time, and I’ll hang you in this fuckin’ warehouse.” Vincent began, crouching down next to the bloody, broken man. “I won’t call the police. I won’t call the hospital. They won’t be the ones the find your body.” Vincet continued, pulling a cell phone from his pocket. “I’m going to call your little girl. I’m going to tell her that daddy is swinging from a rusty chain thirty feet in the air.” The phone screen turned on, showing a screensaver with a man and a teenage girl at his side. Jensen and his daughter.

Upon hearing the threat, Jensen’s sobs turned into echoing screams. Cries for help. For mercy. For god.

Vincent had no pity for the man. He met his cries with closed fist, bashing into his jaw and then immediately grabbing his face.

“Jensen look at me.” Vincent spoke, forcing the man to face him. “Look at me. You tell me now, or I string you up.” Vincent said softly.

“I promise you, I have no idea!” Jensen wailed. “I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!” He screamed over and over again. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know the car was yours! I didn’t know Vinny! I wouldn’t have blasted it if I knew it was yours! I promise!” Jensen screamed, soon slipping into gibberish.

As Jensen screamed, and begged, and pleaded, Vincent slowly sat him up, moving the chair to the edge of the third floor railing. Just feet away, dangling over the edge hung a chain, the remnants of an old crane system. Wordlessly, Vincent wrapped the chain, and gave the chair a push...
That was the end of it. Vincent’s official resignation into a life of being hunted. He had just murdered a CIA agent, one that likely knew nothing.

Unbeknownst to him, Vincent was watched the whole time. On camera even. This would inevitably be used to justify the hit placed out on Vincent.

Vincent didn’t even have time to think about what he had just done before bullets came ripping through the windows of the building. Instinct kicked in and before he knew it, Vincent was on the move.

Reaching out to the same chain a dead man now hung by, Vincent slid down it, leaping off at the second floor. His feet hit the ground and immediately he was running. Hands pumping at his sides as he dashed towards a window overlooking the bay. He wasn’t turning. Wasn’t slowing. Vincent just raised his arms up and jumped, shattering through the old window and crashing down into the water below.
The shock of hitting the icy water wasn’t noticed, nor were the tiny glass cuts that now covered Vincent’s face and arms. Adrenaline raged through his veins. The only thing that mattered now was survival. Vincent’s feet began to kick, struggling through the icy water out to sea. That was the one place they couldn’t follow him, he was dead if he tried to just run. Along the shore.

He could hear confused yelling behind him, men barking orders at each other. Apparently, the strike team sent for Vincent hadn’t anticipated this. Their confusing provides the gap Vincent needed to escape.

He swam down along the shore line, carefully keeping his distance from the docks and piers, lest he be spotted as he slipped away.

-~-~-~

By morning, Vincent had safely made his escape, venturing into the safety of the crowds that mulled beneath the skyscrapers of The Big Apple. He was indeed safe here. In the bustling crowds, Vincent would be near impossible to track, even if he was found there were far too many people to risk taking him down. Too much collateral for the agency.
Now, Vincent needed to make contact with someone. Anyone even. He just needed to start picking apart who he could trust, and who he couldn’t. For that, Vincent made his way into the crime ridden underbelly of New York City.

It was a putrid place, plagued by gangs, violence, and drugs. But where there are drugs, there are smugglers and a smuggler is a spy’s best friend.

Weapons, equipment, clothes, even safe passage could all be secured by a smuggler. Granted they would certainly charge you for it, but at the moment, Vincent didn’t have any other choices. Finding a smuggler wasn’t hard, not even in the slightest, brokering a deal wasn’t an issue either, not when Vincent assured the criminals of his wealth by handing over the keys to a Bugatti. (The same car that had been blown up less than a week prior)
By the end of the day, Vincent was on a plane. By the next day, he was in Europe, and by the next night, Vincent had found his way to Africa...

~-~-~-
Typically Vincent wasn’t fond of secret arrangements. They always seemed to be traps, but this was a special time.

The Hunter. A South African Agent fond of sniper rifles. An assassin. The type of man that will kill you before you even know they’re there.

Vincent had received coordinates from The Hunter, and his was foolish enough to go.

Granted, it’s not like Vincent had any sort of choice. Where else could he go? As far as he knew, corrupt traitors had infiltrated every agency across the globe. Vincent couldn’t just seek asylum somewhere. Besides, it was uncommon for Vincent to receive messages from other spies. He wasn’t the friendly type, and he had quite the reputation for being aggressive.
Vincent trusted The Hunter more than most spies though. He’d only worked with the man once before, but the South African man had honor, something Vincent could respect. If this was all a trap, at least it’d be over quickly.
~_~_~_~
Vincent had finally come upon the camp. Standing atop the dunes, he could see down upon it all, his eyes searching for Christopher. He quickly spotted the man sitting by the fire.

Vincent was smart enough to know that he’d never sneak up on the man. The Hunter was just that, a Hunter. Trained ears were hear Vincent a mile away. So rather than even try to sneak, and be perceived as a threat, Vincent stuck his fingers between his lips and whistled. It wasn’t particularly loud, but loud enough for Christopher to hear it over the soft waves.

Vincent wanted to be seen, so he raised a hand upwards into the air, a sign of good faith...
This could be the beginning of something grand, or the end of something terrible...

 

[ReverseTex]

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What does one do when one finds their entire life to be a lie? Question reality maybe? Shrivel up in self pity? Depends on the person really... For Claude Marceau neither options appeal his eye... Revolting the verdict however... Does.

Claude sauntered down the all-to familiar halls of the DGSE office, his icy blue eyes scanning every detail of the building for the last time... Stopping as he arrived to the completely bulletproof glass office of his director, Monsieur Lafayette, he dipped his head in respect to his boss as he entered. "Ahh... Agent Marceau. How are you my boy?" Lafayette was a older man in his fifties, retired from the field physically, but not mentally. He had told the man only two times of his displeasure being addressed as "Agent", which meant this time was purposeful. Noting the fact for later usage, Claude simpered. "Jet-lag from Jerusalem is just now fading thankfully Agent... Now if you don't mind my haste, what is it you wish from me so soon from my return.?" Lafayette watched him carefully as he took the empty seat between the two men, then replied slightly distant. "I do not mind one bit, we did train you to be curious eh..? Anyhow I must digress momentarily from your question to be blunt, you have served France valiantly as a political negotiator, and as a pilot. The agency shall never forget your sacrifices Agent Marceau-" Suddenly, two pairs of forceful hands pinned the man to his chair, causing instinctive alarm. Calm down. You knew this was coming. Play it cool. "Your little enlightenment by our old friend from MOSSAD is unfortunate Agent Marceau... That's why I sadly won't enjoy this..." Already knowing what happened in this stage from countless of observations of others, he closed his eyes as he felt a syringe pierce his neck, almost instantly a wave of cold nausea washed over him...




The sound of chopping propellers was what awoke Claude from his sedated state, the chilling sensation of cold metal could be felt against his face despite a thin pillowcase around his head. The engines... It had to be a Aero Commander 500A. Nowhere near cargo size since the agency didn't need anything that flashy for this type of operation, but they needed a plane that could get distance. Distance was key in these types of operations. Which could play in his favor...

"Hey?! Who's flying this twin-engine hunk? You don't want to damage the cargo monsieur's." A gruff Frenchmen, southern and young if he had to guess by accent, retorted back. "Quiet back there! We are under strict orders to keep you contained!" Claude managed to pull himself to a sitting position despite being tied by the ankles and wrists, and chuckled. "Silly boy I am contained. I am tied tightly, bagged, and trapped in a airplane am I not? Now could you please appease a death-sentenced man like me to some light small-talk?" The pilot, a woman by the sound of it, sighed as the audible sound of a few buttons being pressed caught his ear. "Fine. What do you want to chat about?" "I appreciate the gesture madame... Now if don't mind my inquiry, where is it we are headed? You can't fool me either. I know this aircraft is capable of going 8 hours without refueling." The co-pilot grumbled once again, most likely annoyed by his knowledge, replied. "To the Atlantic Ocean. DSGE has made it clear they do not need information from you, so they want you disposed of, for reasons classified to us and to you." Claude nodded, knowing the feeling of being shielded information from his piloting days, and noted that fact.

If I can break them down a bit more, i'm golden he thought to himself silently. "I was a pilot like you two... For much bigger aircraft's, but nonetheless the same reasons... And its a tough life. Gone six days, in the air for half of them... Its not as luxurious as the recruitment officers make it out eh?" The humanizing quip made both of the pilots chuckle, knowing that was the god-awful truth. "Well trust me, you can get out of it. I did it. You just have to do something that sticks you out from the hundreds of other pilots... And I know just the thing."

Now the bait was set. All he needed was the the fish to take it... The woman was the first to respond, curiosity evident in her tone. "And what would that be...?" The fish took the bait. Bingo. "Well I can't just tell you this life-changing information while i'm tied and blindfolded madame! Dont you want to have a real conversation with the man who has experienced this first hand, and not with some sleazebag prisoner!" The woman didn't respond, but the sound of seat belt unclicking from the co-pilots side gave clue that his request was being met. Shortly, he could feel the zip-ties being cut, and lastly the bag removed from his head. His icy eyes took a few moments to adjust to his surroundings, but the night sky was visible through the blur. So its already been at least 6 hours. Worst case is we're on our last hour of fuel... Running a through his tossed mahogany hair, Claude dipped his head. "Thank you Monsieur, much appreciated...” “ If you so much as make a move out of line, you’re going out of that plane. No shucte.” The male pilot barked, while the female ignored her partner, most likely agreeing with his verbiage. Giving a nod in understandment, he continued. “Now where was I? Yes the deal. Now here's what's going to happen you two; you're going to fly me to my desired location without landing this plane. DSGE will know if you do. By doing this, will ensure that the two of you eliminated one of France's biggest political assets, and elevate you up the ladder. I will take the plane's standard issue DSGE go-bag, along with a parachute, which you can stay flew out when you opened the hatch to drop me... Now when I can assure myself i'm in a safe location, I will wire the two of you 300k from one of my offshore accounts, which I can find the planes serial number in the side-card of the go-bag." Claude paused, at this point the two pilots had turned their full attention to him, both curious and confused at what they were hearing. “Why should we even believe what you’re saying is true, or even logical!?” The female said a little more curiously than intended. “Because Madame, you cannot logic your way through emotion... So Madame and Monsieur, what do you say...?"



Claude currently stood tall, finalizing the fastenings on his parachute as the plane lightly jostled from the imbalance. "You have 4 hours to wire that money Monsieur Marceau! If not don't be surprised if you wake up in a cell!" The male pilot yelled over the roar of the engine, desperate for fuel. “I’m a man of my word Monsieur! If you don’t receive the money it’s because I’m buried in the desert!” Grabbing the go-bag with his left hand, he gave a nod to the pair as he banged the side of the plane with his other hand, signaling he was ready. 3. 2. -. The plane's back hatch opened up, shooting a chilling wave of Namib air through the aircraft. Without hesiation, Claude threw himself from the plane, and plunged towards salvation. The Namib Desert.


[/div][/div][/div][div class=credit]credits RI.a [/div][div class=overlay]Claude Marceau[/div][div class=tags]Location: DGSE HQ Paris - Nambia
A L M O S [/div]

 

[LindsMagee]

Nothing prepares an agent for the brutal betrayal of their government, their country, their home. The thought always lurks in the dark corners of the mind, but it is illogical and weak for minds to dwell on simple fears. One should be prepared for anything and everything that comes their way.
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Driving through the dunes of the Namib desert, Vasilissa absentmindedly rubbed her neck, wincing when her fingers touched the the deep red line and surrounding bruises. Bruises caused by the very agency she used to work for, had worked for for 7 years. All of her achievements and life within the agency came crashing down in one moment without a second thought from the people she worked with for years. She had arrived in Johannesburg, South Africa three days earlier. The desert location cryptically sent by The Hunter were a four days drive from Johannesburg, a four day drive with no shelter, an open desert full of dunes. Every time a plane flew by, Vasilissa assumed it was armed with heavy artillery that her government sent to finish the job.
---------------------------------------------
Just a few days earlier, Vasilissa had been completing a typical job in Belarus when she was tipped off. An anonymous tip from a fellow spy that warned of her agency’s impending betrayl. A few hours after the tip off, her boss, Officer Sergei called her back to Russia for an emergency briefing. She knew then that the tip had been correct, but she expected to have more time to plan an escape. She was sorely mistaken. When she walked into her hotel room that night, she found a note on her nightstand reading the day’s date and “истечение”, Russian for expiration. She knew that meant she was to die today. She grabbed her emergency bag and bolted back to the door, only making it into the kitchenette in her hotel room before she ran into another agent. He yanked her hair while she was sprinting, causing her to slam into the ground with force. Catching her breath, she stood up and was met with a fist covered in rings to the face. Blood ran down her temple as she attempted to maintain her balance, this man was about two-times her size so she’d have to be faster or smarter than him. Completely focused on the man in front of her, Vasilissa hadn’t noticed the other agent behind her until a wire was wrapped tightly around her neck. With no weapons near her and her air supply cut off, Vasilissa assumed she was going to die then and there and began to lose control, kicking and clawing at the person behind her. She felt blood begin to bubble from her neck, seeping onto the wire as the person behind her ran into the kitchen counter. Vasilissa struggled to feel the counter for anything to use as a weapon when her hand brushed a stove top. Turning the switch all the way to the right, it only took a moment for her attacker to light up in flames. With the two agents distracted by the fire, Vasilissa sprinted for the door and out of the hotel room. It was a relatively small hotel, only eight floors, so she got to the roof in two minutes. On the roof she changed her clothes, caught her breath, and came up with a plan to safely get to the airport, knowing it was her only way out and that it was only a 20 minute drive away. Sliding onto the roof of another hotel, she fished a brand new burner phone out of her bag, calling a taxi to an busy street about two miles from her location. She then went through the things in her bag, ensuring that she had her fake passport and ID with a name she had never used. The agent that hadn't been set aflame bursted onto the roof of the original hotel and before he could alert anyone to her location, she whipped out a silenced 9mm and put a bullet between his eyes. From there, she disappeared off the map, went rogue as her agency placed a hit on her head. At the airport, she took the soonest possible flight, a flight to Spain.
---------------------------------------------
Vasilissa didn’t run into any problems until she arrived in Spain, but there she saw the two agents coming, slitting one's throat from behind and shooting the other as they turned around. It’s either kill or be killed in this business and she was determined to survive. After Spain,Vasilissa remembered a message from The Hunter about a place in Africa. Hoping it was a safe place, she took the first flight to Johannesburg. It was a straight shot 10 hour flight from Madrid to Johannesburg,South Africa. After landing in Johannesburg Vasilissa rented an old landcover to cross the desert and bought an extra pistol for good measure. If I'm willingly walking into a trap, I might as well be semi-prepared, she convinced herself, and went on her merry way to the deciphered coordinates.
---------------------------------------------
Now, three days into the drive, another plane passed overhead causing Vasilissa to stop the car and look up. It wasn’t a plane she recognized, but she saw someone parachute out of the plane and in the same direction she was headed. Climbing back into the car, Vasilissa resumed driving towards the safe haven and the parachuter, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gun in the passenger seat. This desert could mean liberation or death, and she was curious to find out which path her fate had in store.​

 

[The Pattern]

"Red slate." was the only message the Red Rook sent to his family for a while. He also sent it to some mercenaries in Austria. It was a short, yet coherent sentence that meant a lot to the Vogts related to Asher and a few independent contacts Asher had made then it would to anyone else... It was a plan they devised together for three years under the BND's nose in case it ever capitulated and the Vogts were ever placed in danger. Unlike some people, Asher dwelt upon the idea the Federal Intelligence Service would betray him one day, and he planned as far as to save his family from being involved and getting himself out of the country. Almost an hour after that message, Asher's house on the outskirts of Frankfurt exploded. The actual structure itself survived beyond almost every window being shattered and the door flying off, although everything within was burnt to a crisp. Every item Asher's family couldn't take with them to an undisclosed location was doomed to the fire in an instant. They were safe, and Asher was almost safe, just three trails tied to him had to be sorted out before he took a holiday to the pleasantly named Skeleton Coast.

The Bundesnachrichtendienst had three ideas as to where the Red Rook had disappeared to. The first trail left behind by this perfidious planner would eventually lead a group of the BND's most loyal to a bunker in Western Austria. The second led to a cave somewhere in the Harz mountain range, and the third led to an area of the city of Worms that was being plagued by two gangs. Whilst teams one and two were busy investigating their respective areas, five BND agents and twelve police officers met in the target neighbourhood and divided into teams to search each street. There was a very tenuous peace between the two gangs that resided in the neighbourhood, and that was stretched even closer to the breaking point by the police who were gingerly scrutinizing the streets in a full manhunt after Asher. Every street provided little cover if anyone in the buildings began a firefight, although the officers on one street couldn't see their colleagues on the next street along. The BND was concerned about the possibility that he was trying to negotiate with either gang, or perhaps both. They'd have to deal with Red Rook quickly before the manhunt became a shootout.

Then a shadow ran, the bullet flew and a powder keg was ignited. From every other building or so on those streets gunfire exploded into a cacophony that sent everyone on the streets behind nearby bins, cars and anything that could serve as cover... Everyone except for the officer in a red scarf who fired the first shot. Whilst the three other officers and the single BND officer on the same street as him were taken care of fairly quickly, he just stood there as the gang members of both sides on that street fought each other. The instigator simply holstered his pistol, held his hands up and walked confidently down the road. Red Rook had already promised both gangs a way weaken their greatest rival around two hours before he stole the police uniform and tagged along to his own manhunt. The plan was to use use the police as a distraction, all the gangs had to do was spare the policeman in the red scarf and use the excuse to thin the other's numbers. The gangs were too busy to bother shooting at the officer, even if they did want him dead. Soon enough, the disguised Asher was out of the warzone and in an empty house's backyard where he had left some more inconspicuous clothes. Specifically, a pair of denim jeans, a white linen shirt and a dark blue longcoat. Asher hid the uniform in a nearby bush before walked on for a good while to Airfield Worms, most of that walking was through the farmland that separates the airfield from the city.

Just before he went into the Airfield's flying school building, Asher made sure to stop off at a small cache he had hidden away. It had a silenced pistol, a deck of cards and a set of Cluedo in English with instructions all in a briefcase that was soon carried to the flying school building. Asher collected a favour from one of the instructors: a one-way ticket to Walvis Bay. The flight took around ten hours, and despite how weary the pilot was near the end of it, Asher was either asleep or thankful he was out of the BND's reach, as Germany didn't really have much to do with Namibia. After they touched down and Asher said goodbye to his pilot, he set off into the city to get some tinned goods, a can opener and an old pickup truck. From there it was a peaceful drive along the Skeleton Coast, with multiple stops along the coast to try and spot the Hunter's camp without success. Asher didn't have any plans left, if the Hunter turned out to be hostile then he'd just have to drive into the desert with little water and some cold tinned food. Same plan if anyone attacks the camp, drive and hope. Although, seeing a small dot and a larger dot fall to the ground in the distance stopped Asher in his tracks... That was either the BND actually being effective or one of Asher's equals, worst thing is that nationality isn't always obvious at long distances. "Why couldn't that dot be using a parachute with their country of origin's flag emblazoned on it?" Asher sounded more frustrated then worried as he asked himself rhetorically.

All the way back in Europe, team one thought that Asher had already taken care of himself, as at the bottom of the stairs to that booby-trap-littered bunker were the giblets of a man whose DNA was registered as Asher's in the BND database. Although it's unlikely they brought a DNA tester with them to Austria. The poor sod had been blown to smithereens by the traps laid out in a bunker that had recently been erased from the BND's list of active safehouses, as if the Red Rook wanted it off the BND's radar. The Second team just went on a nice team-building exercise in the caves as Asher didn't even bother to plant anything, it was just a blatant red herring.

 

[Arrt Saunders]

Everyone​

​

The Betrayal
“It’s an order from the top, from the Ringmaster himself. The Circus wants you to come home.”

Everyone took a long sip from his cup. The coffee, a pungent assemblage of bitterness and rancid milk left too long in the heat and the warmth, stuck in his throat. He swallowed to clear the acid, inwardly cursing A for the horrific accommodation.

“Why does ‘Lord Weasel’ want me back in London? He’s the one who sent me to this god-forsaken dump in the first place.” Everyone asked. His sharp words were as stilly and steadfast as the roots of an ancient tree, barbs covered by deceptive bark.

“I can assure you that I don’t have clearance to access that answer,” A said without the same protective coating.

Everyone scoffed knowingly. “If Weasel wanted to terminate my contract, the very least he could’ve done was send me somewhere nice.

“Like Bruges?” A offered somewhat excitedly.

“Bruges? Screw that, A. I meant the Bahamas, or Paris. Someplace nice. Not this weasely place in the middle of nowhere. And, you know what? Screw Weasel too. If he wants to talk to me, if he wants me to perform in his suicidal swan-song, he should’ve called me himself. I deserve to be terminated with some fucking panache.”

A went silent, a lingering, insipid pause forming in their conversation. The void groaned and widened, until A made a small grunt; a forced grunt that seemed far from the phone, like that of a low assent to an unavoidable incentive placed against his skull.

“Do you remember Operation Duplex?”

“What about it?” Everyone replied.

“Do you remember it?” A repeated, stressing his syllables. “We went to a little café by the river? A beautiful little spot, all those pretty canals and pretty bridges and cobbled streets and those wonderful churches. All that fairytale stuff.”

“It was a crap-pit.”

“It was not a crap-pit.”

“A, it was more of a horror story than a fairytale. That café was a cockroach infested crap-pit. Kinda like this place. But at least there they had a double bed —”

“Leave the cockroaches and your bedroom worries out of this and concentrate on what I’m saying for once. Alright? We had just arrived in the city, remember, and that little café was the only place serving coffee at that early hour in the morning —”

“A, I fucking remember it. It was a crap-pit - it’s fucking hard to forget.”

“Can you remember what I told you as we were drinking coffee?”

Everyone placed his cup on the bedside locker and walked slowly to the window. The gristle in A’s voice was unnervingly unpleasant, as was the message it conveyed, like fat and grease at the back of the throat. He glanced down at the street, scanning the rose-stained, peanut-crunching swarm in the morning sun several floors below.

“Everyone? Can you remember what I told you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can remember the fucking conversation.”

“Good,” A sighed. The sound of metal scratching against metal sang out as something clicked into place. “Everyone…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry —”

“You don’t —”

“They’re coming for—”

The hissing sound of lighting powder, followed instantly by a banshee howl of gunfire and cracking bone, devoured his handler’s voice. Everyone quickly dropped the phone in his hand, his eyes scouring the street. Silence came dripping once again into the room, poisoned only by the tone of disconnection that echoed quietly and the slow humdrum of Everyone’s heart.

He knew A, his handler for seven years, was dead. There was no denying that. Operation Duplex meant that. There would be time for mourning. Later, when the target was firmly on someone else’s back.

Everyone watched the crowd passing by, picked out each person as they moved. Most of them were mundane innocents, leading innocent lives with innocent worldviews; a few, however, were wolves dressed like wooly sheep. He spotted four men outside the hostel: two burly giants by the fountain, their hands gripping hidden weaponry within their bulging jackets; and two more by the door of the hostel, dressed in black suits and dark-rimmed sunglasses.

Spinning on his heels, Everyone grabbed a two-toned coat from the wardrobe. He got the coat over his shoulders when there was a knock on the door.

“Mr. Marshall, by order of Lord Heathersfield, I demand you open the door.”

Everyone smirked as the angry voice, filled with rusty rage, called out. He checked his reflection in the broken mirror before opening the door without a moment’s hesitation.

“Oh, I’m very sorry, sir,” the young hitman blubbered, his eyes widening like two saucers and his voice cracking. He looked to the floor, suddenly finding an incredible interest in the tattered and dirt-ridden carpet rather than the burnt face Everyone wore. “I, I must have the wrong room.”

“Pas du tout, Monsieur, pas du tout,” Everyone fluently replied, his lips peeled and cracked, and closed the hostel door behind him whilst raising his hands. “You have done nothing wrong. Are you, eh, looking for a Monsieur, eh, how did you say it, Marshall? Has he done something to wrong you?”

“Yes, yes, he has,” the man said, still looking everywhere but at Everyone. “I am sorry for shouting.”

“Do not worry, Monsieur. I would be angry too if Monsieur Marshall had hurt me.”

The man, nodding his head up and down like a broken toy, stepped away, continuing down the hall in search of a person who didn’t exist.

Everyone walked in the opposite direction, high-headed and confident. His poised demeanour was not phased by the appearance of the assassin at his door. The Ringmaster, his commanding officer, wanted his prized head, and the Ringmaster would send in the big guns to get what he wanted.

Everyone smiled at the thought: the Ringmaster wanted the head of a hydra, and he knew nothing of which head he was hunting.

Going down the stairs of the hostel, Everyone took off his coat and turned it inside out. The bright fabric, rich and full of texture, was replaced by a grubby piece of tartan that blended into the unwashed hostel. He hunched his shoulders, shortened his stride and introduced a limp; a subtle defect, an injury from many moons ago that never healed.

By the time he reached the street, he was an old man, dressed in rags and sooted with mud and muck. His smile betrayed him, as did the layer of sadness that covered his eyes, but hidden beneath the hat he had stolen from the pocket of a man climbing the stairs to his own room, Everyone slipped easily into the shadows.

​

​

 

[ttlovepie]

• Hideki finished climbing into the back seat as Nobody took the wheel. He opened the laptop Nobody brought. The bluish light illuminated his tired eyes as he opened a flap on the tip of his left ring finger and pulled out a small micro-USB drive from a metallic slot with a pair of tweezers. He plugged the device into the laptop and smiled his awkward smile as he looked fondly upon a crude drawing, a weird mixture of a child's drawing and a technical drawing.

• A stick figure was sitting at a desk with a computer, everything meticulously labeled in what an uneducated onlooker would assume is Japanese, but on closer inspection seems largely gibberish. At the top is a title and a date set 3 years, 10 months, and 21 days prior and page number 1/24. The camera moves into the screen, and the drawings fade into Hideki sitting at his desk, the labels turning into legible Japanese, then English. The title reads Contingency Plan: Pigeon. The labels describe the specs of the computer and saying (See ref pg. 502 ), Hideki's height, weight, eye color, hair color, See ref Male Human (see ref page 56), Gadgets Hideki normally keeps on his person begin to get listed before getting cut off by the dead pixels on the screen, finally labeling the model number of both the chair and table.

• Hideki is drinking a cup of tea, he seems antsy as he clicks along on his computer. The camera turns to reveal him reading an email, translated for the audience into English. "Dear Nakamura Jaku, please report to Senior Officer Tama Mayuri. It is time for your quarterly review. The director asks you again to please stop working on dangerous equipment while in meetings. " Hideki was relieved, he had been waiting for this, it was 3 days late, which is putting him on edge. He asked them not to be late on these kinds of things. He somewhat irritably gets up from his desk, and grabs his briefcase, the labels return labeling the briefcase with a model number and "Deadly Chemical Experiments (See ref...)".

• Hideki makes his way up several flights of stairs and down a hallway before he opens the door. A label appears over an older woman. Only saying, Senior Officer Tama Mayuri, (See Human female ref pg 57). "Please Hideki, have a seat." She says in Japanese, shocking Hideki slightly at the use of his real name. He complies while leaning over and sitting with his hands on his wrist without making eye contact, the way he often did while nervous. She says solemnly but perhaps a little impersonally, "I'm very sorry Hideki." The sound of a gun cocking behind him. He frowned and she said "I wish things could've been diff-"before he suddenly twists the skin on his wrists with his hands counterclockwise. Labels appear on his arms. Discriminative Stress Activation Based Nano-Sized Radio Transmitting Device (See reference page 937).

• A deafening loud sound rings out from the behind him, followed by another. The man behind him fires his gun as a force propels him off balance, breaking his pelvis causing him to fall over where he ceased moving. A small amount of shrapnel flew around the room embedding itself into the walls, but no one else got his. Hideki looks up at Mayuri before looking over at the now unconscious man. He sees her shouting, while fumbling for something on her belt, but couldn't hear her over the ringing in his ears. He suddenly leaps over the chair diving for the gun in the agent behind him's grasp, the label M1911 pistol (9 rounds) followed by a model number appears. He picks it up quickly and aims it shakily at his former boss. She begins to aim her gun as he looks towards him. His hearing began to come back, the sound of fire alarms going off before the sound is overpowered by a round being fired off. Then another. A smoking hole smolders above Hideki's head on the floor, and a bullet hole is clearly visible in Tama Mayuri's head.
  
• Hideki takes a second to catch his bearings and thinking about what he should do next. He sits there for a minute before running over to his briefcase. He takes out a gas mask and a set of goggles. He pulls out two containers an astute observer would recognize as made of Teflon. He pours one on the floor slowly in a circle. The floor corrodes rapidly as the label Fluoroantimonic Acid (H₂FSbF₆) appears above it as the liquid being poured onto the floor He closes the briefcase and jumps down to the next floor quickly looking around to see if there's anyone there to stop him as he waits for the next floor to corrode and hop through it. He sees a coworker who was working on an experiment involving rats before the equipment he was working on exploded, killing his test subjects and maiming his leg. They both stare at each other awkwardly, a label beginning to form above his head as he suddenly begins fumbled for a sidearm. Hideki shoots him. "Sorry," He says politely through his mask, before pouring the other vial onto the floor, the corrosive liquid's sizzling intensifies as it hardens into a cement-like material.

• He runs out of the corridor down a hall and into his Laboratory. A vault like safe comes down as he puts his foot down on a tile. A label appears over his foot. Personal Biological Enhancement: Personal NFC chip (See ref page 102). He runs to the other side of the room to his computer, where he takes out his personal USB chip, and plugs it into the computer, reading over CONTINGENCY PLAN: PIDGEON as he sends out an Email through private channels. "I'm calling in that favour you owe me." Is all it says. "I see you are in a precarious situation, we're actually on the same boat. This is gonna be a pain in the ass. But enough chitchat. I can spare time, but we will need to hurry up. 10 minutes is the most I can give you before I also execute my own escape" He replies. A label appears over the email server as he gets a reply. "Nobody: Korean, Egotistical, Superspy, Top Hacker, Male Human (See ref page 56)" "I'm letting you into the server, let me know what I need to download. I don't need to tell you they'll route you out if they catch you snooping around too much, but I'm sure you can do some serious damage after you help me get out. I need you to tell me the safest route to the Helicopter Hangar on the roof using the security cameras, and I need you to authorize flight for Helicopter #817. "No problemo. I'll pin the blame on South Korea since they're being a dick. Anyways, I got access and... here we go, got your location. I disabled their access to the surveillance feed. Just go left and then right again and into elevator 08. I'll take full control of it and bring you to hangar 08." He hid the USB chip back into his finger.
  
• Hideki uses his NFC chip in another corner causing the tile to slide aside revealing a backpack. The label showing "100 Super batteries (Ref page 100), Auto turret (ref page 207), Active Noise Canceler (Ref page 734), and tear gas followed by a model number. He pulled the turret out and put the batteries in, also keeping a can of teargas handy. He opened the briefcase and looked longingly at it before, throwing two stable chemical compounds whose label reads (explodes violently when mixed and exposed to oxygen.) He ran through the resulting hole in the wall listening to the emails being sent to his phone about where to go next, the staff on a manhunt that was somewhat hindered by the injured, and the fires from Hideki's explosives. He had hidden them in as many things he knew were going into the building that wasn't being used by him since Contingency Plan: Pidgeon was concocted.

• Under Nangong's guidance, he manages to make it to the roof unmolested. But there, there are about 10 people on the roof, a collective label appears above all of them. "Agents: tend to be a decent shot." He bit his lip and started panicking, before realizing he had the solution in his hands already. He opens the hatch slightly ajar and throws the tear gas, before closing it again, shots hit the lid before the sound of coughing is heard. The tear gas was thick and hard to see through, but the turret only needed infrared light to shoot. It aimed slowly and shot them in the head one by one as they stood there trying not to vomit in the cloud. He ran towards the helicopter bay, pot shots continue to fire at him through the toxic mist. Dangerous but not likely to do much. His gas mask protecting and goggles doing wonders for most of his sensitive regions. Eventually, movement stops entirely and he enters the building.

• He sent out an email, "Now, go all out." He quickly ran to helicopter #817 a panel in the floor sliding over as he got near, revealing a heavy, thin dark cloth and some scaffolding. The cloth has a label that reads Perfect Camouflage System Reference page 899) He wasted no time setting up the scaffolding tarping up the cloth around it and hang ing the Active Noise Cancellation system from the scaffolding. He hooked up wires to the batteries in his bag before running to all the other helicopters. He simply turned the ignition in each of them, set the autopilot for them to go in all different directions. Before running back to his helicopter, running quickly through his head where he wanted to go before receiving an email. "Sending you information to three of my safe houses. It's private and they don't know I own it, but if given time. they will be able to follow your tracks. It has high security so follow the instructions on how to get in. Also, there will be equipment there, you are free to use anything. Wait in safe house A for three days. If I'm not there after three days then move to safe house B and again wait for three days. If still, I'm not there then move to safe house C and wait again for three days. If I still haven't arrived after the allocated time, then you can proceed alone to The Skeleton Coast. " Hyung said. He set a course to the coordinates in the email and powered on the ANC system and the plane disappears from anyone not looking from directly above or below. It almost completely silently leaves the bay as Nincho agents enter the helicopter room, finding all of them empty. The try taking some of them down in vain, as Hideki makes a B-line to his desired destination.

• Hideki eventually meets up with Hyung. Hideki, unfortunately, didn't know how to land a helicopter. It ended up crashing in a field some miles away from safe house A as the Hideki parachuted out of the plane and into some farmland. Nobody ended up being in Safehouse A, reaching the destination within 2 days. They agreed it wasn't long before their governments found them, and that the only safe place was the "Safe Haven" they found through ciphers. They had no idea what waited for them there but decided it was their best shot. They asked around a bit after reaching a nearby town. It took a day of walking where they found a man who was willing to sell them an old jeep if they would help him repair some farm equipment and vehicles he had been collecting. It was a lucky break for sure. Hideki closed the laptop and laid down to sleep. They should reach the airport soon, and then it's a plane ride and a long walk to see what they had in store for them. He could sure use the rest.

 

[Kent]

[3:52 A.M.]
[SOUTH KOREA, SEOUL]
[NANGONG CORPORATION, ATLAS TOWER]

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Alarms kept sounding a certain room in within the tower. A man was ruthlessly smashing his keyboard with speed that would shock anyone. He had an ugly expression in his face and his hair was messy as if he just woke up - which he just did. This man was Nangong Hyung.

"Fucking idiots! What audacity! They've done it now!" He kept cursing. Frustration was written all over his face. He wasn't in a good mood. He was asleep when an alarm woke him up. And that wasn't the crux of the problem. His work - the aegis system[1] - was actually breached! He can repel the attacker, but it certainly would take a couple minutes. The attacker was actually skilled.

2 minutes! It took him 3 minutes to repel the attacker. It would be a very short time to some people, but to people like him, an expert among experts, it felt like 3 hours! Of course, if it was someone else, they would have probably taken tens of minutes. And even if they did have the same skill set of Hyung, they wouldn't necessarily be able to repel the attacker in 2 minutes since they didn't have the help of aegis.

He did a damage assessment and scoured the networks for digital forensics. After he found the first clue, he frowned. A couple minutes later, his face had a very ugly expression. They were all records of influential people in South Korea! They also used the network to breach their private assets! He had a feeling that a storm was brewing.

Two hours later, Hyung was drinking coffee and scrolling through the dark web in his laptop when multiple notifications popped up. Hmm?
[CHIMERA LEAKED GOVERNMENT INFORMATION OF MULTIPLE COUNTRIES. CLASSIFIED AT THE HIGHEST INTERNATIONAL THREAT LEVEL.] He almost spat his coffee after reading it. He immediately went to work to validate the information himself and check if it was genuine. He came up with multiple results a moment later. It's actually true... Private information, nuclear codes, locations of strategic military bases, etc. Hyung smiled wryly and sighed.

His phone rang as Changyeong Chang called him. Hyung looked at his phone contemplating on whether he should answer it or not. At the end, he decided to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Hyung. We need you at HQ for an emergency briefing. Make haste, It is of highest importance." Chang immediately replied.

"Director..."

"What?"

"Nothing. I will be there in half an hour." Hyung promised.

"Half an hour? I just sent a car, it will arrive in half that time." Hyung frowned and hanged up. He stood up and began making his preparations. Shortly after he finished doing so, he received a message from Hideki, the Japanese super spy.

"I'm calling in that favor you owe me." Hyung was smart so he immediately guessed what was happening. He was also probably being chased by his government. Guess most super spies are in a horrible situation. He connected connected with Hideki using a private channel.

"I see you are in a precarious situation, we're actually on the same boat. This is gonna be a pain in the ass. But enough chitchat. I can spare time, but we will need to hurry up. 10 minutes is the most I can give you before I also execute my own escape" Hyung replied. He decided to help the guy since he isn't the like who goes against his words and Hideki is probably the only guy he trusts and it won't hurt gaining a useful guy like him as an ally.

"I'm letting you into the server, let me know what I need to download. I don't need to tell you they'll route you out if they catch you snooping around too much, but I'm sure you can do some serious damage after you help me get out. I need you to tell me the safest route to the Helicopter Hangar on the roof using the security cameras, and I need you to authorize flight for Helicopter #817. " Hideki replied. Hyung snorted. He didn't need to tell Hyung to not snoop around too much. He was professional at this! But he decided to let it go.

Through the software Hideki downloaded, he was able to establish a bridge between South Korea and Japan with him acting as the bridge operator. This way, if he would ever get caught, it would look like as if Japan was hacking South Korea and South Korea hacking Japan. Hyung immediately breached their network and seized control of their surveillance, alarm, and air control systems. He made an escape route for Hideki and froze the feeds of any camera along the way. He also took control of the Elevator preventing it from stopping at any other floor.

"No problemo. I'll pin the blame on South Korea since they're being a dick. Anyways, I got access and... here we go, got your location. I disabled their access to the surveillance feed. Just go left and then right again and into elevator 08. I'll take full control of it and bring you to hangar 08."

He carefully assisted Hideki in his escape. He authorized the helicopter he was in and marked the decoys as unauthorized. After he guaranteed it was all clear, he decided that he will band together with Hideki and give him information on where they will meet.

"Sending you information to three of my safe houses. It's private and they don't know I own it, but if given time. they will be able to follow your tracks. It has high security so follow the instructions on how to get in. Also, there will be equipment there, you are free to use anything. Wait in safe house A for three days. If I'm not there after three days then move to safe house B and again wait for three days. If still, I'm not there then move to safe house C and wait again for three days. If I still haven't arrived after the allocated time, then you can proceed alone to The Skeleton Coast. " With Hyung's connections, it would be strange if he didn't have a few safe houses, identifies, etc privy to him only.


10 minutes later, two NSIS cars arrived in front of the building complex. 4 agents got off the cars, 2 from each one. They proceeded to walk inside and escort Hyung out but was stopped by the security forces. They flashed their badge, but the guards didn't budge an inch. They reported the situation to the HQ which decided to send reinforcements.

Hyung told security to apprehend the agents as they were posers. The guards believed Hyung as the security officers knew he work for NSIS and shouldn't be wrong. But what they didn't know was that he was already forsaken by NSIS. The agents resisted and both parties got in a heated argument. One agent couldn't resist and pulled out a gun. Everybody else followed suit and also pulled out their respective weaponry.

Hyung smiled. Things are going as planned. He took his phone and opened an app. It displayed the live feed of the two parties but the only difference was that there was a pointer aim in the middle. It looked like those sniper games on phones where the character tries to shoot people. But there was no sniper, instead it was a remote-controlled sniper rifle on the roof in one of the buildings.

"Time to light up the fire." He pressed the shoot button and *pop*. The head of one of his security agent was shot. He had to kill, he was left without any other choice. The others thought that it was the other party's doing and began to retaliate by shooting at them. The agents immediately took cover and also shot back at them. They didn't know what exactly happened so they were confused. Hyung gave a signal to somebody and a car rushed out of the underground garage and somebody inside threw a smoke grenade in the middle of the fight. The car passed by them, but they couldn't see who was inside and who did it. But then, they heard a familiar voice.

"Hmph. Bunch of idiots!" The car then drove full speed ahead.

"It's him!" The driver of car two pointed at the car and began to pursue it. His fellow agents who were riding his car was either dead or heavily injured, so he didn't wait for them. He reported the discovery to HQ. The guards and the remaining agents from car 1 paused their bout due to the smoke. They couldn't see at all so they didn't notice another grenade rolled in the middle of them and exploded. It wasn't those typical explosion where it went "boom!" and killed people. It exploded but they only saw a flash as if a mini sun spawned in the middle of them and exploded. They fell down and their ears were ringing. They couldn't perceive anything around them.

Using this opportunity, another car came out from the garage and went pass them. They didn't see it so Hyung felt relieved. He also shut down all surveillance cameras within Seoul. He actually wasn't in the first car. The one driving it was his most trusted driver, Mr. Han and the voice was only a recording. He actually fooled those agents with it. He felt sorry for implicating Mr. Han, but he was so loyal to him that he would tread mountains of daggers and seas of fires if Hyung willed it.

He stopped at a parking building and switched vehicles. He noticed that multiple helicopters were flying over the city. He guessed that Mr. Han was probably exposed and they were already looking for him. He drove to the river and requisitioned a boat to bring him to Tanhyeon-Meyon, near the river border of South Korea and North Korea. He met with a man there who agreed to deliver him to an island west of Korea. The island houses one of his safe houses which has a civilian helicopter. He piloted the helicopter towards china where he will rendezvous with Hideki.

[1] The Aegis System is the cyber defense system that defends South Korea from Cyber attacks. It protects information from outside and inside.

 

[A L M O S]

LOCATION: THE_SKELETON_COAST
DATE: 10/07/2018
TIME: 18:02

AMBIENT - CAMPFIRE AND WAVES AT SUNSET
INTERACT - High5ives
MENTION - ReverseTex

The fish smelled as good as it always had. His gruff, unrefined father's hands played across his memories - the crude man, who seldom had the time or patience for anything beyond his guns and his farm, had always been so patient and curiously sophisticated when it had come to preparing his food. Christopher supposed it might have had something to do with his mother - Christopher's Grandmother. The woman had very little to give her children, and food was often both a punishment - in the form of salted greens - and a gift - in the form of a caramel vanilla cake. Sugar was a reward. Perhaps that explained their shared sweet tooth.

Another deep sigh. His eyes closed, red shadows dancing behind his lids, his nostrils flaring as the sugars mixed with the salt on the skin of his catch. The waves, dulling into nothing. They were here. Like an animal knowing it was being stalked, the hair at the back of his neck rose. The only give. His body perfectly still. No good would come from scaring them off. He would need to see them up close to know if they could be trusted. To know if he would need to take them out... or if he could get them to help him.

The whistle cut through the evening. Loud. Obnoxious. It seems that the American has arrived. Lying inside the carved out trunk he was sitting on there lay his gun. Patiently. He could have her in a moment. The sound had given away the direction of the man. Slightly Southeast. Few hundred meters above him. Nowhere to hide up there. He could have him in sights within 5 seconds. Ten tops since it was already a bit dark. He knew it. The Cinderblock King knew it. They knew who had the advantage here. Which meant allowing him a leisurely walk down the dune, without being shot at served as the first trust fall between them. He would spare him his dignity and forgo trailing him along the way with a laser between his eyes. Besides, he needed to look after his fish. The other probably preferred steak anyway.

As Vincent slowly walked closer they both would have heard the plane. The quiet of the area would not have allowed for a very subtle drop. Raising a free hand towards Vincent, he pointed first to his own eyes - and then up to the plane - before reaching down and taking out his rifle. Deep breath in. And out. Deep breath in, as his shoulders relaxed and his heart started to slow - his hands perfectly still - he lined up his sight with the falling person. Even at this distance, he could make out that it was a man. Not much more. He moved the sight over towards the plane, and smirked. That he could identify. French. Appropriate. Americans had a thing for the French. Ever since that whole independence thing. Giving each other pretty dolls as gifts. He smirked. This was good. The negotiator would be a worthy asset to have. Placing his gun down, he waved Vincent over.

"Blockhead. You made it. Fish? The Magician will be here soon." His gruff voice cut through the evening. He had barely said a word since he arrived here, and he had never really been one to do much talking. This was standard for him. He pointed up with a pinky as he took the fish off the fire. "Pick one. I am not explaining myself more than once. We wait for the rest to come." He nodded back to the tents. Some would need to share with at least one other person. There were five tents, only with one having a single bedroll in. It was closed - with a small Russian flag on it. His own things seemed to have been placed in the tent furthest away from the rest of the camp - at the edge of the half-moon formation. "Not sure how many are coming. I was thinking eight would be the most. I know at least two are dead." Christopher placed the fish in a metal dish, close to the fire to keep it warm. He broke off a piece, before pouring himself and Vincent a drink - leaving the American's on the Kitchenette table next to the few utilities he had managed to get. "Welcome to Camp Trawler."

 

[ReverseTex]

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Claude gently yanked the cord with his right hand, while his left clutched the go-bag for dear life. He was close, but not directly atop of the camp. A short walk would do... Tugging the cord once more, he straightened his legs, and gently glided into the sand. I’m safe....

Dropping the bag next to him, he quickly began to unfasten the parachute in rote fashion, having done this hundreds of times before in flight training. Once unlatched, he hurriedly began to fold the chute, knowing someone in this group would need it again... The whole thing took about 3 minutes. Once complete, he slung the parachute upon his back like a backpack, and grabbed the duffel in hand. Glancing to the west, he spotted the light glow of a campfire...

“Apologies for the theatrics Monsieur’s, but thankfully it is night. Good to see you again Christopher, and you as well.” Claude dipped his head to the two men as he approached the fire. Tossing the chute beside Christoper, allowing the man to do what he wished with the device, he took a seat at one of the empty logs. He had other work to do before he could mingle...

First on the list: the go bag. Opening up the black duffel , he began to examine its contents. 9mm, three clips, a stack of $100 in U.S, Euros, Renminbi’s, and finally a shoulder holster. Removing the gun, he quickly loaded the weapon, before setting it in its holster. He then removed his blazer, a simple black piece, and quickly began to attach the holster to himself. Now the gun rested carefully under his left arm, for easy access if need be...

Zipping up the bag, he took a deep breath.
12 hours ago he was home, looking over the beloved city he desired to protect. But now... The Namib Desert... Claude began to remove his tie, as he looked up at the two men. “I’m going to assume you’ll explain the details of the plan once the other arrive?” Claude’s French accent cut through the dry desert air as he completed his task, tossing the tie on the ground atop his blazer. “Once we’re done with that Monsieur Christopher, I do have a debt I must repay...”


[/div][/div][/div][div class=credit]credits RI.a [/div][div class=overlay]Claude Marceau[/div][div class=tags]Location: Camp Trawler
A L M O S
High5ives [/div]

 

[The Pattern]

Around five minutes after Asher spotted the parachutist, he noticed the glow of a campfire and other, smaller lights near odd shapes that weren't recognisable to Asher at that distance. In reality it was just the tents, but combine eyes that weren't used to looking out over deserts with an old pickup truck's dirty windscreen and you have rather poor perception. Either way, the drive up to Camp Trawler took a few more minutes, and it was safe to say Asher wasn't exactly being covert about how he parked the truck beside a tent. Asher already had the can-opener and the cans in a plastic bag and his game of cluedo, the gun, suppressor and ammunition for it in the briefcase, so all he had to do was take the keys out of the truck with his bags before Asher could leave it. He then proceeded to walk towards the campfire that had three talented men near it. He took in a deep breath as he slowly meandered towards the fire.

"Good afternoon gentlemen! You know, Hunter, you have timed this little holiday perfectly. I could really do with a nice, quiet break by the beach and here we are! Been having trouble at the office lately, management's been replaced and the new boss is a real arschgeige." Asher sounded quite jovial as he spoke, that combined with his smile made him an oddly cheery light in the great shadow of betrayal that loomed over them. Well it was either betrayal or a sand dune. As soon as he insulted his former boss, the light-hearted German sat down on an empty log and began to look at the fire.

"I wouldn't recommend spending time in Worms at the moment by the by, horrible gang war started there a few hours ago." Asher still sounded content and almost excited as he joked, the fact that probably every spy agency in Europe, the South African Scorpions and the CIA were all after the equals he knew were alive almost seemed to have slipped his mind with now bizarrely laid back he is. Although, to the more observant, Asher's joviality seemed somewhat hollow, he was exaggerating his somewhat cheerful attitude as the unpleasant situation was in the forefront of his mind. He was trying to ascertain who exactly was after the group before him; Hunter attracted the RSA, Magician attracted the DGSE, and Cinderblock attracted the CIA. The BND had probably found the Austrian giblets by now so the only real reason why they'd still be snooping around is because they're chasing after another equal. I'm dead to them in more then one way. Three likely, one highly unlikely currently... Need to get them talking about their escapes soon, hopefully they weren't sloppy enough to leave much of a trace. Best is all four are highly unlikely, worst is three discover their targets are alive and are on this coastline. If worst, grab a light, drive and hope. If best, relax. As Asher was running the scenario through his head, he began to settle down and make himself more comfortable by shuffling the log a little closer to the fire and buttoning up his fairly thick overcoat.

 

[LindsMagee]

( The Pattern ReverseTex A L M O S High5ives )

It was early evening when Vasilissa saw a flicker of a fire light in the distance. At first, she assumed it to be a hallucination due to lack of sleep and paranoia, but the light remained no matter how many times she tried to blink it from her eyes. Stopping the truck, Vasilissa re-dressed the small bandage above her eyebrow, a gash from the altercation only a few days earlier. Bruises still bright in color, she wondered if any of the other members at the camp would be in rough shape, or if their governments weren’t as ruthless in their extermination tactics. After taking care of the wound, she threw the keys into her backpack and grabbed her gun, keeping it ready in her left hand. Though the camp looked close, it was probably around three miles away. Vasilissa began her trek across the dunes, a cool breeze brushing against her cheeks as the darkness fell around the desert.

Darting through the shadows along the outskirts of the camp and out of view of the men, Vasilissa held the gun close and listened to the sounds of conversation for a moment.She could not hear exactly what was being said from behind one of the tents, but noted four men, each living legends of their respective agencies, the Hunter, the Magician, the Red Rook…the Cinderblock. Cursing under her breath, Vasilissa stared cooly at the American. What an interesting and perhaps horrible idea, bringing super-spies from enemy countries into one location. She would not be getting along with a member of the CIA, especially not when they shared an ugly track record. Moving closer, she analyzed the relaxed profiles of the men surrounding the fire, meaning no bad blood had been brought to the table thus far.

Stepping out of the shadows and slipping the gun back into the backpack, Vasilissa greeted the Hunter. Her voice lightly marked by notes of a Russian accent, she stated “Hello Hunter, what a grand idea bringing us all here.” leveling a cold, threatening smile at the Cinderblock before observing the camp as firelight danced across it. She came to a stop, standing next to one of the logs surrounding the campfire. Vasilissa refused to sit though her body yearned to. If anyone was going to attack she would be ready. Her facade and facial expression were both calm, cool, and collected; however, she was tense, feeling as if she had just willingly waltzed into an enemy’s open arms.

 

[High5ives]

Vincent was generally at ease after The Hunter had greeted him and given him a drink, followed by the Frenchmen arriving. As far as he was concerned, Vincent was among friends, men he could trust for the time being, at least until they got some answers. Though the situation certainly wasn’t ideal, Vincent was glad to have comrades in what would surely be an uphill fight. Things were going relatively well as the American sat, sipping his drink.

Then the German arrived. Unlike The Hunter and the Frenchman, Vincent had never worked with the German man before. They had only ever been enemies. Vincent couldn’t even bring himself to respect ‘The Red Rook’, as he was called. In the only confrontation they had, the German spy hadn’t done anything Vincent deemed admirable. Vincent wasn’t fond of having him around. He seemed like little more than a liability, not to mention, Vincent had no reason to believe the German wasn’t going to kill him in his sleep.

As if things could get any worse, another spy joined the party...

Vincent had been staring into the fire when he heard a woman’s voice. It was distinctly Russian, which could only mean one thing.

Vasillisa. AKA The Mirage.

Vincent despised the woman. In his entire career, Vincent had never failed to crack someone open, but luckily for the thief who now stood before him, she had managed to escape before meeting her fate. In the short time Vincent’s agency manages to hold her, he had only gotten her name. Vincent despised her for it.

Standing slowly from the log he had been sitting on, Vincent reached his hand beneath his jacket, pulling it back out with a Colt 1911 in tow. He didn’t aim towards the Russian, or anyone, but he exaggerated the flick of his thumb, taking the weapon off safety. “Give me the gun, now.” Vincent demanded, reaching an outstretched hand towards the armed Russian who stood before him. “I won’t ask twice, girl, and I sure as fuck won’t hesitate to put a hole in the middle of that pretty little face.” He warned, sliding his finger down off of the gun’s guard so it rested on the trigger.

 

[A L M O S]

LOCATION: THE_SKELETON_COAST
DATE: 10/07/2018
TIME: 18:22

AMBIENT - CAMPFIRE AND WAVES AT SUNSET
INTERACT - High5ives The Pattern LindsMagee ReverseTex

while they all gathered, Christopher sat quietly - nibbling on his fish, not really paying their conversations too much mind. He did keep an ear out for any... rising tones. Just as a precautionary manner. He looked up at the French man when he spoke, nodding once when he noted a payment due. "Go ahead. This might take a while. Again. I am not repeating myself. I will share what I know when we have all arrived." His voice turned even deeper, resonating across the camp. He wanted to be sure they all heard him. Even those who had not yet made themselves known. When Asher started speaking, Christopher could not help but smirk. When he mentioned the vacation, the smirk increased in size. "Now, now. Asher. How could I not choose this coast? The German people have always been so fond of Namibia. I chose the location just for you." He hoped his lightened tone conveyed a sense of camaraderie. The faint traces of a facade were in place. He knew the man was taking this hard. Many of them were. While they might not have been friends, they all shared a fate. In that, they were closer than brothers. He tried offering the German an actual smile, which seemed more a grimace as his face struggled with the unusual position. He was about to offer them some of the fish when the Russian showed up. His eyes immediately jumped to the American, already frowning as the obvious response played out. His face relaxed into a sigh, as his brow furrowed in irritation.

He got up, his towering form, mixed with some muscle casting long shadows over the camp. In getting up he had picked up his rifle from where it had been hidden, now leaning on it as though it were a cane. He levelled his eyes on them both. A breeze crossed the camp, as the tone took a turn towards frosty. "Play nice. I will not entertain your cold war fantasies here." His eyes moved towards Vasilisa, noting her sorry state. "Sit. Keep your gun. You need rest. You are of no use to any of us fucked up as you are." His eyes turned towards Vincent. "Put that away before you get yourself killed. Even if you got a shot in the rest of us will have to kill you just to ensure further calm. I don't need infighting. No one here gets to think that they are in charge. We have few enough hands as it is." His eyes narrowed even further as he looked back towards the fire, slowly sitting down again - grimacing as his back made a rather alarming cracking sound. He picked up the warm metal pan and took out another piece of lemony fish.

"Pick a tent. There is enough alcohol in the kitchen area to kill an elephant. I will let you have some if you promise to play nicely." He took another swig of his whiskey, frowning now that it was done. God. He could do with some sleep. They all could. "There are not enough tents for everyone. You might need to share. Or you can sleep outside. Fair warning. It is cold as shit out here at night." He looked them all over, before holding out the fish to the Frenchman and the German. "Sorry about them." He nodded to the Russian and the American. "Even when betrayed by their own countries they still feel the need to play up cliches." He shook his head. "Drink?"

 

[The Pattern]

Asher just smiled as he moved his focus from the fire to the others around him. Looks we're playing a new game... Both the Magician and I know how to get information out of people without resorting to violence... We can leave violent extraction to Cinderblock. The Hunter's duty will be self-explanatory. We need some more field-oriented allies if we're going to do anything to Chimera... They have to be involved with our bosses somehow. As he thought about each of the three men ahead of him Asher glanced at them before returning to the fire, where he finished his thought on Chimera and it's involvement with them. It'll be weird for Asher to work among people as talented as him, let alone people so mistrusting. The only way we can improve our situation is by working together. And Hunter seems to understand that. Let's hope the other two do.

Unfortunately for Asher, this doesn't seem to be an idea everyone understands. Cinderblock proves this as he confronts the suddenly appearing Mirage. Before Asher could reach for his own gun, the Hunter shut down the confrontation, and after the Hunter's apology Asher speaks up. "I'm not one for alcohol sadly. Almost being drowned in whiskey does make you steer clear of the stuff... Albanian brewers are surprisingly brutal people. Also, I'll sleep in my truck. It'll be easier for everybody." Asher then takes up the offer of fish. Although, before Asher does anything with it, he turns to his Russian equal. "I am sorry for his behavior Mirage. We haven't house-trained him yet.." Asher sounded genuinely apologetic towards her, at least until he made the joke. At that point he returned to his inflated cheeriness, to then begin eating the fish. The coast had definitely caught his eye, it was a pleasantly calm and tranquil sight compared to the violent and eventful day Asher had.

The truck has pretty sturdy doors and the heating works, so it's the best sleeping place on the coast. Just make sure I'm reasonably well hidden in it and I'm safe from anyone who invades the camp. There's enough fuel to make it back to Walvis Bay and there's a kitchenette here... Grab something that can start a fire, the beans and I'm all set in case this lot left a trail. For once in this madness, Asher felt completely confident. He had a plan, and some new colleagues if everything actually worked out well... Although, it wouldn't hurt to know how well things were going. Asher sounded quite calm and relaxed when he asked "Would you all care to tell me how the day went for each of you? I imagine you four had different ways of dealing with the sudden change of game."

 

[ttlovepie]

• The car ride lasted a quite a few hours until they reached a town with a proper airport, not much conversation happened between the two parties, Hideki almost entirely absorbed in either one of the laptops he borrowed or fiddling with his turret. The two of them used fake passports and some cash they got doing a bit of freelance work to get plan a trip over to Luderitz it would take a few trips but they'd be able to make it within the budget. They rented a Jeep with their fake Identification. Hideki and Nobody spent very little time jailbreaking the car when they were out of city limits. They stocked up on water and made a way to the safe haven.

• The drive would take a little while still, they had a desert to cross after all. Hideki broke the silence the two of them sat in after an additional hour of driving before Hideki closed his laptop. "Is your Japanese good?" He asked in Japanese, "I've only seen you write." The two of them talked for the remainder of the drive. Hideki was tired even after sleeping on the plane ride and seemed a bit antsy during the trip. They would drive until dawn, at which point they see camp trawler. Hideki didn't see anyone as they entered, thinking he might be the first. It would be interesting to meet The Hunter, he heard the man was a giant, even bigger than the man next to him. Man, were spies tall these days.

 

[Arrt Saunders]

Everyone​

​

The Memories

The latex peeled away from Everyone’s skin satisfyingly. The fleshy membrane, vividly scalded with industrial acid, dropped unceremoniously, piece by piece, into the sink. Within a few minutes, Everyone’s masque had completely fallen away: his jaw tightened, his eyes dulled, and his smile faded into a miser’s scowl, his facial features adopting a cruel and vindictive alter ego that rebuffed idle conversation and the chit-chatter of people he simply didn’t have the time, nor the chivalrous patience, to humour.

Reaching into his coat pocket, Everyone removed a small plastic bottle. He unscrewed the top and slowly poured the hissing contents into the sink.

“Fuck,” he spluttered. He turned his head to the side, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, as the smell of dissolution rose: a putrid aroma that stung his eyes and burnt his throat.

The mask, as well as the empty bottle which Everyone let fall, liquified into a foaming ooze. One swift pull on the plug chain sent the concoction swirling down the pipe, swiftly followed by a gush of cold water from the tap.

Everyone - or Maximilian Dunderstag as he would be known to the train conductor - fixed his tie in the mirror, dusted off his coat and opened the bathroom door. He cautiously examined the passageway. His sharp eyes, as predatory as an eagle, found nothing of interest. So, with aggressive strides, Everyone found a comfortable seat.

The train was unusually quiet that evening. It was an empty carriage except for Dunderstag, a business woman cursing on the phone to his far right, an adulterous gentleman repeatedly removing his wedding band with shaky fingers two rows behind him, and a student, at the front of the carriage, too seduced by the vacuous drawl of social media to notice the amorous colour of the young man sitting across from her.

Everyone turned towards the window and closed his eyes.

He could afford a moment of reprieve.

A moment of remembrance.

* * * * * * * *
​

The rich, benignant cigar smoke eddied coolly down A’s throat, deep breaths igniting the cinders at the top. He puffed the smoke out again in rings which took to the air bravely for a moment; pale and grey, circular and wobbly, fading slowly into nonexistence.

“What do you think of the cappuccino?” he asked.

“It tastes like cat piss.”

“Oh, come now, it can’t be that bad —”

“A, it tastes like fucking piss. There’s not a fucking bubble in the milk, which, by the way, is past its expiry date by at least a week; its clotted in cheesy clumps. Fuck me, that’s horrific.”

“I think mine is quite delightful.” A hummed, sipping at his murky coffee. His thin fingers curled around the cup delicately, nursing the warmth.

“You’re messed up in the head, you are.” Everyone rolled his eyes.

“Perhaps I am.”

“When we get home, do me a favour, yeah: get yourself tested,” Everyone said, leaning in closer to A’s thin face, “If you consider this blasphemous brew from Satan’s kitchen to be ‘delightful’ there’s certainly something not fully right with you. Psychologically, you know? Book yourself an evaluation.”

“Focus on the mission, please.”

“How can I focus when I’m sleep deprived?”

“That is why I bought you a coffee.”

“You bought piss to wake me up?” Everyone snapped. He slid the coffee across the table, chunks floating on the surface like bone-white corpses. “What is wrong with you? You’re not supposed to drink piss.”

“Shut up, Agent.” A smiled. “Sometimes I question why I ever accepted you as part of the Secret Service.”

“You wouldn’t cope with anyone else.” Everyone replied, winking playfully.

“I barely cope with you.”

Everyone shrugged his shoulders and looked around the café. His eyes settled on a man and a woman, harsh words being shared in a tongue Everyone didn’t quite understand. “Doesn’t matter. You’re coping - that’s what matters, A.”

“You’re pushing me close to the edge.”

“That’s my job. Forge identities, act out the roles the Circus needs me to play, like a puppet or a puppy on a string, and, in my spare time, fuck up my handler’s life.”

A raised a thin finger, waving it backwards and forwards. “Focus on the mission, please.”

“Operation Duplex?”

“That’s right,” A whispered, “A mission not even the Circus knows about.”

Everyone’s eyes flashed a vibrant blue: “Now you have my fucking attention!”

“It’s a preparatory mission, Agent,” A continued, speaking in hushed tones. His voice flowed like a river, his words soft and carefree. “The world as we know it could very soon come to an end. If the secret services of this world don’t figure out a way to sort this torrent of leaking information, we are all doomed. If that should happen —”

“Operation Duplex comes into play.” Everyone finished.

“Precisely. Tomorrow, I will share with you a dossier that contains top secret information.” A said, “The dossier is heavily encrypted, a series of clues and hints, hidden in the trivial and the sublime, that very few people will crack. I want you to be one of those people.”

“So that I can do what exactly?”

A blew out a cloud of smoke, returning the cigar to his thin lips. “So that you can remember the way things are, and carry the ideals and the values we hold dear close to your chest despite the roughness of the time to come. And, one other thing too.”

“What’s that, A?”

“So that at least one person will remember me as one of the good guys when I’m dead.”

* * * * * * * *
​

“Ticket, please, sir.”

Everyone jolted, a dagger of ice-cold pain cutting through the stiffness in his neck. He slowly blinked his eyes awake, looking up at the conductor with malice. Misery contorted his face into a grimace. He dug his hand into his coat pocket and retrieved a bundle of tickets, tickets he had forged and stored back when his handler still smoked cigars. Without saying a word, he forced them into the conductor’s hands.

The conductor flicked through the documents, pulling a ruffled page with the train ticket printed on it. He stamped the sheet and slowly returned the bundle to Everyone.

“Welcome aboard, Mister Dunderstag,” the conductor said, “You’ve got a very long way to go, if you’re travelling all the way to Nambia over the coming day. I shall leave you sleep, you look like someone’s dead!”

Everyone grunted displeasingly and closed his eyes once more.

 

[LindsMagee]

( The Pattern A L M O S High5ives ReverseTex )

Vasilissa stood indifferently as the Cinderblock threatened her, viewing his reaction to her entrance as a personal win. Slowly looking towards the Hunter in silence as he spoke, she silently nodded in agreement to his words "I'll play nice" Vasilissa flatly stated, voice coming out raspy- reminding her of the injury her own agency had forced upon her. She flashed a questioning glance at Vincent before leveling her gaze back towards the Hunter again. Out of respect for him and the situation everyone was in, Vasilissa would try to refrain from causing any conflict with Vincent, but would not hesitate to retaliate if he stirred up conflict. After all, the Hunter was right, they needed to all be allies...or at least cordial with one another if they hoped to deal with Chimera. The Hunter was also right, of course, about the state she was in. If she was going to be of any use to the team, it was better to be well-rested and healed than in the state she was in now. She hoped they had some sort of pain medication...until the Hunter mentioned alcohol. Alcohol would surely numb the throbbing of her head and allow her to relax for once in the past few days. She met the eyes of the Red Rook as he apologized, believing his sincerity and lightly laughing at his joke at the end. It wouldn't be surprising if Vincent attempted to choke him right then and there.

Stalking towards the tents, Vasilissa picked the one on the side closest to the ocean and at the end of the line of the rest of the tents. Setting her stuff down, she kept a small dagger in a hidden sheath close to her hip, but left the gun stashed into her bag. Leaving the backpack hidden from view in the tent, she felt secure no one would find it unless they actively searched for it. And if they did, she would know. Allowing herself to calm down for a brief few seconds before exiting the tent, she quietly listened to the sound of the waves crashing on shore and closed her eyes.

Arriving back to the campfire soon after , Vasilissa sat on a log with a bottle of rum in hand. Thank God the kitchen is fully stocked with alcohol she thought, taking a long swig as she heard the Red Rook ask how all of their days went. As if in response to his question, her hand floated to her neck in remembrance, fingers absentmindedly brushing across the bruise on her neck. Flashes of the fire, fist, and pressure on her neck swam in her memory. Snapping out of her stupor, she looked towards the men surrounding the fire, curious to hear of the hardships they all went through to get to at this destination.

 

[High5ives]

Vincent was noticeably aggravated after being so quickly shut down by The Hunter. Regardless of the fact that teamwork would be exceptionally important in the days to come, Vincent was stubborn in his ways. He couldn’t simply ignore the past. Many of these spies had been enemies, and very well could be now.

However, despite his feelings, Vincent placed his gun back into its holster. Not because he valued his life or feared the consequences, but because The Hunter had asked him to. Out of all of the great spies, Vincent respected him the most, he felt most at ease with the man.

After hearing about the alcohol, Vincent briefly disappeared into the tent, coming back with a bottle of scotch just in time for The Cold War comment. “You’re being foolish.” Vincent warned, lifting his bottle to his lips and letting the liquid burn down his throat. “If Chimera has infiltrated all of our agencies, who’s to say none of the others have been corrupted as well. I don’t trust the Russian, or the German. Rightfully so.” Vincent declared, taking another swig from the glass bottle.

The American’s face remained hard and cold as the Red Rook cracked his little joke. “You couldn’t train me, let alone break me. You’ve tried once before, kraut.” Vincent fired back.

The light shining through his bottle of scotch made the shadows dance across his face as the man contemplated the events of the recent days. His mind kept jumping back to the corpse hanging from the chain. The more he tried to push the image away, the more it lingered. Vincent often drank himself into a blissful blackout after intense interrogations, but tonight that wasn’t an option. He would inevitably replay the scenario through his head over and over again.

Vincent typically drank to forget, at least momentarily, the things he had done. Fear was powerful, so having the reputation of a cold, brutalist, savage was useful. But Vincent wasn’t proud of the things he had done, the torment he had caused. Despite justifying his actions with silly phrases about ‘The Greater Good’ or ‘Maintaining a Fragile Peace’, Vincent still felt the guilt.

Vincent finally chose to answer The Red Rook’s question. “A girl young enough to be my daughter won’t ever know what it’s like to have her father walk her down the isle on her wedding day...” Vincent paused. “A mother is going to half to explain to her child why dad won’t be home for dinner...” He grumbled, followed by yet another drink.

 

[A L M O S]

LOCATION: THE_SKELETON_COAST
DATE: 10/07/2018
TIME: 18:50

AMBIENT - CAMPFIRE AND WAVES AT SUNSET
INTERACT - High5ives The Pattern LindsMagee ReverseTex

While the others spoke, Christopher sat quietly. "Suit yourself." He said towards Asher, smirking at his comment about training the American. That was likely... They could not even follow their own rules... what about that of another? A deep chuckle moved through his chest. "I positioned myself in a building north of my apartment. Left a few windows open. Called my boss. Pretended to be suspicious of him, which sent him into damage control mode. He sent a bunch of agents to my flat. Scorpion Headquarters is south of my flat. Took out a few on their way. Blew up the flat from the next building over. Made it look there might have been a firefight that set off a cache of explosives I had lying around. Slipped away. Officially... I am dead." He reached into his pocket and took out a cigarette, lighting it on a stray coal, releasing the smoke into the air. "Nothing special. Standard really." His eyes followed Vasilisa, sighing as she seemed to regulate herself. Which left Vincent.

He held out a cigarette. "You really think I am that stupid?" He rose a brow at the other. "Everyone of us here could be working for this Chimera group. I am working on the assumption that at least some of you are not. Most likely a majority. Which means even if one of you are on their side... the rest of us will most likely be able to take you out before you can take out all of us." He almost rolled his eyes. Almost. "I am not telling you to be stupid. I am telling you to be calm. I don't want you to cast suspicion on yourself for no reason. Because if we have any reason to believe you are working for Chimera. You have to die." Another deep drag of the cigarette. "The most powerful strategy any double agent could have now is to cause infighting. Having those who are not aligned with the enemy, believe they are alone. Doing so, stoking violence, places you at the top of the suspect list." He scratched his nose, shivering lightly as he pulled his jacket closer. The cold was already setting in. "We are not friends. Or really allies. We are a bunch of people with a shared goal. And as co-workers, we have a responsibility to not only ensure that the work gets done, but also to make sure that the work environment stays productive. Undermining that will get you fired just as quickly as fucking up will." He slowly started getting up, rolling his shoulders. "Now, I am tired as all hell. I am going to get a good four hours in. If you are going to kill me in my sleep, just make it quick. I don't want to have to kill you while bleeding out."

He was taking a bit of a gamble here. He was showing them how he needed them to act. Suspicious but accommodating. Alert, but open. It was the only way this was going to work. One of them might just be a spy for Chimera. The chances were very good. But the quick decision to kill them all off within their various intelligence agencies suggested that Chimera did not like loose cannons. They were not keen on having a series of super spies running around. Not even enough to try and covert them. It suggested a very meticulous and controlling environment. Dangerous. They clearly had power. But the only thing worse than Malicious power was when it was wisely cautious as well. He started walking towards his tent, using his gun as a cane. When the others arrived, then he could start sharing what he knew. And they could finally start getting to the planning.

 

[ReverseTex]

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Claude say virtually silent the entire time, trying to read each individual instead. The quarrel between the American and the Russian amused him, but he made the note that both had a temper. The German seemed pleasant enough, as well as the rest. Most people here seemed to be here out of duty or survival, not opportunity...

Listening to Christopher’s long-winded speak about double agents greatly bored him. Although it was a real threat to them all, he could really care less. Just like the man said, “If you are going to kill me in my sleep, just make it quick...”

Once he finished, Claude grabbed his belongings, and made his way to the tech tent. Glancing at his watch, he noted the time. Hour and a half, they’ll be landing in Johannasberg by now. Taking a seat at one of the computer stations, he began his work. First he logged into his bank account, Swiss to be exact, and extremely protected. Next, he removed the small French flag patch on the back, knowing the backside would have the plane information. Opening a new tab, he quickly entered a aerial radio tracker, commonly used by air-traffic control to keep track of pilots. Entering the information, he waited a few moments, then... Bingo. A small highlighted plane in Johannasberg stood out. Clicking on it, revealed both pilots names; Cheryl Moné, and Raphel Antoni. Both French of course, which made the search for their personal accounts much easier. After finding both accounts, he quickly went back to his account, and began the wire...

Satisfied that his debt was paid, Claude took a deep breath. I was home only hours ago. Now I sit to rot in the fucking Namib Desert... How delightful... Standing up slowly, he trudged to the kitchen in search of alcohol, and took a bottle of vodka and two glasses. Heading to a tent, surprisingly unclaimed yet, he sighed. Home sweet home...


[/div][/div][/div][div class=credit]credits RI.a [/div][div class=overlay]Claude Marceau[/div][div class=tags]Location: Camp Trawler
A L M O S
High5ives and everyone else [/div]

 

[The Pattern]

Asher kept himself quiet as Vincent spoke, although the previously jovial German was visibly uncomfortable when Vincent mentioned the only other time they met. After a short way through Hunter's talk, Asher had settled down again. Cinderblock's the only likely Chimera puppet if Hunter is correct. He's tried to force Mirage to give up her best means of defence, he brought that interrogation up, he's being vague with how he escaped the CIA, and if they wanted us dead then the best way would be to get us killing each other... And to do that they'd send the most detestable waste of breath they could to try and turn us all against each other. Can't bring this up though, or it'll make Cinderblock look a lot more innocent then he probably is. I really hope he turns on us after I've had time to order and receive a pawn-shaped paperweight. A king is too important to link Cinderblock to, no matter how appropriate it is considering the moniker.

Asher was going through these thoughts after Hunter talked about a double agent's strategy, barely paying attention to the last half of Hunter's talk. After finishing his thoughts, Asher decided to have a look around the camp, taking both bags with him. He made sure to check every tent, just so he knew what it's purpose was, although he never entered any of the tents meant for people to sleep in, nor the buggy storage tent. he did enter the kitchen tent and the intelligence tent, the kitchen tent to drop off the food bag and look for a portable cooker and the intelligence tent to just investigate what he'd be working with for the next fortnight or so. He even went as far as to test the monitoring equipment just to make sure it was serviceable. Can't check on how the family's doing, knowing Cinderblock, he'd try to use Elise and the kids as bait if he could get to them... Maybe use a payphone when we're leaving this site. Little risk of a trail being left behind. After Asher skipped Hunter's tent, the German returned to the campfire and to his log.

 

[LindsMagee]

(Mentions: The Pattern A L M O S )
(Interactions: High5ives ReverseTex )

As the others dissipated, Vasilissa was left sitting on a log opposite the Cinderblock...alone. Viewing this as an oppurtunity, she looked across the flames to the outline of the man against the dark night. "Listen. I do not view you as a friend or an ally, and I cannot honestly say that you have done anything to earn my respect...I'm sure you could say the same." She paused, unable to see the reaction on his face in the dark. "However," she continued, "that being said, though I could be mistaken I do not believe you to be a double agent for chimera. Therefore, we are working towards a common goal. If you stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours and we can kill each other when we are done with the likes Chimera first. For now, my top priority will not be dealing with your resentment." With that, Vasilissa stood up and walked away towards the tents, leaving the Cinderblock and the crackling fire in her wake.

Not wanting to call it a night just yet, Vasilissa looked around. As far as she knew, the Hunter disappeared into his own tent, and The Red Rook had gone into the intelligence tent. That left the Magician. Earlier Vasilissa had seen him recede into a random tent carrying a bottle of liquor and two glasses. She'd had run ins with the Magician multiple times, usually at various casinos around Europe. Contrary to her past unfortunate encounter with the Cinderblock, her experiences with the Magician had been quite calm. Slipping the tent curtain back lightly, Vasilissa waited in the opening. "Drinking for two tonight?" She inquired in French with a raised brow. Unless he was expecting another agent, she didn't know why he'd need two glasses for himself. He was interesting, the Magician. It was a hard field-negotiation- especially for a spy of his level. She wondered how many allies he had lost to Chimera in the past few days, whether they were dead or just traitors. Anyone here really could be a traitor, and wouldn't that be an interesting turn of events. Trust no one. That was the phrase to live by in a situation like this, surrounded by powerful people put into a position with little to no power at all. Vasilissa didn't doubt that there would be many conflicts, especially when it came to leadership in this camp.

 

[ReverseTex]

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Claude had set his belongings at the foot of his bed, while the liquor and glasses upon the bedside table. Heaving a sigh, he slowly began to unlace his Oxfords, wishing to begin winding down for the evening. Setting his shoes next to his belongings, he crossed his long legs leisurely on the bed as he beg-

“Drinking for two tonight?”


Vasilissa. The Russian girl... Claude simpered as he finished pouring the first glass of vodka. “Madame Vasilissa, a pleasure you are might I digress? But I had planned on it. But plans change do they not?” Extending the freshly poured vodka to the woman from his seat, he smiled as she took it. Trust no one. He reminded himself as he began to pour his own glass.

“I’m afraid the DSGE fails to provide a deck of cards, so I fear conversation will be the only entertainment tonight. Shame eh?” Claude shrugged lightly, glancing over at the woman. She was attractive, but yet his training kicked in. Trust no one. Especially females. “I’d ask of your ordeal of escaping, but that’s quite bleak conversation... How about life? How has life treated Madame Vasilissa? Despite the recent change of events?”

[/div][/div][/div][div class=credit]credits RI.a [/div][div class=overlay]Claude Marceau[/div][div class=tags]Location: Camp Trawler
LindsMagee [/div]