Realistic or Modern O B I T U S - N O X

[kou]

C O M I N G | S O O N

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[kou]

CHAPTER ONE - WAIT TO POST AFTER @Eunoia


@Chibii


@Stamper


@Of the Red


@Rida[/color][/size]​

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[/Row]


When all was said and done, they had done as much as they possibly could in order to ensure the safety of the man which paced the concrete floor, hands grasping onto strands of thinning blonde hair as pale blue eyes darted about the room, swiveling from left to right as if intentionally looking for someone Or something. The plexiglass which established a barrier between the middle-aged man and the policemen would only last for so long, it served as a constant reminder that yet again, they were all still too frightened to speak aloud when in the presence of a convicted killer and this man in particular had quite an extensive record. Two counts of fraud and assault with a deadly weapon as well as the normal misdemeanors which accompanied such a low-ranking lackey. It was clear to both the suspect as well as those who were observing him in silence that he would not be "getting off" anytime soon and that what awaited the unfortunate 45 year old was the welcoming embrace of a prison cell and the comfort of an orange jumpsuit with emboldened black letters imprinted across the back. And yet, the unsub still had yet to confess to what he had so obviously done, choosing to remain silent (a foolish notion) and denying his right to appoint an attorney which only seemed to confuse those who had interviewed him when it was beneficial to their investigation. By "investigation", one would think that the team of agents had somehow managed to obtain any evidence concerning the criminal status of Obitus Nox however they had been left to search endlessly for a needle in a predominantly large haystack, leaving one Mia Venucitti in a relentless onslaught of backlash from the media as well as her own father whom had been particularly disappointed to discover the standstill which had presented itself like an oncoming storm over the course of a month. An approximation of 31 days had consisted of the Director's "special agents" working tirelessly into the night, poring over information they had already read, reciting words written in sharpie upon a business card, and trailing after civilians whom had been recognized as remotely close to a threat only to find themselves at yet another dead end. When black (and equally bitter) coffee and thinly veiled disappointment was the only resource in such a relatively small building, one would assume that emotions were prone to running high. And of course, as predicted, they did. Mia had lost a considerable number of promising agents within the past few days which was telling seeing as aforementioned agents were thoroughly trained to disregard the predilections of closing an easy case.


It never happened.


It never would.


There was always something that seemed to be amiss among the sea of information which had been shared with each victim and each attack on a government official. People were not so easily persuaded to freely give away what they had seen with their own eyes in the darkened corner of an alleyway and due to this, bribery had been accepted as a common form for negotiating when it pertained to interrogations. This man in question had requested a cigarette, a simple cigarette which now sat in a cheap ashtray upon the surface of at table while he paced, seemingly taking on a pattern that was not to be broken even with the appearance of an officer who had somehow been fortunate enough to detain the man when the opportunity was presented. Words were exchanged and the man revealed himself to be Terry Nellis, his southern drawl seemingly taking on a large role of his linguistics and causing those around the Director to perk up at the charisma which lolled off of the tongue of one Mr. Nellis. Charm was a pathetic attempt although Mia knew just as well as anyone that it was Mr. Nellis's last attempt in a means to secure his spot hidden away from the clutches of Obitus Nox. The deal they had provided him with was falsely construed, one that was solely based upon the principles of "protection" and seemingly did otherwise, stating that Mr. Nellis would be able to declare mental instability and somehow gain a plea or a free admittance to a mental psychiatric ward. They would find him later of course. Somehow hanging from the rafters in a gown stained with blood that did not belong, a corpse which was once filled with life only to be drained of it. But that was another story for another time and the Director gazed at the officer which crooned softly in an attempt to appeal to the unsub who appeared to be on the verge of a mental breakdown.


Useless. He would tell nothing if he knew what was best for him. They all knew of the grotesqueness of each murder and Mia had been exposed to her fair share of corpses to find herself welcoming the smothering feeling of numbness which had overtaken her body with every person discovered in a bathtub or stuffed into a suitcase. They were good, very much so and Mia reluctantly admitted that it was impressive, impressive that someone such as the leader of ON could remain elusive despite how many tracks were imprinted into the memory banks of each agent who was brave enough to take on the case. It had broken people severely and although Mia knew that her resolve was steadily dwindling, she couldn't help but smile slightly at the sight of the obvious disappointment of the officer as she stood, tilting her head in a notion that could only convey the obvious stubborn nature of their suspect. The quiet sighs which erupted behind the woman was telling although, for now, this was still not her story to tell. They had a possible suspect, one who refused to speak on anything and Mia understood his intentions. Fear was a powerful motivator, it could easily sway the strongest of men and this man was quite shaken, the pallid tinge to his face only serving to further cement her beliefs. With what one could call the grace of a feline, Mia removed herself from the room, passing up a group of rookies whom immediately quieted once she neared their general vicinity, sending one another coded glances as if to say "watch out." It never failed to amuse the older woman, an expressionless look which bordered on predatory crossing her features as she came upon the familiar figure of Gnash Michelle. The young man was aspiring to be a nuisance within the legal field, taking on some of the most difficult perspectives when it came to criminal organizations and making it complicated for Mia to do anything considerably influential due to the constant pestering of the ADA. One glance was exchanged between the two and a weighted silence settled over them, drowning out the daily commotion of people milling about.


"Heard ya' got your guy.." Mia flinched momentarily at the figure of speech, a disgusted look flitting across her features before dissolving at the smug glance from Gnash. It was no question that the colloquial usage of "ya" was something that successfully grated on Mia's nerves, she had never taken a pleasure to utilizing shortened vernacular and that wouldn't suffice to change. "You heard right, I would believe."Mia made sure to place emphasis on the "you", silently informing him of his "mistake" which had already been duly noted from the young man. Gnash took another moment to reply, running spidery hands through greasy black hair before brown eyes were trained on her, ingrained with determination. Mia braced herself for the brash comments which would follow.


"Listen, we've allotted you time and entertained your need to pursue each lead which amounted to nothing, it's not going to happen again. If you don't nip this thing in the bud then hand the case to someone who will." There was a passing second in which Mia succumbed to the thought of this but it flickered away, replaced with barely concealed contempt that Mia had not often been akin to. The effect was, admittedly, pleasing and Mia watched as Gnash seemed to curl in on himself, shoulders curved in an attempt to appear non-threatening. It was a stance that many took when interrogated by the Director and she wouldn't lie if she said it was not appeasing to her egotism. "With all due respect, I believe it would be in your best interests to take your leave. Now, if you will pardon me, I must gather my team. Have a lovely day, sir." And with that, Mia was once more off on her way, smoothing down her suit as she made her way towards her office. She would have to gather them all in order to inform them of the day's events.


In order to inform them that she may possibly lose her job.


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[dwale]

J a d r a n C a p e l l o

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The annoying drone of his alarm penetrated his ears and he pushed himself up from the bed, silk sheets falling away from his bare form. He shifted, now sitting at the edge of his bed, and turned slightly, eyes catching a glimpse of the tussel of dark hair that belonged to the woman he'd brought home that night. A heavy sigh left him, hands rising to rub the wear of sleep from his facial features, before he finally stood. Never one to not look presentable in front of others, even if it was just his one night stand, he made his way quietly around the room, gathering his outfit for that day into his hands. He was soon dressed in a charcoal grey suit, an ebony tie around his neck with a white button down beneath that. He'd draped the suit jacket over his shoulder, since he didn't particularly care for them. The next step was to tame his hair, which proved to be any easy feat that particular morning, before he moved to the side of the bed that the female had fallen asleep on. He attempted to rouse her, hand on her shoulder, but she was stubborn and turned away from him, a noise of indignation leaving her fair lips.


It took a fair amount of coaxing, but soon he had her ushered (and dressed) out of his room and they were both now heading towards the front door. The female kissed him good-bye, unsurprisingly, before she made her way outside to enter the taxi that he'd called for her. He cleared his throat, a hand sliding down his front to assure that no wrinkles had plagued his wardrobe, before he turned on his heel and made his way upstairs. Jadran entered a dark room, the only noises coming from a noise machine on an end table and the mouth of a sleeping child. "Svegliati, luce dei miei occhi," The male hummed quietly, now kneeling beside the bed. "Stai andando a sprecare via il giorno." He added as the child remained asleep, soft snores falling from their mouth. After a few more moments of waiting, he let out a sigh of aggravation. "Vincente Matteo Capello, you had better be up and out of this bed in the span of five seconds," His tone was harsh, yet affectionate, and it worked in rousing the young boy.


"Babbo," The boy whined, as if that would aid him in getting a few more minutes of sleep. But, Jadran was already busying himself getting the child's clothes prepared, 'tsking' at Vincente. "We get up the same time everyday, passero, and we're not about to change today. Up, up, up." He prompted, moving back around to the bed. The child was made presentable, though his wild curls remained unkempt as Jadran had no desire to wrestle with the wretched things that morning. He often forgot about his child's ailment, since he'd learned to navigate the house fairly well in the years he'd been able to walk. Which is why he turned in surprise when he heard stumbling and a crash of the sound machine to the floor. Vincente had tripped over the cord, now laying flat on his stomach with a hand pressed to his forehead. "Easy, Vincente," He murmured, approaching him and hooking his hands beneath the small boys arms to lift him from the floor. "Move your hand. Mostrami dove fa male." Jadran stated, holding the boy steady with ease. It was little more than a goose egg and he sighed, brushing his thumb over it gingerly. "You'll be tutto apposto," He claimed.


It wasn't long before they'd made their way out the door and to the car that he often drove, despite his vast collection. He got Vincente settled in the back, buckled in and all, before he rounded to the front of the car where he got in. It was a short drive over to the facility that he often inhabited, despite the plethora of buildings owned by Obitus Nox. During the drive, at a red light, he'd taken the opportunity to message Eric, his second-in-command, telling him to gather all of the higher ranking initiates, and to make sure that the lower ranks were up. He had never been a fan of those that had just joined, as they often proved to be annoying and impulsive, always taking an opportunity, even if it wasn't the right one. He parked in his usual spot in the underground parking facility, before sliding from his seat. Jadran aided Vincente in getting out of the car, his hand woven tightly with his son's to lead him towards the secure elevator. An eye scan and an elevator ride later, he was making his way towards his office. Vincente scurried off with his favorite body guard, who loved the boy just as much as the boy loved him, and Jadran didn't falter in threatening the man should his son get a mere scratch.


"Buongiorno, Mr. Capello." A young woman greeted him as he approached the doors to his office, her posture becoming straight and proper as he approached. "Dovremo aspettare e vedere se è buono," He replied with ease, unbuttoning the end of his sleeves and pushing the fabric up his arms. Upon entering his office, he draped his jacket across the back of his chair, pleased to see a glass of amber liquid already on his desk. Despite the constant aggravation the woman outside the door caused him, she did know what he liked and what he didn't. A calloused hand ran over the smooth plane of the desk before him and he would have grinned, had he been that type. He sat himself down in the chair that he'd ordered only a few weeks prior. Now, he was to wait until his higher ups arrived, as he had a task for them.

T A G S

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@Eunoia


@Chibii

@LannaCrowe
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T R A N S L A T I O N S

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Svegliati, luce dei miei occhi = Wake up, light of my eyes


Stai andando a sprecare via il giorno = You're going to waste away the day


Babbo = Dad


passero = sparrow


Mostrami dove fa male = Show me where it hurts


tutto apposto = alright


Buongiorno = Good morning


Dovremo aspettare e vedere se è buono = We'll have to wait and see if it's good



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[Angst]

Eric Montagne

________________


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Despite the early hour, by the time the message arrived, its recipient was already wide awake - had been, in fact, for quite a while. Four a.m. was generally the cutoff for Eric when it came to sleep, the time at which his internalized alarm clock had been programmed to ring for as long as he could remember. Not that it bothered him. As a man of boundless energy, he held strongly to the belief that time spent sleeping was time left to waste away. Besides, he had come to learn it best to provide for his mother's morningly needs before she awoke, which, admittedly, was becoming a much easier feat to accomplish as of late, as the woman had recently been doing more sleeping than anything else. Well, that and complaining, but Adelaide had never been one to let her grievances go unexpressed.


Currently, the Frenchman stood atop the roof of Le Cheval Blanc, the ritzy Los Angeles hotel that had been under the management of the Montagnes since the era following the Second World War, watching the first rays of morning sunlight peak up over the tops of the adjacent skyscrapers, blowing smoke from the cigarette held loosely between his right thumb and index finger and tapping his foot on the concrete pavement in a sort of sporadic rhythm. The roof, an area that was usually marked off for ownership and members of the staff, was otherwise vacant, and Eric was unusually grateful for the solitude, his mind preoccupied by his other, more important - yet less widely accepted - line of business. As the second tier of Obitus Nox, quite possibly the largest and most intricately run crime ring in the nation, it was a key aspect of his job to remain well informed, and the evening prior, he had received an interesting piece of information. Apparently, the newscaster had said with an urgency that was meant to make it seem like a stunning development, the agents down at the F.B.I. headquarters had succeeded in bringing in one of their members, and when the woman spoke his name, Eric had actually laughed. Nellis. The man was of such a low rank that he knew next to nothing of critical importance, if he knew anything at all. Honestly, sometimes he began to wonder if the Federal Bureau of Investigation even possessed any aspirations of felling the great and mighty Obitus Nox. For his two years in the game, they had hardly ever posed a substantial threat to his boss's means and intentions. The fools never seemed to pick up on any earth-shattering leads, and whatever information they did acquire was pored over for far too long to be of any real use when they finally decided to act on it. The entire thing was almost a sort of dry joke, one that brought a humorless smile to Eric's lips.


When the telltale buzzing of the cellphone in his pocket alerted him to that fact that he was being paged, the man shook away his previous musings, transferring his cigarette to his non-dominant hand and reached into his pocket to retrieve the device. His mirthless smile transformed into an expression of pensivity as his eyes scanned over the message, sent by Jadran, his superior, instructing him to round up his high ranking counterparts and to make sure the lower standing specimens were awake and on their feet. Throwing the cigarette to the pavement and extinguishing it with the heel of his shoe, Eric made to respond, his expression changing once again to one that bordered on affectionate. His eyes drifted to the time stamp on his boss's message. He didn't know why he knew, but to his limited knowledge of the man's daily routine, this would be about the time that he would be commuting to work.


"Texting while driving is dangerous, you know. Take care not to get yourself killed," he sent back on first instinct, and then added, as an afterthought as he remembered the true matter at hand, "Consider it done, mon Patron."





Now that he was focused on business, Eric made quick work of sending out a mass notification to all those comprising Obitus Nox's lower level, receiving seconds later a serious of responses, some reverent, others rather halfhearted, as the recipients began to rouse themselves for the day ahead. Certainly, this was not something that Jadran was incapable of doing himself, but, as Eric knew, the man preferred not to come into contact with those so far beneath him, even in the form of a simple text message.


Next came those higher standing, thieves and murderers who had gained recognition as some of the ring's most effective members. Briefly, Eric considered going to gather each of them himself, but considering the lengthy amount of time it would take to do so, along with the fact that a few of them could be particularly difficult to locate unless they wanted to be found, he decided that a second message would be much more efficient.


With his initial task taken care of and the knowledge that his next was to promptly report to Jadran's office, he slipped his phone back into his pocket before turning and heading for the door leading into the hotel, stretching his arms over his head as he smiled once more, this time with a sense of anticipation. Whatever was about to ensue, it was bound to be interesting.


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Tagging:
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@Eunoia @Chibii @LannaCrowe @karmaa @Of the Red @TheLovelyDead

 

[eclipsa]

LOCATION: undisclosed | WITH: her superiors | TAGS: @Mortem @Angst


tw: murder disguised as suicide
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Tick. Tick. The clock on the wall ticked at an annoyingly constant beat. The one constant thing in her life, time. Always moving. Tick. Tick. Tick. Never ending. Well, unless you know how to stop it. The blonde lazily threw her knife into the clock, effectively stopping the incessant ticking. In a way, it felt like she had stopped time. Though, she knew better.


The events of the night before flashed through her mind. Tick. Tick. The clock there had been ticking there, too. Ticking down the final seconds of the man's life. She usually didn't do it this way, disguise it as a suicide, that is. Though, she had to be quick tonight. The quickest way to kill a man without castration, was slit wrists. Tick. Tick. He bled out slowly, slower than she had wanted him to.


"Sorry, baby, it's business." Were the last words he heard before she slipped out. Unnoticed by everyone. As per usual. She loved this part of her life. She did her best to blend in. She was just another blonde girl with a pretty face. Nothing worth staring at, nothing worth noticing. She slept well that night.


The ticking of that clock was the only thing that forced her to rise from bed in the morning. No time to sleep in when everyday's a war. She thought to herself, making her way through her apartment. It wasn't fancy, nor was it a dump. Somewhere in between. Coffee and toast for breakfast, she'd eat more later. Her day was going to be pretty boring, unless they had a new assignment for her. She hoped they did. She needed something to get the day moving, and nothing made her day move like a new target. Bzz. Bzz. The telltale sign that she was being requested. No one else had the number. A smirk graced her face as she rose from the table.


She dressed quickly, a simple winged eyeliner for makeup. She left her hair down and didn't even bother to brush it. There was little point in it, her hair rarely tangled. Click. Click. The sound of her heels on the sidewalk reminded her of the clock. She gritted her teeth. The day after a job always had her on edge. Despite being sure she'd never be caught, she always worried. Whispers of a suicide filled the streets. It had been breaking news this morning. Everyone was talking about it.


Madden had a feeling her superiors already knew the job had been done. She had left her mark at the scene, though no one had mentioned finding it. Coincidentally, no one ever seemed to. She smirked at the thought. The blonde timed herself very carefully, never arriving before her superiors, yet never seeming to arrive after the other criminals. She had high hopes for her future, involving watching her family lose everything as she took their precious city from them. That was much more likely when she had the backing of Obitus Nox. Gaining the trust of the boss? That was something she was still working on. Being discreet in matters didn't lead to her immediate trust.


She found her way to the boss's office, a cold glare at anyone who bothered to look her way before she got there. The joy that filled her when she watched the color drain from their faces cannot be easily described. The woman known as The Widow cannot be easily described, for that matter. She was pleased to see that only her superiors arrived before her.

 

[kou]

O C T O B E R

ignoring all the history, denying them romance
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information

location : archives


current outlook: contemplating death


status: secure


outfit: @Eunoia


@Chibii


@Stamper


@Of the Red


@Rida

The archives were quiet.


By that, October meant that she was deaf and, surprisingly, there was a severe lack of sound. Shocking. On days such as this one, the young woman found comfort in climbing onto one of the alarmingly high shelves (due to the wideness of the surface) and positioning herself to where she could immediately spot out anyone who dared to enter the room, grabbing a book along the way for entertainment. Rarely anyone ever interrupted October although she found it amusing to intimidate those who chose to do so, ridding herself of the vacant need for the company of another in order to swat off anyone whom appeared to be sticking their (unwanted) noses in her businesses. It always surprised her that many agents were unable to sign, coming off as severely illiterate due to their inability to understand even the most simplistic translations she provided them with. The lack of accessibility to those who were deaf was uncanny and, quite frankly, annoying in many situations. With this thought in mind, October hurled the book as far as she could, taking silent pleasure in the vibration which occurred due to the object coming into contact with wood. She could not hear the sound so to speak however the science of "wavelengths" was one hell of a thing. The room seemed to settle and October inaudibly sighed, one leg draped over the edge whereas the other moved in a circular motion to prevent numbness from remaining still. The wood dug into the archivist's back, the prominent smell of dust and mold permeating the air and intermingling with the faint scent of cinnamon which emitted from the young woman's sweater. There was a moment in which October was drifting towards the embrace of sleep however that was unfortunately interrupted by a hand which tugged on October's foot causing the woman to jump up in an attempt to pull away only to see a familiar face grinning at the audible reaction they had received.


October contemplated the split-second reaction of a fist connecting with the man's nose although the few seconds in which she savored the imaginary image was once more brought to a standstill as she was all but pulled from her perch atop the shelf, clutching onto fabric as she met the ground and glaring at her father's shaking figure. He was laughing. The asshole. Removing her hands from the older man's shirt, October made sure he clearly saw her flipping him off and was thankful for her inability to hear the way in which his laughter increased, leaning against the shelf she had fallen from in an attempt to steady herself. Once the initial hilarity wore off, her father straightened himself, embracing his daughter despite her constant endeavors to remove herself from Malik's grip. October finally gave in and allowed herself to be hugged, pulling away (almost reluctantly) and raising an eyebrow at Malik's large form which loomed over her. The man was a gentle giant almost, an affectionate expression on his face as he gazed at October which was met with a blatant look of defiance. After a minute had passed, Malik rose his hands, calloused palms turning to face her as he signed out a half-hearted and equally sloppy "how are you?"


Malik had been attempting to understand ASL and October credited him with his dedication however they both knew that such a thing would not be mastered anytime soon although the young woman was fine with how hard her father had been trying. The stubbornness wore away to something akin to resignation and October smiled ever so slightly, moving her hands and returning the gesture. "I am fine, father. How are you?" With that, Malik described in painstaking detail everything that had occurred since he had awoke and October felt her smile grow wider as she "listened" in, finding herself content with the security her father was able to provide before feeling the emptiness as he hugged her once more, her hands coming to wrap around him and her head burying into his shoulder. It was almost as if she was a child once more, the noticeable smell of oil and cocoa butter exuding from her father and bringing back memories of when she had her hearing. It was a sad thought, tinged with a bittersweet recollection of how she was able to hear the gruffness of her father's tone when he spoke...the thought disappeared as quickly as it came once Malik pulled away, exchanging another goodbye and taking his leave.


Once more October was left to her own devices, the woman returning to her desk which was shoved behind a rather large bookshelf and sinking into the computer chair, sighing once more and closing her eyes. The day would be slow, no doubt.


She missed her father's presence already.

 

[JustWhipIt]

Wyatt Eastwood

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Pages of the morning paper ruffled in Wyatt’s grip, his eyes fixating on the bolded letters on the front page that denoted the arrest of a certain criminal. The detaining of one Terry Nellis was essentially the only smidgen of progress that the FBI had made in recent times regarding Obitus Nox. The culprit was apprehended not too long ago, and would most likely be in the midst of questioning this very moment. Though, the agent knew better than to get his hopes up—especially after the past stalemate of a month. Having been stationed in Los Angeles for about two months now, Wyatt was brought onto the case considerably later than most of the office’s veteran workers. What he expected to be a straightforward job proved to be of a much more frustrating caliber than his initial belief. After perusing the article, he tossed the bundle of papers onto the coffee table in front of him. The man couldn’t help but slouch on the white leather sofa and prop his legs on top of the table, no longer bothering to preserve the condition of the newspaper.


The day was still young and Wyatt still wasn’t due at work for another half hour. Taking the opportunity to clear his mind, he let his eyes wander out the window of his apartment. The apartment itself was a luxurious one, decorated with lavish furniture and modern paintings—one of the benefits of being born into an affluent family. The apartment had only been his place of residence for a few months, though it felt as if he’d spent an entire lifetime in LA already. Between working and venturing out into the city during his own free time, Wyatt familiarized himself with the area rather quickly. As such, his time spent at home was minimal and he never paid too much mind to the grandiosity of the place.


Ten minutes or so later, Wyatt forced himself up from the couch. Even despite the desperate scenario that the Bureau found itself in, he reminded himself to remain motivated and resolved. He gave up a substantial position back at his old office in Sacramento in order to contribute to the Obitus Nox case. There was a lot more riding on the whole thing than his time alone—his reputation was as well. In his prior years as an agent, Wyatt demonstrated his capability on multiple occasions. But being the ambitious person he was, he was more than eager to move onto larger-scale operations. On paper, taking down Obitus Nox didn’t appear as daunting as it proved itself to be. Soon enough though, it was apparent that toppling the criminal organization was more than he had bargained for. It wasn’t just his superiors that he wanted to make an impression on, but it was his father’s recognition that he wanted more than anything. After all, the man was the reason that Wyatt became an agent in the first place.


Having already cleaned himself up since rising from bed, Wyatt navigated back to his bedroom for the purpose of getting dressed. He wasn’t too big on breakfast, preferring the company and solace of a cup of coffee or two instead. Arriving in his bedchamber, he picked out a few articles of clothing—the usual for him. Only a few minutes elapsed before he donned his typical ensemble. A jet black suit over a white dress shirt and a silvery gray tie went a long way to create an air of professionalism around him, something he valued tremendously. Striding over to the nightstand beside his bed, Wyatt picked up the handgun he was required to carry. Although the building he lived in was well-manned and beyond a doubt secure , it still gave him a sense of security nonetheless. Fitting it into the holster fastened on his belt, he gave one last peek at the mirror situated adjacent to the closet before heading out.





The office was within walking distance of Wyatt’s apartment, clocking in at a trip of just under twenty minutes. He didn’t mind the stroll itself, finding it an adequate way to energize oneself at the start of the day. Admittedly, the idea of that one seemingly ordinary citizen he passed being a member of the city’s underworld empire did creep into his mind every now and then. Even if his intuition was correct, there wasn’t much he could do without evidence or justification, or at least in his mind there wasn’t. The thought of being powerless was one that irked him, not being fond of having criminals slip from his fingertips. Yet, it all was too common in the City of Angels. Regardless, he tried his absolute best not to let it get to his head, not wanting to start off the day on a bitter note.


Having spent nearly his entire life among skyscrapers and traffic lights, Wyatt never truly experienced life by the countryside or rural areas. Not that he minded—the hustling of people on the streets was akin to his own lifestyle and preferences, being one who favors moving forwards and up in life. Ironically, it was the reason he was at this impasse to begin with. Nevertheless, it wasn’t much longer until he arrived at the FBI building, of which he had to pleasure to work in on a daily basis. Undeterred by the Bureau’s lack of progress (aside from the arrest of a seemingly unimportant lackey), Wyatt still clung onto the hope that today would be a different case.

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[karmaa]

"Wh-where is the love?"

The sound of Black Eye Peas filled the silent void in Saskia's room as the sun's golden glow shone into her room, signalling that the day is about to begin. The young scientist was already up and dressed, her nerdy thick glasses sat upon her nose as her eyes scanned the files in front of her. Her desk was an utter mess, papers and opened pens were scattered over the desk as Saskia sat comfortably in front of it with a simple lamp next to her. It was a habit of hers to play music whilst working, even if it annoyed the fuck out of her roommate. "Saskia!" Rose yelled. Saskia's attention stayed on her files as she looked on the photos of the victims body. "Saskia! Will you switch that goddamn awful music off? It's from 2009 and you know how I feel about that year. " Rose stuck her nose up high in the air, her voice dripped with a fake snotty accent. "Oh yeah, sorry!" Saskia squeaked an apology as she stumbled out of her chair, racing to the boombox and switching it off. "Won't happen again!" she winced awkwardly with a wink at the end.




Rose cocked a unimpressed eyebrow at the female nerd, wondering why she even bothers with her. "Alright then, I must go. Ciao!" She dismissed Saskia with a small wave of her hand, trying to pull a fake Spanish accent. Saskia saw no point in it, she didn't find Rose as an older sister, a best friend let alone someone who could actually speak her language. "That's Italian." Saskia softly muttered, her gaze trailing onto the ground until they landed on her alarm clock. She had thirty minutes before work started. She may as well get herself a coffee. Saskia grabbed her belongings along with her files stuffed in yellow folders and left her apartment. Saskia jogged down the stairs and into the lobby where she was greeted by the front desk man, Alan. "Morning Alan!" Saskia waved as the man stumbled in front of Saskia, blocking her to get her morning coffee.

"Uh.. Morning Saskia! These are for you." Alana pulled a bunch of withered and dead roses behind his back. His awkward smile dropped into a frown at the sight of his failed attempt of wooing Saskia. A puzzled look came from her face as her eyes studied the dying roses. She knew that Alan had feelings towards her yet she couldn't say the same towards him, she needed more time to herself committing to a man. "Gracias Alan but I have to go otherwise I'll be late." Saskia softly smiled as she picked a rose from the bunch and continued her way out of her building. "Uh bye!' Alan turned on his heels and waved until his crush left the building in a rush for work.

Saskia released a deep sigh as she arrived at the office just in time. As Saskia entered the bustling office she noticed Wyatt entering just behind her. "Hey Wyatt." She smiled before turning to her right and heading to her side of the building. As she went past October's office, Saskia opened her palms to give her a quick hello in ASL. The bustling office gave Saskia a small emotion of happiness. To most girls in Spain they would find this scary and often horrible to work in such a place where you deal with dead bodies for a living but Saskia loved it. Sure, the creepy idea of an underground organisation is working everywhere in LA and the fact you could be a victim of any crime does creep into Saskia mind but she found a way to deal with it. Besides, she's dealt with worse in her life.

Saskia opened the frosted glass door and went inside her cozy office. Saskia chucked her files onto her desk and plopped her butt onto her seat whilst taking a sip of her take-away coffee. Her eyes softly close as she slipped off her sunglasses, placing them next to her iMac computer. Saskia pulled out her phone and checked her notifications. 5 missed called from her father. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she prepared herself for the day ahead of her.

T A G S

Wyatt ~ @JustWhipIt

October ~ @AbstractAnnabella

O U T F I T

 

[Angst]

Maximus Pierce

__________________


____________

The sound of sizzling pancake batter and the sweet aroma of frying bananas wafted through the small apartment kitchenette as Max stood before the stove, concentrating on preparing his simple breakfast. With a practiced ease, he lifted up one of the pancakes onto this spatula, flipping it over and smiling in personal satisfaction as it held its circular shape. It was funny, really, he thought to himself as he hummed along to the tune of Of Monsters and Men's "King and Lionheart," which was playing from his phone on the table behind him. He had heard it said on multiple occasions that vegans must be limited in their choice of menu, but honestly, he had found that to be far from the truth. In fact, as he'd found to be true of many vegans, cooking up new and varying breakfast items happened to be one of the highlights of his every morning.







​

Knife and fork paused in midair as a buzzing from his cellphone cut through both Max's music and his thoughts, and his gaze moved to the device in time to note and incoming call from Reid Martin, a close friend and fellow in the criminal justice line of study.

​

​

"Morning," he greeted his caller, setting his utensils aside and bringing the phone to his ear. "Calling for last minute assistance on that criminal psychology paper?"

​

​

"You think you're funny, don't you?" Reid responded with a great deal less enthusiasm, though it was obvious by his tone that he found at least some sort of humor in the remark. "I'm guessing you haven't heard, then."

​

​

"What, that the professor decided to extend the deadline last night around 12:30?" Max shot back, grinning as he leaned his chair back on its hind legs. "That I did."

​

​

Reid, who, if Max knew him at all after three years of friendship, had probably spent the entire night working on the thing, muttered a rueful "Shit" into the receiver before continuing. "You know, it would have been nice for you to have shared that bit of information. But no. It's about the F.B.I. Haven't you been watching the news?"

​

​

At the mention of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, Max let the front two legs of his chair fall back to the floor with a thud, curiosity piqued to the highest degree as he felt a sense of excitement spread through his veins.

​

​

"What about the F.B.I.?" he asked, the burning desire to know the answer eminent in his voice. "What happened? Is it Obitus?"

​

​

"You know, I might just take the opportunity to revel in the rarity of this situation. Maximus Pierce, ignorant of the goings on of the Los Angeles F.B.I."

​

​

"Reid."

​

​

"You know, it would have been nice to know about that extended deadline."

​

​

"Reid."

​

​

"Stayed up all damned night working on that paper."

​

​

"You realize I could just look it up, right?"

​

​

Reid, realizing the game was over, simply sighed.

​

​

"Alright, fine, fine. Apparently they caught a guy last night, common criminal named Nellis, or something like that. They're pretty sure the guy is affiliated with Obitus Nox, but they haven't been able to get anything out of him, as far as I know. Honestly, you're the perpetually prying intern. You should be up to date on these things."

​

​

Max, who had already moved to the couch in the living room and opened his laptop computer, breakfast completely forgotten, distractedly replied, "Yeah, thanks Reid. I'll help you proofread that paper later," before hanging up. It was a more curt response than he generally found acceptable to give, but his mind was already moving a mile a minute, anxious to find out all he could in regards to this new development. Instead of a search engine, however, he pulled up his email and promptly began a new draft, fingers moving at an uncanny speed as he typed out:

​

​

Hey, October,

​

​

Heard from a classmate that you brought brought a guy in last night. Has he said anything? Have they confirmed that he's with Obitus yet? I'm looking into the news articles now, but I wanted to check with you first. You know how trustworthy the media is.

​

​

Also, good morning to you!

​

​

- Max

​

​

Granted, conversing directly with the bureau's archivist in regards to matters such as this that were undoubtedly well above his pay grade was a strong testament to the debatably intrusive behavior that had gained Max an unfortunate reputation with many of his superiors as being nosy at best, and a downright nuisance at the worst, but as of yet, even their blatant and oftentimes verbalized annoyance had been unable to put a cap on his insatiable thirst for knowledge. At times he began to wonder why they kept him around, but one would think that, with the minuscule - and even that was being generous - progress that they had been making as of late that they would appreciate any set of arms and legs they could get, even if they belonged to a simple crime scene photographer. October, for her part, appeared to share this belief, or at least to understand it, as she not only treated him - despite the divide between both their ages and positions - as a friend, but also supplied him with any information that she was lawfully allowed to give whenever he inquired it of her.

​

​

As Max went to switch back to the browser, a quick look at the computer clock and the realization that he had spent much too long pondering and reflecting upon the goings on of his workplace sent him jumping to his feet, closing the laptop as he did so. While it killed him, if he had any hopes of eating before the time to leave for class rolled around, then research was going to have to wait. Besides, he would probably end up doing it during criminal psychology, when everyone else was finishing up on their papers.

​

​

Amidst the din of many others, one thought rose to the surface later that morning as he was walking out the door: his shift down at the station couldn't come soon enough.

​

​

​

​

_____________________


___________

Tagging:

@AbstractAnnabella

​

Moments later, when the young man was content with the color and texture of his intended meal, he switched off the stovetop and slid it onto the plate sitting on the counter beside him. A quick glance at the clock on the microwave, as he wiped his hands on the dishtowel that had previously been slung across his bare shoulders and carried his plate and a set of silverware to the table, confirmed that his first class scheduled for the day wouldn't begin for yet another hour. Being as he had already showered, this would give him just enough to eat, dress, and clean the kitchen before he had to - ​

​

​

 

[philocaly]

| Location: Undisclosed | With: Madden, Eric & Jadran | Tags: @Eunoia @Mortem @Angst |


The cool breeze of the rather early morning blew softly against Alexia's face, her thin hand brushing away stray strands of hair from her face. Her long legs were propped up against the opposite armrest of a park bench, her free hand supporting her head while she leaned back on the bench's armrest, admiring the scenery. Alexia looked at her watch, smirking smugly as she got to her feet, not in a rush, but instead at a relaxed speed, slowly rising off the bench and then gradually quickening her pace to the nearby concrete building. The concrete building she was going to burn to bits.


As her darkly colored sneakers approached the building, Alexia grinned, a maniacal grin, before her face went back into a smug smirk, so as to not draw attention to herself. The brunette squeezed into a narrow and secluded pathway to the right of the building, before taking a turn, landing herself at the back of the structure.


Shocking red spray paint was the first thing that caught Alexia's eye. Her nasty "Catch me if you can!" scrawl was already starting to bleed off a bit, giving Alexia a reminder to get a better brand of paint next time.


Alexia's dark brown orbs darted to the puddle on the ground. To the public eye, it would seem like any ordinary puddle. But closer inspection would reveal that it was in fact, alcohol. The alcohol that Alexia always carried around with her whenever she went on her little trips to special buildings. This building that was about to burn in flames was the office of J&C Insurance, an insurance company that liked to scam people into signing their cash to an unworthy cause. Alexia was doing a favor really.


The female lit a match and tossed it into the oil, watching it spread out as it surrounded the building, the criminal running out into the street before it got too out of control. Alexia eased her way into the crowd, the flames creeping in, from the back door where she had led the alcohol to. She tossed in a canister of alcohol, throwing a match in with it and running away, the crowd gasping in awe and shock at the building that was slowly dissolving under the flames. No one would be injured, which was what Alexia had planned, the company was closed today.


Alexia soon reached her apartment, unlocking the door and sighing heavily, tossing the leftover canisters of alcohol onto the couch lazily and peeling off her hoodie. Before she could even sit down, a soft buzzing came from her pocket, making the brunette sigh after seeing the message from Eric. She shuffled to her room and changed into a random outfit, raking her fingers through her dark hair and pulling any tangled ends roughly.


The ride to the office was a rather quick one, and one where she had time to enjoy the relaxation she had on her motorcycle. As she approached her destination, Alexia gave a quick grin to everyone. It was better to be in people's good books, manipulation came from the inside. Her posture straightened as she stepped into the office. "Ciao."

 

[kou]

D Y L A N

somewhere fast, nowhere's safe
​

information

location : on


current outlook: civil


status: secure


outfit: @Eunoia


@Chibii

Silence was a rarely credited virtue.


In fact, Dylan was sure that many people took silence for weakness and it was something that her mother would not have hesitated to call "stupid." That is, if her mother was anywhere to be found. The city seemed to thrum with life as the 19 year old made her way through large crowds of people, snaking through close-knit groups of overtly loud teenagers and keeping her eyes trained on the ground as the background noise seemed to drown away. The next song was one she favored the most, one that seemed to connect with her and she didn't mind putting her iPod on "repeat", remaining insolent to the outside noise that accompanied the city by increasing the volume and setting on a steady route towards ON. No one paid attention because no one cared, everyone was too concerned with their conflicts to notice the girl passing them. To know that this same woman had committed a series of heists that most men couldn't ever hope to pull off despite their best attempts to do otherwise, it wasn't gloating..it was fact. Dylan hated facts. She hated anything that gleamed brightly which was why she stole in the first place, desperate to rid people of the things they sought the most.


Money. An inverted Robin Hood, if you will. The thought brought a slight smile to Dylan's face as she stepped onto the subway platform, waiting patiently alongside an elderly woman with a shocking patch of grey hair and a kind smile plastered onto her face. Women like that were robbed of their money easily, Dylan had never been one to take from those older than her but she knew by the antsy look on a young man's face nearby that he was certainly in a much rather different mindset than she. There was a passing exchange, from one criminal to another before Dylan disappeared altogether in the sea of people stepping onto the metro, grabbing onto a pole nearby and ignoring the feeling of an elbow pressing into the lower area of her back. The ride was seemingly endless despite how fast they appeared to be going and Dylan fixated her attention on a gleaming Rolex a man was wearing, studying each and every movement he made and almost jumping at the abrupt stop of the metro, quickly stepping off onto the platform and doing her best to forget her intrigue with the stranger's watch. It seemed as if Dylan was more attracted to overall bright things as of late and she was unsure of whether that was a telltale sign of greed or merely..pettiness. Nearly bumping into a child, Dylan braced herself and continued on her way, cutting into a nearby alleyway in order to remain a safe distance from any nearby cameras.


Despite never being caught in the act, Dylan could not help the paranoia which seemed to overtake her at the sight of a camera, let alone a policeman. She was good but becoming vain was what got most criminals stuck in a rook they could not find themselves out of and the teen was doing her best to avoid such circumstances seeing as she had never quite liked authority. Too much power went to one's head all too quickly and Dylan praised those who remained level-headed in those kind of positions seeing as she was barely hanging onto her own. Lately, the question of..'quitting' had been prominent within Dylan's head, she had no clue as to how one went about that but she knew what happened to those who snitched and she didn't want that at all. Approaching her boss's office, Dylan was tempted to turn around and never return but she knew all too well that the older man was capable of hunting her down..especially his second-in-command. That man had quite an impressive way of getting things done. With that, Dylan made her way inside and nodded towards those who happened to take notice, drifting through the building and exhaling as she walked into the room only to find that 2 others had arrived beforehand.


As well as both Eric and Jadran. Although, she was not permitted to call them by their names unless she wished for death. "Hello." Within one word contained that of a smoothness that could only be accomplished by constant practice, a foreign tinge to her voice due to the national status of her mother. The greeting was quiet but enough to be heard by those Dylan wanted it to. After all, she wasn't a woman of many words.

 

[Angst]

Thomas Mahelona

____________________


_______________

Thomas Mahelona was not unfamiliar with the experience of being abruptly awakened at all hours of the morning by the sound of barking dogs. Rather, it was a fairly frequent occurrence, as Coco and Kalani could be set off by nearly anything. Be it a car horn, thunder, or the drunken shouts of a late night (or early morning) bar goer, to the two pit bulls, who insisted upon sleeping every night by the front door of Tom's downstairs studio, probably out of some canine obligation to guard their master's home, everything was seen as an imminent threat, one of which the man of the house needed to be notified immediately as it occurred. As accustomed to these happenings as he was, he had fallen into the routine of waiting for the disturbance to pass and the dogs to settle, which they always eventually did, before allowing himself to fall back into slumber. This luxury, however, had just recently been added to the growing list of personal freedoms lost since his integration into Obitus Nox.


Though, admittedly, it was less the fault of the organization than of the unexpected roommate that he had acquired because of it.


On this particular morning, the dogs were brought to attention by the unnecessarily (or what would have been unnecessary had it not been for the identity of the sender) loud chiming of two different cellphones in nearly perfect synchronization as a message came in through both that could only have been sent by one specific man - namely, Obitus Nox's second tier. With a resigned yawn as he was forcefully pulled from the depths of sleep, Tom reached blindly in the dim lighting of the room - it seemed the sun had not yet risen - over to the small nightstand beside the bed in search of the offending device. The moment that his fingers came into contact with its smooth metal casing was also the moment at which a human voice joined in the already considerable din.


"Ey, Tom!" his current houseguest, a rather abrasive young man named Lorenzo, called none too quietly, voice raspy with sleep, from the next room over, where he had previously been slumbering on the couch that had served as his bed for the past few weeks. "Shut the dogs up, would ya?"


All things considered, and taking social conventions into account, Tom knew that he should have been a bit more upset than he was with the instance of the person to whom he had been kind enough to offer shelter and sanctuary with in his own home issuing such a brazen order, but his initial shout combined with the ensuing groan that resulted as the dogs consequently began to bark louder only brought a smile and a mirth-filled chuckle to his lips. Yawning softly and throwing his arms up in a quick stretch, the painter threw his legs over the side of the bed and proceeded to do as told.


"Coco! Kalani! I ka lawa!"


The dogs, equally as obedient as their owner, obeyed.


Disruption averted, Tom turned his attention to the phone that he now held in his hand. The message that flashed up on the screen, a call to all the lower ranking members of Obitus Nox to be up and on their feet, had already served its purpose. Unfortunately, there would be no going back to bed.


Shuffling from the living room alerted him to the fact that Lorenzo was now moving about, no doubt having already seen the message himself. If he had learned two things about the other man in his few weeks living with him, they were: a. that he could sleep for an entire day if left to his own devices, and b. that he wasn't one for taking orders easily. It was good to see, though, that at least he didn't appear to have a death wish, as going against the commands of his superiors would definitely signify. Because that was how it worked with Obitus Nox. Obey or be obliterated, no questions asked.


Tom despised Obitus Nox. He had never intended to be a criminal. Well, not in the sense that membership in the organization entailed. After all, was crime really crime if committed on pursuit of the greater good? Maybe it was in the eyes of the law, but the law in itself was corrupt, and this was exactly what he had made it his aim to portray before his peaceful career in the art of graffiti had been transformed, with the loss of his free will, into something sinister, all because he had happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that was just life, he supposed. There were others who had it worse.


By the time Tom made his way out of the bedroom and into the main area of the apartment, Lorenzo was already gone. Not that he was surprised. This was how it happened most mornings. No indication, no goodbye, nothing, just straight through the back window, which Tom now made a point of closing. He assumed that Lorenzo took that route in favor of avoiding the dogs, though he had never asked, just as he never asked exactly where it was that he had gone when he returned. He had learned not to pose intrusive questions, and besides, Lorenzo wasn't much for conversation anyways.


After a shower and a quick breakfast that consisted of a banana and a glass of water, Tom decided to head down to his studio to begin work for the day. If Obitus needed him, they would let him know.

____________________


_______________

Translations:


"I ka lawa" - That's enough

 

[LannaCrowe]

" Click...click...click..."


Kayo's French heels clicked against the dusty tiles of the unfinished penthouse suite monotonously as she circled the mammoth of a man. Sunlight shone in from the empty window panes, harsh and unfiltered. The walls, like most of the decor, was a pristine white. Perhaps it was meant to be a luxurious mimicry of a snow palace, draped in white fur, with white marble counter tops and polished white oak. From the streets below, the sounds of the bustling city morning crawled up the empty building like a lazy haze, muffled and distant. However, the serenity of the penthouse suite was disturbed by the aforementioned man. Sweat dripped onto the floor as he trembled and convulsed feverishly in the big leather armchair, and his veins stood out against his temple like angry, purple snakes. Every time he jerked against his bindings, the chair would move a bit, scraping and screeching ever so slightly against the floor.


" There there Mr Giordani, what's the rush? I still have a few treats for you, " Kayo cooed, her voice coming out like a soft purr. She swept her fingers across the array of concoctions that sat before him, glistening against the wooden coffee table. " You know, it wouldn't have been this hard if you'd just hurry up and tell me what I need to know, " she sighed and ripped off the duct tape that sealed his lips. Mr Giordani gasped and spluttered, before promptly throwing up in his own lap. Kayo watched in amusement as he heaved up bile and blood, making them splatter against the white tiles. He swerved his head to glare at her, but it was obvious that his anger was a mask for the fear that he felt. "Never, you psychotic bitch-" Before he could finish, Kayo stabbed a syringe needle into the vein that protruded against the skin of his beefy arms.


" Scopolamine," she stated, injecting it into his arm, " Not my best option, but it's easy to obtain in such a short notice..." Soon the man had relaxed, his dilated pupils scanned the room sluggishly. " Now, tell me the code," she commanded, yanking his hair backwards to make him look up at her. His words were slurred, but she could make out a simple two-worded passcode, " Auriolus Astrum". Smirking in satisfaction, she let go of his locks and typed the passcode into her phone before sending it to a private number that she knew would be gone the moment the recipient received the code. By the time she got out of the building, the money would already be deposited in her account. " Thank you for cooperating and trying out my new treats, Mr Giordani, " she gave him a pat on the head, a gesture which earned her a goofy smile from a man whose life was about to end in his own hotel, one that was finally going to be built after years of hard work, sweat and blood. Too bad he wouldn't live to see the next hour, and neither would the building. After leaving a white rose on his lap, which was now covered in vomit and blood, she packed her stuff and left. In ten minutes, an arsonist from Obitus Nox would have come by and set the building up in flames, and Kayo would rather not be inside the suite with Mr Giordani when that happened.


Giving him one last wave, she descended the emergency staircase, and disappeared into the darkness below.

@Eunoia @Chibii

It didn't take long for Kayo to freshen up, or more accurately, she couldn't take long. Stepping into the building, Kayo straightened her back, and tried to calm her beating heart. She wasn't nervous, no. It wouldn't be the first time that Jadran had commanded the presence of the higher ups. No, she was excited. Her palms were tingling just at the thought of what their task might be, or more specifically, the reward that came with accomplishing iT. Was it money? Power? Information? Her head buzzed as more speculations swam through her mind, crowding her thought. It wasn't until she approached the doors of her boss's office that she willed herself to calm down, she didn't want to look too excited after all.


Taking a deep breath, she readied her usual "greeting smile", a charming grin that seemed to show hints of a sarcastic smirk beneath, and pushed through the office doors. The fact that the woman known as "The Widow" had arrived before her irked her sightly, but she refused to let her irritation press through. She respected Madden for her skills, but that too meant that she was a formidable rival, one that Kayo knew she could never let her guard down around.


" Good morning," she greeted them softly, and proceeded to take up the spot beside Alexia.

 

[eclipsa]

location: her office


with: n/a


tags: n/a
​

Brennan snapped awake, her head on her desk. She scrunched her brow, unsure of where she was. Then it hit her. She was in her office where she had fallen asleep last night. She had been studying the bones from a case. She stretched her arms above her head, quickly changing into her spare clothes then pulled her lab coat back on. This wasn't the first or last time she had fallen asleep while working.


With Obitus taking over the town the way they were, she expected she'd be in the lab a lot. She tugged on her lower lip as she headed back to the lab. She was missing something, she was sure of it. Her intern caught up with her along the way, "Dr. Sato, do you have a minute?" The girl said. They were about the same age, yet Brennan was the other girl's superior and mentor. It was a little weird, honestly.


"Yeah, of course." She replied to the other girl. "Is it about the case?" They had reached the lab and were both putting on their gloves by this point.


"Yes, of course." The two young women discussed the case thoroughly, finally figuring out what they had missed. The man hadn't died from the bullet wound, as previously thought, but had instead hit upon the head. The bullet wound was delivered post-mortem.


This finding confused Brennan, but she finished her job, finding out cause of death. The rest would be up to the police. She wrapped up her report before heading back to her office. She was sure she would have another case soon, but for now, she was going to work on the paper she was writing. Just because she was young didn't mean she wasn't well on her way to becoming one of the world's best forensic anthropologists, and it all started with published work.


The work she was doing with Obitus was going to help a great deal with getting her name furthered in the world of anthropology. She was excited to continue her work in the field.

 

[kou]

M I A . V E N U C I T T I

when the pig squeals

​

information

location : fbi headquarters


current outlook: aggravated


status: about to call a meeting


trigger warning: none.


outfit: @Eunoia


@Chibii


@Stamper


@Of the Red


@Rida


@RedIncubus

Search squad.


They had utilized this technique before, scouring across the city with guns in hand and handcuffs clipped onto their belts, looking intently towards anyone who appeared overtly suspicious or particularly dangerous. It had not worked, the "pet project" often ended in failure and in time, Mia had become used to the usual result of a search squad, expressing indifference towards every agent who returned empty-handed. There was a time in which things were simplistic and Mia reminisced over such memories, returning to her office and closing the door behind her as she entered. The noise from within settled, a prevalent silence clashing against the ruckus which emanated from outside the walls of Mia's workspace. Everything was in its rightful place (unsurprisingly), books stacked neatly onto bookshelves, folders carefully color-coded, and notecards which contained an elegant scrawl that were placed upon the Director's desk and detailed tiny things such as facts on insecticides or trivia on movies released in the 1920s. Mia's father had once relayed to her a useful tidbit of advice, stating that random facts were relevant in the most inconvenient of times and it would appear that his word was never to be taken for granted. Sitting down at her desk chair, Mia fingered the edge of a faded photograph which had been placed atop of the mahogany surface, eyes scanning over a younger version of the Director, the little girl's sticky fingers clasping a steadily melting ice cream which would forever be preserved in the photograph. Placing the picture back into its original position, Mia let her head fall onto the desk, her thoughts running rampant within her mind. If there was ever a time where she needed her father's advice, it was now. The chances of retaining information from Terry Nellis were slim and Mia knew more than anyone else that there was no other hope of removing the ringleader of Obitus if they had no evidence in stock. Steadying herself, Mia sat upright once more and reached for the phone which would be used to contact the agents working at HQ before glancing at the door, catching the significantly heavy footfall which grew louder until the knob turned and was eventually opened, revealing the form of one Bo Li.


The other woman seemed to carry herself with an enthusiastic air, a grin plastered onto her face to which Mia returned with something that could have been taken as tolerable. This seemed to be a common routine for the two, Bo never knowing the personal concept of space and Mia requiring the need to inform her of what the accurate definition of such a thing was although the agent would rarely ever listen if at all. "What's up?" As if on cue, Mia withdrew, her lip curling in distaste at the choice of greeting as Bo flopped down into the plastic chair opposite the Director's, legs coming to rest on the edge which were eventually brushed off by Mia's hand.


"Nothing is up, dear. I would assume you have nothing to do if you are choosing to frequent your boss's quarters." This was followed with an apparent tilt of Bo's head, brown eyes focusing on her boss which reflected the resignation Mia was feeling at the moment.


"Well, I mean, you kind of disappeared and I was guessing you'd be in your office or something. You gonna call a meet n' greet or something?" Bo straightened up, her leather jacket brushing against the gun in her holster, the lopsided bun in her hair moving as she did so which somehow aggravated Mia for unknown reasons. Bo was correct in her hunch, Mia had been ready to call for a meeting within her office which would jumpstart another squad search that would most likely end in wasted time. Of course, it was not her problem as to what happened to the budget of the FBI, she had no business delving into financial matters although she was sure there would be hell to pay with her superiors at a later date. She could find no reason to care.


"You are correct, I am about to do that as of now and I would suggest that you stay put seeing as you will be assisting me in such matters." Mia could not bring herself to trust her own judgment and she knew that Bo would pick up on the slack should the FBI's Director falter, the older woman was intent on assigning someone else to work alongside Bo and she had just in mind the team to do such a thing. When it pertained to the machinations of the FBI and the extensiveness of each agent's record, Mia had to be thorough in her choosing and she was sure that the current team working on the ON case would do their best to ensure the closing of the case however there was a subtle hint of doubt that accompanied this thought. Was she choosing the right agents? Was her judgment misaligned with the interests of her superiors? For now, those nagging questions would have to be set aside. Dialing each agent's number, Mia went through a comprehensive list of each worker, internally frowning as Bo milled about the room, restless in her movements. The meeting would start in less than 15 minutes and Mia was still not confident in what she needed to say.


"You know, you look like it's the end of the world and I hate to say this but it isn't doing good for any of us. I think we'll catch these guys, Mi. It only takes patience." For once, Bo seemed to remain serious for a split second, halting her incessant pacing as she fixated on her boss whom stared back. The usage of the nickname went uncalled as Mia nodded her head in agreement which satisfied Bo temporarily, the agent sitting down once more as they both waited in silence for the others to arrive.

 

[Lutalica]

P E R S E U S


A C H T E R

The pendulum of that wretched kit-cat clock swung against the visible bricks making up the wall of the male's apartment. Why he had that damned thing was beyond him, but maybe it was the sheer ridiculousness that appealed to him the most. What a seemingly odd object to have. Honestly, Perseus didn't think the aforesaid clock actually existed until he stumbled upon it at a local Goodwill; those wide, ominous eyes swishing back and forth in rhythm with it's black tail. It was the stereotypical time keeper in movies like Back to the Future or Honey I Shrunk the Kids, and now it just hung there, swinging its tail around like it knew the male should be in bed. Unfortunately for the clock, Perseus wouldn't be sleeping any time soon.


The nineteen year old hacker was onto something. It wasn't of great importance, but the information he came across was significant to him in more ways than one. Percy had been looking everywhere for something new to sink his teeth in; something that would actually show the boss-man how committed he was to the recondite ON. He had been up at all hours of the night lucubrating an undisclosed black-hat tactic that would most likely be beneficial to the criminal organization. However, as the young teen searched deeper into the spider web of coding, Perseus came to the realization that his hunt for further knowledge was for nothing. The seemingly helpful program was nothing but a hoax. How he didn't catch on sooner was another story, but he assumed the sleep deprivation he created for himself was a likely culprit for his misjudgement. In an attempt to calm his heightened nerves, Perseus let out a deep sigh, releasing the built up aggravation of it all out in the still apartment air. There was no one else in sight, nothing to be heard, and nothing to be seen besides the face of Perseus Achter and the farcical black cat clock behind him under the spotlight of the illuminating computer screen.


When the faint rays of the morning crept into the dark living room, Percy was still sitting at his desk, dozing in and out of a dream world and reality. Although his eyelids beckoned him to shut them for just one undisturbed hour, the male went about his apartment like any other day and ignored the cries for sleep that his subconscious produced. He wouldn't sleep until he accomplished something--regardless the task. That was the thing with Perseus: he sought purpose in everything even if it meant screwing with his sleep schedule. So what if a couple hours of sleep were missed? There were plenty of days where Percy did nothing but sleep, so a little bit of the opposite wouldn't hurt--at least not too much. As the city started to wake up outside, the male continued on with his regular morning routine (i.e. a shower, brushing his teeth, blow-drying his hair, etc.) until he finally walked out of his minimalistic bedroom fully clothed and his long hair tied up. To be completely frank, his entire apartment consisted of the bare necessities and nothing more. Some might have called him austere, but Perseus liked to think this low standard would later deem beneficial--especially if, at any given point in time, the zombie apocalypse was definitely on the rise. The mere thought made the kid laugh a little as he made a bowl of generic cereal. It was around this time, however, that one of his several burner phones gave off a familiar buzz. The multitude of the anonymous devices was simply an act of caution--because a man, no, boy of his profession couldn't be too careful--but the distinct buzz clued Perseus in on which phone the message was received. With a mouthful of whole grain cereal, the black haired kid walked over towards his desk to pull out the aforementioned buzzing cell. The silver metallic tech was specifically put aside for ON purposes and it came to no surprise to see the so-called "good morning" text from none other than the second-in-command himself: Eric Montagne. Even though several snarky remarks popped into Percy's adolescent mind, the male refrained and simply slid the phone onto the desk's surface. He had to admit, there were some perks to being of the lower ranking criminals of Obitus Nox, but the label in itself seemed so underestimated. Though, with that being said, the male shrugged it off and placed himself in the comforts of his rolling desk chair. Nevertheless, the vibrant orange scales of his corn snake caught his attention, and Perseus took several minutes to admire the slithering creature, engulfing another spoonful of cereal as he stared.


This was his life now; a life catered to the every whim of a criminal organization that, although uninvited, swooped in and completely changed the kid forever. The things he did for ON would stain him. He would wear each act like a badge if they told him to. Perseus Achter would be permanently devoted to a lifestyle he would have called insane several years ago. Technically, it was still ludicrous to him, but it wasn't like he could go back; and even if he did, Percy had a feeling what he would see wouldn't be what he expected. Overall, he was digging himself a hole, and the deeper he got, the more screwed he felt. It was all a big game of chess, and he didn't need numbers to tell him that he was a pawn--easily disposable and used for the better of the kingdom.

 

[JustWhipIt]

Wyatt Eastwood

​

His morning began the same way it did for the past month. Wyatt pushed through the glass doors into the institution, being greeted by Saskia as he entered. He’s spoken with Ms. Bane on several occasions, though it wasn’t as if the two were particularly close friends. As such, he considered a nod and a simple “Good morning” a sufficient exchange. It was essentially how he regarded all of his coworkers, in fact. The man believed in an orderly and efficient work environment, and expected the same of others. Acting as so, he maneuvered through the building, giving a miniscule wave or nod to an acquaintance every now and then.





Unlike some, Wyatt had the pleasure of not being stuffed into an office cubicle. While the man did feel uncomfortable in confined spaces, it wasn’t the idea of being enclosed in a small area that bothered him. Rather, he felt that being hidden away in some stall was an insult. It was a conceited thought, but he knew that he was worth more than that, and his superiors were sure to agree. Because of this, Wyatt was thankful towards them in granting him his own office, albeit not the grandest one. Regardless, it showed that he was valued as an agent to some degree, an idea that pleased him.


He turned the doorknob, pushing the door inwards before making sure to close it behind him. His first line of action was pulling up the shades, letting the sunlight to pour into the room. The extra light would’ve been more than enough to allow anybody to observe the office clearly. The place wasn’t extraordinarily neat or tidy per se, but was organized in a manner that would still give an observer a good impression. It was apparent that some thought was put into the organization of the place.


Wyatt’s desk was situated in the back of the room, facing away from the sunlight. There were a good number of case files that he had left the day before, not that he would bother reading over them again—almost certain that they had been exhausted. Among the case files were other items that were on the desk: his computer, a phone, some stationary, notes, and whatnot. On either side of the desk were chairs, though he himself preferred standing when it came to one-on-one conversations. Towards the left of the room, shelves and drawers were lined against the wall, each holding a surprising amount of material. In the little space that remained was a coffee table with some small sofas configured around it. The table didn’t have anything notable on it—only some more case files, a chessboard, and his leftover coffee from the day before. It didn’t see that much use and perhaps it wasn’t the most practical, but it was a welcomed addition nonetheless.


Tossing the leftover drink into the trash, Wyatt began his day with filing the papers on his desk, all but sure they would have little to no relevance ever again. It was a mundane task, and the agent would rather be doing anything but his current activity. Yet, he was still performing the task some ten minutes later, mostly for lack of anything better to do at the moment. Then, as if it was to save him from his “misery”, Wyatt’s work phone began ringing. Eager to ditch his office and make some progress, he was quick to answer. It was a pleasant surprise that Mia was on the other end, a good sign that she had some sort of task for him.




“Yes.”


“I see.”


“I’ll be right there.”

Mia’s call was fairly short it length and didn’t reveal much, merely that there was to be a meeting in a few minutes. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary, Wyatt not thinking much of the request. It was probably just another search squad deployment, a process he was all too familiar with by now. Nevertheless, it was the only clear option the FBI had right now. After hanging up, he arose from his seat, not bothering to finish up with his filing. He’d save it for some other time. Right now, he had other matters to attend to. Only a few minutes later, he found himself approaching the doors of Mia Venucitti.

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***​

​

 

[Rida]

m i r e l l e · s a n t o s

​

no slide no slide News of Mr. Terrence Nellis spread like wildfire amongst the office.


Had he been any ordinary criminal -- a normal man who simply made the wrong choices, abused his right to bear arms -- perhaps the air in the FBI Headquarters would not have stood still that morning. Perhaps the heated arguments occurring just outside the interrogation room would not have ceased to pin-drop silence the moment Mia Venucitti emerged.


Perhaps, if Mr. Nellis hadn’t been a suspected member of Obitus Nox, Mirelle’s blood pressure would not have skyrocketed to such a point that she was forced to take refuge in the office bathrooms. Outside, trapped in her small cubicle between the shouts of her coworkers, Mirelle had found it increasingly difficult to breathe as the seconds grew longer. Emotions that she had been sure to lock away years suddenly resurfaced, plaguing her mind and slithering into her thoughts. Even now, away from her colleagues’ commotion, curled into a ball upon the lid of a relatively clean toilet, Mirelle was unsafe from her mind’s torment.


Throughout the duration of the interrogation, a storm had brewed itself in Mirelle’s mind, her newly reintroduced angst serving as its nourishment. At any moment, she could be discovered. It was true that, in an effort to preserve the integrity of her deep cover, Mirelle had been instructed to not revisit ON headquarters unless her presence was mandatory, so the chances of Mr. Nellis recognizing her were very slim. Despite this assurance, however, Mirelle uneasiness in the pit of her stomach, in the temple of her forehead, in the nooks and crannies of her mind persisted. There was still something very off.


Jadran’s men had been careless, had allowed allowed one of their own to be caught. Obitus Nox members were not sloppy -- even the lowest of ranks knew how to clean up after themselves.


Mirelle rocked ever so slightly on the cover of the toilet below her, checking her pulse every two minutes. She refused to leave the confines of her stall until it reached a stable beating, but it was useless to take her pulse, for she could hear her heart beating in her ears, feel its thrum in her chest -- and it didn’t sound as though it were slowing down anytime soon.


Nonetheless, Mirelle continued to press at the base of her inner wrist, her mind consumed with the simple action of deep breathing. So consumed was she in her task that she nearly fell from her perch in shock when her cellphone buzzed. When she had regained her balance, she slipped the device from her back pocket into her hands, and once inside her messages, scowled at the name of her most recently received message’s sender: Eric Montagne. Though she was tempted to ignore the text, she understood the importance of messages when they came from the organization’s second tier, and halfheartedly opened Eric’s contact. Inside, the man detailed the where and when of an upcoming meeting, taking the opportunity to deliver a snarky comment as well. Mirelle shook her head with distaste; even from behind a screen, he could crawl under her skin. Brief me when you get a chance, she typed out, sighing. Her superiors knew full well that she would be unable to attend any of their early morning meetings, lest she lose her job and their only direct link to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Where others may have seen her inability to attend meetings as a good thing -- an opportunity to relax -- Mirelle saw it as a downfall to her job, as she would now have to come into proximity with him.


Coming to terms with the fact that the influx of emotion strangulating her thoughts would not be leaving, Mirelle removed herself from the toilet seat, refolded the sleeves of her blouse, tugged at the waistband of her jeans, and unlocked the door to the stall.


The first thing Mirelle noticed was the silence. Just as she had left the bathrooms, her supervisor and the head of the Obitus Nox case -- someone she had been struggling to gain the trust of ever since her integration into the FBI -- quietly stepped out of the interrogation room. Any clamor that had taken place previous to Mia’s exit had surely halted, for even from the other side of the office, Mirelle could hear the click of the door behind Mia, setting into place. Whispers rose from nothing as Mia Venucitti spoke in hushed tones with Gnash Mitchell, an FBI higher-up and, from the looks of Mia’s face, not a friend of hers. Speculations about the events that took place during Terry Nellis’s interrogation traveled to Mirelle’s ears, each serving as a crippling blow to any shreds of confidence she still possessed. She got him to talk, they hissed. They offered him amnesty and he spilled about ON’s plans.


Abruptly, Mirelle pushed through a group of her coworkers and into the safety of her cubicle. If she allowed their constant gossip to pollute her mind any further, she’d truly succumb to insanity.


Emotionally drained, Mirelle lay her head upon a pile of papers on her miniscule desk, wracking her brain for the conviction she sorely needed to continue through the day. Now was no time to have a nervous breakdown; after all, an Obitus Nox member was in FBI hands, and it was her job to ensure that her coworkers came up empty handed throughout their interrogations and research. And yet, all the 24-year-old wanted to do was sprawl herself on the floor of her apartment and cry.


Normal circumstances would have found Mirelle in a trance-like state by now, plowing through work and completing whatever assignments she had been given by Obitus Nox. Emotion hadn’t played a factor in her life for years, for routine and the struggle of maintaining a double-life had replaced it. She knew not what had died within her and made room once more for feelings, but she sure as hell was not going to allow such blasphemy to fester. Just as Mirelle had begun to collect her bearings, the telephone beside her desktop chimed, and at the sight of the caller ID, she quickly picked it up. Crying would have to wait -- she needed to know what it is that Mr. Nellis had revealed in his interrogation.


From behind the closed door of Mia Venucitti’s office, Mirelle could make out two distinct voices -- that of Bo Li’s, a light-hearted sound that effortlessly reached every crevice of the room and slipped out into the hallway, and that of Mia’s, soft, slightly abrasive, and easily intimidating. Mirelle waited until Bo had finished her sentence to twist the door’s handle and step inside.


“Anything new?”

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