Fandom Find A Career In Fear (A Chainsaw Man Inspired RP)

[Under Dunder]

Washington DC, D-SEC HQ
1992-05-31 12:57:10 PM

In 1968 three separate bodies of the United States government formed the D-SEC, the Devil Surveillance and Eradication Consortium. The Federal Bureau of Investigation, The United States Army and the Bureau of Devil Intelligence. This new organizations objective was to monitor, document and eliminate beings classified as devils. The current year is 1992, and the D-SEC is seeing it's single largest personel expansion since the early seventies. This is where we now find ourselves, in an America where the constant threat of devils plague everyday life. An America where only the devil hunters of the D-SEC have the power to change the fate of their nation.
​

---

The aluminum can is unmoving. Wintry light showers an array of commodities surrounding it. It tantalizes and provokes, mocking even though inanimate. It is stuck.

Not an uncommon issue with these types of vending machines, In fact it’s a cliche cemented in office routines worldwide since the appliance's very inception. Not that Izzy is at all surprised by this outcome, in fact it should be expected. Nevertheless, it’s rather irksome. Before the fiasco stands a woman, tall in stature, clad in a suit perhaps tailored a size too large. Staring, hoping and waiting for the product she has paid honest money for to drop within arms length. But alas, Izzy knows how this story goes. She's far from alone in the office hallway, and fears most making a fool out of herself in front of potential colleagues she is about to spend an indeterminate time working with. However, she wants her beverage. Leaning back she peeks if any attention is directed her way, and as far as she can tell the coast is clear. Crouching before the dispenser she sneaks as much of her hand as possible into the container but quickly realizes that this operation will be fruitless. With quickness she withdraws. She darts her eyes throughout the hall to assess if anyone detected her obvious blunder, miscalculation and poor decision making. It doesn’t seem so. Plan B is set into motion. Standing up she lightly taps the cool glass window with the knuckles of her hand, directly and precisely aimed at the target. No luck. Turning her back to the machine she uses her body weight to attempt discretely nudging the vexatious unit into submission, but it is far too sturdy for her lanky build.

At precisely 13:00 her efforts are promptly interjected as a pair of large doors are pushed open at the end of the somewhat gaudy foyer. “Division 16 debrief will now begin, all attendees please assemble in the meeting room immediately.” an anonymous and stern man’s voice proclaims across the congress. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Izzy glances at the soda can one last time before admitting her defeat and hastily making her way towards the designated conference room. As she enters, the faintest of thuds can be heard from the automat, humiliation has set in.

The room is spacious, its walls dressed in deep wooden paneling and bone white tile, notably devoid of windows. It’s a room constructed with two obvious purposes in mind, utility and secrecy. At the very end of a rounded table stretching the length of the space sits a lone woman, like most everyone else around she’s neatly dressed in a lamp black suit and tie. She appears middle aged, stern in her demeanor and even though dressed in heavy fabrics quite obviously built like a brick. As the other attendees take their seat the woman scans them one by one while sifting through a short stack of papers and documents. With patience she lets silence rule the room for a few moments. Standing up she makes her presence immediately known. “Welcome to division 16s first official debrief… I will as of this moment be responsible for this newly formed unit that you have all been assigned to. Make no mistake we’re not here to meet and greet today, our time is limited and I am simply here to explain your mission and lay some simple ground rules before you’re put into service this afternoon. To begin with: You do not know me, most of you don’t know each other, but I know all of you. For the time being it will remain that way, as far as you’re all concerned this is a one sided relationship. The only reason you’re seeing me here today is as a strict formality. Secondly: I am not here to support you, rather I am here to hold you accountable. I ask those of you new to D-SEC to direct any questions regarding your immediate on-duty work to the senior agents of the group or other relevant management.” Once again the reticent woman runs her gaze around the leanght of the table. “...In short, if any of you violate the conditions or policies of D-SEC employment during this natal stage of the unit, I will be the one bringing the appropriately sized shitstorm to your doorstep. Any questions before I clarify your duties for today?”.

Izzy sits quiet as a mouse, trying her very hardest to inspire as little attention as possible from her peers and seniors. She’d already asked herself this question many times before during her tedious enrollment within this complex and secretive organization, but she wondered once again what exactly had she gotten herself into?

 

[Lord Moldoma]

Washington DC, D-SEC HQ
1992-05-31 12:57:10 PM

In 1968 three separate bodies of the United States government formed the D-SEC, the Devil Surveillance and Eradication Consortium. The Federal Bureau of Investigation, The United States Army and the Bureau of Devil Intelligence. This new organizations objective was to monitor, document and eliminate beings classified as devils. The current year is 1992, and the D-SEC is seeing it's single largest personel expansion since the early seventies. This is where we now find ourselves, in an America where the constant threat of devils plague everyday life. An America where only the devil hunters of the D-SEC have the power to change the fate of their nation.
​

---

The aluminum can is unmoving. Wintry light showers an array of commodities surrounding it. It tantalizes and provokes, mocking even though inanimate. It is stuck.

Not an uncommon issue with these types of vending machines, In fact it’s a cliche cemented in office routines worldwide since the appliance's very inception. Not that Izzy is at all surprised by this outcome, in fact it should be expected. Nevertheless, it’s rather irksome. Before the fiasco stands a woman, tall in stature, clad in a suit perhaps tailored a size too large. Staring, hoping and waiting for the product she has paid honest money for to drop within arms length. But alas, Izzy knows how this story goes. She's far from alone in the office hallway, and fears most making a fool out of herself in front of potential colleagues she is about to spend an indeterminate time working with. However, she wants her beverage. Leaning back she peeks if any attention is directed her way, and as far as she can tell the coast is clear. Crouching before the dispenser she sneaks as much of her hand as possible into the container but quickly realizes that this operation will be fruitless. With quickness she withdraws. She darts her eyes throughout the hall to assess if anyone detected her obvious blunder, miscalculation and poor decision making. It doesn’t seem so. Plan B is set into motion. Standing up she lightly taps the cool glass window with the knuckles of her hand, directly and precisely aimed at the target. No luck. Turning her back to the machine she uses her body weight to attempt discretely nudging the vexatious unit into submission, but it is far too sturdy for her lanky build.

At precisely 13:00 her efforts are promptly interjected as a pair of large doors are pushed open at the end of the somewhat gaudy foyer. “Division 16 debrief will now begin, all attendees please assemble in the meeting room immediately.” an anonymous and stern man’s voice proclaims across the congress. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Izzy glances at the soda can one last time before admitting her defeat and hastily making her way towards the designated conference room. As she enters, the faintest of thuds can be heard from the automat, humiliation has set in.

The room is spacious, its walls dressed in deep wooden paneling and bone white tile, notably devoid of windows. It’s a room constructed with two obvious purposes in mind, utility and secrecy. At the very end of a rounded table stretching the length of the space sits a lone woman, like most everyone else around she’s neatly dressed in a lamp black suit and tie. She appears middle aged, stern in her demeanor and even though dressed in heavy fabrics quite obviously built like a brick. As the other attendees take their seat the woman scans them one by one while sifting through a short stack of papers and documents. With patience she lets silence rule the room for a few moments. Standing up she makes her presence immediately known. “Welcome to division 16s first official debrief… I will as of this moment be responsible for this newly formed unit that you have all been assigned to. Make no mistake we’re not here to meet and greet today, our time is limited and I am simply here to explain your mission and lay some simple ground rules before you’re put into service this afternoon. To begin with: You do not know me, most of you don’t know each other, but I know all of you. For the time being it will remain that way, as far as you’re all concerned this is a one sided relationship. The only reason you’re seeing me here today is as a strict formality. Secondly: I am not here to support you, rather I am here to hold you accountable. I ask those of you new to D-SEC to direct any questions regarding your immediate on-duty work to the senior agents of the group or other relevant management.” Once again the reticent woman runs her gaze around the leanght of the table. “...In short, if any of you violate the conditions or policies of D-SEC employment during this natal stage of the unit, I will be the one bringing the appropriately sized shitstorm to your doorstep. Any questions before I clarify your duties for today?”.

Izzy sits quiet as a mouse, trying her very hardest to inspire as little attention as possible from her peers and seniors. She’d already asked herself this question many times before during her tedious enrollment within this complex and secretive organization, but she wondered once again what exactly had she gotten herself into?

“That’s a trick question right? You said you wanted us to direct all questions to our senior membership. So we can’t imagine you’d want to answer any questions that they could just as easily.”

A lavender haired, girl with more than a bit of a striking musculature, sat down on one end of the table; strung across her face diagonally, was a scar, as if someone had slashed her across the face and then promptly failed to get at any other part of her body. In truth, it was a marking she had obtained fighting the devil that now occupied her heart-space.

Zoe Aloysius Carnot, or “Impact” as she was known, was always suspicious of the higher ups of anything or anyone who was under any sort of contract (with possibly the exception of Violence, since they were just as to the point as she herself was.). It’s why for the longest time she was a Private devil hunter, beating the hell out of demons with mainly her fists and the occasional bat or sledgehammer if she needed to.

But once she had become a hybrid, and one with the violence devil no less, C-SEC had basically offered her the under the table deal of “come work for us, or we’ll hunt you down.” Granted, she had stopped feeling fear as much as she probably should’ve, but she understood that d-sec did have the means to deal with her in spite of the weaknesses and blatant flaws that plague all bureaucracies.

Her conscious nature of exactly how human she wasn’t led her into speaking with the “we” self pronoun. It was never “I” with Impact, it was always her and the violence devil.

---

Standing at the drink machine pushing her face up against the glass, having become sidetracked from where she needed to be. Was Alice. The scrawny, almost fairylike catgirl fiend, who was nearly all demon. She examined the can that hadn’t fallen all the way out closely, and then looked down at the hatch.

She crouched down and her arm began to rapidly expand into a long, creamy white tentacle, which slipped tightly through the lowermost hatch, and grabbed the can, which refused to budge for its original owner.

She didn’t intend on eating it. However. She could make soda for days. Sweet stuff was never her taste, she preferred flesh.

But that cute girl she’d be working with — though maybe not explicitly partnered with — deserved her drink. She knew about commerce. all demons do. When you make a deal with someone, you give them what they paid you for. No matter what. You can twist the words in your favor, but you give them what they payed for.


As she dragged the can free from the machine, she moved it to the front of her face examining it in before taking it in both hands and marching off to give it to the girl she would likely come to know as Izzy.

She had no idea the kind of embarrassment that might bring.

 

[PaleAbyss]

To Cristobal, there is only one thing worse than being late.

Being early. And in this case, being  astoundingly early.

Sure, being late is a beast in its own right. Known paths are lost in one's mind, keys become unusable, time moves faster and faster against you.

But being this early? Oh, this is hell. His car actually complied this morning: the clutch didn't stick, the brakes didn't screech like enraged banshees on a downhill slope, the accelerator actually gave the car some semblance of power when stepped on.

And now, well, here he is. One glance at his watch reveals that it's ten in the morning, flat. An entire three hours early. He misjudged the intensity of traffic this morning, as well as the distance to the HQ, so for the initial hour, it feels like a good idea to take a look around. His ID card gives him access, explaining his presence to the secretary avoids any weird or scowling glances toward him, and so the majority of the building - save for the out of bounds areas, of course - is open to exploration.

He starts out by mapping the building at a slow pace. First, bathrooms. Cristobal even steps inside to check one of them - adequately clean and supplied, as expected - and gives himself a look in the mirror. Hm. Presentable. His suit doesn't look too big or too small on him. His tie is as neutral as can be. His hair, however, has a life of its own: strands, alternating between a gentle waviness and an unkempt spikiness, seem to be windswept back, today. Hm. Not bad. It does give him a younger look, but the stubble adorning his face should make sure he does indeed look his age. Good.

Next, the waiting areas and vending machines. There are plenty, supplied with magazines and seemingly up-to-date newspapers, and the machines themselves have some variety. Very nice. Once he is sure he can navigate the area properly, he claims an empty waiting seat and turns to his watch.

10:47 AM.

For the first time today, his face contorts into a countenance other than serenity. He cringes, gritting his teeth.

Goddammit.

Alright, he thinks, he can brave this with magazines and patience, right? The first one is all about fashion, the other, lifestyle. Some go on about the latest car trends, new models coming out. The newspapers report more of the same. More red scare material, economy fluctuations, new cellphone models, news on the NFL, which he doesn't even follow. Anything to pass the time.


He knows plenty of time passes, but it's the torture of it passing that matters. There is reading and re-reading, pacing the halls again, checking the bathrooms, tidying his hair (which goes nowhere without a brush, and all his hands manage to so is get a few more strands pointing in different directions) and then back out again. Finally, the clock strikes close to one in the afternoon, and in another moment, a voice booms through the sound PA system. That's his cue.

Making his way to the spot as swiftly as possible, Cristobal notices a meek woman retreating from a vending machine, and toward the meeting room... right on cue with the heavy thud of a can falling into the retrieval box. Oof. Without paying it any further attention, he steps inside the room, claims a seat not too far to the back of the table, but not too close either, and waits.


The room slowly fills with people, faces too indistinct to observe with that woman's presence. Despite being dressed like the rest of them, she demanded attention and respect from her bulk and aged looks alone. Either ex-military, or a veteran of devil hunting - and in his experience, the latter option made her much more dangerous. Once everyone has their seats, she begins to speak. It feels like more of the same compared to when he first enrolled into D-SEC back in San Diego: they aren't here to meet and greet, they aren't a "family", they're there to regulate and hold them accountable, if needed.

But he can't quite shake off the feeling that this will have something more. Something further, perhaps?

Well. It is a federal job, after all. As far as the US is concerned, such work would never be uneventful. Cristobal crossed his arms, observed, and waited. Surely an assignment was already around the corner...

 

[PlusUltra]

Ripley Gallagher
The sound of screeching tires could be heard along with a roaring engine rapidly approaching the D-SEC HQ as the clock struck 12:59. A few moments later the air would be punctuated by a flying trashcan and bouncing of tires as a bright yellow taxi skid to a halt just outside the entrance of the building. The door of said vehicle would suddenly pop off its hinge and skid along to the doors as a mocha-skinned woman shot out of the vehicle leaving a screaming driver in her wake.

Giving the voice no mind, a towering curved beauty clad in a tight-fitted office white shirt and blue skirt ran quickly onwards with a bag under her arm, the rapid clicking of running heels sounding off the tarmac and then the foyer as she comes to a skidding halt inside.

Ripley had really not intended to be late, she had woken bright and early at the crack of noon but it seemed unavoidable and unforeseeable events had attempted to conspire to keep her and her love away at the appointed time. Still giving a look at the clock in the foyer she gave a sigh of relief before flicking her hair backwards and smiling widely giving little notice of those around her, the forces had failed and she had arrived. As if to signal her success at making it on time, her arrival would be accompanied by a voice becoming Division 16 forward, so she smoothed out her skirt and got ready for her first day. Strutting forward with her head high there was only a minor delay something caught her attention off to the side as she passed, it fortune seemed to have smiled on her in thanks for overcoming the previous trial.

A short while later she was sitting down in a spacious room, the suit jacket draped over her shoulder as she listened to the introductions, leaned over the table somewhat and tapped her finger impatiently waiting for the meeting to start. The silence of the room momentarily being broken by the hiss and crack of a somewhat familiar-looking beverage can right before the woman at the front began to speak. A second can have apparently been knocked free from one of the machines and lucky she had noticed.

The girl's propping up her cheek in one hand she vaguely listened to the words being spoken trying to pick out the important parts while trying to at least give the appearance of rapt attention, yet perhaps failing. The main reason she was her as she and her love had encountered that ever-prominent issue in modern society, namely being lack of steady financing and legal misunderstandings, something D-Sec had offered to solve in a lucrative contract. In particular, was a line in the contract regarding expenses relating to maintaining contracted devils that had her smiling inside, and her love roaring with perhaps a somewhat forboading laughter. It wasn't like D-Sec would ever be short on money, heck the entire organisation was the best money-making idea the government had ever come up with, an endless problem that they could justify an unlimited budget for and an enemy who couldn't complain or make you look like the bad guy,

Long term she didn't see her doing this for more than a couple of years though, once she got some credits she could start up the private agency idea again, just this time with actual legal registration and maybe a name that didn't get lawyers at her, oh and the IRS. Devils Gonna Cry was such a good name as well. Well either way it looked like their work would start later this afternoon, and if she's lucky she might even get it wrapped up quickly enough to take Darling out for a bit of sightseeing in their new home, she recalled the Devil showing a interest in what she called "The Asian Scoreboard" and "Monument to Compensation", though that famous national mall would be cool as well, before checking out that food scene.

 

[Glassred]

'𝓒𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓸𝔀𝓪𝓻𝔂'

"Unsurprisingly, no advance was made today either. . ."

. . .


311021QMAY92_
​

Laying limply in the bathtub, Cassowary wasn't thinking of anything at all. Without making a single motion, she stared up at the hazy ceiling, as the water lethargically ebbed at her body. Her mind was perfectly still - every single thought had left her brain, and even the room around her felt entirely shapeless. The steam crawling up the mirror, the flickering overhead light, the tiled walls and the towels thrown haphazardly to the floor—all of it melded together into a single substance without form. The soldier enjoyed this perfect calmness; it was the only time her mind could relax without being occupied. Unlike following orders, it was a thoughtlessness entirely her own. She stilled her breath as she reflexively dove under the water.

All in all, she had spent a good two hours locked in this trance. Perhaps she'd be an annoyance to any other co-occupant, but hers was blissfully absent for most of the day. Even in the case of an emergency, all it took was a simple knock to break her aimless concentration. She was a soldier, after all. Or, maybe that wasn't right anymore? She had become a public servant in a foreign country, so the battlefield was long behind her, yet. . . Those changed by slaughterfield would carry a piece of it to their grave; meaning nothing had changed at all.

After a few minutes, Cassowary finally resurfaced. An unpleasant thought had crept up on her, bringing her back to reality with an abrupt push. She rose to her feet in the tub, revealing the scars previously hidden away by murky water. They were all concentrated around her thighs and abdomen, disfiguring her lower body and robbing it of any appeal. Of course, they were not the real scars she carried, and were especially insignificant compared to the ones she caused. Stepping out of the bath, she patted herself down with a towel, before looking into the mirror and turning towards the door. Grabbing hold of the door handle, she stepped out of the bathroom with only a towel hanging from her shoulder. She was entirely exposed, but it wouldn't be a problem even if someone saw. Nobody would consider a woman like her attractive.

Letting herself dry, she lit a cigarette and opened a newspaper. The news were never interesting - only blurbs about celebrities and devil attacks. Still, the vain hope of a provocative report fuelled the mind into reading, and that was enough. Sighing, she flipped through the pages; but; finding nothing of note, she lowered the papers and placed them on the table beside her. She had no interest in breakfast.

311256QMAY92_
​

Waiting in a familiar hallway, she had arrived at work, surrounded by people dressed close to just like her. Unlike most of them, Cassowary chose to always don the heavy coat their uniform sported; another reminder of past 'glory.' Leaning against the wall, she observed the faces of her new co-workers, but couldn't distinguish them. No matter what their quirks, no matter what their opinions and their ideas of the world and themselves; they would all soon be reduced to words on a headstone. It always ended up like that—anywhere one went to battle. The devils could infinitely crawl back from the dead, D-SEC personnel could not.

"Division 16 debrief will now begin, all attendees please assemble in the meeting room immediately."

Finally, they were hushed inside by a disinterested announcement. Inside the room fit for an interrogation, Cassowary sat down in the closest seat, keeping her neck and shoulders straight. Calmly, she listened to the exposition of their apparent direct superior, though it remained rather unsatisfactory. As a senior agent, it wasn't an unheard-of chore to be transfered to a new division, but usually that came with an immediate purpose. Seeing that the brief wasn't yet over, the soldier refrained on raising her dissatisfaction for now, instead raising a simple question. She stood up to speak, her words carrying a barely distinct English accent.

"Yes, Ma'am. It is clear that standing is determined by seniority, but proper order still ought to be established." For a second, her eyes narrowed at Ripley. "Since some of our recruits can't even be trusted not to violate dress code, I find it hard to believe they'll show respect unless expressly told to. Namely, it would be a great help if the Division Captain and their co-deputies could outright be stated. Thank you, Ma'am."

Cassowary sat back down as she finished. Hierarchy was important - without it there'd be chaos, especially given the messy composition of Division 16.

 

[Squad141]

Norman Z.

First things first: Stretches. For someone to be limber enough to run across streets and terraces, you had to give your body some leeway.

After splashing some cold water in his eyes to help with the wrinkles, Norman looked up as the sound of a car honking was replaced by a distant belltower tolling. Looking at his watch, he smiled as the small hand ticked to 8:00.

After stretching, Norman turned on one of the many cooking shows as background ambience, and made breakfast for himself in his small kitchen that he would soon be sharing. Bacon, toast, eggs. Basic, but comforting.

While he let the hot items cool and the toast continue cooking, Norman yawned for the final time that morning, and entered his closet. On his left, comfort clothes for off-days. On his right, it looked like someone had skinned a number of penguins and hung up all of them. He had a copy of his suit, or copies (plural), just in case one got ravaged while on duty. Replacing his bigger pajama shirt with a white long sleeve (tucking it into his pants, of course,) he grabbed one of the tied and came back into the kitchen. The older woman was baking some form of comfort meal with a number of appetizing dishes. As Norman walked over to his popped toast, he paused, placing his tie on the counter and replacing it with a small notepad. That was another fun meal idea to try out.

After eating and putting the dishes in the washer, Norman was fully dressed (including the longer coat, though he considered that an outdoors layer). As he turned off the lights in his apartment, he grabbed a black umbrella with a curved handle from one of many by the door, as well as a helmet. Several stairs later, Norman arrived by the front of the building with his bike on hand. As a space in traffic stopped, he hopped on and set off.

May had always been a transitional month to Norman. April brought spring and summer was soon to come, even though Norman always preferred the chillier months (he was much more into baggy clothes and long sleeves). On top of that, it had been raining quite a bit recently, though that was never an issue for him besides watching and making sure he didn’t crash during his daily commute.

As the D-SEC building quickly came up from the horizon, Norman braked slowly, and stopped right in front of the main entrance. After hooking up his bike to the company rack and putting away his helmet, Norman entered and noticed that he was a little early by half an hour. Cheating a little, he bought a drink from the vending machine for after work, wrapping in his coat which he always took off indoors. All of those in the new division slowly trickled, besides one nervous looking man who had been fervently reading a bathroom notice on the wall when Norman had entered.

After sitting and hearing most of the duties they would be performing, Norman didn’t have any objections to the question about division leader, since it was a good idea to have a main link to the higher-ups in case of delegation or separation. The thing about asking questions, though… that just sounded like they were annoyed. In fact many people in here looked either displeased, worried, or outright displeased about the meeting. It was really being the mood down.

 

[RedLeftHand36]

Nikolas Faust

He Who Knows Things

Fashionably early, feeling fashionably late...


Fashionably late. Or was he always there? Who knew? Probably the director of the meeting. Maybe. Perhaps. Possibly. Unnatural eyes swayed like the pendulum of a clock. Maybe the other senior member in the room noticed. Not that it mattered. Everything was on point. Purposeful. Like the clicking of the turnstile, or the rattling of chains. The pale man, the strange man, was, in fact, nobody. Nothing special. If this were a sane world, if this were a perfect world, he’d have stuck out as much as any of the fiends. Nope. He wasn’t one of them. Nor did he feel like one of them. Just a normal human being, yes siree. Throughout the turn of words, words of authority, words of insistence, words of question, words of… he watched. And thought.

Rewind. Stop. It is the third hour, on the dot. A man in all black sits on a bench in a park in Washington DC. Something would seem off if he didn’t seem so abnormally normal. Just a normal human being. Eyes like a monochromatic eclipse offered an arcane semblance of unknown intelligence. Deep in thought. No one else could see them. Hear them. Feel them. Those whispers like tracing letters into the soft soil below. Shapes. Faces. A silent melody of individuality, though they were all the same to him.

“A sidewalk crack on legs, always ready to be stepped on. Not for any reason other than being the only way to live. Tired. Desperate. Sound familiar?”

“A blank. A shot with no powder. Or maybe the powder’s wet. Not much of a difference here. Don’t waste your time.”

“Do I need to explain?”

“A kitchen is a dangerous place, but what it demands is of utmost simplicity. But that’s not overly important. Do they remember the sounds of helicopters? Maybe there’s a reason why people think heroes are fiction.”

“Devils are funny, strange creatures, aren’t we? One day we just pop up. If devils are fear, ask this: How many kinds of fear are there? What constitutes fear is relatively, supposedly, easy to define, but what constitutes a fear of what is where the lines blur. Consider the lengths people will go to understand themselves. So what’s the answer to it all?”

“It’s a harsh world. We either make it or we break. Sometimes, there are those midpoints that dredge on for too long. Teetering on the brink, way up on top of the fence. We don’t always make our own choices. But sometimes we choose to let our choices make us. We sleep on it all, so to speak. Also maybe staying on the move might be a wiser idea than most give it credit for.”

“When we go out into the rain, we rarely expect much, but humans are weak. Touch their crown, their kingdom falls apart. So next time, maybe take some public transportation?”

Other whispers. More would follow. The sun would rise soon on Washington D.C. Sleep was… well, sometimes you had to let someone else drive the wheel. It helps the journey go along at a good pace. He had no wings with which to fly. But he often wondered what it would be like to live as a bird. Was it more or less dangerous? Alas, he did not know. When the glint of morning hit the tall structures in the distance, he wondered if it was worth it. Everyone has secrets. Secrets, however, tended to be a liability. Even if you let them out, they could hurt and harm. These people; How long had he been working with them? Not as long as some, but longer than others. Just his luck.

Perhaps he was always there. It felt like it. As if he knew these people. These situations. A counterfeit deja vu, with no real meaning or purpose behind it. He had no words to say, but so many answers to give. But was there a point? No. So he kept his mouth shut as he leaned against the wall, as if he had been waiting there since the doors first opened… which he was. But he had that habit, that awful, nasty habit, of never sticking out when he ought to. What was that term again? Ah yes.


The Mandela effect.

 

[SomebodyElse]

Nala (Cold Devil, Fiend)

Another day. Why was she even working here? When did she even agree to work here, she had honestly forgotten, the early days of her working at D-Sec were blurry to say the least. For a long time she had remembered being watched heavily, almost as if they were specifically documenting all of her actions with interest. Ofcourse she tried to do a good job, it certainly paid alright but she really never felt like she blended in. Everyone was always so strange, eccentric even. Perhaps everyone had their own problems to deal with. Half of them had deals with devils or were fiends possessing humans. She was a fiend. Sometimes Nala would forget that fact. She felt so human, or atleast what she thought was human. Her memories of being a devil weren't quite there. Every once in a while Nala would have a dream about being a devil but she would usually forget the dream shortly after waking up. She had tried to start writing down the dreams but her organization in writing wasn't very good. She'd come back and wouldn't even be able to make sense of what she wrote.
Building falls apart, lots of yelling
She didn't know what she meant by it.

What she did know was that she was to attend a meeting soon. She had spent a good amount of time getting ready for the day. She spent time putting on makeup and dressing accordingly. She wasn't sure why she did so, it just simply felt like a normal thing to do. And entering the meeting room she could immediately sense the poor atmosphere of everyone there.
Not that Nala really cared but she wondered exactly why they needed all of them here. While she had been working at D-Sec for about 4 or 5 years, she definitely didn't recognize every single face. And not every face seemed to be of the same mood. She didn't really understand why they were all rushed so far into the room nor had she really been notified until very recently that she needed to attend some meeting. And she didn't really get told that others would be there.
"What exactly are you keeping us accountable for? Why are we all here? What is division 16?" She asked.

She hoped she didn't sound stupid but she hadn't really been part of a division while working here, mainly doing office tasks and what not. She didn't really think of being put into a division, although she had heard about some of them especially when regarding her own specific case. Some details she had managed to overhear was that a division was sent to take her down back when she was still a devil, but she didn't know whether they succeeded or not and didn't have any recollection of being a devil. She always wanted to know more about her time as a devil but usually she was met with silence whenever she tried to bring up the topic when she spoke to any higher ups.

It certainly didn't look like anyone wanted to be here. The cold appearance of the room only made Nala feel even more uneasy.

 

[Twist]

Agent Identification Number: 917703
Name: Turner, Keele
Sex: Male
D.O.B: 7/15/66
Role: Agent
Clearance: 4B

Keele looked over his newly issued ID, absently running his thumb over the various punched bumps and grooves, as he looked over his own photo.

His usually spiky, black hair was a fair bit wilder and unkempt looking like a porcupine who bolted backwards through the bushes. Sallow, sunken eyes stared out from over dark clouds, the bags under his eyes almost like taunting pillows. Pale, clammy skin completed the picture, the faintest wisps of stubble poking out like dead grass under a blanket of snow.

Keele's lip twisted in a mix of mild disgust and horror. A whole week without sleep and this was the result. He looked like a zombie!

A fitting description, Keele thought to himself, remembering that week with hazy regret. It was a week after meeting his first Devil, which had been two weeks before today, though it was the former that had been the cause of his insomnia and his new employment.

Meeting 'Pillow' while staying at a Nights Inn in New York, Keele had quickly found himself making a contract with the pink and fluffy Devil after his vigorous fluffing had the cushion like creature worried for its life. At the time, Keele had no idea what was happening but thinking back on it now, the suit and tie he wore as a salesman, the pistol he had bought for emergencies while he travelled holstered around his chest, all of this could have given 'Pillow' the idea he was an agent of D-Sec.

Which was perhaps ironic because, thanks to the Devil, he now was a member of D-Sec. Hanging around the foyer, he made sure he had got plenty of sleep the last couple of days now that his debt to 'Pillow' had been paid, the haggard man in the ID an unfitting first impression to his new team mates.

An anonymous voice spoke all around him, beckoning him to the meeting room. Placing his ID in the breast pocket of his suit jacket, Keele slung his briefcase over his shoulder, a useful carry over from his last career, as he made a move towards the large doors along the other side.

Joining the group of men and women that similarly converged towards the meeting room, Keele took a seat at the conference table, sliding his briefcase between his legs. A large woman spoke from the head of the table, giving a brief introduction and rundown on her role. Built like a brickhouse, she probed the people before her for questions. From further down the table, a purple haired woman with only slightly less musculature chaffed the woman in charge before another woman called out another attendee, a rather voluptuous woman on the other side of the table, just left of him. Taking a moment, Keele was about to ask his own set of questions, when the woman beside him seemed to ask them for him, questioning the head of this meeting for a few more specifics on the attendees situation.

Sitting a little more straight in his chair, Keele backed the almost snowy white woman. "I wouldn't mind a little more information myself on this whole situation, Mam" he said, raising his hand slightly in the air as he spoke.​

 

[SomebodyElse]

Adrianna

Adrianna spent most of the debriefing simply listening to music on her walkman. She didn't really care enough as to what they were being debriefed on. Ofcourse she made sure to listen with 1 headphone in so that she would still hear enough of what they said so that if she got called out for ignoring everything she would be able to come up with an acceptable answer.

You should kill everyone here. Why even bother with these fools?
No killing everyone is wrong why would you suggest that?
Why not? I'm sure some of them would look fun with death on their faces


The various debating voices with Adriana were drowned out by her. None of them really had anything important to say and the music served well enough to drown out enough.
She didn't want to be especially, she viewed everything as simply a inconvienence. Hell D-SEC wasn't even that well organized, she could easily see through the cracks of the organization even if others couldn't. Could they even deal with a major devil should one appear. And for all the devils she has helped take down, it's not like she thought she could take down a devil of the caliber of the radiation devil.

Hmm she would have to spend more time doing her research on some of the people of this room, perhaps the voices could be right, who knew if she could trust everyone here. Someone here could very well be the death of her one day. She couldn't let that happen.

 

[PlusUltra]

Ripley Gallagher
Still Smiling Ripley would give a wave and a wink at Cassaway "Oh I've violated lots of things, laws, tax codes, people, copyright, physics, public property but never the dress code, some artistic licence and creativity on a better canvas is all" raising her arms and striking a pose with a wink before letting out an innocent laugh. In all honesty, the others seemed more curious about the specifics of what they were doing and how it all worked than she was. They just had to show up were told, whip whatever devil lacked subtlety, use paying her contract as an excuse have some fun with her love, party the night and dawn away, rinse and repeat.