Watch the Footage

A group of four men ran down a pitch black alley in the middle of the night. They stopped to try and catch their breath when a demonic howl rang through the night. One of them began to pull out a gun, but before he could bring it up a long blade pierced through his stomach and pulled him up a building slowly, allowing the others to see the terror in his dying eyes. Two of the other men pulled out swords and positioned themselves around the third who had his eyes closed tight. He opened his eyes and four trash cans in the alley were set ablaze finally offering light to the men. The men were ready for whatever came at them. It didn't help in the slightest. Two gun shots rang out and the men with swords fell to the ground, killed by two bullets fired straight into their brains. The third man panicked and tried to run, but he ran straight into the thing that had killed the first man. He gave out a scream. And then he was silenced.

The commander sat in a pitch black room only lit by a holographic globe in the middle of the room. Each country had a different color that showed how active the Freaks were. A sharp ringing noise pierced the silence of the room and the image changed and zoomed in on London. Bravo team was confirmed dead. Their bodies had been dragged out of the Thames River. They had to use dental records to confirm who they were, the bodies had been to destroyed to be clear.

All other squads are busy with other missions, and that means it is time to call in Zeta he pressed a button on the side of his desk. This sent a message to all members of the team that it was time to come together for their first mission. And, God willing not their last.

Welcome all those who had messages sent to them to the second RP on this website. For your first post you will give a description of what your character was doing before he received the message that it was time to meet. Following that post we will do a bit of a fast forward to you arriving in London and meeting at a Order safe house. After that your first mission begins.

The post order is as follows. Adell, Dryunya, narrativedilettante, agoraoptera, Pixelmage, Zup, Amimsyborogove, Scarab, ningyou, KFSebnti25,Sicon112, eli_gone_crazy

If you have any questions use the discussion forum to ask.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TAgjyN9 ... ure=relmfu

“You’re not looking so great, Red.” A tired looking man said, as he looked over the bags under his green eyes in bathroom mirror. His right hand glided across the rough five o’clock shadow, right under his wry smile. Most people would think this man looked like a mess, and he would have to agree in this instance. Still, in the back of his mind he thought there was a certain charm to his rugged look; it reminded him of the heroes from those old P.I movies he used to enjoy so much. Never had much time for them any more, but he remembered them fondly. A heavy sigh heaved out from his chest.

His eyes darted to the clock nearby in the bathroom, four in the morning. Another sleepless night for the investigator. With an almost crawling pace, the man exited the room into the rest of his cramped apartment. Just like him it was a mess. Files, newspaper articles and other such important clues painted the back wall of his bedroom. Some of the stories and evidence had lost meaning long ago, but he still valued them like gold. Information was the oil of an investigator after all, without that he was worthless.

Running his hand through his short brown hair he slowly lowered himself onto the creaking mattress and pulled out a large file off a close by desk. His eyes skimmed over the pages forcefully, absorbing any information he may have missed from the last time he missed it. There was none to be found though, after all this was the tenth time this very night he read through the files. He couldn’t stop though, these cases were always on his mind; he always wondered when he would finally be called on an ‘official case.’

And then, as if answering his prayers, a vibration was heard further down the bed. It was his phone. The conversation was brief; they needed him, he agreed to the time and place. Lifting himself from the bed once more he went to change into his more professional attire. Red tie, white dress shirt, brown overcoat and pants, and of course his fedora. The others called it cheesy, he called it classic. Last but not least, he walked back to the desk and opened the draw underneath it revealing the shine of the Colt .45 within. He took hold of it, comfortable with its weight. He placed it in the holster on his side, covering it with his coat.

Gathering anything else he might need, he approached the exit of the cramped living area but stopped himself. Turning he took one last tired look at the place as if taking a mental picture of it, as if this could be the last time he ever saw it. Not much to remember, besides how little he took care of it. “Time to go.” He whispered; it was a reminder to himself to focus on what mattered. His job.

Soundtrack
Sorry, the writing is a trainwreck.

Yan was woken up by a continuous beep from his laptop. Unwilling to get up, he reached for it and checked the console right in his bed.

It was that email he was waiting for. After several months of laying low in the States, he was now allowed to fulfill his purpose. A new team was being assembled in London, and they needed someone to handle more mundane threats. Yan knew the Templars could handle themselves in melee, but they were not immune to bullets. Keeping them alive is his job. "Looks like my whole life is an escort mission", Gloomy thought.

Always ready to go on the run, he didn't even have to pack his stuff. Provisions, documents and most of the guns were already in the car, which was hidden in a nearby barn. He even had enough time to cover his tracks. Half a minute to expunge a used-up proxy from his botnet. Twenty more minutes to unplug himself from the somebody's power line he tapped into, and an hour to disassemble the repeater that would also be a decoy if somebody was to trace his wireless signal. Five more minutes to clean up the place... Just an abandoned ranger's cabin now - nothing to see here. It's not like anybody could see him in the middle of nowhere, though - Yan had chosen this place for that exact reason. Less people means less Freaks. He knew he couldn't handle them without assistance.

He was somewhere between Millville and Dorothy. The initial plan was to take a boat and sneak past the border (there was no way he could cross it with enough guns to wage a small war), but the email promised some unspecified "assistance" from the order. Yan could leave the equipment if he had to, but some of it had sentimental value to him, like his trusty shock-proof laptop and his pet grenade launcher. Gloomy was aware that growing attached to whatever piece of equipment you happen to use more than once was probably an abnormal behavior, but couldn't help it - that quirk was in his nature even before his possession.

Yan was now driving somewhere to the east, waiting to be contacted. The phone was not exactly a secure channel, but he could live with that - it wasn't like he was going to stay here any longer. The mission was waiting.

Anna sat on the bed in a barren room. Her possessions were, for the most part, shoved haphazardly into boxes, which were in turn shoved haphazardly under the bed. An open textbook sat next to her, but her attention was turned to her laptop. News reports about the Large Hadron Collider were much more interesting than repetitive math problems.

Her phone rang and she picked it up without looking to see who it was.

"Hello?"

For a moment, Anna sat in shocked silence.

"No, I'm still here," she finally said. "I understand. I'll be there." She hung up her phone, and shut down her laptop.

She picked up her backpack from the floor and emptied it of the water bottle and pencil container she kept there, before filling it with two days' worth of clothes. She couldn't take water on a plane, or a weapon, for that matter. But as far as she understood, she'd be able to get supplies in London. The laptop went in the backpack, along with, after a moment's hesitation, the textbook. Maybe she'd have time to finish her homework. Maybe she could take a single community college course without having to drop it to deal with Freaks.

She put on her shoes, left her bedroom and got her toothbrush from the bathroom. Her roommate was in the kitchen.

"Kate? I'm, um, I'm going on a trip. I might not be back for a while. Like, a few days, at least. Maybe longer. If I'm not back when rent's due, I'll send you a check." Anna left the apartment before Kate could respond. Though Anna had a prepared explanation for cases like this, it would take time to deliver it, and she was eager to be on her way.

When she was sitting in the airport, Anna realized her hairbrush was still on the bathroom counter in her apartment. She pulled her fingers through her unruly brown mane, but ultimately realized that she'd have to meet the rest of her team looking like a mess. Her mother's voice rang in her head. "Always look like you're too good to be there."

"Sorry, Mom," she said quietly. "I'll do better next time."

The piercing shriek of metal against stone made Sig quiver nervously. Oh, how he hated, absolutely detested that high keening, it sent shivers down his spine but it was necessary, completely and utterly necessary. Better safe than sorry, better safe than sorry, that was the way of the world, but he hated having to sharpen the knife. Besides, needing his knife would mean that the Freaks would be too close, much too close, right in front of him and that would be absolutely terrible, no, that wouldn't do at all-

A stray spark leapt from the whetstone and stung his hand as if punishing him for his lapse in concentration and he yelped aloud at the shock. The knife clattered to the floor noisily as he cursed and swore. Knives were more trouble than they were worth, he thought irritatedly. Sig turned off the automated whetstone and bent over to retrieve the blade. To hell with the knife. He didn't need knives. But.. What if the Freaks were to burst in? What if they came and he couldn't kill them, kill them all because his knife was dulled?

He glared at the knife in hand for a few more seconds as the compulsion nagged at him. Finally, he growled angrily, giving in to the mental itch and turned on the whetstone again. The machine whined to life and he almost didn't hear the ringing above the whirring. Almost. Oh no, no, they would never catch him unaware, never, not him. Sig was too cunning for that, wasn't he? Leaving the machine to spin and grind at the air, he cautiously entered the small living room, ready to stab and parry at the slightest movement. A quick glance confirmed what he had heard, that it was simply the phone ringing and nothing else, but it never, never paid to be careless, oh dear me, not at all. Eyes darting about surreptitiously despite the echoing emptiness of his apartment, he gingerly lifted the phone, receiver and all to check if there was some kind of perhaps spring-activated mechanism ready to deal out death in a single moment.

No, none, he had already checked for booby-traps earlier that morning, but one could never be too sure. The phone had almost ran through its entire repertoire of jingling tones and Sig decided that whoever was calling had important enough business to warrant him picking up the call.

"H-Hello?" Sig's voice was croaky and rough from months of disuse.

The voice was probably automated, but even so, it told him what he needed to know and he shook with barely contained excitement. It was time. Glancing up at the three clocks mounted on the wall, ticking side by side in nerve-wracking synchronicity, he saw that he had just enough time to pack everything and reach the rendezvous point. Probably.

But first..

The nagging urge made him drop the phone and all thoughts of plans and go back to his room, knife deftly grasped.

First, the damned knife. Sig began to press the glinting edge at an angle against the spinning whetstone, trying not to feel jittery about the scraping sound.

Only after that was done, then he could go.

It was a slow week in Chicago. Four years after he fled his country Kevin was bored. Nothing requiring his skill was happening and his boss just told him to relax while things were calm, just because when they happened it could be hard do get any sleep. That was the life of a PI. Only he could not really calm down.

His dojo was out for the day, and for that he was happy, at least. He was rather decent at close combat, but to be beaten every day by a little blonde girl... It hurt his pride. But he knew he shouldn't take it too hard, she was many years his senior in physical combat arts, even teaching a class of youngsters of her own.

He had been lucky to find these people to learn from. His own skills alone wouldn't get him where he wanted to get.

Back at his apartment he turned his computer on to do what he could do. But he had an surprising email waiting for him. "Hoo, looks like I finally get to go then", he was thinking aloud... Not the best thing for an Investigator to do, he reminded himself. Freaks in London, active team missing, new team assembled.

He was wondering when this would happen and was ready for it. All he needed was his backpack with some clothes and his laptop, he could get a weapon when he got there, it would be hard to take his through the airport, so why bother?

"So... Time to set up a plane ticket and go hunting!" He indulged in thinking with his voice again, knowing full well he'd have to avoid it for an indefinite amount of time starting soon. The next plane to London leaves in the morning, time to get some sleep while I can. But beofre that...

He called his senior and friend from the Dojo. For some reason his boss didn't use a cellphone, and calling his office meant he could get the message in five minutes or somewhere in the next five years. "Hey, can you pass a message to my boss?" she was a friend of his too, and in fact, it was his boss that introduced him to her and the Dojo she trained in. "I got that call I told you guys about... I'm leaving for London in the morning, so I don't really know when I'll be back." After a short talk they hang up "Thanks again!".

"Well, better sleep while I can."

Scene: waking up in the woods

At dawn, he was up, even without the old man shaking his shoulder and whispering, “Time to get up, boy.” He walked outside to watch as the sun crested the mountains in the distance, glistening over the glass-like river and alighting upon the tent that Duncan had pitched three days ago. Life on the road wasn't easy, but at least the view was nice.

Before eating, before even taking a dip in the nearby stream to freshen up, Duncan took out his tattered Bible. The words had faded, and most of Ezekiel had been torn out at one point, but Duncan could still read most of Paul's letters with little difficulty. He had practically memorized them at this point, but the voice reading in his head was not his own. Aastik was with him, even now.

“There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but the same God works all of them in man.” For whatever reason, that passage stuck with him today. He knew that soon he'd be working with others against the same enemy, but possibly without the same convictions. God, when will I be chosen?

At the sound of fluttering wings, Duncan lifted his head from meditation. God, thank you for this beautiful day. The sky was bright, unusual for this time of year. He was in the midst of the great temperate rainforest that composed most of the Pacific Northwest. Exactly where he was, he couldn't say – he never was much for directions. He liked the quiet. The solitude. The only noise at this time of day was the water rushing in the stream nearby and the sound of birds waking in the trees. And a buzzing sound that emanated from the tent.

This brazen interruption of tranquility was the new gadget he had bought recently with the small sum of money Aastik had left him. A basic phone, usable here in the sticks. The old man never trusted modern technology, but pay phones had become impossible to find and Duncan had needed a way to contact people. He had a few phone numbers that the old man had left him just in case he never came back from one of his hunts. After Aastik's disappearance, Duncan had called a few and found that the lines were dead. Finally, after searching through an old musty raincoat, Duncan found a number of someone who knew who Aastik was, a man who refused to give Duncan his real name.

“Call me Girflet,” the gruff voice had said.
“No.”
“He's dead?”
“Not sure,” Duncan had said, “He never came home.”
“Hm. Well, if we need you, we will call. What number can we reach you at?”
“This one.” Duncan had said, and then abruptly hung up.

Fumbling through the tent, Duncan found the phone inside a wrinkled navy blue sock. He answered, and as he listened to Girflet on the other end, he realized that for the first time in his life, he was going on a hunt of his own.

About time.

BGM

Patrick closed his eyes.

I'm walking down the street, on my way home from school. I can feel it already.

I look at the building, the one I'm drawn towards. It's an orphanage.

The door is off it's hinges, I walk through...

FIRE!

He opened his eyes again. It was always the same, he got through the door and the next thing he could remember was the building burning. He knew what was in between, the people who had found him had filled in the gaps. He wondered if he'd ever be able to remember it fully. Did he even want to?

Patrick glanced at the computer. He had a message, a new mission.

Great, why now?

He grabbed his phone and left the house. Now, where was he going?

Soundtrack.

She was dreaming again. To her credit, she realised this quickly. There were only five or six seconds of outright panic before she caught on, and gasped back into consciousness for the fourth time that night.

This, she thought, is probably why I don’t have flatmates. They would never get any sleep.

These days that’s all it ever was. She had gotten very good at the Lucid thing – knowing you were asleep, and controlling it enough to push out of it. The starched white room and nameplates were real once, as were the kind nurses, who sometimes... bothered her more than the smoke did. But they weren’t real now. They were Past Tense. As for the other things she dreamt of, the sharp knives, trepanning and black smoke spilling everywhere like blood... well they were all mostly the absurd manifestations of her overactive imagination and that strange television you saw if you stayed up too long.

Except for the black smoke. That was real.

Oh well.

Then again there were all kinds of things that were real these days that she once never dared to hope for. For example, the firm hand that had touched her arm one day in her room and asked her, for the first time without derision, what exactly she could see. That was when things began changing. I am Millicent Sinclair, she thought, and I am not crazy. Not like that.

She reaches out for the book they gave her, still lying on the bed where she dropped it last night. The books were mostly just... strange, the occasional sliver of “Yes: Black Smoke” scattered amongst decades’ worth of “No: Urban Legend” and “No: Actual Crazy People”. Working out what was delusion and what wasn’t was like trying to pick out the prize in a Claw Grab machine, but they’d taught her what to look for. She was learning. She was glad she was learning. Learning was much better than being told you’re crazy all the time.

She jumped when she heard the chill, sharp beeping of something nearby which wasn’t the dawn chorus. Her phone. There were only two numbers in it, and the Doctor wouldn’t be calling at this time of the night so that left one option. That was when everything started changing again.

Rivka had been up for an hour or two already when her phone rang.

"Yes, this is Rivka." She paused, ran her hand through her long, curly black hair while she listened to the voice on the other end of the line. "I understand. I'll leave Tel Aviv at once."

She sucked down the rest of her coffee and hurried to get dressed. Fortunately, she roomed with her brother, Ephraim, so he knew not to expect her back for a while.

As Rivka dressed, she prayed under her breath. The words were Aramaic, words that had been passed down in her family for generations. She made sure to fasten a silver locket around her neck. There was a picture of a small boy in the locket, with tousled dark hair, wide eyes, and a smile that seemed to take up his whole face.

I won't let what happened to you happen to any other child, Mahmoud.

When she'd gotten dressed, she packed. She threw her clothes into her suitcase haphazardly, but put her weapons in with utmost care.

Finally, she wrote a note to Ephraim.

Bro. I've been called away. It's just the usual business. I'm going to London, and I'm not sure when I'll be back. If I don't make it home, then you must take my place. May it be G-d's will that that I am guided in peace and returned home in peace.

BGM: Kenji Kawai~Die For It

Somewhere in America, in a residence hall on the campus of a certain university, there was a door, and inside that door was a dark room, lit only by the glow of a single monitor. One wall was lined with computer cases and consoles, multicolored LEDs flashing as the boxes hummed quietly. The temperature of the room was remarkably low, sometimes reaching the point at which little clouds of frozen water vapor could be seen. Off to one side was a bed, shoved into the corner almost as though an afterthought, and before the screen's white glow was a tall office chair which held a white haired figure wearing an equally white lab coat.

"Alister Dalton Black, Day 26 of my continued parameter experiments." The figure's voice was smooth and calm as he spoke to the empty room and the white glow of the spreadsheet on his screen. He brushed his silvery hair aside and glanced down at the clipboard in his left hand while his right returned to absently spinning a pen. "Today's basic testing has now concluded." A microphone seemed to mysteriously float beside his mouth, as though help by some invisible string. "Maximum mass of a single target has increased again since the previous tests, this time by 14.2 grams. The numbers continue to fit with the exponential growth theory I speculated upon on day 16. Maximum control range is now approximately 174 meters, though acceptable precision levels once again terminate long before then, this time at 94 meters. Beyond that, the only thing I can do is point things at a target and throw them." His voice resounded with sarcasm. "The number of ten gram objects affected with my full exertion has increased once more to 47. This seems to lend credence to my theory that these abilities warp the human mind's processing power. Without a significant boost in mental capacity I should be unable to steadily control so many targets at once."

Alister slowly raised his right hand, revealing the pen still twirling around his digit even though he had long since stopped spinning it, at least physically. "Further experimentation on controlling liquids directly has only ended in exasperation. My current capability in this field would only serve to splash my target a little. The most workable method I have yet discovered is to shape the liquid into an orb and move it as though in a zero gravity environment. Even so, it cannot be controlled with either speed or precision. Finally, I am beginning to outline the correlation between the number of objects and the maximum weight each object can be. With a little more data, it should be possible to create a simplified version of the function relating the two, though I think that for now a more accurate equation is beyond my ability." There was the sound of a mouse clicking, and though Alister didn't move, the spreadsheet that had been open closed down. He let out a short sigh. His eyes, scanning the room, crossed a discarded bottle of vodka off to one side. He winced. "Ah yes, I almost forgot, I've reviewed the tapes of the experiment two nights ago. Using them and what I remember I've been able to confirm that impairments such as drunkenness have a large effect on my ability." He was just glad it was over. That stuff had tasted awful and the headache he had had in the morning was agony. By far the worst part had been his vulnerability during the experiment, however. It made him shudder a little. The only reason he had even attempted such a thing was because he had convinced the Templar assigned to the area to remain close to campus the entire day. He pushed that aside for now. His log was not yet complete.

"I'm beginning preparations for the sleep deprivation experiment I mentioned previously. Roughly sixteen hours from now I should be able to run another test and figure out exactly how much fatigue factors into the equation. I've already collected multiple energy supplements and plenty of soda so that I can attempt to counteract any negative effects." He rubbed his forehead distractedly. "All of this would be so much simpler if I had a control group. Now I can't be sure what is real and what is the placebo effect..."

It was at this moment, just as he was trailing off, that the small room was suddenly filled with the loud ringing of the phone. Reacting completely on instinct, he spun in his chair, raising his hand even as a small black object shot up from his desk and into his palm. In the space of an instant, Alister had half risen from his chair, ready to leap to one side, and leveled the pistol he now held on the room at large. The next instant, he realized what had startled him and lowered his weapon, letting out a shaky breath. His heart still beat wildly, but he muttered "Snap out of it..." and started towards the source of the noise.

He flipped open a notebook computer that was sitting on the table and clicked on a nondescript icon on the desktop that appeared to be for a video game. A window appeared, showing a live feed from the camera he had hidden in the hallway plants so that it had a good view of the area outside his door. There were no eavesdroppers. Good. The phone floated up to his hand. "Yes? Black here." He didn't bother to look at the number as he answered curtly. It didn't really matter who was calling. If it was a telemarketing call, then they didn't deserve politeness, and if it was someone who knew him, then they didn't expect it.

"Black, we have a job for you." The voice on the other end was rough, deep, and one Alister didn't recognize. This made him wary. What made him even more suspicious was that there were only two likely reasons for him to get a call like this. One: Someone was trying to lure him out to kill him. Two: It was The Order, which really probably amounted to more or less the same thing. He began to frown deeply at the side table where the phone had sat. Either way, this wasn't good.

"Who is this? What are you talking about?" Sharply, he challenged his mystery caller. For a moment he thought he could hear voices in the background and thought he heard something about a "secure line". The Order then. Damn. His mind began desperately turning to try and find a way out of the situation he could see forming around him.

"I'm from The Order. I've been told to pass on your orders. You have been summoned to for a team at-"

Alister cut him off. "Prove it."

"Excuse me?"

"I said prove it. If you expect me to believe you are who you say you are, then you have to give me proof." The voice paused, probably to check with his superiors what he was supposed to do. After a few seconds, he spoke again.

"Fine. The code is Naphthalene: C7H8." Alister swore mentally. Looks like they still had the identification code program, stolen from the computer club, that he had given them for use when contacting him. He had half hoped they had lost it. While the voice had said Naphthalene, the formula it gave was that of Toluene, a similar aromatic compound. Naphthalene's actual formula was C10H8. Of course, that was all part of the code, a purposeful error to confuse people who were trying to deceive him.

"Wrong answer! That code has been outdated for months! Who the hell are you really?!" Alister's outburst was, obviously, a complete lie. The first answer had been perfectly correct, and he had just created and sent this code to the program four days before. However, this too was also part of the verification process.

The voice's response was, under the situation, completely nonsensical to anyone who didn't understand what was going on. To those who did, that was the whole point.

"But ye, who for the living lost
That agony in secret bear,
Who shall with soothing words accost
The strength-"

The voice stopped it's recitation in the middle of the fourth line, and with a distinctly annoyed tone-he had been hoping very hard the voice would mess up-Alister finished the line.

"...of your despair?
Grief for your sake is scorn for them
Whom ye lament and all condemn;
And o'er the world of spirits lies
A gloom-"

He cut off again. Now if only he fails to pick up within 1.5 seconds I can... However, the voice finished the line almost instantly. "...from which ye turn your eyes."

"Who wrote it?"

"Edgar Allen Poe." This time it was the man's turn to lie. The poem had actually been written by William Cullen Bryant, and Alister had picked it up while taking his required English courses and decided to make it actually useful.

Alister raised his hand and a digital watch flew to his palm. He opened the timer function and set his finger above the "Start Clock" button. "Tch. Fine. What's the message?"

"Not so fast." The voice suddenly held a suspicious tone. "I need you to prove your own identity before I say any more." Once again, something that would have seemed silly to a listener was brought up. After all, if Alister hadn't been who he said he was, how could he have responded properly to the identification process? That question had a simple answer: the identification process wasn't over yet.

"Very well. I shall." The moment he spoke those words, he started the timer. 10 seconds of silence passed, then twenty, then thirty. Just as the timer struck 37.5 seconds, the man spoke again.

"There, Black, are you happy? Now we have urgent business, so let's stop messing around and get to the point." Alister gritted his teeth. He wanted to tell the man straight up that this was not playing. There was no way he would just listen to every caller that said they wanted him to leave his fortress here on campus! If he was that much of an idiot, he wouldn't have survived this long! The only reason he was willing to actually listen right now was because The Order had far more information on these abilities he found himself with and far more connections than he did. Ignoring them would likely put him in as much, if not more, danger than listening to them, at least for now.

"There has been a huge uproar in England recently, and our previous team on the job was eliminated. We are setting up a replacement, but we are short on capable psychics. Now, I know you haven't had much training..." Damn right he hadn't! He had only been able to study his 'psychic' abilities for a little under a month after he recovered from his wounds. The time before that could hardly be called study. It was more or less what they had been doing all these years; learning the absolute minimum needed in order to make practical use of the powers. The mere thought of that annoyed him. For hundreds of years these fools had kept this much knowledge hidden, and as a result, now that he had discovered his abilities, no one knew enough to really tell him anything other than to practice. Part of his mind nudged his attention back to the still speaking man on the phone. "...so we need you to take the plane for London tomorrow morning. All the tickets and lodgings have been arranged and payed for already." That's bad. That means they really aren't taking no for an answer, which means things are really serious, and therefore, dangerous. However, they did say they were short on psychics...ah, that does give me an advantage.

"I accept your offer." Alister paused until he heard the man on the other end draw in a breath to say say something. "Under one condition." His voice became ominous. "I will work with your 'team' if and only if I am provided with full dossiers containing everything you know about them ahead of time and you agree not to, under any circumstances, leak my own information to them, save if I give you permission. In fact, the optimum solution would be to leak false information-"

"Now look here, Black." The voice cut him off in turn. "I know you have issues with people, but really... You are supposed to be a team here! This is serious and it's going to take all of you to get things cleared up!"

"I don't work on a 'team' with people I don't have a plan to kill. I don't care if you saved my life, I don't trust any huge shadowy organization as far as I can throw it, and I know how shady some of your 'agents' are. I've met some of them. No way in hell am I going into a room with those types of people blind."

"Look, I can't even authorize a release of information like that. You should know that already, Black."

A plan had already begun shaping itself in Alister's mind. It wouldn't get him out of this, but it would optimize his chances of survival and give him a way out if this job turned out to be a suicide mission. "Exactly. Which is why I'm going to get on that plane tomorrow and head to London. When I get there, I want your superiors to deliver a printout of that information to the hotel. You said the meeting day was two days from now, correct? Well, assuming I get the package I'll be there. If I don't, however, I will vanish from the face of the earth. Sure, you could probably catch me if you chased me right away, but I'd fight to the death and at least injure a few of your agents. Judging by your description of the situation, you can't really spare anyone, now can you?"

"I... Now let's be reasonable... Black?"

"My condition stands."

"Fine. Look, I'll talk to the people in charge, but I can't guarantee anything..."

"Then I can't guarantee my presence, now can I?" Alister didn't wait for a response and slammed the phone down on the receiver. His heartbeat had accelerated again, but before he could start contemplating exactly how much danger he was now in, he shifted his thoughts to more pressing matters.

A tapping of keys sounded through the room and Alister opened his e-mail client from where he stood at the phone. The mouse and keys moved of their own accord, pulling up the inbox. One new message flashed there, seemingly an innocent message from a fake friend. It was, of course, from The Order. However, even knowing this Alister didn't open it right away. "No sense in taking chances." A drop down window appeared and an his anti-virus program scanned the message for dangerous content. The Order were the last people he wanted to have access to his computer. It turned up nothing, so he scanned it three more times, each with a different program. Finally, he clicked it, bringing up the hotel and flight information disguised as a friend talking about their upcoming vacation. "Time to get down to business."

The phone began to dial itself as Alister walked back to the computer and sat down, opening the browser to Google as the phone floated along beside him near his ear. "Hello? Yes, this is Alister D. Black. I made a reservation..." He glanced at the e-mail. "Tuesday. Yes, that's me." He gave them some information to prove his identity. "I'm afraid that there has been a last minute change of plans, and I need to cancel." Google maps opened and he began jumping between various London hotels, checking the surrounding area with Street View and satellite pictures before moving to the next. "Some personal matters came up so I won't be able to make it. A full refund?" The Order, wanting to cover their tracks, would have faked the payment so as to make it appear to have come from his account, meaning a refund would go straight to him. "Yes, that's perfect." As he continued looking at other hotels, he ran through the cancellation process. "Thank you. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

They were just saying their goodbyes as Alister spoke again, feigning an epiphany. "Oh, yes, I nearly forgot something! One of my business associates was to mail me some important papers at your hotel, and I'm afraid he may have already sent them by now. If they do show up, I've got a friend just finishing her stay in town who can pick them up and bring them to me. She is staying at..."

He glanced at the screen, which had two tabs open, each focusing the map on a hotel. His last two picks. One of them was obviously the best choice, easily defensible, centrally located, and boasting a room layout that would protect his privacy and allow multiple routes of escape. While the second was significantly worse in each of these categories, it was still much better than most of the rest of the hotels. The obvious solution was to use the first one as his home base and the second as the decoy, but The Order already knew too much about him. They would expect him to make the most sensible choice, so thy would know where he was at once. That was why he wasn't going to do that.

He gave the hotel attendant the name of the better hotel.

"If the package does show up, call her number to let her know it's coming and she will pick it up for me." He rattled off the number of one of the four cell phones sitting to one side of his desk, the one with an area code registered to northern Minnesota, and the voice changing program that made him sound female. With a few words of thanks, he hung up and quickly called and registered at the inferior hotel. Another call to the airline to reschedule his flight to one with a different time and flight path and the board was set.

With a sigh of relief, he leaned back in his chair, resting for a moment. His eyes glanced at the pistol lying on his desk and he thought of the knives hidden around the room. He would, of course, go nowhere without a way of protecting himself, but getting them past airline security was going to be a problem.

The mini-fridge in the corner shot open and a can of Coca-Cola flew to his hand, opening itself for him. He took a deep swig, then straightened and looked towards his monitor. "Now...I guess I'm going to have to learn exactly how the insides of the most recent model of metal detectors work before morning. Better get to work!" His eyes closed for a second, and then a series of clicks sounded out through the room, followed by the sudden buzzing of 15 fans. With flashes of light, monitor after monitor lining the wall lit up, and nine new desktops lit the room. He raised his hand to the key board in front of him and his eyes shot open. For the rest of the night, the impossibly fast clicking of psychically manipulated keys and mice filled the room as window after window appeared at insane speeds, bringing up old blueprints, patent files, news articles, and generally any leads he could find spread across the internet.

I don’t like Mondays, thought Morgan as she try to slip into her apartment unnoticed. Some otaku jerk had splashed her cappuccino on her uniform earlier and now she was twenty minutes late for her meeting with the informant. She glanced around the room for a coat and found a trench coat. Lame. She glanced at her watch as she grabbed her keys and ran out of the door coatless. She slid in and out of foot traffic, weaving in between parked cars and tourists, trying to ignore her buzzing phone until she could see--- Ah! There he is! She maneuvered over to the spastic, slightly overweight man apparently named, Linda. Morgan didn’t see the connection but there is a reason for it somewhere…. Ahh, the name on his keychain…. Ok…
“Uh, hi Mr. Uh, Linda is it?” said Morgan quizzically as she felt her phone buzz. Again.
*nervous laugh*
“ If you’ll excuse me…” she said sweetly as she walks away.
Morgan looks more closely at her phone. Just a single text message with the words, “LONDON 8:00 AM HEATHROW BRING EVERYTHING”
Cursing under her breath, Morgan turns to the now sweaty, overweight Linda-man and asks, “rain check?”
The Linda-man turned several shades of purple and began blubbering about national security and the extremists of the wolf-man movement. Morgan edged away from the man, apologizing profusely and saying that he should call another officer.
Fixing a stern look on her face, she walked quickly back to her apartment. Gathering an old knapsack from the closet, she began clearing her room of its sparse belongings. After her things were packed, she gave a call to her supervisor at the police station,
“Barbara?”
“Yes, honey?”
“I’m going to be gone on a case for the next few weeks, tell Jimmy to keep my desk.”
“well, if I can keep the case files from floppin’ onta tha floor honey you can stay away as long as ya need ta.”
“uhm, thanks I guess”
“don’ worry about it honey, it’ll all be fine. Go on now, have fun.”
Hanging up the phone, Morgan glanced at her now empty apartment. Well, onto the next one.

BGM: When Your Middle Name is Danger...

The festering corpse by the roadside had clearly been there for some time. Although at first glance, a days-dead deer lying on the edge of the interstate would probably be considered slightly unusual, but uninteresting, there was something clearly different about this bit of carrion. For, even beneath the coating of swarming ants and crawling insects vying for a piece of the rotting flesh, one could plainly see that the animal had been killed, not by the impact of a vehicle or by some uncaring poacher... but by some kind of beast.

Its flank was torn open, the ribs protruding from its chest cavity, wrenched ruthlessly yet methodically out of their places and picked free of meat. The creature's guts had been scattered over the surrounding ground, all of them clawed and bitten to pieces as though half-devoured, then hastily abandoned. The red ground surrounding the body was clear testament to this fact, as long-dried blood stained the green grass in its own hue.

Raising a handheld radio to his lips, a man with disheveled red-brown hair spoke quietly into the receiver, dusting off his unkempt suit and overcoat as he did so and turning to walk away from the repulsive refuse, the scent of which was enough to prove noisome even to a hardened man of his caliber. "Found another body," He said calmly, his faintly accented voice ringing out clearly through the silent air. He sighed, nodding his head out of habit as the responding question he'd expected was asked. "Yes, sir. It's like the others. Torn to shreds, most o' the insides scattered aroun' it. And, more importantly, lyin' by the interstate on the same side as the suspect area. No bigger animals seem to be interested in it, either. Jus' bugs. Looks like our predator doesn't like to cross busy areas. This on' seems to have been left in a hurry, just like the other bodies. Probably heard a car comin' and didn't want to be seen, sir."

"So what's your professional opinion, Raven?" The man on the other end asked rhetorically.

"A Freak," Aiden Byrne replied matter-of-factly. "All these kills are located within an area determined by intelligence. No beast would limit its territory so precisely as to stay within an uninhabited zone bordered by highways. An', even more tellingly, no oth'r creatures are willing to get close to the thing. The Freak probably left its scent on the creatures it killed. The beasts that'd normally be havin' a feast around now are too scared to even come near it."

"But why animals? Why's this thing not praying on people? Answer me that, Raven," The man on the other end asked calmly, his voice heavily distorted despite the fact that the radio channel was quite clear. Additional precautions were always necessary, it seemed.

"My guess is it's small fry. Too weak to possess Human targets, and too distinctive to remain unseen. A runt, waiting 'till it's tough enough before it goes after the most dangerous game of all. Until then, it'll just bide its time quietly, not drawing any more attention to itself than it has to, and it'll prepare."

Silence came from the other end of the channel, before at last the voice responded.

"Your explanation matches our forecast. You have your authorization, Raven. Enter the forest, find, and eliminate the target. But take the utmost precaution. With casualty rates as they are, we are not willing to lose another agent."

"That's sweet of ya'," Aiden replied cheerily before abruptly shifting to a more serious tone. "Roger. Entering the target area now, then. Raven, out."

.....

The small forest was dark and dense, despite its size. It spanned only a small strip of uninhabited land between several busy highways, but nobody ever really ventured into it, which explained why they hadn't had any Human victims in this case yet. Their intel, like the target, was still young. Mostly reports of strange noises along the interstate, inexplicable mangled bodies by the side of the road, strange shapes shifting in the forest at night... Not enough to prove anything concrete on their own, but enough to tip off the Order that something was going on. Hence the deployment of a new but quite reliable agent, the former assassin Byrne, to deal with the problem. He had been on standby in the area for some time, making him the fastest possible responder, if not the most ideal. But, eliminating the target before some ordinary people decided to investigate the mystery for themselves and ended up dead... that was the Order's highest priority in this case. Time was of the essence, and so they had sent for Byrne.

Aiden didn't like this place. He didn't like it one bit. There were no defined paths or trails which would lead him to the lair of his target, for one, and for another, this was unfriendly turf. He had no positions to take up, nothing to serve as bait for the target, and he was facing a creature that, without a doubt, already knew he was here, and why he had come. In a situation like this, assassinating the target quietly from a distance with his rifle was impossible. No, this battle would be one fought in close quarters. He already knew how it would go. The Freak would appear suddenly and ambush him, going for a quick and lethal blow right from the start. And he... he would have to react, and survive that initial, unpredictable assault. Then, he would have the initiative, and could end the engagement decisively in the very next instant. But, he could only do so if he survived, and therein lay the problem.

Aiden's eyes darted about, moving from dark tree to dark tree. The ground was thick with underbrush, and despite even the specialist's best efforts to remain silent, he found leaves crunching occasionally beneath his feet, even that slight noise sounding like a gunshot in the silence. No animal would willingly come near this place. His target knew that. Which meant it had to have long since realized exactly where he was. It was just biding its time now, waiting for its chance to strike...

The Irishman weighed his options. Both of them knew the other was there, meaning staying quiet was an exercise in futility. He supposed he could just stroll casually through the woods, shouting for the Freak to come out in the hope that it would rule him an idiot and decide to show itself. But, he realized, that would be even more pointless that staying quiet. If the creature thought he didn't think it knew exactly where he was, it would be encouraged to try to eliminate him, reasoning that he wouldn't be expecting it to already have located him. But if he loudly proclaimed that he knew it was there, then this creature that was clearly wary of Humans would be deterred from appearing. It might not even show itself at all, which would mean failure. No, it would be better to remain quiet for now, and head deeper into the forest. The further away he was from Human help, the more confident the beast would become. It would attack him, and so long as he was sufficiently prepared, it would fail, and be slain. Despite this, he really didn't like using himself as bait, and the revolver already fully loaded and ready to fire that he held before him as he walked was clear proof of this.

A distant crack reached his trained ears. It was only the slightest sound, perhaps only the snapping of a twig as someone - no, something - moved in the trees about 30 feet away. A less resolute man likely would have reacted. Perhaps fired off a round into the fleeing black shape that appeared for a single instant and then vanished into the dark of the deep forest. But Aiden thought himself better than that. To give up his only advantage so easily was what his enemy would want. It was trying to frighten him. To unnerve him. And, more importantly, to lure him in so that it would attack him. But Aiden would not be cowed, nor would he be shaken. That left only one response.

Altering his course ever so slightly and seeming not to have noticed, he began to creep slowly towards the center of the forest, following the almost invisible trail of the dark shape that was now leading him along, appearing faintly for single instants far off between the trees. These instants of visual contact were not enough to identify the prey, and, in fact, might have been mistaken by a less experienced eye to be mere phantasms, non-existent apparitions produced by fear and paranoia. But Aiden knew what his target was capable of, knew how it worked even if he had never encountered a foe of this type before. And now, he knew exactly what its plan was.

It would lure him to the very heart of the forest. It would position him in a location where it had the absolute advantage. And then, it would strike, and try to kill him. The creature knew he was hunting it, and knew his destination coincided exactly with its own. It had prepared for its inevitable encounter with a hunter such as the Irishman for a long time now. This was just it putting its plan into action. And, the way things stood, Aiden's only option was to follow, allowing his enemy to lead him right into a worst-case scenario.

But, even in that scenario, the creature would have to show its face. There would be an opening, even if it was only for the slightest of seconds. During that time, he would fire, and hit the mark, dropping the target. He would complete his mission. He would kill the target. Even at this point, he already knew that to be a fact.

....

He had followed the creature's trail for five minutes now. Judging by the thickness of the trees growing all around him, he was near the heart of the forest. But up ahead, the black shape he ceaselessly hunted had suddenly vanished, and he could see light shining down through a hole in the tree canopy. He couldn't have reached the other side of the copse yet, so... did that mean there was some sort of clearing up ahead?

That settled it, then. It was now that his enemy would strike. That place was ideal, for he would be left standing right out in the open, while it could hide on any side it wanted and strike with impunity. That had to be its plan. Aiden was sure of it. But then, knowing that the area ahead was a trap, what was he to do? There could only be one answer, he realized.

He had to spring the trap.

And so he crept forward, following a shadow that was no longer there, doubtless lying in wait to attack him as he emerged from the trees. As he walked into the open, his back facing the target, it would leap out and strike. That was the obvious plan, and Aiden had little doubt in his mind that this was the strategy his prey would employ. And so, as the trees thinned around him, he tensed his grip on his revolver, cleared his mind, and prepared himself for the engagement to come.

And then, he stepped out into the open. One pace, there was silence. Two paces, there was silence. Three paces, there was a rustling of leaves, but it was too soon. Four paces, not yet, five paces, not yet! Six paces, a loud snap as a branch broke off and fell to the ground right behind him! Aiden spun around, revolver already trained on the spot where he knew his target would be! In an instant, he had lined up his shot, taken aim, and prepared to fire, even before he turned around and his eyes were faced with...

Nothing. With a rustling of wings, a crow took flight overhead, scared from its perch by the branch that had failed to support its weight and snapped beneath it.

A false alarm? Then... where? Aiden slowly turned, his eyes searching every patch of darkness, every shadow, for the slightest hint of what might lie hidden within it. But one spot quickly caught his eye, and in an instant, the Irishman had turned to face it.

At the center of the clearing was a long, shallow ditch, leading into an old concrete storm sewer pipe from which scarlet-tinged water slowly dribbled out into the muddy earth of the trench. But two things immediately caught Aiden's attention.

First: The red hue of the water coming from the tunnel was not the color of mud or rust. That color could only be one thing: blood.

Second: Aiden could still hear the echoes of a faint splash coming from within the tunnel. There could be no doubt... that was its den, and it was waiting for him inside. The enclosed, narrow space in which darkness reigned supreme was the perfect location to stage a trap. He would be unable to see the enemy, unable to evade them, and unable to call for any assistance. He would be completely cut off from the outside world.

This was a challenge. The enemy had lured him here, and let its presence within the tunnel be known, for the sole purpose of either cowing him into flight, or drawing him in and killing him. But still, he had to complete his mission. Even knowing this, there was only one way he could now go.

He was going in.

Sliding dextrously down into the ditch, Aiden raised his revolver, gave a final glance around himself, and then slowly, carefully, stepped into the tunnel. The pipe was, for the most part, empty and dry, having long since gone unused. But, at its very bottom, a faint trickle of water lay in puddles across the ground. But the entire place reeked of death, and the water beneath Aiden's feet as he cautiously moved in was crimson with blood, tiny pieces of dead flesh suspended within the still pools. And then, the Irishman set his eyes upon the source of this refuse.

A pile of bodies lay just inside the mouth of the pipe. Animals ranging from rabbits to birds to deer were all stacked in a single, gruesome mess, all mangled almost beyond recognition, with the meat either plucked clean from their bones or left hanging to rot. Blood flowed freely from this macabre edifice, and in the enclosed area, even Aiden found it difficult to breathe. But something far more pressing had now caught the rifleman's attention, however, for giving a second glance around the pipe, he realized something that made his blood run cold.

Within sight... was the exit of the pipe, light shining in from the other side of the tube and providing just enough illumination for him to realize that what he sought was not before him.

But... the target... where was it?! Could it be...!

Spinning around, Aiden Byrne raised his revolver and took aim, for standing directly behind him, silhouetted in the light of the young afternoon, was a lone, black shape. It was tall, to the point of nearly reaching the roof of the pipe, even while bent over. And yet, its limbs were mere bony caricatures of Human shape, being so thin as to more closely resemble the strings of a puppet than the arms and legs of a man, with a skeletal frame that tapered off into three huge claws at the end of each appendage. The beast drew back its unspeakable, lipless mouth in a mockery of a smile, its innumerable rows of teeth gleaming like burnished in the light that streamed in behind it, and, as it gave a horrible, inhuman scream, gore trailing from its fangs and claws as it rushed forward, Aiden sighted down the barrel of his trusty Rhongomyniad, staring straight into where its face should have been. And yet, all there was to meet his eyes was that single, gaping maw that consumed the entirely of its horrible visage. Yet, from within the unnatural darkness of that unspeakable, gory void, there could be no mistaking the gaze of a million indescribable eyes as they stared upon the one they wished, above all else, to consume.

"So that's your weak spot, huh? Idiot. Showing off like that..." Aiden murmured as the beast lunged forward, its claws raised. Then, a single, roaring crack rent the air, and the birds outside of the tunnel scattered into the air. A splash rang out as the body hit the floor, a hole blown cleanly through its head, and yet, despite this, as Aiden watched, the beast slowly began to rise before him.

Another crack rent the air, and the beast collapsed, its claws still upraised, as though it would tear the heavens themselves from the skies with its bare hands.

Another crack, and one of the limbs supporting those hands was blown completely to bits.

Another crack, and the other followed suit.

Another crack, and the beast stopped its flailing, a hole now clearly visible through its torso.

Another crack, and the crimson water of the pipe finally turned completely to an unnatural shade of black. The beast moved no more, and the Irishman slowly emerged from the tunnel, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Better luck next time, Freak," He said over his shoulder to the deceased creature lying prone behind him, its broken stumps slowly drooping from where they still rose vainly toward the skies above. "I won't be seeing you in Hell today."

BGM: Big Prize

A quiet crackling from his belt snapped him to attention, and even as he ejected the empty ammunition from his revolver and reloaded out of habit, he answered the voice hailing him on the radio.

"Raven, do you copy? Are you there?" The voice asked calmly.

"Aiden Byrne, right here. I've completed the objective," he replied, holstering Rhongomyniad as he spoke.

"Roger. Scouts just reported several gunshots. Give us a report. What happened in there?"

"I located the target's den in an old sewer pipe. It tried to attack me from behind, and I killed it. It was a scrawny bastard, but tall, with big claws. Moved fast. I couldn't line up a shot on it in the forest, so I followed it in and finished it off when it got cocky," The sniper replied calmly.

"Very well. We'll catalog it and its activities in our database. Good work, Raven," The man replied. Aiden could hear papers shuffling in the background, even over the distortion induced by the voice modulation program. Probably a script of some sort, which meant the Order had something important to tell him. Byrne had a feeling that he could already guess what it might be. Another mission, and an important one.

"However, your job isn't done yet. Matters in London have worsened. A squad has been lost, and we are required now to move all reserve assets to handle the situation." Well, that confirmed his suspicions.

"Continue," Aiden said calmly, listening intently to the explanation that followed.

"You've be reassigned to the team being assembled and dispatched to counter the situation. The day is still young, so depart immediately. We've arranged a flight for you already. Our people at the airport will handle security. You'll be boarding a private plane, no questions asked about what you carry with you. You will recieve your tickets at the airport, the location of which has been transmitted to your mobile phone. You are to board the flight in exactly one hour, then wait for further instructions."

"One hour, huh? Guess I'd best get movin', then."

"Indeed. The best of luck to you, Raven."

"Thank you, sir. Well, then... Raven, out."

London Freak View

"This little piggy went to the market" Hack one finger off. "This little piggy went home" Another savage cut of the knife. "And this little piggy went..." A man looked up from the soon to be corpse of my newest victim and sniffed the air. "They are coming, a lot of them actually, that could present a problem, but at the same time they have a much higher rate of energy, eating them is healthy, unlike the junk food I have been eating lately" He looked down at the man and kicked him in the face hard enough to snap his neck backwards. "I would have liked to play with you for maximum potency, but I have to get ready for the next big meal, oh so much to do so much to prepare" he began to skip off before he stopped and looked down. "I wonder what you are going to be doing, Nimara"

London Sewers
It had been down here for quite some time. Some say the sewers were built to keep it down here. Others say that it was built for it as a hunting ground. To it things like that no longer mattered. It was hungry, and those creatures who had invaded its home and tried to kill it would only keep it sated for a few days at best. How would it attract these new ones to its domain... oh yes, those that chose to worship it as some sort of God. They would lead them down here. And then it would hunt and be feed. Until then it would wait, it had existed long before now, and if all of the years of existence had taught the creature one thing, it was the value of waiting...

Day of the Meeting
Each member arrives at their own time. The newly formed squad will walk into a house of average nature. Inside they would find a large screen T.V. with a DVD player attached to it. Next to it they would find a disk. A note on top of the disk has strict orders to only be put in once all of the members arrive. To do otherwise would be to disobey the order. And disobedience was met with a swift punishment.

(Okay guys enter the house and mingle with each other, after the next round has past last person pops in the DVD and we break into teams)

Rain echoed in the background as the spirited investigator arrived at the scene of the crime with the others, an excited smile across his face. “What are you so happy about, Rookie?” One of the detectives the young man who’s face remained turned towards the window like a dog. It took a moment, but his face flushed red in embarrassment when he realized what the other officer had asked him. Even he had to admit, he must have looked like a fool to be so excited about a murder in the big city.

“I’m…” He thought for a moment, closing his eyes to think of the right words, “…just happy to finally start doing some good around here. I’ve been working towards this moment my whole life.” The officer just shook his head lightly and sighed, knowing how naïve of an answer that was. “Uh…well, not that I’m happy she’s dead, of course!” He quickly elaborated, flustered.

“I get it, Kid. …I get it. You’re looking to bring some justice to this place.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He nodded his head beamingly.

“Heh…right. Well,” The car pulled up as right up to where a body lay on the ground, covered with a small white tent to prevent the water from interfering with the evidence. The Officer opened the door for the young man to let him get to his work, but not before adding one more comment, “good luck with that.” The investigator’s face scowled, annoyed, but he let it slide as he took his first steps out of the vehicle. He wasn’t going to let the more cynical members of his team get to him; he was here to make things safe again, and he would not fail.

He approached the body, opening up the tent around her…and the excitement drained from his face as he looked into her lifeless eyes…

Eyes…

Redwinters rubbed his tired eyes as he walked down the block to meeting place. Seven hour flight and the only rest he got managed to bring up weary memories. His phone let out a soft rumble, indicated that he had arrived at the designated location. The Investigator looked around the area; no one around that he noticed. Was he the first to arrive? He entered cautiously, before giving the inside a quick examination.

Curiosity had him wanting to place the dvd into the player immediately, but he took the note left for him (and the others) seriously and instead propped himself up against the opposite wall of the T.V. and tipped his hat lightly over his eyes. He cursed under his breath wishing there had been a couch or something in the room for him, before removing a small bottle from of his coat pockets and drank from it quickly. It was some sort of U.K energy drink, looked like crap and tasted like piss, but it would get some life into his body before the others arrived. “No crash? What a load of crap.” He muttered jokingly as he examined a blurb on the back of the bottle.

A minute past; no one else yet. To pass the time, he began whistling an old tune his parents use to play a lot. He never really liked the classics much, but he had to admit this one always stuck in his head. Ironic, considering how sluggish he normally was these days, but Redwinters would whistle away until at least someone else arrived.

BGM: Any Uncomfortable Elevator Moment.

Yan has arrived at the destination and stopped his van a block away. He was supposed to meet his teammates, and taking a gun with him was unnecessary... Which is why Gloomy took a pistol instead of an assault rifle. Even given their situation, walking around London with one would draw too much attention. Not wanting to inadvertently start a shootout, he shoved the pistol behind his belt.
Yan came up to the door, looked around and opened the door just barely enough to slip through.

That wasn't really what he expected: the room was empty, save for a young man in a fedora propping himself against a wall. He didn't have that air of authority around him, so Yan assumed the team wasn't supposed to have a superior after all. How was he supposed to act then? As a commander? Hardly so, he wasn't competent in organizing a Freak hunt. As a junior in rank? That guy doesn't look like a soldier. It looked like the military regulations were left far behind after all, and that meant - gasp! - informal interaction. He was probably supposed to go shake his hand...

And, by the way, how could he ascertain his identity? Neither of them had any distinctions. In hindsight, Yan should have asked that when he was given the job. That was pretty stupid of him. Oh, what the hell. The address was correct, the man didn't look hostile, so he was ready to take a chance.

The other man was curiously examining Yan in his hesitation. Finally, Yan has remembered that he was supposed to act, and sheepishly asked the only thing he deemed sensible in this situation:
"Uh, are you on the new team?"
The man in the fedora raised an eyebrow, but answered calmly. "That's right; they called me in earlier this morning...sounds like you are too."
"Ooook..." - Yan has finally approached the man. - "I'm Yan. Kolomin. I'm supposed to be your enforcer."
He shook his hand and immediately averted his eyes. Gloomy couldn't stand eye contact when he wasn't speaking to an authority figure, so his small talks looked more like monologues.
"Call me Redwinters. I'm one of the investigators they brought in..."
"Uh-huh..."
Redwinters's face took an inquisitive expression - it looked like he was waiting for Yan to ask something else. Unwilling to proceed with the conversation, Yan turned away and started inspecting the TV set. It couldn't possibly occupy him for long, so he soon sat on the floor to the right from the entrance - he didn't want to sit side by side with Redwinters (that didn't look like a name - maybe it's his last name or something?), and sitting on the opposite side would mean having to actively avoid his gaze again. He should have taken the laptop to occupy himself with - without it he had to pass the time staring into space.

Meanwhile Redwinters cleared his throat and looked around the room for something else to keep his attention on, Yan had unfortunately set a very silent tone in the room that they both had to bare.

...Aaawkwaaard...

Anna had realized she was ill-prepared as soon as she’d stepped off the plane at Heathrow and felt the chill of autumn in London. None of her clothes were even remotely warm. “If I hadn’t left in such a hurry...” she muttered as she walked as quickly as she could down the street to the house where she’d meet the others. She’d picked up a jacket in the first clothing store she could find, but it didn’t keep her warm so much as it was a last stand against being completely frozen.

She walked fast because the speed helped keep her body temperature up, and it would get her to the house sooner. There would be a heater there, but more importantly, there would be other members of her team. Her first real mission was about to start!

When Anna reached the entrance to the house, she took a moment to gather herself. She straightened her jacket and stood as tall as she could, to her full 5’1”. The wind shoved her hair obnoxiously in various directions, and there wasn’t much she could do about that, so she took a deep breath and opened the door.

At first Anna only saw one of the men in the room, leaning against a wall. She began to walk towards him, hand extended, when a slight movement in the corner of her eye made her turn around. Another man was sitting on the floor near the entrance.

“Hi!” Said Anna, looking back and forth between both of them. Since the man on the floor was nearer to her, she adjusted her path and approached him first. “I’m Anna. I guess we’re going to be working together.”

“I’m Yan,” said the man on the floor, as Anna shook his hand. “I guess we are.”

Anna crossed to the man who was leaning against the wall, and they shook hands as well. “Redwinters,” he called himself.

“Nice to meet you, Redwinters,” said Anna. She moved nearer the TV, so that she could see both of the others at once. When she got there, she noticed the DVD and read the note on it. Though she was curious as hell to watch it, she contented herself with knowing she’d have people to talk to until the whole team got there.

Anna turned her back to the TV and tried to meet Redwinters’ gaze. The man's hat hid his tired eyes from her, and all her staring got was an audible yawn from the man. After a moment she gave up and just addressed him. “So, based on the look of you, I’m guessing you’ve got to be a fellow investigator. Right?”

Redwinters nodded. “What gave it away?” He asked with a smirk, adjusting his tie.

Anna gave an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah. You... look a lot more the part than I do.”

Ignoring the obvious reticence of the others, Anna kept on conversing. “And you,” she said, directing her attention to Yan. “You are...” she paused to evaluate him, and he interrupted.

“Soldier.”

Anna nodded. “Of course. So.” She clapped her hands, trying to keep the interaction in the room up. “How were your trips?”

The plane ride had been smooth. But leaving the house alone had been problematic. Sig hadn't remembered the sky being so... large. It was downright terrifying, but Sig was able to catch the plane, albeit barely.
London, London. He had never been here before. At least it wasn't so spacious that he could feel the endless sky staring down at him, watching him, observing him.

The sky was too big. Sig cringed a little at the memory, but kept walking on. He would reach the house soon enough and a house was defined by immovable walls. That would be better. There was a woman walking ahead of him, Sig realised. She had been walking in the same direction as he was since he saw her come out of some clothes store. What if she were a Freak? It didn't matter. He was almost where he needed to be, then they could all join him in killing her. That was what they were called to do, after all.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Skree.

Sig twitched at the sound. Ahead of him, the woman picked up her pace. And she was already walking so quickly, Sig mused. He wondered just what business she could have that would be so urgent. His own business was urgent in its own right, but he could afford to take the time and walk slowly, because he hadn't walked so far in such a long time.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Skree.

Nevertheless, he could rest soon. Just a few more steps. He looked at the houses, yes, only a few more numbers to go. Then all would be well and then he would be able to rest.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Skree.

Tap.

Sig paused, putting a hand to his forehead. He couldn't stand that blasted, horrible metal on metal sound. He hated it, hated it, hated it! He turned to the origin of the noise. Just an old cobbler repairing some worn boots.

Skree.

That damned sound almost brought him to tears; it occurred every single time the cobbler adjusted his stool. Dread filled Sig as the withered old man's body hunched forward with the tell-tale signs.

Skree.

He told himself to leave it. He had Freaks to hunt. But what if that old man was a Freak? That sound could be claws scraping along the ground, discordant banshee shrieking that ground his soul to bits. No, no, the man couldn't be. But hadn't the Order said that there was Freak activity? Hadn't that been the reason why he had came?

But..

Skree.

Quivering, Sig took out a handgun and sighted down the barrel. He was going to shoot him, he really was, but his arms were shaking too much for him to aim properly, nobody would see, nobody would know and then the Freak would die, if only he could just aim, just aim and pull, his fingers were tightening, his whole chest was getting fuzzy and numb from the hyperventilation, no, but he had to aim and, and-

Skree.

The gun fell out Sig's hand and he collapsed to the ground, holding himself tightly and breathing rapidly through clenched teeth, trying to get a hold on himself. No, he had to leave, he had to run away and go before the next damn sound, he couldn't take it much longer, not much longer..

He looked down the street: the woman was entering some house and if his tear-glazed eyesight wasn't failing him, that was where he needed to be as well. Picking up the gun, he ran as quickly as he could. Sig didn't even bother to check whether or not it was the right house, but straight away threw open the door.

"..were your trips?" The woman was saying, but it didn't matter, at least he was far away from that damn noise now and now he had a roof over his head, finally, but the sky was so large, too large, really impossibly huge and it stared down, it kept looking at him, just like how she was looking at him weirdly and two other man as well, one on the floor, one against the wall, the floor looked the best place to be and it was warm and now Sig was in the corner where the sound and the sky would never get him, never.

"Hey, are you okay? Do you need to sit down?" She asked, concern evident in her voice. Sig tried to focus, tried to calm down and nodded distractedly, slumping into the corner. The woman walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder and, to his credit, Sig didn't flinch. After a few dizzy moments, Sig slowly stood up.

"I.. uh.." He coughed to clear his throat. "This the place? The- uh, you all here to kill Freaks?"

The three nodded, the tired man slowly, the quiet man curtly and the woman with a smile.

"I'm Anna, pleased to meet you." She held out a hand. Sig stared at it for a moment, then took it gingerly and without any palm contact whatsoever.

"Sig."

"Redwinters." The tired one said, as if he had already repeated his name twice.

"Yan." The gloomy one sitting by the door.

Now that he was much calmer, Sig saw the defining feature of the room, a television with a DVD player. There was a note there, but Sig ignored it. If it was anything important, the others would tell him. If it was anything even remotely of significance, it would have been written on something more striking, not some nondescript note left around like so much trash.

"The sky.." Sig pointed upwards vaguely, his finger twirling about. "It's too big."

"You're right," Anna nodded. "The sky is too large."

Sig was surprised. Usually they dismissed him as crazy or nonsensical. Perhaps the people he would be working with would be sane after all.

Sleep when you’re given the chance. Awesome advice, but who listens to advice anyway? Kevin spent another night awake at his computer, this time gathering information for this next mission.

“Good thing about these Order people. They don’t mind if you crack their databases.” He said joyfully in his dark apartment. Yet again indulging in talking to himself.

Cracking my way to tactical maps and high level intel surely would get me in trouble though. It was a unspoken deal, Kevin only hacked into low level operational intel and didn’t erase his trail. In fact, he left his signature in every file he copied for himself just so The Order knew he was there. In exchange, they took it as a proof of competence and didn’t have the cops looking for him. It worked fairly well. He couldn’t access the status of his home country or the overall state of affairs, but a dispatch order could tell a lot about such big picture details. And those he could get his hands on.

This time he got the recruitment list for his own assignment. WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! Unfortunately, there was no time to make his peace with what he saw in the list. He’d have to deal with it on the go. It was time to leave for the flight.

Sleep when you’re given the chance. His laptop wouldn’t hold for the whole fight to London, nor would he have internet access up there… Thinking too much about the print list in his backpack wouldn’t help his case, best to sleep then.

“Excuse me, sir. We’ve arrived at London.” Said some feminine voice somewhere. “Sir, are you well?”

“Did I die and went to heaven?” Kevin was just now opening his eyes, the voice calling him was of a stewardess. “Oh, sorry about that.” He said jokingly. “About sleeping through the descent, I mean. Not about mistaking you for an angel.” He had to make his way to the meeting place soon, so he made his way out. It was nightfall already. But there was still time to stop by a convenience store in the way.

Soon after leaving the airport he was already on his way to the creepy, isolated, away from every sort of life meeting point. Either these guys have weird sense of humor, or they’re actually genial. Well, better hope it’s the latter or this weapon of mine can’t hold much back if this is a trap.

He entered the room to find four people in there. After exchanging greetings he made his way to the DVD player. As expected.

“Hey, everyone! I guess you all know standard operation teams are composed of five people. Since we are five here now we should pop the DVD and see what this is about. But, to scare you guys somewhat, the note does not tell how many people we should wait for.” He gave a little pause for them to understand what he was saying, but continued before they could begin to ask questions.

“So, if we don’t know how many to wait for, we could well enough watch the thing now and pretend we didn’t know there were others to come… But, to avoid these misunderstandings, I’ll share with you guys a little bit of info: This team is composed of twelve people.” He said flapping the sheet of paper with everyone’s names.

They did ask how he got that info, to which all he could answer as “Computer Magic” though he did notice Yan scoffing at that answer. No wonder they were surprised though. He had the names of every member for the operation after all… In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were even scared now. To more than double the size of an operational team in a single recruitment… But his train of thought was interrupted by Sig.

“Not very filthy here. No water either. Why the mop?” He was asking about the brand new mop Kevin carried with him.

“Oh, we never know when we might need to clean up or something.”

Stumped, Duncan stared at the map on the pedestal in front of him. He knew the address alright, but he was used to the forest; he couldn't navigate though a city this large. The amount of people was astounding. He had been uncomfortable enough on the plane with his long legs cramped for eleven hours next to a smelly old lady who spoke some European language and kept trying to talk to him with halting English. He had been completely at a loss inside the airport and had to ask three different people about how to get to the train station. Now he was here, in the heart of London, trying to figure out how to get to the right street. But there were so many! And this map was no help-- the street he needed wasn't on it.

Duncan glanced up at the darkened sky, which began to rumble. He shivered before opening his duffel bag up to grab his jacket. It was an old camouflage jacket, faded and worn, and just slightly too big for him. He put it on over his sweater. He looked up and down the crowded street, but there were no clues here. No broken sticks or animal sign that would lead him in the right direction. God, give me some direction.

Inspiration hit. Duncan pulled out his phone. One of the things he had heard about was that his phone was capable of much more than just communicating, which was a ridiculous set of complications, but whatever. After a few minutes of frantic tapping, he finally found the map. He plugged in the address, and found that it would lead him directly to the place he needed to go. That doesn't seem too far.

Duncan hefted his duffel bag on his shoulder and began pushing his way through the crowd. After taking a left down a side street, and then a right on the next major thoroughfare, and then a few more twists and turns, he made his way to his final destination. He noticed more shops than he had ever seen in his entire life-- shops selling sausages, shoes, jams and jellies, all kinds of specialty shops that had no right to exist. A man only needed his Bible and his weapon to keep him safe, body and soul. All this was complications. All this leads to decadence. No wonder the Freaks are making a ruckus here.

Before long, he found the building. It wasn't particularly noteworthy; in fact, it looked identical to six other buildings on this street. Duncan glanced at his pocket watch; he was definitely late, but not as late as he expected. He walked up to the door and knocked sharply. This is it. My first hunt.

Nothing happened for a few seconds, until the door opened and a girl around his age stepped out and smiled at him. "Hi," she said.

Duncan had rarely talked to girls. In fact, in the last few years, he never had much time to see them, let alone talk to them. And for some reason, the more he looked at her, the more beautiful this girl seemed.

“Um, is this the, uh, place?” he asked.

“Depends on what kind of place you're looking for. I'm Anna,“ the girl said with a smile.

“I mean, I'm Duncan, I was called here...?”

“For the mission?”

Duncan nodded and averted his eyes, finding himself filled with feelings that were new and terrifying. He entered the building to find a group of people sitting around, doing nothing. He took a deep breath. This didn't bode well. Idle hands were no good to nobody. He put down his duffel in an unoccupied corner, and walked over to the television to look at the note. He shook his head, and took the disc and started to put it in. Time to get this show on the road.

“We need to wait. Read the note. Not everyone's here yet,” said a man with a fedora, and several of the others nodded.

“Okay,” Duncan sneered, “I just thought we were all here, is all.”

“Amateur,” someone else muttered.

Duncan ignored the insult for the time being, and walked to his duffel, sneaking glances at Anna. While waiting for the last people to show up, he pulled out his Bible from the front pocket of his duffel bag and began reading through Proverbs.

"A man's wisdom gives him patience; it is to his glory to overlook any offenses." God knows I'll need patience with this lot.

BGM: Love-Coloured Master Spark (Piano) (Seriously, what song did you guys expect?)

The sniper smiled approvingly, watching out the window as the airport beneath him slowly faded from view, the cloud cover swiftly crossing his field of vision like a great white curtain, separating land from sky. For once, he relaxed his guard somewhat, the feeling of the oversized pistol concealed within his overcoat like a beacon of reassurance that calmed his consciousness and allowed him to think clearly, even after the excitement of that morning. The Order's connections really were impressive, a fact Aiden appreciated all the more after having had to work around countless legal limitations during his time as a gun for hire. To think they'd managed to somehow get him past all of the airport's security systems, onto a private flight with no questions asked about himself or his baggage, at a moment's notice... Either they'd been preparing for this situation for a very long time, or they were simply really good at their job. Either way, though, the Irishman had to give them credit.

Just then, a door opened opposite Aiden, and a figure strode out of the cockpit of the plane. His face was shrouded by a rather silly looking mask, but the sniper already knew who the man was regardless. His contact, to brief him on the matters on the ground.

"'Yo!" Aiden hailed cheerily, raising his right hand in a friendly wave to mask the movements of his left hand sneakily drawing his pistol beneath his coat. Sure, this guy had no conceivable reason to attack, threaten, or otherwise harry him, but it paid to be careful. "You would'n happen to have any drinks on this flight, would ya'?" He asked genially as the man seated himself across from the sniper, shaking his head calmly.

"No such luck, I'm afraid," He said in a deep voice, the distortion of which - perhaps by a miniature microphone hidden in his mask? - couldn't conceal his tone, which in turn gave away his American heritage. A nice, if useless fact to know, Aiden supposed. "In any case, the schedule ahead of you is far too pressing for you to be considering clouding your thoughts with drink... don't you agree?"

"Sheesh," Aiden sighed, shrugging slightly and giving a resigned half-smile. "So uptight. Well, ya' got a point, I suppose. But, down ta' business. If I had to guess, I'd say tha' you've got somethin' important ta' tell me."

"You'd be correct," The man replied sharply. "Your reassignment begins now. Your new area of jurisdiction is London, as you know. You will be working with a group of 11 other specialists to complete an objective of which you will be informed upon your successful rendezvous with the task force."

"Nothin' new there. So?" Aiden prompted.

"So, you are to memorize the directions on this slip of paper, then destroy it after you get off the flight. They'll lead you from the airport to your destination, without taking any chances with pursuit."

"Now tha's more like it!" The Irishman said, grinning confidently as the man handed him a folded, handwritten note. "I always did like secret age'n type stuff. I do get a nifty soundin' codename to go with i- A, wait, I already have one."

"Now's hardly the time for jokes, Raven. I'd get to memorizing if I were you. This is a short flight on a fast plane. We touch down in twenty minutes. That is all." The man rose as he said this, turned sharply, and strode out.

"Heh. I was kiddin' when I called you uptight, but... I think I might jus' reconsider that opinion," Aiden muttered, glancing down at the slip of paper he now held while at once holstering his pistol. By the look of things, they'd really gone and made his route as convoluted as possible, hadn't they? He might have called them paranoid, but, then again, having just underhandedly pulled his gun on his own informant, he couldn't exactly cast stones from his house of glass, now could he?

......

It had been almost an hour since then. Having touched down, he had immediately boarded a taxi waiting for him, and gone to a hotel, in which he had claimed a reserved room under a false name, then slipped out through the fire escape, which had already been momentarily opened silently to accommodate him. Another agent, his double, would deal with impersonating him at the hotel, while he moved to the actual place he would be staying, taking all of his real luggage with him to a small apartment which had already been rented for his use, and which had around-the-clock security, courtesy of his new backers, the Order. Then, after he took several out of the way and circuitous routes to his destination, he finally reached the rendezvous point: a small, run-down house.

Of course, he hadn't entered immediately. Instead, he had positioned himself on a nearby rooftop and had used an infrared setting on his rifle scope to map out the positions of everyone in the hut, then had identified them all as best he could using normal sights. They matched up with the descriptions he had been given at his apartment, so he at last deemed the house safe for entry.

...

He still brought his pistol, though.

...

Checking the area around him for enemy spotters before he emerged from the alleyway in which he hid, he finally moved quickly - but not too quickly. That would be suspicious - across the street, and casually entered the house, his weapons hidden beneath his coat, but his pistol drawn in one hand and his knife at the ready to be unsheathed at a moment's notice in the opposite sleeve.

"Good afternoon to ya' all!" Aiden declared cheerily, his accented voice ringing out clearly through the silence. But even as he spoke with a very-well faked not letting an ounce of his actual killing intent show on his face as he sized up the people around him. They glanced up, but none of them responded to his statement with anything more than an open attitude of hostility and wariness. He merely smiled, and continued. "The name's Aiden. Aiden Byrne. How do ya' do?"

...

Silence.

...

"Well... This is awkward."

Darn it, forgot to add music, Here. Daniel Yount - Underworld.

The dark of the estate around her had the same aura as the old photographs she always kept at the bottom of her Escape Bag. Somewhere a car struggled to start while its owner swore blue murder but asides from that there were no signs of anyone or anything with a pulse. She could see the air form in front of her face, shifting whenever she tried to catch it in her gloved hands or breath it back in.

She grew up in a street like this, or so the photographs she still had suggested. To be honest Millicent didn’t remember a lot from before the smiling nurses. This place was... normal. She knew about normal, but she knew about it in the same way that people living in slums in Beirut might know about hot and cold running water. It was something distant, only real because other people talked about it.

But then, everyone has their own definition of Normal anyway, that’s what the man from the Order had told her. Sometimes, people’s personal definitions got them categorised as No: Actually Crazy in the back pages of the book in the backpack she now wore, and other times they didn’t. Millicent didn’t think too much about other peoples’ idea of normal. It only ended up confusing her.

Sharp teeth snapped at her through the fence as she passed: a large black dog with angry eyes, and Millicent paused; distantly wondering if this was something she was meant to be frightened of, if that would be normal. She didn’t think she was afraid because really, what could ever be as bad as the smoke which nobody else believed in?

Better safe than sorry, better safe than dead. Better to overdo it than not go far enough. What’s your name, girl? What can you see? The man in her memory asked without end, he always asked even though he was just a memory. She wondered what she was going to see this time. Nothing yet. It was... it isn’t there. No smoke.

Indeed, there was no smoke on the tarmac, or trailing out of dank yards between the buildings. Nothing that smelled bad either, so that meant nobody was dead. Good. She focussed on the feel of cold silver in her back pocket and felt her muscles relaxing slightly. Funny, she hadn’t realised her jaw ached from clenching it. Perhaps she was afraid after all? It was so hard to be sure these days...

She took the crumpled paper from her pocket and followed it’s instructions to a nearby building. That was the easy part. Another normal place, with a rusted gate and a peeling doorframe. She lifted the handle without hesitation, impatience making her stumble on the way in.

There were already people here and the air was already thick with something Millicent couldn’t quite place. Something nervous and tight, like nights sometimes felt in her room back at Knowles Psychiatric. Freaks liked crazy people. They could stalk around as they wished and any who saw them were just passed off as belonging at the back of the book. Granted, most of them probably did, but Millicent wouldn't have liked to stake anybody's continued being on it.

Some of the others looked up when she arrived. They were mostly male but not entirely, a jumble of faces, odd clothes and the occasional twitch... Except for that one guy in the corner, he seemed to be just one big twitch and he eyed Millie like she was something to run away from. How odd. Perhaps he thought she was a freak... yes, Millie would quite understand that mistake. Freaks were clever like that. She would have to do something to assure him this was not the case. She continued looking around for a moment. Another man leaned against the wall in an interesting hat. One sat with a book in his hands, running his fingers along the spine the way Millie did the Order’s book. The sight cheered her. Perhaps somebody else here liked the books, too. The others milled. The word ‘ragtag’ hopped into Millicent’s mind, as if somebody had planted it there while she slept.

Okay... What can you see, Millie?

The Order, Millicent thought, and the thought made something inside of her swell, something somehow skin warm and icy cold at the same time. They must be from the Order.

What did you say at moments like this? Only the obvious thing sprung to mind. ‘Hello,’ Millicent said brightly, perhaps a little too brightly, with the twist of a smile on her face. ‘I’m Millicent. Millicent Sinclair. You’re here to kill the Freaks too, aren’t you?’ She turned to the man leaning against the wall. ‘I like your hat.’

Music- Cryptic Sorrow

Once she had retrieved her luggage from the carousel, Rivka hurried through the airport to find a secluded location. It wasn't that she was worried about being stopped by security-- the Order would take care of that. She was more concerned about a civilian seeing her and panicking, most of all, although she worried about a cultist seeing her and intercepting her. It had happened to her father, once, and he'd been fortunate to escape with his life.

She stopped near an alcove and set down her suitcase. For a moment, she stared at it, uncertain if she should open it. Her father's voice echoed in her mind. Something he'd said while he was training her. She'd been a wide-eyed girl of thirteen, then, and she'd had the misfortune of misplacing a sword. Her father had been furious.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Rivka." Her father never raised his voice in anger. Instead, it took on a quiet, whisper-soft tone that Rivka had to strain to hear. That made it all the more intimidating.

Rivka looked up at her father. The black suit and broad-brimmed hat he wore was not uncommon among Haredi men, but in Rivka's mind it made her father look like a big, black shadow that threatened to swallow her up.

"I didn't mean it, Abba." Rivka looked back down at the floor and refused to allow herself to cry. Tears wouldn't have done her any good, especially when she deserved to be rebuked.

"You must always carry your sword, Rivka, and in those situations where you may not carry it, you must know where it is. You must never assume that you are safe."

"Abba?" Rivka tilted her head and fixed her brown eyes on her father. "Surely, with the strength of Hashem behind me--"

"Hashem tests us," Abba said with a note of bitterness in his voice. "Sometimes, all the prayers in the world won't help us." He looked down at the ground and stroked his long, black beard for a moment.

Rivka knew he wasn't about to tell her what he was thinking.

"So, where did you leave your sword?" Abba asked, looking back up. "Let's retrace your steps."

Rivka shook her head as she returned her focus to the suitcase in front of her. No, better to err on the side of caution and leave the swords in her bag, at least until she got out of the airport and was certain that she wasn't being followed.

By the time the cab dropped her off and she'd begun her walk to the location the Order had given her, Rivka had taken her swords out of the suitcase and attached the scabbards to the belt. Fortunately, she was wearing a long overcoat to conceal them, otherwise it would have looked a little bit strange--a woman in an ankle-length, tiered skirt and a loose gray tunic top with a pair of butterfly swords at her hips. Passers-by might have thought she was a hippie gone crazy or something. She'd styled her black hair in a Gibson roll, leaving some bangs in the front. Better to keep it pinned up and out of the way.

Her phone chimed when she got close to the location. Perfect.

It was a rather decrepit old house, she thought, All rusted gates and peeling paint. Honestly it looked more to Rivka like one of the whorehouses or drug dens she'd stumbled on throughout her missions than a place for the Order to meet. Maybe her previous commanders had just had a better sense of style.

She hesitated before approaching the gate. It could be a trap. But if it wasn't a trap, and she didn't arrive...well, she'd rather not think of the repercussions.

With a deep breath and a prayer, Rivka swung the gate open, walked up the front steps, and slowly opened the door.

There was a small group in the house already. Mostly men, save for one wild-eyed girl who Rivka couldn't imagine being more than eighteen.

She swallowed and toyed with the mezuzah pendant around her neck. She always hated introducing herself, always hated being the center of attention.

"Er, h-hello. My name is Rivka Stavi," she said in a voice that wasn't much more than a whisper.

She breathed a sigh of relief when no one did more than give her a cursory nod or "hello".

"Do a female deer, re and gentle drop of sunshine" another cut delivered to the mans chest. "Hey don't pass out yet, I will barely get a warm up out of you before I get to play with your friends, and if my singing voice isn't at the right pitch then it will ruin the whole thing" the man screamed behind the gag as another long bloody mark was created by the Freak's scalpel. "Where was I? Oh yes! Mi a name I call my..." the monster in a human body was suddenly throw against a wall and the man in the chair was killed by a bullet to the head. "Oh my, I should be angry that you killed my practice dummy, but how could I ever possibly be mad at your beautiful face, Maria"

The women to whom he was speaking stepped into the door of the abandoned factory with a hand held high and a gun aimed at the Freak. At first glance she was a beautiful woman with a perfect shape. The kind of thing men would kill over. But when you looked at her face that all changed. One side of it was burned, slashed, and beaten. It was hard to call what was on her face skin for all the abuse it must have gone through. The other side was marked by a long variety of different characters all in black ink. Most of them were from dead languages. But the ones that could be translated basically came out as love. "Silence yourself false God, you will not speak to a priestess of the One in the Dark as you do" she slowly squeezed her fist and the Freaks entire body spasmed.

"Enough" the Freak waved his hand and sent her flying back. "If it is a pissing contest you want you should have brought more men, but call it good guess work but I don't think that is what you want"

The woman stood up quickly and aimed the gun at the Freak. "A large number of people whom my God wishes to be his have entered the city, because my God does not wish for others to gaze upon his glory that aren't worshipers or food he will not venture out, so he is willing to make a deal. they will make two teams, one to go after you, and one to go after him, all you have to do is not get involved with our group, sound fair?"

The Freak considered this. "Yes, I can go for that, but I want three things, guns, servants, and your phone number"

The woman turned around. "the guns and servants will be delivered to you within the next two days, our business is concluded here, I must go back to the God"

"By the way how is Jaco..." before the Freak could finish the sentence the woman unloaded the entire clip of her gun into his head.

"Never speak his name... ever" she left as the Freaks head reformed.

"A real firecracker that one" he looked to the dead body still tied in its chair. "I think I warmed up enough... don't you?" he began to whistle God Save the Queen as he chopped up the body.

BGM: Death Note OST~Kira's Theme

A woman walked down the quiet street in the dimness of the overcast afternoon. Stopping, she examined a house before her, then stepped onto the front walk and approached the door. A few moments and the last trace of her black overcoat was cut off by the closing door.

There was a rustle of fabric as Alister shifted in his position on the floor, the only sound in the soon-to-be apartment complex aside from the light wind whistling through the unfinished walls. The room he was in was more or less completed, in that it had walls, a roof, and a doorway, but the chilly air still carried over from the other wing. Fortunately, his overcoat kept out most of the cold, and he ignored the rest, being used to his own room, which had a similar temperature in order to allow him to overclock the CPUs of his computers. Where he had been lying, facing the outer wall, a brick had been carefully removed from its place and a very expensive pair of binoculars was lodged in the hole.

Alister sat up, eyes traveling first to the laptop by his side, it's screen lighting the dim room with images of deserted residential streets, live feeds from the various cameras he had placed around the area the previous night before he had holed up in his current location to wait. Seeing no one else approaching, he glanced over to the empty doorway, eyes flicking across the tiny, near invisible wire stretch across the opening, and the vial of highly volatile chemicals attached to the wall; a makeshift tripwire mine. There were dozens of these set up throughout the building. Freaks or The Order, not to mention normal humans with less than benign intent could be anywhere, and he was lying prone and vulnerable with his back to an open doorway in a foreign city. He wasn't going to be taking any chances.

Happy that the trap was still live and not at all worried about it exploding in the same room as him, since he could always distribute the transferred force from any small blast across a shield, or even better, contain the blast in the same area as any intruder, Alister shut his eyes and let out a long breathe.

"Mapping..." He muttered something strange under his breath, before, with a grunt, he let out a tiny pulse of psychic energy that washed over the building, undetectable because of its size. After a few moments spent grimacing, he opened his eyes with a gasp of air. Once his breathing returned to normal, he began to speak absently to himself. "No intruders present, all traps accounted for. Good, good. Now..."

He glanced aside at a briefcase lying open near his other hand, then reached into it and pulled out a pile of papers, pressing the button of a flashlight in one of the black carrying case's compartments as he did so. With the dim light, he began to shuffle through the stack of files until he found the two sections he needed right now. Setting the second aside he skimmed the first again, though he had already memorized it for the sake of safety. "Templar. Healing powers. Dual swords concealed beneath her coat. They were well hidden... Multiple mission experience, one of the few of this group that as any at all." He paused, frowned in thought for a moment, then continued. "Threat level...medium. From this, she has a minor grudge match with freaks, so she shouldn't be an immediate threat, though I shall have to remember to take these things into account in the future as well."

He placed the paper onto the top of the large stack, covering up another sheet, similar to the others, though covered in red writing. The picture was that of the Irish sniper who had just entered the meeting point ten minutes ago. Seeing him coming on the cameras, Alister had gone as far as replacing the brick and watching solely from his laptop. He didn't think that the man would be able to see a single missing brick, and the grey clouds that had been lightly raining on and off for most of the morning covered the sun and lowered the chance of lens flares, but the man was an extremely good sniper and a former assassin; just the type of person he had expected from this mission. It had been the main reason behind his conditions and demands. Sure enough, the man had made a circuit of the area, examining vantage points intently as he approached the house, probably more out of habit than anything else. However, he had failed to notice Alister's presence, so things were running according to plan.

He picked up the other sheet and glared at it. It too was covered in red marks, which said things like "Psychic", "Unstable", or "Threat level MAXIMUM." The photograph of the dossier's subject stared up at him with eyes that were somehow slightly...off as he silently examined it once more, confirming that it was indeed the person he had seen enter the building. "Then it is her. Tch." Making a sound of annoyance, he tossed the paper aside and leaned his chin into one of his palms. "If only I had more time to verify my hypotheses. With no time or resources, I can't be sure if this will actually work...No. It will work. She isn't the only one with powers. I may not be as suited to it as she is, but I can still feel the presence of people nearby. I won't let anyone get into my head."

His thoughts were cut off by the slight movement from the laptop's screen. Checking, he saw the final member of the team entering the neighborhood area. The information he had stated that she had done investigation work for the police before, and her favorite weapon was, of all things, a bow, something more suited to a Templar. Well, it was good for him, since a bow wouldn't be able to harm him anyway. "Hmmm, it may be strange if I arrive too far after everyone else. Can't let them get suspicious, so I'll need to move quickly..."

Say that, he replaced the brick, dismantled the trap and shut down the laptop, placing it and the papers within the briefcase with his binoculars. Giving a parting glare to the papers, he slammed the lid shut and stood, moving out the doorway to collect the rest of his equipment, thinking of how he had gotten to where he was now.

--------------------------------

BGM: Kotaro Nakagawa & Hitomi Kuroishi~World Depression

The low sounds of conversation filled the coffee shop as Alister, seated in the corner, adjusted the small earpiece he wore under the pretense of scratching at his ear. On the other end, in the lobby of the hotel across the street and down a block, he could hear more of the same. His eyes turned away from the black car that had just pulled up - it wouldn't do at all to appear to be staring - and flitted nervously across the room he was in. There were too many people. and far too much open space, though at least he was sure that there would be no Freaks coming for him here. To stop his hand from twitching, he picked up his drink and sipped at it for a while.

About twenty minutes ago, he had received a call from the first hotel at his fake cell phone number, informing him that someone had dropped by to deliver a package. Since he had begun preparations for this moment even before he had boarded the plane, it was a matter of minutes to put his plan into action, which was why he was now sitting in a public place, staking out the hotel. Of course, no observer would ever realize it was him. Instead of his usual unkempt appearance, he wore a professional looking white shirt with black pants and a tie, appearing to be a young businessman off for his lunch break as he skimmed the newspaper on the table. This was furthered by the fact that his eyes and hair were now brown, as a result of, respectively, the contact lenses he had bought long ago for just such an occasion and the hair dye he had created from some chemicals he had grabbed out of the lab at the last second. Buying hair dye might have alerted anyone following him about what to look for.

Hearing a voice on the other end of the receiver, he shifted all his attention to the audio feed, careful to not let any changes appear on his face.

"...here to pick up the package. The passcode is, 'This is an obscure passcode, you've probably never heard of it.'" Alister's agent, a child who was the sibling of a local university student that frequented one of his discussion boards, spoke in a quiet tone, but it was amplified by the proximity to the microphone hidden inside the cheap mp3 player the boy carried. He had mailed it to the kid's brother the moment he had landed, along with a set of instructions on what to do with it. No sense in coming into direct contact with more people than he had to, after all.

Alister took a minor amount of sadistic pleasure in the strangled, confused sound The Order's agent made in response. Obviously this guy hadn't dealt with him before.

"Well? You gonna give me the package?" the childish voice asked petulantly.

"Wait, who the hell are you? How do you know about this?" The man must be confused as to how Alister had the connections to pull something like this off.

"I just got sent to pick up the package. Here, I'll prove it." Thee was a slight distortion as the kid pulled the player out of his pocket and a beep as it started.

"Since you obviously don't believe my messenger here, I'm using one of my emergency passcodes. Number seven, because it's a Thursday. Animalia, Chordata, Mammalia, Monotremata, Tachyglossidae, Zaglossus, Z. attenboroughi. I believe that should be all the information required."

After some stuttering, the man finally gave in, handed over the package, and departed. Alister noted with amusement that he appeared rather mad as he exited the building. It was only a minute before the child passed through the doors too, turned down the street away from Alister, and vanished around a corner into an alley.

As if he had bored of it, Alister brushed the newspaper aside and took his laptop out of the leather bag on the seat next to him, opening it and booting up its camera program. A scene of the alley way appeared, and he noticed the kid looking at a small sheet of paper with surprise and confusion. The plan Alister had sent to the boy's brother had called for the child to meet Alister there, but of course, he had never intended that, and had instead set up the note, which apologized for his absence, claiming complications prevented him from reaching the meeting point. This meant that the child had now never laid eyes on him. It was safer that way.

After reading the note, the kid bent over and looked under a nearby dumpster before pulling out a roll of bills from under it; the promised payment. Now all you have to do is place the envelope there... Alister narrowed his eyes, and released a tiny pulse of power towards the alley, a method of "Psychic Mapping" that allowed him to have awareness at the level of a sixth sense, at least when it was active. It was a technique he had invented on the plane ride over after looking at a radar tower while waiting to take off. The ping of psychic energy was too low to actually move anything, but as it brushed across things, he could 'feel' their shape and appearance, as if he were about to pick them up. The downside was that his mind had not yet reached a level where it could take in that level of data, so if he ever raised its output to a point where he could get more detail that "there is an object there" it resulted in bursts of extreme headaches. Still, this ping was focused in a single direction, so the pain was manageable. He mapped out all objects in the alleyway that he could use in case of emergencies.

However, this was not necessary, fortunately, and the child placed the envelope and player on the dumpster and ran off happily. With a click of his mouse, Alister started an instant messenger program and sent a single blank message to the address of one of the other London residents he knew from online, who he had told that this was all for some elaborate prank. A similar blank message appeared moments later, and Alister, content, closed down his laptop and stored it away, then stood up as though he were moving to the bathrooms, ignored by everyone in the building.

It was something he had noticed quickly, and a phenomena he still wasn't quite sure how to explain, but his working theory at the moment was that it was caused by his own distrust of people and wish to be left alone. Soon after he had awakened his powers, people had simply ceased paying attention to him. If he took no action, they almost forgot he was in the room, despite his odd appearance and hair color. According to his hypothesis, his subconscious mind was influencing their attention away from him with powers he had yet to access. It wasn't perfect by any stretch, and any strange actions would get him noticed at once. Needless to say, it was also probably useless on anyone with even basic mental defenses, however, it suited his purpose now just fine.

Making sure no one was facing his direction with a short range mapping, Alister silently slipped through the back and into the alleyway behind the store, leaving the residents of the coffee shop with no trace of his presence. Squinting at his watch through the painful sunlight, he calculated that his second contact would be picking up the manilla envelope about now, and so he headed straight for the rendezvous point, a curb near a busy intersection, where he hailed a cab.

Sure enough, as it pulled over, a man bearing an ever so slight resemblance to his normal appearance, something Alister had been aware of already due to his profile picture, and what had made the psychic pick this person specifically. If everything proceeded according to plan, pursuers would think that he was Alister in disguise, instead of the radically different true Alister.

"Where are you headed?"

Alister responded casually, though he was constantly observing every car and passerby, his mind ranking each according to their threat. "Westfield Mall. You?"

"Dropping by to meet my girlfriend at Hyde Park. It's on the way. Mind if I ride with you?"

"Not at all." Both young men nodded to each other and climbed in, giving the cab driver their instructions. After a few minutes, the cab halted outside the park and the other man disembarked. As he did so, leaving behind the envelope and mp3 player, Alister slipped another roll of bills into his hand. Contract complete, the man slipped away into the park.

---------------------------

BGM: Hitomi Kuroishi & Nakagawa Kotaro & Sakai Mikio~Dark Activity

After that, Alister had slipped into the crowds of the mall to lose any pursuers and called another cab to return him to his hotel, where he opened the package he had gone through so much trouble for. To his annoyance, the information was pathetically vague and missing many important pieces. However, there was nothing he could do about it. He could already predict that should he call The Order to complain they would merely say that they lacked information because many of the people were new recruits. Of course, both he and they were well aware that The Order could find out anything they wanted, but an argument would get him nowhere now. They had given him the information they thought worth his continued compliance, and threats would only get him so much. He finally had decided to not even bother contacting them, sparing them the sense of victory that they would get for anticipating his call.

Having collected everything he needed, he slipped by a dumpster near the construction site, burned the papers he had already memorized with a lighter, then tossed the ashes into the metal container. Keeping them with him would be a needless risk. Should something happen that caused the contents of his case to be revealed, the binoculars were hidden in a side compartment, but the papers would only be asking for trouble. As he prepared to move out, he went over a mental check of his equipment. There were multiple throwing spikes hidden around his person, the vials of explosives that he could break by throwing as grenades, the reassuring weight of the combat knife in it's fast-draw holster up his sleeve, and the wakizashi strapped across the small of his back, invisible under his coat due to it's small size. Just for safety's sake, he used telekinesis to cloak his already hidden weapons further, wiping out all remaining signs of their presence. These weapons were, ironically, purchased for him along with his computer equipment by The Order. He had managed to sweet-talk them into giving him money for "defense purposes" saying that it would be foolish to allow a potential asset to be as vulnerable as he was. Of course, this meant that they knew of the weapons already, but that was still preferable to being under equipped.

As he rounded the corner into the street in front of the house, he noticed another pedestrian moving towards him from the opposite end of the street. Since it was so overcast, he was able to easily confirm the figure's identity as the final team member with out the usual trouble due to the brightness of the sun. Perfect timing. With that, he initiated his interaction plan, relaxing his demeanor and also, since he was in close proximity to the house now, beginning the mental obfuscation he had created to interfere with his fellow psychic, blocking her by filling his mind with a stream of technical language that would be meaningless to someone with her knowledge, as well as forming a barrier around it with his own power and preparing to strike back against anyone who tried to get past it.

He paused at the base of the front walk and looked over as the investigator approached. She paused a few feet away and looked at him as an awkward silence descended on them, then spoke.

"Hi, are you here for the meeting too?"