Prelude Opportunity

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Stoic
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Prelude Opportunity

Post by Stoic »

How did you come to join SPEAR? Give us a prelude and take 1 xp and a Benny.
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Pender Lumkiss
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Re: Prelude Opportunity

Post by Pender Lumkiss »

Trent looks up from his cluttered desk. Stacks of paperwork piled high meant for his transcription into the digital archive. Pipes ran everywhich way along the ceiling of the cramped room he unceremoniously called his office. Most pipes were hot, and a few leaked out steam giving his office a tepid tempature of 82.3 degrees. At the edge of his desk was his name plate half off dangerously teetering ready to fall if nudged just oh so slightly. His waste bin was full of limp paper just north of sweaty from the carefully orchestrated swamp like conditions. A fallen sticky note next to the bin read Burn Pile. Such was the life of Trent Silver, A.K.A Cnail the slowest hacker in SPEAR. Maybe next time when the shadowy Neeson calls Trent he will refuse to sellout his fellow operatives and get out of the steam pipe trunk distribution junction; room 554B. Its sort of a hard thing to do when the shadowy evil organization has your family but hey one can hope.

Trent sighs looking at his screen. His lack of energy was evident as was his craving for something more exciting than electronic transcription. He abscently pulled the next file for him to enter The file read Pinnacle Repository. That beings back memories...

A bald faced lair with too much aftershave and not enough machismo was yelling at a decidedly more energetic and younger Trent Silver. ”God dammit Trent that makes four times in the last year. Someone is hacking into our library servies and changing the writting on godamn Bill Shakespear! For christ sake, he’s iconic!”

Trent looked down at the data screen looking over lines of code. A few keystokes, and then he pulls out his own ipad. A swipe and a tap and he accomplishes what he wanted to do. ” Mr. Black, look here you got some code that someone set up as a back door giving them access to your entire library.” Trent grins satisfied with his hack and shows his ipad to Mr. Black the directory of the Pinnacle Repository. Tent continues unable to hid his grin, ” So have you fired anyone from IT lately.”

The directory scowls and lets spittle fly, ” Newmen!”

Days went by turning into months and pretty soon Trent had himself a coner office, a wife and a baby on the way. Everything was grand, Head of Cyber Security for one of the largest intercontinental library service companies. Not much more could be desired but all that changed in the autumn one morning when the family was leaf peeping in Washington DC. It only took a minute, while Trent was grabbing a two peppermint mochas from the local Starbucks. He was across the street sipping on his mocha savoring the festive choclate infused peppermint flavor when he saw to his heart stopping horror a white van logoed Liam Cleaners stopped infront of his wife and four year old daughter. Two individuals rolled back the sliding door and pulled his family in. Even before he had a chance to run after them his cell phone rang.

” You may call me Neeson. I have a particular set of skills and if you want to see your family ever again you will do exactly as I direct...”

Trent never told anyone that is why he joined SPEAR so many years ago. He would occationally find a photo of his wife and daughter that kept him going. It was sad to be forced to see his daughter grow digitally, but he loved her with all his heart and had to do his part to keep her and his wife alive. But after his last op, he was pretty sure he was on the way out. Discraced and burned all at the same time. Who would ever want to work with him, he couldn’t even trust himself,
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Keiko
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Re: Prelude Opportunity

Post by Keiko »

The cop's name was Jacob Welsh. He looked to Keiko like a classic 'happy to work behind a desk until he's retired' kinda cop; middle-aged and slightly heavyset, with greying temples and a slightly receding hairline. He had the little fob that he swiped on the electronic lock to the evidence room, where he took the plastic bag holding her gloves. She had a grand view of all that as the officer that arrested her hauled her down the hall of the police station to one of the interrogation rooms, even though her eyes were fixed on the floor as if contrite.

And then she was in a grey concrete room with bright lights on her and a police officer sitting across the table from her. Keiko looked around the room, taking stock of the details of the policeman's badge as she did so. Malcolm Ortiz.

Behind the one-way glass, a dim heat outline took shape in Keiko's senses. That was okay. Better than someone standing behind her would have been. Working her left hand carefully in her right sleeve, she found the little length of metal she'd secreted away in the seam...for exactly this occasion.

"So," Malcolm said sternly, "Before we get into your statement,lets get your name for the record."

Keiko let her eyes roam to point at Malcolm, but her attention was focused on the shimmering silhouette of heat behind the 'mirror.' Once that one left, probably Julia, she could start making her move.

"Sachiko Satsu," she replied in a trembling voice. "I'm really sorry."

"You're sorry," the cop repeated incredulously. "You didn't steal gum out of your mom's purse, you know. You were trying to get into a bank vault. You knocked out the alarm on the door and broke in." WIth one set of beefy knuckles he rapped on the table. Keiko feigned a little jump. "I think we're way past sorry."

She took in a deep, shuddering breath and let her head fall forward against the table with a loud bonk. "I know," she sobbed, and bonked again. "Everything just got...way out of hand!"

Noise was important. The clicking of her little pick in the lock of her handcuffs would stick out otherwise.

Malcolm quickly reached out and took hold of Keiko's shoulder, holding her upright. "Okay, that's enough of that! Just...just calm down a second. You're obviously, uh, new at this. This whole process works a lot more smoothly if you just cooperate. I'm going to need you to tell me exactly what happened, what you did, when and how. All right?"

"I'm going to get in trouble aren't I?" Keiko gasped woefully.

"Yeah," he replied, "But how much trouble is up to you. The easier you make this on us, the easier it'll be on you."

She felt the handcuffs loosen, and quickly checked the heat source. Gone. It was time.

"Okay," Keiko said. "Okay. I'll tell you everything. I..." she coughed and shook her head. "Could I get something to drink? This is...going to take a little while."

The policeman rubbed his forehead and said, "Look up there in the corner of the room. See that? It's a camera. No funny ideas."

Keiko nodded and sniffled as Malcolm got up to grab a couple of water bottles. Truth was, he could use a drink himself.

As soon as he was out of the room, a small flat square appeared between the camera and Keiko. It looked like a TV screen showing just white noise on it, except there was no TV...just that square image of static. Keiko then concentrated, and her awareness of the light in the room expanded exponentially. Light striking her from one direction was re-emitted on an identical path on the opposite side of her, with identical wavelength and intensity. The result...she simply faded from view. She got carefully up from the chair as she slipped off the handcuffs then. With a bit more effort she then created a zone where light suddenly changed in direction, wavelength and intensity in ways that were identical to how it would change if it was striking a young Asian woman dressed in a black bodysuit who was sitting handcuffed in a chair.

The static covering the camera winked out.

A moment later Malcolm strolled in and put down two bottles of water. He never noticed that the door delayed very briefly before starting to close behind him.

Sachiko Satsu was about to stop talking to him, but Keiko suspected he wouldn't actually try to touch her early on. When he finally did, he'd find his hand passing through her without resistance...but by that time it'd be far too late to do anything about it.

She ducked into the men's room; the door opening and closing seemingly on its own. A moment later, Malcolm Ortiz came out and strolled over to the duty officer's desk.

"Hey, Jacob," he said. The voice was quite convincing, even if it was generated via thermal fluctuations in the air rather than by exhalations shaped by lips and tongue. Keiko was quite proud of how good she'd gotten at making noises. "I need to borrow your evidence room key for a second."

Jacob looked at him skeptically. "What, did you forget yours?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Most of the time I don't need it."

"Ugh...what do you need from there anyway?"

"That girl we caught trying to bust into that bank...I want to dangle a little bait, see if she takes the hook."

Sgt Walsh sighed. "Fine, I'll let you in."

"Eh, Jake, just lemme borrow them for two seconds. You don't have to leave the desk and phones over it."

He shook his head reluctantly. "It's regs, Mal, you know how it works."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Come on, it's Mal...you know me."

Jacob winced, then held out the little keychain with the fob on it. "Fine. But you sign that shit out, you understand? And then back in."

"Yeah, of course. Jesus, what do I look like, a criminal?" He grinned.

"You really want an answer to that?"

With a laugh, Malcolm headed to the evidence room and ducked inside. There were rows and rows of shelves in there, covered in all kinds of tubs and shelving units and boxes, all labeled. The 'police officer' checked the little laminated pages dangling from the first row by a string to see how to find things, and then set off hunting.

Goddamnit, you said you wanted to talk, so TALK!


Keiko giggled to herself at the barely-audible voice of the real Malcolm shouting from a couple doors down. Probably better not to keep using his face.

Ah ha!

First, the baggie with her gloves. Score. They were really good bicycling gloves, and didn't come cheap. Not really what she was here for, of course, but always nice not to leave physical evidence. No, the real score here was...

The door lock clicked, and the door started to swing open.

Ah shit.


Julie De La Rosa came in, looking pissy and annoyed. She rounded the far side of the shelves and paused. There was Jacob Welsh, frowning at one of the evidence tubs.

He looked over at her and gave her a curt nod. "Officer."

"Jacob, hey," replied Julie distractedly. "Look, I need the gloves from that bank robber girl case and whatever we have on the jewelry store robbery from...last..." She trailed off. The baggie with the girl's gloves was actually tucked under his arm. "What've you got there?"

"Eh," he replied gruffly. "Malcolm was just asking for the same stuff. Hang on a second, I'm getting the..."

"Malcom's in yelling at the perp," said Julie, "When did he...did you just call me officer?"

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Oh my god, that's...don't you ever stop policing? Not everything is a conspiracy. Just...let me do my damn job, alright?"

Julie's eyes narrowed. "Actually, I did stop policing, as you damn well know. I was even all ready to show my documentation for transfer of evidence to a federal agency. But you never even asked me what the hell I was doing in the evidence room."

"I...figured you'd get around to it."

"Oh, you're gong to have to do a lot better than that."

Jacob's face suddenly grinned unnaturally wide, as if his mouth would split his face into a top and bottom half. His eyes narrowed to vulpine slits and he giggled shrilly. "You asked for it!"

The lights in the evidence room went out, plunging the room into Stygian darkness. Footsteps and giggling led off towards the back of the evidence room...meanwhile, Keiko silently made her way for the door.

Julie intercepted her, grabbing her arm effortlessly despite the pitch black.

"So, you're the 'kitsune' I assume?"

Keiko stiffened, then sighed and relaxed. "Alright, yeah. You got me."

The lights went on, and she stood there, clad in her black bodysuit, with the kitsune 'noh' mask on, and orange fluffy tails whisking around behind her.

"So now what?"

Julie, frowning, reached out to touch the mask, and found her fingers passing right through it to touch normal skin underneath, all while keeping a tight grip on the girl's upper arm. "Now you're coming with me." She opened the door.

Immediately the 'kitsune' dropped to the floor, surprising her enough with the speed and unexpected direction of movement to slip her grasp. She rolled sideways, then tumbled up to her feet and...and...

And Julie De La Rosa realized she was looking at a little girl...an adorable child of perhaps twelve or thirteen, staring at her with wide, wounded, frightened eyes. A couple of passing officers paused in the hall, assessing the situation. A full grown woman, bursting out of the evidence room, apparently having shoved some kid who was now close to tears.

"I said no!" the girl shouted, starting to cry. "Leave me alone!"

Oh you bitch.

Julie flashed her badge, "Guys, she's enhanced and on a Federal watchlist. This is a trick!"

Keiko decided not to tempt fate, and turned tail to run. She managed to get around a corner, turning invisible and spawning another illusion of herself to give that cop lady someone to chase. Sure enough, she came pounding around the corner, spotted the Kitsune's tails as she made it down another row, and...paused.

And looked right at her.

She can see me, Keiko realized with a sick feeling. She's like me.

Other cops, however, couldn't. An officer paused near this female cop, giving her a curious look. Keiko grabbed him and shoved him into her, using the momentary distraction to break into a mad sprint for the nearest door. Somehow, incredibly, she wasn't being followed. Maybe that policeman had derailed her exceptionally well! Either way, everything was going her way again...

Keiko burst out the back door, bewildering the two policemen standing just outside it, and ran past the motorpool towards sweet, sweet freedom...

And then someone tackled her.

They went rolling to the ground, and it felt like within seconds Keiko found herself pinned, struggling but unable to get up.

She made an image of a policeman come running up with his pistol drawn and aim it at the woman holding her down.

"Freeze!" the faux-cop shouted. "Face down on the ground, hands where I can see them!"

Julie didn't even spare the image a glance.

"Keiko Ichimura, you have the right to make a choice," she said to the girl wriggling in her grasp. "Either you come with me right now, or I leave you here for the police to take care of, along with all the evidence that SPEAR has been able to assemble on your activities. Which is, I assure you, far more than the police know right now."

Keiko quieted at the sound of her name being spoken, her real name.

"What's SPEAR?" she asked.

"Come with me, and you'll find out. It's not a prison, even if that's what you deserve. It's..." Julie thought for a second. "A second chance."

"Okay, what about remaining silent, an attorney, all that stuff?"

Julie shook her head. "I'm not arresting you, Keiko."

The Japanese girl frowned and paused in her wriggling. "What?"

"I'm recruiting you. In two seconds I'm letting you go. You can get into the car with me, or you can try to run. If you run, the police will find you boun and gagged with a trashbag full of evidence. Get in the car, I'll take you to your first interview."

Keiko felt the hands keeping her joints locked release their grip, and she rolled onto her back. "What happens if I don't pass?"

With a disinterested shrug, Julie simply suggested, "I'd try to avoid that if I were you."

A moment later, the door to the jet black car Julie had led her to slammed shut, and the vehicle sped away.
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Blitz
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Joined: Wed Dec 19, 2018 10:42 pm

Re: Prelude Opportunity

Post by Blitz »

Video Log Day 1
"I woke up today. They didn't say how long I was out. How it happened. They say I have amnesia. I don't remember my family, or if I have one. I don't know if I have a wife and kids or a girlfriend. They gave me a name, Clyde Hanes, but it doesn't really mean anything to me."

"I laid in bed for 30 minutes, alone. No one was there. No one except 'Gus.' Gus is an automatic shotgun with the letters G-U-S engraved into it, and he was propped against the wall beside my bed."

"There were some flowers, but I honestly think they were just decoration. The doc finally showed up, and he seemed excited that I was recovering. Really, though, I think he just wanted me out of his care."

"They're going to send me to rehab, get me walking again. They say I've lost some muscle mass. I can walk and do simple tasks, but I get tired fast. They said that folks with amnesia have it rough on the inside, and that having a diary helps. I'm not much on writing, but they set me up with this rig so I can get stuff off my chest. So, I guess I'll talk to you tomorow."

Video Log Day 7
Clyde waves at the Camera.

"Hey, Clyde again. Obvious huh? It's weird talking to yourself."

"PT is going pretty well. I guess I wasn't out for too long, ya know? I feel like it was mostly a formality to cover their asses. A few days of solid food in me and getting the blood pumping got me up to speed. They say I'm still not in top shape, though. I guess they keep records or something, but just who are 'they?'."

"I still don't really know where I am, but I don't feel like i'm in danger here. I haven't seen anyone not affiliated with the medical facility. Its kind of strange. Well that's not entirely true. Every now and then I'll see someone in military gear or a civilian, but rarely."

"They ramped up my PT today. They say I'm good to go. Now its supposedly time to 'find what I lost and learn how to use it?' Whatever that means. They're releasing me from medical today. I get to go 'back' to my bunk, so I guess I might be one of them. Whoever they are?"

Video Log Day 21
Clyde runs a hand over his scruffy face. It looks like it hasn't been shaved in several days. His eyes look a little sunken in.

"They keep calling me Blitz. Most folks are indifferent, like I'm just a coworker. And that makes sense, this place is SPEAR. Some kind of unaffiliated yet international millitary/police force. A few look at me like they hate me. Or wish I never woke up? Or worse..."

"You know what, I can deal with that. I don't know who Clyde was but people have their own opinions. Hell, maybe Clyde was a grade-A asshole. I don't know."

"What gets me are the ones who are happy to see me. The one who call me Blitz and ask me how I'm doing and if I remember anything. And how some of them look sad when I tell them I don't. Or how some of them avoid me because I'm not the Blitz they know. And I'm not..I'm not blitz and I'm not Clyde. I'm just me."

Video Log Day 22
"I locked myself out today. I don't know the password to the keypad, but I always make sure the door never closes completely. Well, today I didn't block the door. I came home, tried the door, and it was locked. So I keyed in the password and walked in."

"About half an hour later I realized what I did...so I didn't block the door when I left again. When I came home I tried to key the password in, and I realized that I had no idea what it was. It was like, hey! I'm remembering stuff finally! Turns out it was just muscle memory or something subconscious."

"I'm still not Clyde. I'm still not Blitz."

Video Log Day 121
Clyde smiles sadly at the camera. Then he leans forward and hangs his head. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

"I tried to kill myself yesterday. I hated this place. Its training, training, eating, listening to people talk about Blitz, but never me, always Clyde. Then theres the things they can't talk to me about. No one will tell me anything, even now. Maybe they just don't know?"

"Well, after training I hit the range with Gus. He always makes me feel better. He doesn't talk to me about Clyde or Blitz. He doesn't ask me stupid questions and look at me with disappointment. He's just there for me. ME."

"I took him back to my bunk like I usually do. No one seems to mind. I can take Gus anywhere and no one says a word or bats an eye. And I just...I was done, you know? I sat down, put Gus' barrel under my chin, and tried to end everything."

"I tell you what, Gus packs a hell of a punch. Slug knocked me clear into the ceiling. Turns out I'm psychokinetic with control over kinetic forces. Soon as I pulled that trigger some instinct in the back corners of my subconscious kicked in and protected me."

"I've realized that Gus really is my friend. He's always there for me, has my back, and will never hurt me. I can count on myself and I can count on Gus.

"And...you know, I don't know why, but that made all the difference. Either that or I hit my head really hard against the ceiling. I don't know who Clyde is, or Blitz, but I'm starting to figure out who I am."

Video Log Day 182
Clyde flashes a genuine smile for the Camera.

"So, it's been a long 6 months or so. Ive gone through a lot, but not much has changed. Just gotten more intense. I went from rehab, to tranining, to specialized combat training and most recently psionic training. And it all came to a head today. I've been doing psionic combat training for weeks now, but something just clicked today."

"And it was the most natural thing in the world..Like I'd done it a hundred thousand times. I was point on a small team of newbies going against a superior force of seasoned operatives. The goal was to get out with minimal casualties. One of my guys went down and there were five guys gunning for us."

"And I changed tactics completely. Instead of using my ability to move things or manipulate them, I used it on myself! I wrapped myself up in protective force and slammed myself right into their fire squad. Boom! Haha, man they went flying. Tagged 3 of them before they realized what hit them."

"So, it turns out that was kind of the goal. They said that was one of my signature moves. No one else does it, you know? You have to be crazy to fling yourself at break neck speeds into a huddle of enemy soldiers."

"Now that I'm more or less back to my full capabilities, I've been assigned to a team. And I'm excited. I can't wait to get out there and help people and protect them. Because, you know what? I still don't know who Clyde is. Might never. But I've decided that I am Blitz. And Blitz helps people."
Blitz
Clyde Hanes, Psychokinetic Shock Trooper
Pace: 6(d6); Parry: 8(2) Toughness: 9/12(4)
Combat-Relevant Edges & Abilities:
  • CQB: May use SMGs, ARs and Shotguns in close combat.
  • Dodge -2 to all ranged attacks unless caught unaware. Does not stack with cover.
  • Improved TMW (Gus): +2 to Shooting and Parry when wielding Gus.
  • Kinetic Denial (SPC2 Improved Jinx): WCs and extras crit fail against Blitz on any roll of 1 or 2 on the skill die. (Limitation: Must be able to be caused by Kinetic Force.)
  • Shock and Awe: +3 Toughness when SnA is active. (SnA switchable with Telekinesis)
Wounds: 0/3; Fatigue: 0/2; Bennies: 4/3
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Kindreth
Posts: 60
Joined: Wed Dec 19, 2018 8:10 pm

Re: Prelude Opportunity

Post by Kindreth »

Julie runs.

This is what she does. Whenever she comes across a problem, she runs towards it, never away. That’s what good cops do.

And Julie has come across a doozy of a problem.

Visibility is poor tonight. Rain comes down in sheets, turning every sidewalk crack and curb cut into pond-sized puddles. The clouds block out the night sky entirely, keeping everything appropriately gloomy and miserable.

The man Julie chases is a nobody, a low-level dealer caught up in a much larger scheme. The suits and brass and her backup are all back at the scene of the bust, but this guy decided to be a runner, and runners are Julie’s specialty. So she chases him, through the cold and the dark and the rain, never faltering, every step sure-footed. She has done this a dozen times, at least, since joining the force, and she always catches her quarry within four blocks. Always.

Except tonight, she’s on block nine and breathing hard and her runner is starting to put some distance between the two of them. She can’t see worth anything, but she trusts her feet to find the right spots (even if those spots are sometimes right in the middle of the puddles) and keeps on running.

He’s like me, she thinks. It’s the only plausible explanation. The man she chases is just like her, or at least enough like her that he can give her a challenge. More than a challenge, he’s beating her!

But he can’t be just like Julie, or he wouldn’t have been caught up in the net at all. So he’s got some kind of abilities that let him move around quickly in the dark, but they aren’t exactly her abilities. Maybe she can use that somehow?

The bad guy takes a turn, hard and fast, ducking down an alley behind the only decent bodega in the neighborhood. Julie takes a different route, pulling open the front door without pausing and rushing right into the store, water streaming behind her off her uniform and her shoes, like her own personal comet tail. She’d lost her hat somewhere along the way, and she can feel her feet squishing unpleasantly in her shoes with each footfall, but she has an idea.

The alley behind the bodega dips downward, meaning it turns into a river after any decent rain, and the rear exit from the bodega is on a different story than the street; it pops out onto a fire escape, ten or fifteen feet off the ground. He can see in the dark, but he can’t see what’s coming, she thinks. And she hopes.

She bends down at the last second before hitting the exit door, catching the release bar with her shoulder and bursting out like a bull… a small, wet, latina bull. So, basically a soggy little cow.
The “crack!” of the door bursting open is drowned out somewhat by the pounding of the rain, but even if it weren’t, Julie isn’t going for stealth at this point. She just wanted the high ground.

Below her, she can see the perp pushing through shin deep water in the street. His head whips around to look at her, but she can barely see him anyway. Her eyes are busy being drawn to the dim outlines of fire escape stairs, apartment balconies, and window ledges. Without slowing (she never really slows, does she?), she kicks off the fire escape towards the nearest window ledge. Her foot connects with the driest bit of stonework left in the city, and she pushes off toward a balcony, sailing through the air.

The perp tries to adjust, but he’s slowed by the water and his maneuverability isn’t great in the alley to begin with. Julie comes down on top of him knee’s first, planting herself squarely in his lower back and driving him to the ground. I hope I didn’t just kill this guy! she thinks as he topples in a heap beneath her, his head dropping below the water and connecting (quite solidly) with the street beneath.

She gets a tingle on the back of her neck and flinches away from the perp unconsciously, and his hand swipes past her face, claws raking the thin air… wait, CLAWS?!? “What the…” Julie starts, but the man beneath her shifts, bucking her off his back as his legs slide beneath him at an entirely impossible angle, giving him leverage he shouldn’t have.

The perp hisses at her, like a cat, and darts toward her again, claws slicing through the rain and barely missing her face.

Claws!

With no time to debate the sanity of what she is seeing, Julie draws her baton, gives it a flick to expand it, and takes a combat stance. Too close for the pistol.

The perp comes at her again, hissing again, but this time, Julie is ready. She whips the baton at the guy, catching his forearm with a sickening “crunch!” That’s broken.

The man yowls, clutching his broken arm, and Julie moves in, going for the leg. With less force this time, she clips him behind the knee, bringing him back to the ground. Before he can twitch, she has her taser out and pointing at him. “I would rather not tase you face-first into a wading pool, but move again and I will. You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…” she begins the familiar recitation.

Before she can finish, an unfamiliar woman turns the corner of the alley and exclaims, “Aha! So that’s where he got off to! Well done, officer. This is a slippery one.” The woman is tall, perhaps 6’ 3” or 4”, in a well-tailored suit and heels. She isn’t carrying an umbrella, but she does not appear the slightest bit wet, as if the rain just… misses her, somehow.

“Tell me, officer,” the woman says, approaching with a warm smile. “Did you actually just run him down?”
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Simon CROSS Harris
Posts: 71
Joined: Thu Jan 03, 2019 2:46 pm

Re: Prelude Opportunity

Post by Simon CROSS Harris »

He is running with dear across a grassy plain. Wind blown hair and basketball shorts but otherwise he is the same color as the deer that have now taken to grazing on the edge of a meadow. Ahead lies a stream, gently flowing.

He looks across and the other deer instinctively look his direction to say, “No”. Across the stream lays a thick wood that none of the deer have ever been to. He moves to the edge of the stream and set to …

Cross. Cross? CROSS!” In English with a very heavy Russian accent.

Simon finds himself laying in his ghillie suit, blended in with the woodlands, staring through his scope at a open wooded meadow, where a family plays in the afternoon sun.

Cross take the shot.” Again in the heavy Russian accent.

Cross tucks his Dragnov sniper rifle in close and into his chest and rolls three times to his left and repositions himself. The family no longer in his scopes but his spotter and handler is. Josef Vorishnicov, the KGB asset assigned to him is now his target and Cross shoots him between the eyes.

Vorishnicov is dead. The shot barely louder than a twig snapping. In minutes the rifle is broken down into its case. The ghillie suit he turns inside out and now appears twenty pounds heavier in a heavy flannel pair of overalls. His hidey hole he quickly dusts and covers in freshly fallen snow and his trail in disappears as he heads out.


The sun is beating down in the hot summer afternoon. Mirages are playing with his physical sight. He knows the location and the area his target will be in. The police inspector, calls the shots, and makes the call for this one.

In a grade school classroom, a lone gunman is surrounded by two dozen children. From the ground floor the shot could not be done. The further the distance from the target the less likely it is to reach the target. Cross is nearly two miles away on a hillside with the sun on his back.

The specially made charge of gun powder for this shot is accurate down to the nanogram. Cross grinds and fills his own rounds and shells for all his weapons. The shell already chambered, Cross sights in and waits for the childhood games in the classroom to reveal their patterns.

Patience pays off. The games cycle and the gunman takes a call. The opening presents itself. Cross takes the shot. In his line of work, there are no impossible.

Disassembling his sniper rifle, pieces get stowed away. As he completes and packs and the last pieces are secured, he stands and turns and draws his sidearm.

Been here long?

No.

Holding the pistol two handed and pointed at the newcomer’s feet, Simon continues his inquiry.

You’ve followed me before?

Yes.

Simon, still on guard keeps his sidearm pointed at the visitor’s feet.

What can I do for you?

Major Joseph Makatowzi, we want to offer you a new career.

At the mention of the name and rank, the pistol rises quickly to the face of the speaker. The hammer drops back and the round in the chamber seats into place.

I have not been that in nearly five years.

It is not your country that needs you now, but the world.

The gun does not leave the visitors face. But Simon says nothing more, so the visitor continues.

Your country disgraced you after your wingman sold you out. You lost your bird, your rank, your good name, and the ability to fly.

The pistol never moves but Simon does look up into the sky and then back at the visitor.

Are your people ready to listen,” Simon asks cautiously.

We are the people that will listen. Few know of us and those that do are either with us or against.

Simon stared hard at the faceless figure enshrouded in shadow. “Once more, leaving my name behind?
Yes. The support of the organization will cover your past entirely. You will only exist as a memory.

I have been nothing but a memory for the last ten years. What use does the “organization” have for me?

There are a handful of capable fighter pilots.” Simon cocks his head to the side. The pistol never moves.

What kind of birds does the “organization” have?” Simon asks as he rights his head and tries to read the visitor.

Your familiarity in avionics will serve you well, I promise. The “birds” are an upgrade to what you have flown in the past.

Simon lowered the pistol, eased up the hammer, and cleared the round from the chamber. With his cgloved hand he tossed down the unspent round. Holstering the pistol, Simon picked up the gun case with his sniper rifle. Extending his empty hand, “Johnny White Sock and you are?
User avatar
Kelly
Posts: 38
Joined: Tue Jan 15, 2019 7:00 pm

Re: Prelude Opportunity

Post by Kelly »

Kelly seemed to be on her way to psychiatric fame when she received a call from one of her patients who suffered with severe depression. He was just a few blocks down from her office standing on the roof of a building, trying to talk himself out of jumping. Not knowing what else to do, she called the policy on her way to the rooftop. She knew she could get there before the professionals. Heck, she was the professional.

When she arrived at the rooftop, Charlie Peters, her client, was standing a few steps. He spun around, and, seeing Kelly, gave a sad smile. "Goodbye" he said softly, as he took the first step backward toward the edge. The next would take him over. Kelly was frozen in the moment. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't get there in time, and you are never supposed to approach someone on the edge of a building anyway. She hesitated. Charlie raised his foot take a step back, and Kelly to a reflexive step forward.

"WAIT!" She screamed, reaching out with more than just her extended hand, dozen of feet to far from Charlie to be of any help.

But Charlie froze, balanced, one foot hanging over the edge.

"Just hop on down from the ledge and we can talk" Kelly said, a little confused. Without hesitation or word, Charlie dropped....no... he literally hopped, down from the edge.

"Good, now we can just sit and talk until the cops show up".

At that, Charlie planted down on the ground. Kelly breath a sigh of relief, and relaxed...something... she hadnt realized she'd been tensing. Charlie blinked twice, shook his head, and looked up in confusion. "What...How'd did I get down here..."

It was at that moment that the police showed up, quickly moving a confused Charlie away from the edge and taking a statement from an equally confused Kelly, who laid out exactly what had happened.

Two days later Kelly answered a knock at the door of her two bedroom flat. Standing at the door were two men in black suits. One held up an ID.

"Ma'am. Will Fischer, FBI. We'd like to ask you a couple of questions about the attempted suicide last night. May we come in."

"Um... Kelly said taken of guard. What would the FBI want with an attempted suicide. "Sure, come in"

The agents stepped inside almost before she had finished saying 'sure', and closed the door behind themselves.

Kelly offered the two men some water to drink, which they declined. She ushered them over to her couch, and pulled a chair over for herself, preferring to sit across from the agents rather than next to them.

"We were wondering if you could describe to us, in detail, how you convinced Mr. Peters to come down from the ledge." Agent Fisher agent says, as both men take out a pen a notebook to record their notes.

Kelly pauses for a second to recollect the evening. While she does she notices that both agents have brand new notebooks, with no notes in them.

That pretty improbable. she thinks, as she begins the story.

"Well it's kind of funny," Kelly starts, talking into the glass of water she had gotten for herself. "You see.. I didn't really say anything to convince him. I shouted at him to wait when it looked like he was going to jump and..."

Just then, the radio on the other agents belt makes a quick chirping sound.
"A chariot just pulled into the parking lot. We need to wrap it up here, fast."

"Shit! Those Olympians are getting faster the agent says, but just responds into the radio. "Get me 2 minutes"

Turning back to Kelly, the agent explains in a measured but tense tone:

"We don't have much time, so I am going to lay it out for you. We aren't with the FBI. We work for an organization called SPEAR. Think of it as a secret government agency and you'll be pretty close. An agency whose charge is to protect the world from supernatural terrorist organizations" Agent Fischer says all of this as he walks to the window that overlooks a nearby parking lot and draws back the curtain.

"Your kidding..." Kelly chuckles. The agent continues as though she hadn't spoken.

"We've been watching you for a while. We believe that you are what we call a telepath. Someone with the psychic ability to read minds. The incident last night essentially confirmed it. We'd like you to come work for us. Those guys..." the agent points to a van in the parking lot out of which a 5-6 non descript individuals jump out of and start moving toward Kelly's complex. "They want you to come work for them. The difference we are asking. They won't. They will kidnap you and torture you until you do what they say."

The agent lets the curtains fall back into place and steps away from the window. "I know this is a lot to take in, but I need you to make a decision now." To punctuate the urgency, a couple of shouts eminate from the direction of the parking lot, followed by the sharp hiss of silenced gunfire. "So what's it going to be?"

For once, Kelly doesn't hesitate. She reaches out toward the agent reflexively as she reached out toward Charlie that night. She hits a slight resistance, but then feels it give way hears a sound coming from no where in particular.

"Damnit Kelly, just say yes".

"Ok. I'll go with you." she says, standing up from her chair.

He the agent strides over to the door and opens it, beckoning Kelly forward. As she passes, he says "Good. I really didn't want to have to kill you."

Kelly chuckles, but stops as she is met by the agent's stone cold expression. She reaches out again, but this time hits a solid was, and gets nothing.

The agent smirks, and then steps out the door and down the hallway.
Kelly Robinson
Kelly ‘Quack Robinson

Wounds: 0/4; Fatigue: 0/3
Parry: 4/6
Toughness: 9(4)

Active effects:
Notable Edges: Killer Instinct, Mentalist

Bennies: 3/3
+1 For Keiko Joker
+1 for pointing out card draw discrepancy
-1 for Mind control Re-roll

Adventure Cards:

Edit Signature
Gear
11 EP (factoring in free pistol)
  • (0) Gas Mask
    • 2 lbs
  • (0) Cold Weather Clothes
  • (0) Subvoval Comlink - Speak to the team silently, -4 to notice it
  • (0) Encrypted Smartphone - 24 hour charge, -6 to hack or jam
  • (4) Armored Stealth Suit - +4 armor, +2 to stealth on visual and sound
    • 7lbs
  • (1) Ballistic Helmet - +4 armor on the head
    • 4lbs
  • (¼) Folding Knife - Concealable
    • Str+d4 Damage
    • 1lbs
  • (2) Advanced First Aid Kit
    • 5lbs
    • +1 to healing
  • (1 ¼ ) Incendiary Grenade - Ignores armor, target on fire at 4-6 (separate roll)
    • QTY 5
    • Range 5/10/20
    • MBT
    • 3d6 damage
    • 5lbs
  • (1) Sleeping gas Grenade - Vigor at -4 or knocked out for 2d6 hours, lasts 3 rounds.
    • QTY 4
    • Range 5/10/20
    • MBT
    • 4lbs
  • (½) Tranquilizer Pen - vigor roll at -4 (-6 with raise)
    • Range 3/6/12
    • 1 shot
  • (1) Night vision goggles - eliminates dim and dark penalties
    • 2 lbs

Weight: 23 of 40lbs
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