Realistic or Modern The Shade Corps(Remake)

[LumaThePhoenix]

(A remake in honor of the original creator of this concept LowkeyLovingLoki )

On the coast, a large mansion sits near a cliff's edge, solitary despite its prime location. The views of the beach are magnificent, but that isn't why there are people at the normally private property this time of year...

A number of highly reputable (both good and bad) criminals have been summoned, each having a different secret held over their heads to ensure their co-operation. Something deeply personal. None of them know why they've been asked to the previously top secret location, only that if they want to avoid anything getting out that they don't want to... they'd better do what they're asked. Even if that includes moving into a mansion with a group of other lawbreakers and learning to work together. Even if that means risking their lives and making more enemies. There are plenty of truths to be uncovered in this web of mysteries. Will they survive long enough for those truths to be brought into the light?

 

[mother of sorrows]

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐭. 𝐀𝐛𝐞𝐥
-- 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯

Martin didn't know why he was here.

Scratch that. He knew very well why he was here - he simply didn't know why he, of all the criminals in this world, was called to be here. Some more narcissictic part of him wanted to think it was because he is simply that important, but he had enough sense to know that wasn't it. While he is good at what he does, with a sparkling reputation to boot (not that he would let anything not-so-nice get out), there were bigger fish out there. Shining smiles and charming confidences that draw the eye can be found elsewhere, he knew. He is not the only liar making money in this town, even if he is the best in his very humble opinion.

So why has somebody decided to blackmail him?

The faces and names of all who would wish him harm had flashed through his mind, but he knew his enemies would go around it a more direct way if they found dirt on him. This, though, was much more discreet than any criminal that hated Martin - not the oh-so-familiar style of arrogance and threats. They would beat him up first, if nothing else, not just give him a letter before disappearing. But no, it happened so quickly that Martin barely had time to stop and think about what just happened. He was just stumbling out some or other bar with a girl whose name he already forgot on his arm, laughing loudly at nothing in particular when a shadow-faced man walked to him. Martin never saw him before - not that he would remember his face in his drunken haze, anyways. But all he remembers is the man mumbling 'for you', sticking paper into Martin's hand. He lost himself in the colorful crowd before Martin could even blink. He only had enough time to open the sealed letter lazily as he and the girl walked along the street, glancing at the contents.

What it contained, however, was more powerful than any threatening messages or violence could be.

Martin almost choked the second his eyes landed on the photograph. A dark-haired couple, a man and a woman, posed with a chubby-cheeked toddler in their laps. All of them were smiling at the camera.

The words scribbled on the back made blood rush in his ears, hands trembling only a faction - a million questions screamed for answers in his head, but nothing came except for a heavy ball of dread settling right beneath his rib cage. The girl (what did she look like, again?) slurred some or other question, but Martin didn't hear anything over the wild beating of his heart. He mumbled some half-assed excuse about being tired before rushing off, not giving a shit if he left her offended and baffled - all that mattered was the picture and what it demanded of him.

Come to this adress. Do as you're told.

Or else.

He ripped the picture apart when he came home, flushing it down the toilet. A symbolic gesture - he knew that whoever got a hold of it surely had more. The thought made Martin sick to the stomach. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Martin was afraid. Afraid that his past was finally catching up to him. That any longer and it will all start to break apart like a castle of sand. The words he read seemed to follow wherever he went in the following days; when he slept, when he ate, when he talked. And his hand burned, like it was still clutching the picture of a memory long-buried. He knew he had no choice.

Which is why he found himself in front of a sprawling mansion, the scent of the sea on the breeze.

His car let out a creak of protest when he slammed it shut, stepping outside into the cooler air. The area was unfamiliar - he glanced around, taking everything it. It was a beautiful location, even with the looming mansion leering at him like a gigantic beast, waiting for him to step closer. He thinks he would find the building much more elegant if it weren't for the dread it built in him. Martin grimaced, fists clenching in the bottom of his suit jacket, taking in a shaky breath. He was too far to make out any details from the place where he parked, and yet it seemed like the was the only one here. Whether he was grateful for that or not, Martin wasn't sure. Neither option sounded welcoming right now. The man simply grit his teeth and stubbornly ignored the nervous bundle in his stomach as he walked, the gravel crunching under his shoes.

Even the doors seemed ominous up this close; he felt very much like a child standing in front of the principal's office as he stumbled to a stop. He hesitated at the manicured doorstep like he wasn't quite sure what to make of it, looking around. Not a soul in sight. He hesitated for a second, two seconds more - before finally ringing the doorbell. A shrill noise rang out from behind the door, echoing like a siren's call. This whole scene reminded Martin uncomfortably of a beginning of some crappy horror movie. The protagonist rings the door bell of some quiet, lonely house, only for the doors to open as if by themselves. He chuckled uncomfortably at his own thoughts, hand falling back to his side. Looks like nobody's in. Nothing else to do but wait.

Until he gets tired and just picklocks the door himself, that is. He only has so much patience.

Interactions: he and himself

 

[Caffeine_Obsessed]

Oliver Rodriguez


As Oliver drives towards the mansion on his navy blue motorcycle, he can’t prevent these thoughts swarming inside his head. Who did this bastard think he was? Who was he to try and threaten Oliver like this? Once he finds this prick Oliver will beat him to a pulp. His hands on the handles tighten in frustration.

He really should’ve had more to drink. He’s terrible sober. He just hopes the babysitter he hired is still at his apartment. He paid too much for her though, in his own humble opinion. 4,000 dollars was too expensive for just a couple nights. If she touches any of his shit...

As Oliver nears the mansion his grip slightly loosens on the handle bars. He sees someone else there.. just.. waiting outside. His jaw tenses, unsure of what to make of him. He slows to a stop beside this stranger’s... worn down car. He grimaces. He really should buy a new one... Oliver takes another look at his clothing, making sure everything is alright. His black and yellow dress shirt had no wrinkles in sight. Perfect. Along with his black pants and short heeled combat boots, he thinks he looks good. Ah, how could he forget his jewelry? His rings and golden chain around his neck glinted in the sunlight. He slicks back his already gelled slicked back hair and gives himself a satisfied smile.

He takes another look at this man. He... looked nervous. So he wasn’t apart of this sickos plan? He walks towards him, not showing any signs of nervousness or fear.. at least that’s what he hopes is showing. His tall 6’2 stature he hopes will help him achieve more confidence. “Well. Aren’t you shaking like a leaf?” He laughs at his own joke. This man wasn’t even shaking, but he was nervous. That was enough for Oliver. He crosses his arms and gives a smile, his golden canine shining in the sun. He tilted his head. “Well? Whatcha waiting for?” He looks around. There’s no one else besides them. How.. odd. Now more wary, he gives a thin lipped smile. “I suppose we should wait huh?” He shrugs. “Not sure for what but.. I guess I’ll follow your example.” He moves over to stand beside the door, and leans on the wall behind him. At least there was some sort of shade.. but he supposed it wouldn’t matter anyway. He already had shades on.

 

[Takuwan]

​

stars fall. stories end. lovers die. and sinners repent.
clothing. // music. // mood: annoyed.​

The realization materialized slowly, like bubbles rising to the surface of a well. Her beckoning, the blackmail that made her head spiral, the flattery she felt. Suvi felt no need to question much, as blackmail was a worthy way of catching her attention. However, there was the continuous creeping question that lingered, no matter how hard she'd attempted to push it away: why her? Paranoia stalked her with every waking moment, knowledge of her dirty little secret making itself incredibly present. How did they get this information? And why use said information? Her throat stung as she drew in the smoke from her cigarette, tattooed fingers holding the stick against her darkly painted lips.

"Blackmail? Didn't think anyone had any dirt on me like that," the woman let out a disgruntled sigh, cracking her knuckles at the sight of the note. She could feel fire in her veins, her heart pounding in her throat, and a chill that ran up her spine. If the big man found out about Suvi's defiance against him, her head would be on a platter. "Or else? What kind of stupid shit is this?" She couldn't help but laugh in frustration, face looking as if she were about to pop a vein.

The shock had only lasted an instant.

FUCK. She grabbed anything she could that was close to her person, throwing them around in a fit of rage. Or was it fear? No. No, she wasn't afraid of anything. Whoever was blackmailing her, however, had the upper hand. She didn't know who they were, what their face looked like, or even if they were a single person. But if she ever found out, they'd better count their days. After the furious murder of minutes, throwing items around in her car, Suvi leaned herself against the wheel, hand slamming against the dashboard. Her eyes landed back onto the note that sat in her lap; crumbled and abused. For a moment, she'd considered getting rid of it, but instead slipped it into her pocket for when she did find out who this was, ready to wring their neck with her skinny little fingers.

Finally, she'd gathered herself a bit of composure before exiting her car. Her hands reached for her hair, smoothing it down as she raked her fingers through her raven tresses. There were already two people there, standing at the entrance of the overwhelming mansion. She inhaled, taking in the sent of the salty sea before approaching, annoyance emanating from her. The woman's eyes were accompanied by dark circles, which further elevated the look on her face. Neither distraught, nor afraid, only vexed. "They got your asses, too?" The woman's husky voice lingered in the air as her eyes scanned them. The two looked significantly taller than her, but size meant nothing; she was confident that she could've put them into the ground. If she had to, that was.

How many more were there?

 

[StaidFoal]

Drystan Wright
​

Review. The police are stumped. They have the wrong person convicted. Idiots. Fools. I washed my clothes 21 times. The hatchet's washed 27 times. It's in the bushes in the park 30 miles from home. Blood is gone. Smells like usual. Burned the socks; the blood wouldn't wash out. Their ashes are in the stove. The housekeeper cleaned it out. Valuables are buried in burnt ruins of a station 40 miles from home. Changed clothes for every murder; crouched at different heights each time. Switched dominant hands per case. Slew the witness before she got to anyone. Dumped her in the canal. Nobody goes there. Body found two weeks later, badly decomposed, and 56 miles from home.

"Oh dear... Mary, look, they still haven't caught the Red-Eyed Monster!"

What? Are they...

"Still? The police are idiots. They arrested the wrong person twice!"

A newspaper. A damn newspaper. Who uses newspapers anymore? Oh, the woes of public transportation! Shut up! You're cluttering my mind, damned cretins! Where was I? Dead witness, 56 miles away... 56 miles. After that, I lay low. Nothing suspicious done. Police suspect someone 10 years older than I. Foolishly grieving families hire a private investigator. He draws the same conclusion. It's impossible. It's absolutely impossible! Yet, a letter comes. My shabby apartment block does not even appear online. There shouldn't be anyone who cares enough to remember my address, save for him, but he's too absorbed in his college studies to shit something as time-wasting as that out! And yet! The letter! The letter! They dare to leash me of all people?!

How did they know? How the hell did they know? Who? How? Who? How—Oh, shut up! Think! You're making yourself a broken record! Shut up! Shut! Up! Quiet! Concentrate! No. Can't. The bus is stopping. Need to walk there. I take a breath and leave the bus.

What is this scent? It's too distracting. Argh! The people I've talked to: no way any of them suspect me. Orson? That damned self-acclaimed "friend" of mine has been sticking around me and my apartment, acting all genial as if the world was his friend. It's an act. There's no way it isn't. There are no such things as good people. They all have ulterior motives that can only be prevented through force. But I already said! Orson is too absorbed in college to give two shits about doing something like this! I'm running in circles... Where's the meeting place?

Right around the corner. It was Mother's dream to own a house like this. Once I strangle whoever invited me here, I can gift this to her...

Or not. Did they invite others for the sole purpose of disallowing me a chance to relieve this scum's pitiful existence? How much further must they tighten my leash? A repulsed scowl morphed into my face at the sight of those rats. Two of them had parts of their skin doused in ink. Revolting. I dare not lower myself to their degree and remain silent, stopping a distance from the front door and away from them. Looks like these things are also waiting for the host to show themselves.

Stand up straight. Tuck your hands behind your back. Hold your head up high. You are in control. You are above them. You are better.

 

[TayMaiTer]

Elentiya "Elie" Locke
Interactions: mother of sorrows Caffeine_Obsessed Takuwan StaidFoal ​

Elentiya approached the cliff-side mansion in a beat-up Ford truck. Parked around the building are multiple vehicles. Some nice and fancy, some as beat up as her truck. But she didn't really care about the cars. What this nineteen year old girl cared about was what the hell the person thought they knew.

She had arrived at the Guild after a job, itching to shower the coppery liquid of blood off her skin. Instead, one of the minor assassins had handed her an envelope and told her that it had come for her. As she walked to her room, she had opened it and her heart stopped. Somehow, somewhere, a picture had been taken of her bare back. Her back before she had gotten her tattoo. No one has ever seen her back. So how had this been taken?! On the back of the picture was an address written in fancy letters, with instructions to come.

Elie hadn't taken the chance and had immediately packed her bags and went on "vacation". No one knew about the picture. And no one knew shere she was going. Not even the Guild leader.

Now, Elie shuts the engine off, having parked. She opens the door and hops out. When her feet hit the ground and she closes the door, she looks around. The first thing someone would probably notice about her is her height. Standing at 4' 11" and weighing 97 pounds, she is... small, to say the least. However, the two most striking features that she has is her hair and eyes. With a fiery color, it stands out against her pale skin. And her eyes are an electric green color that seem to glow from within.

The petite girl begins walking toward the mansion door, the salty breeze from the ocean far below the cliff blowing towards her. Clothed in a black long sleeve, with the sleeves pushed to her elbows, and black ripped skinny jeans, she looks likes a typical high schooler. Combat boots don her feet and bracelets crowd her wrist. However, beneath the clothes, she is armed. Who wouldn't be?

Because of her small size, Elie isn't able to do much in the way of combat. She is exceptional at hand-to-hand, but her true skill is with throwing knives. She can hit a target with deadly accuracy from 100 yards away; double the normal range. Many knives lay hidden within and beneath her clothes.

But enough of that. Because as of right now, she is nearing the door of the mansion. Standing in front of it are three males and a female. One of the males stands like a giant with many tattoos and a colorful shirt. Another has messy black hair and is dressed nicely, but looks nervous. The third male is similar, but is holding himself very formally. The female also has black hair and tattoos, but her hairs falls long.

Elie's first thought as she approached? Why does everyone have black hair? Are they related? And the tattoos! Elie only has one tattoo, but it lies hidden on her spine. However, the more unsettling thought as she grew closer to these people was this:

Why were they all so tall?

 

[Yet]

They say the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree (which might as well been a willow in his case), and he had to give it to them; he did have a bad record. He held it, turned it in his rough hands, and read it over once and for all. Debt-owe-reparations. Those letters readily locked to his forebrain; if he was lucky, he'd see his pop there too. Crooks like him deserved their seat on the abuse train, not him, he was younger, desperate, a little dumber, but morally affixed. For now, he allowed the rocking of the machine and the reporter's voice (mirroring his own) to take him to the sand man's domain.
He didn't get an ounce.
Who was this as--guy? The mayor maybe? Did he care about him that much? His head was firmly tucked in his intestines so it was probable, but this smelled fishy. Aside from his rotted box lunch hung on the edge of his wide lap, that is.

Conan's internal save woke him in the nick of time when the shine wouldn't, and right away he felt uneasy. The scene, prior to huffing it to the mansion, was full of luxurious compensation of Napoleon degrees, full of finely cut this, and decorated that. Whoever was the designer here had some balls setting this scene, hell, the open windows hinted inside was much better.
Yeah,
a pair of converse with subtly parting strings, black jeans with the bottom hem melting over his shoes, A plain jane white shirt that seen better days, and a jean jacket raised to his mid-section (shrunk in the wash) was not cutting it here; no one had to tell him that. He was vocal enough himself.

Regrettably, his digits dialed a cab service in the area as he stood adjacent to a dream house. Wonder if I'll have time for that. Thirty minutes his ride came, appearing almost as lost as he was; an hour later they said things like,
'I've never been all the way out here.'
and
'I'm running a real estate business'
and before he knew it he was tucking a card without much effort in design into his jeans; "This is my stop."
On his way out he rolled back the cold sleeves, flipping up the collar on the jacket on his way up the cliffside. Yellow rays brought out the best in him, yet he knew there was a time warmth would turn too. He enjoyed it, halted his stride when he saw...others, but kept going till he found his own spot to...stand? Conan had blank eyes on his path over; likewise, his hues bloomed with color in the spot he decided to stand. Nevertheless, he planned to keep to himself; he glanced about like he was taking in the setting, his periphery searched for when they weren't looking.

 

[Jaellagirl]

Alice Wind aka Little Minx

The scent of roses pierced my nose. It was mixed with incense and smoke. The mask of Aphrodite did little to stop it invading my nostrils, but it's the torture I made myself. The silk and satin lining the room, soft cushions, dim lighting, music and the smell - all made to let the clients feel safe. At least that is the reason I give myself for creating the womb-like space.

I take my place on the throne in the back of the room. Some may ask why a throne. It's for safety - implied power while having only a little of it. Just another leverage point, like the chest in front of me or the tunnel leading to the room.

Another client steps in. Wearing a black cape and the mask of Hades. I knew of a client coming but hadn't expected this. Maybe "Ares" was feeling a bit funny and decided to switch his red cape and mask up for tonight.
"How may I help you?" I ask.
Silence.....
"What is your purpose here?"
More silence. I get a nagging feeling that something is wrong with this person as I descend from my position. They still stand motionless.
"Who sent you?"
They extend their arm with an envelope. My hands have already latched onto it and as soon as I felt the letter in my hands the person turned and walked out. How peculiar?
The paper rustles as I open it. The scent of Jasmine is slowly mixing and taking over the rose. I hadn't smelled it since.........since my mum died. That's just a coincidence. A small picture falls out from the envelope. It pictures a murder scene with two mangled bodies. I can recognize the painting I made when I was 10. It was nothing much but my parents still liked it enough to keep it in their......room.
"Oh god! No! No! No! No!"
The feelings were overwhelming. The killer was back to finish the job. He was here because of me. I felt nauseous and my head started to spin. It didn't take long for me to find myself crying rivers crouched down on the floor.

*********

It was a mistake to come here. I should have burned the damned picture and hid but I was here. The mansion which the backside of the cursed photo had led looked expensive. Whoever had ended my parent's sure was rich. It's such a shame to lose a potential client like this but what they did is unacceptable.
As I pull up to the driveway, I can see already a bunch of people standing in front. Were they all his victims who got away well then he is a lousy killer or were we all called to be part of something bigger? Only thing going through my mind was a sick game of manhunt - whoever outlasts the others wins.
I turn the key and the engine stops. Now is the only chance to get all that I need with me and so I grab the shotgun under my seat. Making the way upstairs seems a bit odd with everyone standing there.
"Has any of you tried to open the door or ring a bell?" I ask

 

[Caffeine_Obsessed]

Johann Müller aka SunnySide



Johann.. no. SunnySide hums a small tune, as he wipes the blood off of his wood carving knife. This man was just baiting him. All night long. SunnySide smiles. It’s like he was asking to be killed. Acting so disgusting around Johann. Flinging himself all over any girl he could find. What a monster. Then again. He would have found some mistake in this man, even if it wasn’t as major as this. It was just a matter of time. This stranger just made it easier for SunnySide. He grins proudly as he takes another moment to appreciate his signature smiley sun he carved into this man’s ribs. A sign of his accomplishment. SunnySide’s claim. He really could care less about a justified reason for killing, he truthfully just enjoys the thrill of it. Like winning a game. And he won tonight.

A letter drops down from a rooftop, right onto the body he just exterminated. He pockets his small wood carving knife. He quickly looks up to where it would have fallen from. No one. Not a soul in sight. Then how?.. shit. He might’ve been caught. He’s been nearly caught before, but no one has actually saw him like this. This bastard was going to ruin his reputation he tried to hard to build up. He snatches the pale yellow letter and rips it open. His eyes widen. Anger flows from his veins and fills his vision with white hot rage. Next thing he knows, The shredded remnants of the letter are thrown across the concrete. Scheisse Scheiße Scheisse Scheiße.. Ok. He’ll clean this up.. then he will figure this out in the morning.

The next day as Johann gets in the backseat of his car, he feels nothing once again. Those.. emotions he has, never lasted all that long. He greets his driver, “Hallo. Bring mich her.” With his driver he doesn’t have to force himself to speak English. He gives the driver the address that was written on the letter. Luckily he mesmerized it before he ripped it up.

After a few days of traveling (it took longer than he originally thought) he finally reaches what he assumes is the correct mansion. His driver drops him of a few ways away from where the others are parked, then drives off. After a smile and a wave goodbye, Johann turns his attention to the people in front of the mansion. Seven people in total. Was there more to come? He hopes not. He supposed they would be good alibis if.. something. Were to go wrong. He heads towards them and gives a big smile. They didn’t seem like the friendliest people. So, he didn’t bother speaking. He heads to where there is shade, and takes out a small notepad. Since it seems maybe someone were to let them in, he might as well make himself useful. Work on his new songs. He is Johann Müller after-all. The singer with a tragic backstory. The gentleman.

 

[Takuwan]

Destitutus ventis, remos adhibe.
M4D3 U L00K - LUV 6R1M
​

6R1M never trusted the government; always aware of their corruption and deceit. The American Dream wasn’t exactly easily attainable, nor was it what their parents had expected. They struggled, fought, did what they could to survive and pull themselves up into the lower-middle class mess that they were in now. And nevertheless, their family persisted, weaving between the odds that were seemingly against them. This may have led to 6R1M's hatred for the corrupt politicians who, everyday, find ways to disappoint. Not only hate, but they vowed to take down the oppressive and dishonorable establishment before it caused more destruction. 6R1M's father always told them to stand up for what they believed in: and that was exactly what they did. However, it was no easy feat. As they built their skills up over the years, learning, programming, and hacking, 6R1M found no rest in their future. Of course, there was trial and error, but they made their way up. Even built up a major following, skyrocketing their name into news outlets and online forum fame. No politician was safe from them, and that was exactly how they liked it.

Law enforcement wasn't exactly the biggest fan of theirs. Especially due to the way 6R1M taunted, spied on them, and maybe snuck a virus into their system to collect their data. 6R1M gains access into sensitive databases and all of a sudden, they're a cyberterrorist. A little extreme, isn't it?

RIP PRIVACY. YOU LOSE. YOU LOSE. B1TCH. LUV 6R1M.

The last thing they remembered was making those words pop up on an official's screen before completely obliterating their reputation. Their dirty laundry was out in the open, just as they'd hoped. What she didn't expect was an image, one of their face. How anyone managed to get their grubby hands on a picture of them was beyond them. And if this was exposed, who knew how many officials would try to get them imprisoned or dead -- shit, probably all of them. "Mother fucker," 6R1M let out an exasperated gasp, blinking a few times to make sure they were seeing things right. "They got my fuckin' face?" Who could these people be? And how the Hell did they manage to get a picture? 6R1M wore the mask all the time, aside from doing errands... Oh shit. This is fucked up. Dammit. Dammit was right. All that effort trying to conceal their identity, and some blackmailer manages to get a pic of their mug? 6R1M thought it wasn't possible until now, but maybe it was because they were cocky about it.

"I guess I gotta go."

In the back seat, their robots 6R1M JR. and 6R1M JRJR. sat there, filling the air with curious beeping noises, as if they were sentient beings. Of course, they couldn't utter words unless 6R1M inputted them. On the floor of the passenger's seat sat another bag of gadgets, ones that were mostly in their testing stage, some in the final stages. Shit. Was this too much? 6R1M pulled up to the mansion. Large, overbearing, extra. Looking at it made their skin crawl, knowing that they'd have to stay there and work for someone who was obviously wealthy. Squinting, 6R1M looks at the group of people that had already arrived, both tall and short. Mostly scary looking folks -- or rather, 6R1M just didn't like being around other people. It just wasn't their thing.

Stepping out of the car, 6R1M pulls on their mask and struggles to get their robots out of the car. Eventually, after what seemed like forever, the bots found themselves on the ground, following behind 6R1M with the bag of gadgets slung over their shoulder. Through the mask, the figures became clearer. God, they look dangerous. They tilted their head upon getting closer, only standing a little ways away from the group, bots still stuck to them like glue.

Spoiler: M4D3 U L00K

6R1M, the notorious Hacktivist is known for their flashy images and exposure of major political and business figures. Has gained access into top secret government databases.

 

[LumaThePhoenix]

Jade Baker​

What a beautiful day it is. The sun's out. Not a single cloud is in the sky. A light breeze blows through Jade's purple and gold hair. She twirls around and dances in a grassy meadow. Even the smile on her face couldn't show how much joy she was having in her heart. Suddenly, she felt a shaking. It was the ground shaking like an earthquake. The force threw her off balance and caused her to fall. Her pleasant dream was starting to become a nightmare and she was ready to wake up. If she only knew what she was in for, she would've realized that the true nightmare was waiting for her to wake up.

As Jade wakes up, she realizes that she is on the floor of a limousine. The earthquake she felt was nothing more than the vehicle stopping and causing her to fall off the edge of the seat. She softly speaks to herself while looking around. "A limo? Why am I in a-" before she could answer, her eyes open wide as she realizes her situation. "That note. It had my name on it. My real name....and whoever wrote it threatened to expose my secret if I didn't cooperate. So I packed my things and got in the limousine that was waiting for me. Then, something got tossed in the back where I was. Must've been some kind of sleeping gas or something."

Jade gets out of the vehicle in her sleeveless purple and gold dress and purple heels. The dress length stops at her knees. She lets out a yawn and stretches. Immediately, she walks to the trunk and retrieves her luggage. Afterwards, the driver exits the area without even saying goodbye. Jade shrugs it off and looks at the mansion in the distance. She had been instructed to open the door when she arrived and wait in the main hall. As she starts walking, she sees other people waiting outside. The sight catches her off guard as she wasn't expecting others. On top of that, she figured they were waiting on her. Was this a trap? Are those people there to attack her? Jade starts to get scared as she nervously continues walking. When she gets close to them, she smiles and waves and does her best to keep her soft voice from becoming shaky. It was clear she was terrified being so close to them due to not knowing the situation, but she hoped that her kindness would lead to them sparing her. "Hello. I'm so sorry to keep you all waiting. I was instructed to open this door when I arrived, though I'm not sure what's going on."

Jade takes a deep breath and slowly opens the entrance to the mansion. The inside was quite elegant. Everything was clean, as if some housekeepers had just cleaned the place up. There was a beautiful chandelier hanging from above. The furniture was nice and soft to the touch. Even the floor was shiny. As Jade took a few steps inside, she spots an open laptop. The monitor faces the entrance, so anyone walking inside can see it. Additionally, the words "wait here and you will soon learn why you are here" are displayed on the screen. Jade was still lost as to what was happening, but she hoped that an explanation would come soon.

 

[Yet]

All was somewhat calm in front of the mansion, somewhat, because someone came out of their car with a shotgun. He didn't catch the specs of who it was, but what he was sure of was it was indeed a shotgun. Come to think of it, everyone here seemed on edge, some o them were probably taking it like he, but most of them radiated a thick aura of frustration. No one to blame but yourselves, he thought about calling the authorities though half of these people, including him, didn't seem to fit the neighborhood's mold; likely, he'd just get himself in trouble too.
P.S. fuck the police.

Lucky them a limo pulled up baring the gift of a pretty, pretty girl. Now, she didn't stick out like the hot garbage he was, even if there was something he couldn't put his finger on about her...well, everything. Her wave furrowed his brow, that voice seemed uninterested or underprepared to converse, so maybe she was one of them...but why would she have a key? The speculation gleamed in his interest drawn eyes, his suspicious feet wouldn't move even an inch from where they were. Ok, that was a lie, but he was slow about getting in the door. For the hundredth time today, Conan felt small, and insignificant in his own skin-hell- his own society. How could anyone with a house like this be real? Why he was invited started burning a blank ache in his noggin. The last thing he wanted was to do more waiting as waiting lead to thinking, and thinking reminded him of his hyper-conscious disability.

He knew the best thing to do for now was to wait, maybe for the shotgun girl to blow a hole in the laptop, but maybe that was asking too much out of strangers; especially angry and confused ones

 

[oliiebee]

SALEM MURPHY​

Salem was terrified. It was bad enough he had to leave his father at home by himself, but for these reasons? The boy shook his head, quickening his pace. This simply would not do.

How did they even find out about what he'd done? He'd taken every precaution. He knew how to do what he did, and well. So how...? Another shake of his head, trying to keep hinself focused. Worrying wouldn't help. He'd just be in and out, because this was just a job. A job like all the others he'd done.

Eventually he reached the big house on the coast, the door open wide in an invitation. Walking up to it cautiously, he checked around for any cameras. Not finding any, he finally entered.

Everything will be okay.

code by ditto (head empty go bonk)



​

ABEL GRIMES​

Abel was glad to be out of their usual stomping grounds. When Francisco came to the twins with the job, he'd been excited for it. Of course, knowing they were being blackmailed to do it left an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but they'd get through this. They always have.

The car radio played one of the songs Alex was fonder of, despite Abel insisting that the driver should be the one to choose the tunes. Not that he could so much about it without getting them into a wreck, so he left it alone.

"We're here," he stated, turning to look at his brother. "Think we're one of the last ones here." he nodded towards the entrance and parked the vehicle. It was a beat up od thing, in desperate need of repairs, but it did it's job and was inconspicuous enough. "Ready?"

code by ditto (head empty go bonk)



​

 

[Takuwan]

— 6R1M; the hacktivist
mood; wtf | location; mansion.
​

Being there was onerous to a worrying degree. First and foremost, the situation wasn't exactly ideal for them - or anyone else there for that matter. They felt like they were going to implode with the continuous build up of anticipation, and unfortunately, the mask wasn't forgiving. The LED billboard of emotions flashed an expression (X.X), one that mimicked the one that was plastered on their face. Why wasn't anyone opening that damn door? Seriously, there had to be a way to get in. Or did they have to wait for some grand entrance of the mansion's owner? Fuck. This was too much. Impatient and flurried was more than enough to describe the feeling that weighed down on 6R1M's chest. Was it locked? Just knock the door down, there were a few big guys in the mix, they could probably do it. Or the lady with the shot gun could shoot her way in. For fuck's sake, do something.

It was as if their internal whining was finally answered. Just as 6R1M was about to speak up, the sound of another car's arrival entered, the wheels crunching against the cement covered in loose dirt came to an abrupt stop. And soon, a small figure exited the car. She was pretty, someone who definitely didn't look like they belonged there, and... opening the door? Huh. She was instructed? Was the owner not able to do it themselves?

6R1M let out a scoff, shoving themselves off of the stone railing they'd comfortably placed themselves upon, slowly following in behind the others. And of course, 6R1M Jr. and Jrjr. were closely on the hacker's trail.

To say that the inside was just as impressive as the outside was an understatement. The grand, pristine floors looked freshly cleaned; the sparkling chandelier hanging from above was effortlessly beautiful. Even the furniture looked lux, something that 6R1M wasn't used to, nor were they a fan of it. It all screamed rich, powerful, and privileged: the type of people they weren't a fan of. They made short strides before immediately stopping in their tracks, not to observe the rest of their surroundings, but because the pretty lady halted in the middle of everything. With her laptop in hand, the screen read a few words.

Geez. What is this? The theatrics weren't necessary.

The hacker's eyes moved back to the woman's face, studying the expression that was plastered all over it. She seemed just as clueless as everyone else there, which wasn't reassuring in any sense. There was only one thing to do now, which was wait for an explanation that would most likely be accompanied by some other unsavory information. "You will soon learn why you're here? This fucko," the statement seemed to slip, but the hacker hoped that nobody would've heard it. The last thing they needed was unwarranted interaction.

 

[mother of sorrows]

𝐙𝐨𝐞𝐲 '𝐙𝐨𝐞' 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫
-- 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘹-𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘯

What goes around comes around. It's an age old saying; things, no matter how long ago, always have a funny way of coming back to bite you in the ass.

Zoey should have known better than to make the mistake of thinking she was exempt from this rule. Her fault, really. It was far too easy to forget in California where the world was bright and warm and fuzzy, like drinking soda on a hot summer's day. Nobody knew her there. A woman arriving in the middle of the night, three tired chilren and luggage in tow, barely demanded any attention - not in a place filled with strangers trying to strike out for gold, too. The name 'Zoey Hannister' was just that; a name in the sea of many. There was something so new, so light about the freedom that brought, like taking a hit after days of sobriety. Far too easy, like a plastic white baggie sitting on your bedside table. Close to grab and even closer to revel in it.

And for a while, it seemed like the world has forgotten about her, too.

Why shouldn't it? It's not like she was the only hitman in all of America. There were others - young hotheads trying to prove they're all big and bad, old dogs clinging on to last of their physical ability and those at the prime of their careers, raking in blood money. Take one out and there will be another right after to replace the loss. The world of contract killing is a turbulent one, with power and money exchanging hands by the minute. Her name was fading from people's lips; the name Blackthroat simply didn't come up enough and it wasn't long before it ceased to be brought up at all. As far as the general public was concerned, Blackthroat was dead. Zoey killed her when she came to California; the hitwoman, the violent daredevil, the enfant terrible. The woman who tore through half of New York in three days during a war, dragging mobsters into the streets and leaving their bodies to bleed on cement. All that was left of her were old newspaper articles and memories now, and even those were half-remembered. No place for Blackthroat anymore, not when Zoey ran the show - tired mom and professional telenovella watcher.

She should have known that, someday, she was going to pay. The thing is, she did kill Blackthroat - she just never buried the body.

There are still people out there. Not a lot, but too many. And even if the old age of their golden days are gone now, the grudges stay. Zoey didn't think they would find her, not really - she spent too much money on erasing traces of herself from archives and records. And yet, all it took was one dark, quiet day for things to change; she had been calm, almost bored as the evening slowly crawled to a close. She smoked in her pristine white bathrobe, almost as pristine as everything else in her hillside home. Selena and Dante were already asleep at this point and the living room was quiet (it was even quieter, now, with Matias off to college). Whatever this call was, she thought it was going to just as calm and simple and easy as the rest of her day - it wasn't often that her wine-sweet life got interrupted, after all. The voice on the line was as calm as the neighbourhood outside, clear and consistent as it spoke through the greeting. Blandly polite like a lawyer calling in to double-check documents, or some company involved in a mundane part of her life.

And then it started listing off names.

Names she hasn't heard in years, and yet still brought back memories that made her blood run cold.

It wasn't easy, plunging back into this; packing up her shit, sorting things out and flying out part-way across the country at the snap of a finger. Leaving Selena and Dante with their dad was the easy part, really. Explaining all of this shit to her kids and neighbours and friends - or more accurately, keeping it hidden, was a whole nother beast. She didn't know who, what, why, only that she had no choice but to go. There was no way she could let that part of her life be dragged up again from a deep, dark place she thought she'd never have to visit again.

She has a choice; either take the shovel offered to her and bury Blackthroat, or rot next to it.

Zoey choose the shovel.

It wasn't hard to find the place, not really. And nice place it was, too - a pretty mansion sitting on a cliff, not too different from her own back In California. Her car door shut with a dull thud as she stepped outside, taking everything in. Big black sunglasses sat on her nose haphazardly, as they tended to. She was still a bit hungover and really, she's rather spare other people from seeing her smudged eye makeup. She's een smoking and drinking more in the past few days than she did in the whole year. The only two things that kept away the black dread threatening to claw it's way outside. Beating away the beast and all that. She's had worse, but it's truly been a while.

What she didn't expect, however, was the group gathered in front of the mansion. And quite a few people.

She grit her teeth tightly as she walked towards the entrance, glancing from person to person. Tall, short, thin, muscular. Some definitively more dangerous looking than others. Zoey came just at the right time to see a prettily-dressed, nervous girl unlocking the door. Zoey followed close behind, face impassive - and yet her eyes forever searched for an enemy she wasn't sure was there. A hard habit to kick, even years later. All she did was give the group an acknowledging nod as she walked, gaze sliding over shiny floors and tasteful wallpaper. Just like home.

And there it was. A laptop, just sitting there like a host expecting it's guests. 'Wait here and you will soon learn why you are here,' it declared in what Zoey decided was a mocking note, all smugness of knowing something nobody else did. The older woman shook her head tiredly before perching in the corner, not even hesitating to pull out a lighter and cigarette. ''We can smoke, right?'' She asked, voice rough and quiet as it tended to be. Zoey didn't wait for an answer - she simply stuck one between her wound-red lips, lighting it. She watched the grey smoke pillar towards the ceiling flatly, mind elsewhere. She can talk later - all there is to do now is to wait and see what brought them all here.

 

[mother of sorrows]

𝗔𝗹𝗲𝘅𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗚𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀
-- 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘧

Alex, to put it lightly, isn't sure how to feel.

And really, to be fair, he thinks he has every right to feel a bit conflicted considering the situation he is in. He's being blackmailed (and isn't that enough to make his head race) by a man doesn't even know and for demands he barely understood. How somebody found out was beyond him. They've always done good work, couldn't afford not to - but it seemed like the people they have stolen from have finally caught up. Sure, this man promised not to tell. But Alex knew better than to hold his breath when it comes to promises, especially from criminals. If the Triad - no, not just the Triad - found out, who knows what they'll do to them. Nobody takes well to being stolen from.

...Well. That's a lie. He knows what they'll do. Has gone through it himself and so has Abel. Both of them have the scars to prove it, too.

(He doesn't want to remember - and so he doesn't. Pushes the dark thoughts threatening to bubble over somewhere where they can't reach him.)

But putting the 'potentially-getting-killed-or-worse-by-organised-crime' business aside, he couldn't help but feel a bit excited nonetheless. This was their big break, people! An actual chance get themselves out there and interact with criminals outside their circle. The prospect was as terrifying as it was interesting. On the other hand, Alex has always liked people - liked talking, really, or listening. Each new person has new knowledge, new stories. And on the other hand... new people. Criminals at that. At naive as he might be at time, Alex still knew better that to trust other people. There's always something hidden behind even the easiest of smiles, no matter what anybody wants him to believe. People only show you what they want you to see, after all.

if nothing else, though, he knows he can rely on Abel. Always has, always will. No matter how dangerous a job or how tense a situation, he trusts Abel - they're gone through worse than being blackmailed together and they'll pull out of this too. They are, after all, both people who have been forced to fight for anything of value since they were little kids; for love, money, food. They carved themselves a place in a world that didn't care if they lived or died and nothing can run deeper than that for Alex.

The actual ride to the location was pretty quiet; not the uncomfortable kind, but Alex simply didn't feel like chattering at Abel about whatever thought caught his interest at the moment. His nerves wouldn't quite let him fully relax. Even the music drifting from the radio wasn't enough to stop his nervous mind. The boy busied himself with intensely staring outside like a forlorn actor in a music video, even kicking up his feet and putting his hands behind his head. Not very safe, maybe, but Alex insisted it made him feel like some type of rock star. His gaze stared somewhere off into the far distance.

The ride was over before he even realised, mind lost as it was.

"We're here." He heard Abel say, causing him to startle. "Think we're one of the last one here. Ready?"

"Waitwaitwait. Hold on, I need my -" Alex half-turned in his seat, almost half-climbing in the backseat before grabbing his sunglasses sitting there. It was a new pair he snatched maybe a month ago and has refused to leave without now. They were pretty expensive, too. Or, would have been expensive had he paid for them. He pushed them on his face hurriedly, flashing Abel a small grin. "Let's rock and roll, man."

He barely waited for his brother's reaction before clambering outside, almost tripping on his own feet.

This place is huge. It reminded him of Francisco's place, almost - save the details and arhitecture. Not that he had time to take everything in before he saw the group of others going inside. A tall, tattoed man; a nervous man in a suit; a very short girl; a not so pleased looking, shorter woman; some dude standing away from the crowd; a man in jeans and jeans jacket that didn't stand out too much; some person in... a very interesting mask; and the girl who just came from the car. From where he stood, at least. It was a pretty big crowd.

"Crap, let's go." Alex nodded towards the entrance briefly before making his way over, footsteps light and quiet. The inside of the mansion was as flawless as he expected, pretty and pristine and most importantly, expensive. His hands twitched by his sides, having to fight the urge to grab the shiny decoration. (Was that real gold? How much could he get for that painting over there? What about the vase?) Blue eyes flickered across the interior like he was about to grade it, expression slightly thoughtful. Maybe he and Abel could look around a bit after this. He could already spot a few valuables worth grabbing from here.

The living room the rest of the group entered was as spacious and luxurious as the entrance hall. Tasteful decoration lined the wall and expensive-looking furniture laid smugly across it. Alex quickly settled near the door (you never know), waiting for Abel to join him. He offered a friendly, if somewhat awkward, grin to those ready gathered inside as he scratched his neck.

"Kind of rude to call us out here and not even show up in person, if ya ask me."

 

[Takuwan]

— saint; the enforcer
mood; annoyed. | location; mansion. ​

Waiting was painful, as was the sudden onslaught of more strangers. They varied in height, build, age; in fact, the most striking thing was their ages 一 some looked far too young to be there, which was alarming, but it wasn't her business. Crime waited for no one, and she knew that. Her eyes couldn't help but try to peel back the appearances, attempting to get a feel of everyone's vibe, if that was even possible. But it fell short, she couldn't figure it out no matter how much her brain tried and it was frustrating. The woman never liked surprises, nor did she like strangers 一 especially working with them, but she had no choice, did she? A man, wealthy beyond her wildest imagination, blackmailed and took advantage of a weakness she thought no one else could get their hands on; who was she to deny working?

Had the triad found out about her dirty secret, her head would be on a platter, and her family left with little support. They'd have to wonder what happened to their only child and that exact thought was agonizing.

With no other choice but to wait, she continued to watch them; albeit, discreetly. Had anyone spotted this group in a crowd, it would've been clear that they were troublemakers 一 aside from the plainly dressed man, soccer mom, and fresh-faced young woman that pulled up in a limo. She was most notable. There was no way someone like her could land herself into trouble like this, not looking like that; put together and sweet-looking, the opposite of the sea of bodies that stood in front of the entrance.

Was she a part of this? No, she couldn't have been. Unless? Saint couldn't quite trust anyone in this situation, not even the nicest looking person if she tried.

When she approached the door, the Saint almost felt relief. The newcomer was just as confused, if not more by the look on her face, maybe even terrified. Why she was the one opening the door was beyond her, but she wasn't going to pry. Get in, work, get out 一 no need for unnecessary introductions, especially not in this case. Once the doors swung open, she was greeted with the sight of lux interior design: something out of a magazine or a home from that show 一 what was it again? Right. The World's Most Extraordinary Homes. It certainly wasn't trying to hide the amount of wealth that went into it, nor was it forgiving on the senses. From the shining floors, to the expensive furniture, and the dangling chandelier, Saint couldn't help but stare in awe.

That was, until her thoughts were interrupted by beeping robots and a form that looked like it came straight from a... No, there wasn't any way to describe it, other than it being incredibly out there.

She tucked away the thought about their appearance, looking over to the curly haired woman that stood with a laptop in her arms. Words popped up, and for a moment, she couldn't decipher what it said. Not until she got a bit closer, to which they were clear as day. The message was vague, even a bit ominous, but the feeling went away once she heard a robotic voice mutter. Who said "Fucko"? Was that their thing? She couldn't help but laugh, not in amusement, but in annoyance. Fucko? What were they, 14?

There was another voice, clearer than the other, obviously male but fairly young. "Kind of rude to call us out here and not even show up in person, if ya ask me."

He had a point. But it wasn't like it mattered, it might've been for the person's own safety; invite a bunch of angry or annoyed, blackmailed criminals and something is bound to happen. She didn't blame them if it was for the sake of safety, if she ever even found out who this person exactly was, she wouldn't even hesitate. In fact, she couldn't wait until she found out whoever this was. Someone willing to do all of this would deserve every bit of what was coming to them, and she wasn't going to hold back.

"Pretty fuckin' rude, really. C'mon, I mean 一 why even bother inviting us here? Could've just texted us or somethin'," the woman let out a snort, leaning herself against an expensive looking hall table.

 

[LumaThePhoenix]

A few minutes after everyone had arrived, the monitor light up brightly as if it were doing so to catch everyone's attention. The almost blinding light lasts for five whole seconds before fading away. What's left is a new image. Not words, but an actual figure with a deep, male voice.



"Greetings, everyone. Let me be the first to humbly welcome you all to your new home. I'm glad you all made it here in tact. I'm sure you all have several questions racing through your minds. What is this about? Who is it that's talking to us? How did they find out about that? Why me? Unfortunately, since this is a pre-recorded message, this conversation will be a bit one-sided. Although, I'm sure some of those questions will be easier to answer than others, so I'll start with the simplest ones.

My name is Javier. Remember it. I am the one who....invited you all to be here. The reason you all came here is because of the letters that I sent to you. Each letter included information about its recipient that they are desperate to hide. Whether or not you share that information with the others here is up to you. It is also worth noting that everyone here is a criminal in some way, shape, or form. Anything from habitual petty crimes to full on killings. Some of you may not live the life of a criminal. Others exist only in the crime world. Regardless, you were all chosen because of your talents as well as your weaknesses. I could have chosen others, but I chose you by luck, fate, destiny, whatever you wish to call it. The bottom line is that you're all about to be forged into the perfect hidden weapon against crime....if you survive that is.

In case you're wondering what I mean, no, you are technically not cops nor are they on your side. There is a threat developing in the shadows that has the potential to put an end to all of us. Each of you are sitting ducks on your own. You will need to learn to work together with your new roommates and hone your skills as much as possible if you wish to stand a chance. I advise you take this opportunity to settle in and get to know each other. Your first assignment will begin soon. Goodbye, and good luck." The screen cuts off after he finishes speaking.

Jade Baker​

Javier's message sent chills down Jade's spine. She takes a step back as her eyes fill with fear. Not only was she surrounded by potentially dangerous criminals, there somehow seems to be something worse out there as well. On top of that, he welcomed them to their 'new home' and called them 'roommates'. That means she's going to be sharing the same home as them and it was likely that she wouldn't be able to go back to her actual home any time soon. She had become too overwhelmed to speak. What if she said something that triggered one of them and they attacked her? Her glance quickly went around the room as she skimmed past each person before facing forward once more and lowering her head a little. Jade's a hacker, not a brawler and certainly not a murderer. Javier's speech somehow provided as many questions as it did answers. Considering the circumstances, she doesn't really have a choice but to hope for the best and see where this goes.

 

[Takuwan]

— del gillies; the bank robber
mood; apathetic. | location; mansion. | outfit; here. | like music? click the picture.
​

It was bound to happen sooner or later; the outcome of a bank robber who, unfortunately, ran in with the wrong type of people. And while he assumed that he wasn't easy to catch, the man had assumed wrong; several bail outs, a singular escape from prison, a few heists here and there, all with little or no remorse towards the people affected by his actions. Poor mom would've been proud, knowing her son — the one she disregarded for another hit of a drug — was someone; not a good someone, but a someone nonetheless. Despite all of this, never in his wildest dreams did he think he would get blackmailed and put into a position where he had no choice but to stay, and yet, with the note crumpled in his tattooed fists, it had happened. Granted, it was bound to happen sooner or later, but he didn't like to dwell on the thought.

Usually, in situations revolving around secretive matters, the truth would set one free. But not in this case.

While he supposed he was required to feel like a cornered animal, distraught and scared, the man felt... nothing. Apathetic, with little interest — aside from the tiny inkling of intrigue. His acceptance was more or less due to the fact that he'd been on the run, mainly from men who had every intention to hunt him down — possibly, no, most likely to kill him; a thief like him was sure to rub powerful people the wrong way. Luckily for him, they never quite figured out who exactly stole from them, at least, they hadn't seen his face. And he would've liked to keep it that way.

He'd been sitting in his car for a while, seats covered in brightly colored dust. But it was only after a few wandering minutes that he'd laid his eyes on his destination, taking in every feature. The mansion, it was large, far grander than any dwelling he'd ever laid his eyes on. The concrete jungle was nothing like this; in fact, it wished it could look like this. With the salty air, the crashing of waves against jagged rocks, the smell of the sea in the grand mansion's wake, he would've thought he was there on vacation. A time away from the thieving scum he typically was. The thick calluses of his fingers ran against the small page, tracing each word; memorizing the subtle ridges of each printed letter.

Eventually, after marinating in his thoughts as his eyes were locked on the mansion, he found himself able to pry his gaze away. But his eyes set themselves upon the group that had been waiting outside; how the man didn't realize others had already been standing there was beyond him. The bunch looked diverse, in terms of appearance. Some plainly clothed, skin free of tattoos, while others looked like average people; the most notable were two small women, one with a shotgun, another covered in blood. Ominous. As much as his body urged him to make an expression, it fell flat — a blank canvas.

Were they already filing in?

Before he knew it, doors opened and in went the others. He tried his best to catch up, stumbling out of the car, red dust catching onto his thick layers of clothing — even making its presence in his lungs. He wretched but quickly collected himself, following behind smaller figures. The inside of the mansion was far grander than the exterior, with expensive furniture he never thought he'd ever lay his eyes on. From the chandelier or shining floors, Del was taken aback. But it was only then, when an animation played on the screen of the laptop a smaller, clean looking woman held, that Del couldn't help but jump — even just a bit. The voice was deep, certainly male, and droned on.

Javier? Quite an introduction. At least he was clear, the group wasn't 12, and that was the best news he'd heard all day.

As much as Del would've liked to say that the message presented answers, he wasn't able to. It was slightly vague, with rarely any specifics. What piqued his interest even more was the mention of an assignment; why he needed criminals to carry out these assignments made Del's thoughts run circles. "Wow, alright..." His words trailed off under his breath, fingers combing through his hair, "theatrics, much? Don't like the vibes."

mentions and possible interaction:
LumaThePhoenix mother of sorrows oliiebee Yet Caffeine_Obsessed Jaellagirl TayMaiTer StaidFoal ​

 

[Takuwan]

— 6R1M; the hacktivist
mood; wtf. | location; mansion. | outfit; here. | like music? click the picture.​

The amount of people multiplied, leaving a sinking feeling in their gut. More people often entailed more trouble, something that — despite thriving in chaos — was something they hadn't been looking forward to. In fact, the thought of a team effort didn't sit well; working alongside other law-breakers didn't seem like the best idea. There was a continuous flash of emotes through the mask, displaying their flurry of emotions in a comical matter; something to lighten the mood in an already dampened crowd. There had been a few people who'd spoken up, namely Tattoo Lady, Cigarette Mom, and Baby Twink — two questioning their hosts lack of manners, one asking if smoking was allowed before unabashedly lighting the cigarette without any further answer.

There was a slew of minutes where the air felt thick, awkward, with brooding bodies in the foyer that, for the most part, stood in silence. What else was there to say? Questions most likely would've been answered by the woman with the laptop; at least, the laptop would've spoken for her. Was there really much to do in their predicament?

It felt like school all over again; strangers, all in one room, awaiting direction from a higher authority figure. Quiet, with the occasional blurb, and incredibly unpleasant. What could've made it worse was a long drawn out lecture from a — oh no. Of course. There had to be one, paired with the ominous message that formerly presented itself on the screen of the laptop. A deep, rumbling voice bellowed from the speakers of the laptop. "Greetings, everyone..." Blah, blah, blah, evil villain blither; the whole 9 yards. 6R1M stood there agonizing over the time it took for the long-winded explanation to make its way to the crowd. At least the host finally introduced himself, in person would've been preferred, but 6R1M would've followed the same method; however, with a little bit more kick to it.

"Picture this: explosives, a lot of them, maybe even a little robot show; then, out comes a carriage — doesn't have to be fancy — carrying a laptop with a special little surprise. Loud music, the whole shabang. Now that's how you make an entrance with style; Javi seems like he has the budget for it, so why skimp on making it more extra than it should've been?" The hacker chuckled at her own thoughts, staring at the screen as they continued to drown the voice out — until he reached the point that included an assignment and introducing one another.

It really was school all over again. 6R1M didn't graduate just to go through this weird shit one more time. At least they weren't recruited for some type of law enforcement brigade, imagine the irony.

Crossing their arms against their chest, 6R1M awaited for someone to speak up in regards to introductions, with another man's voice appearing out of nowhere. It was deep, husky, tired sounding: reminiscent of someone who'd just woken up after a few cartons of cigarettes and a lot of dehydration. He did have a point, though. The vibes were weird, but that was to be expected given the stiff crowd. "Ain't that some shit?" The hacker let out a laugh, mostly masked by the voice changer, and smacked their hands together in amusement, "this is some real school institution type shit." Behind them, the robots sounded off a cheesy sitcom laughing track as they rolled around in circles, wheels squeaking against the shining floors.

"What's your name? Your favorite color? Any pets at home?" They spoke mockingly, "god... this is fucking stupid."