Brutal Dawn (IC, Closed)

[Kazomal]

Miranda collected up the restricted weapons and ammunition, gave the team the details of their travel, and went off to do her reports and make last-minute confirmations.

Walking back to her office, she reflected on the briefing. The team had asked some pertinent questions, and had began to establish their relationships to each other. With the exception of a few points of friction, it seemed to be going well. Hopefully the kinks and the uncertainties would be worked out before things got heavy. Miranda thought the group showed promise.

Miranda returned to her temporary office at Organization HQ to find the man with whom she had been reviewing the team's files the night before waiting for her.

"How did it go?"

"It went well, I believe."

"Will they return results?"

"We'll see."

"Hmm." Them man was clearly not satisfied by the answer, but he didn't push the issue. Instead, he asked "so do you think they'll actually find something supernatural at work here?"

"I do, actually," Miranda responded. "And if you and the Old Man didn't think this it was at least likely, we wouldn't have gone through the trouble of setting this up through these people. Anyway, that's still secondary to the evidence we're looking for."

"Remember, there are several interested parties here," the man said. "We're technically acting on order from Adams, though that means that we're really working for Smalls, but remember where your true loyalties lie."

"I always have."

"I certainly do not doubt it, Miranda."

________________________________________

The boat ride to Oxana was uneventful. With so much sea traffic into and out of the island nation, security was a bit more lax at the port city of Naga on the island's north coast than it was at Oxana's one international airport, and the team's visas were easily accepted at boarder control, with Zoe posing as Metal Man's daughter. The team claimed their two rented SUVs and made the drive to Elos. Though Miranda had neglected to tell the team the climate of Oxana, the weather was temperate, which meant somewhat chilly at this time of year. The sky was gunpowder grey and overcast.

The city of Elos is a large industrial center, a successful, yet blue-color city with a hard edge. As the highway from Naga took the team from the tall buildings of downtown through the industrial district and surrounding residences, the urban decay, poverty, and violence that accompanies any large city was clearly seen, as was the still-thriving industry, and, further down the highway, evidence of an affluent middle class.

Arriving at the luxurious Elos Executive Hotel and claiming the remainder of their gear, the team found that the Organization had sprung for some fine digs indeed. 3 finely appointed suites of three rooms each awaited the investigators. ((OOC: Floor plan can be found in OOC thread))

It was still early in the day, only about 11am, local time, so the team had time to get situated and set about their investigations, if they wished.

OOC: Welcome to Oxana, the next move is yours. Good luck

[Camicon]

(OOC: Ignoring everything that happened back at HQ. Not relevant to Zoe. She probably sat in a corner and drew pictures anyways.)

For Zoe, the trip to Oxana had provided her with a wonderful assortment of strange and curious things for her to investigate. There were vicious sea monsters to repel during their boat ride, and horrifying alien invaders to evade while riding in the SUV's. It was a thoroughly engaging past-time for her, and infinitely more interesting then the activities of her teammates. Her world of make-believe had come to a dramatic climax when the sea monsters grew wings, and saved them all from certain doom at the hands of the alien Mothership.

Posing as the Metal Man's daughter had not been a problem for her. Out of the entire team, he was the one she was most comfortable around. Perhaps because, being so unlike other people, his behaviour lacked any prejudice that might arise as a result of her age. While Zoe probably had far more in common with Waalturs (with whom she was the second most comfortable around), with regards to her abilities, she had formed a far stronger attachment to the Metal Man, as only a child could. Zoe had been quite pleased when she finally found a suitable nickname for "Leon", from the word chameleon, in reference to The Metal Man's ability to change his appearance when using the Egg. Though chameleon's generally changed colour to reflect their mood, Zoe cheerfully ignored any inconsistencies when compared against the Metal Man. Leon she had called him, and Leon he would stay.

Though the weather was quite moderate, Zoe was garbed in a puffy white coat, and a matching pair of fluffy white ear-muffs (The reason, of course, being that children lose body warmth much faster, and retain far less of it, then their fully-grown counterparts). Her sandals had been replaced by more pragmatic hiking boots, and Zoe wore a black pair of thermals to keep her legs warm. Though mostly obscured by her coat, Zoe wore a dress of cheerful blue, patterned with white flowers around the cuffs and skirt. While the rest of the team checked into the hotel at the reception desk, Zoe wandered aimlessly around the floor, staring up at the vaulted ceilings and imagining an wonderful spectrum of fantastic creatures darting and diving up above. By comparison, the trip up the elevator was quite mundane, though Zoe regained her indispensable enthusiasm when the Metal Man showed her the hotel room they would be staying in. She immediately tore off, and explored each and every room with wide-eyed glee. She ended her exploration sprawled in a large leather chair, her legs dangling a good foot from the floor.

[Hittanryan]

The boat ride was peaceful enough, but Rob remained restless. After checking his luggage for the third time in an hour, Rob felt he needed to clear the air. He misjudged the formality of the meeting yesterday at least twice, and he sensed a certain amount of disdain from his teammates. That was definitely unhealthy to any group dynamic; if you can't rely on the guy next to you, then any kind of strategy or coordination flies out the window. Seeing how the source of the problem seemed to be his wisecracks yesterday, Rob made a point of finding Metal Man first. He didn't know what kind of history cyborgs had with humans, or what kind of emotions they had. For all he knew he had offended him.

"Hey, Leon," adopting Zoe's alias momentarily to avoid blowing their cover, "I feel like we got off to a bad start yesterday. The whole Eggman thing was just supposed to be a harmless joke. Trying to break the ice, you know?" He paused, looking for a reaction. Wait, would one see a genuine reaction on a cyborg shapeshifter?

"You're pretty hard to read, you know that, right?"

[SF n F]

The trip had been filled with distractions. First, the Metal Man had found a copy of Brantford's book online and downloaded it into his static memory. Then he read it. Took about four seconds for the positronic brain to process it and another couple of minutes for it to filter into the organic one. By that time, however, they were already at sea, and with no wireless internet at that distance from shore, the cyborg was forced to wait.

He had used his time making himself useful to the others. He'd discussed the poetry of Percy Shelly (husband of Mary, who wrote Frankenstein, and a literary master in his own rite) with Waltuurs. He'd even helped Zoe repel a flock of vicious sea monsters, and, using the shape-shifting ability of the Egg, shown her how they could grow wings--and how enemies could be turned into friends.

The ride to the hotel was a different story. The cyborg could easily have outpaced the rest of the group on the power of his maglevs. He was tempted to go invisible and meet them at the hotel. He ended up staying with the rest of his team, however, and doing as much as he could to note the terrain as he went.

When they reached the hotel, Rob, who had started calling him by the name Zoe had made for him--a fitting enough one to adopt, considering that he did not know what his actual name was.

"Sometimes," he said, "I feel so different that it is a privilege just for men such as yourself to speak with me. I'm sorry I was too busy for your humor, but I was worried about starting a riot. Then, I could never tour with you again." There was a wry grin on his face as he spoke. One of the things he seldom got to give in to was his love of literature and language. They'd continued to talk, and, surprised to find that he lacked the skill, the Metal Man had eventually shown Rob how to tie a bolend knot with one hand--useful, for a mercenary, if one is scaling a sheer surface with a broken arm.

Perhaps they trusted the cyborg with a young lady because they knew that, for all the special components he had, he was missing the part that would allow him to rape her. He simply was not capable. But he did not mind being "saddled" with the child. He was over 250 years old. To him, in a manner of speaking, they were all children--though he seldom told that to anyone. It usually also required him to be quite diplomatic when he broached the subject that he was about to with his young escort--he was going to offer to teach her how to breathe.

"Now that you've enjoyed your trip," the Metal Man told her, "it's time for us to get down to business.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to show you some things that will help you become stronger, tougher and smarter when you need to be. We can start with Chi Breathing.

"Chi Breathing is the basis for most martial arts. Though it is normally used as part of other techniques, even when it's not used for karate chops, it can help you enhance your strength and endurance, resist pain and improve your concentration. Those more advanced in its use can even do things like control their heart rate and blood pressure with it. Best of all, you don't even have to stand up to get started.

"So...are you game?"

[Hittanryan]

Upon arriving in Elos, Rob was struck by the number of older-looking buildings. Any structures of similar age in Adiron had been damaged during the Ceti Civil War, before the country was even founded. Sustainability and efficiency was the name of the game now, with many buildings sporting green roofs or green walls. Still, Rob was worldly enough to know that wasn't the norm everywhere. The place still had its charm.

The conversation with the Metal Man had been enlightening. Either the years had really passed the former Free State of Ceti behind, or the cyborg's place of origin had simply far outstripped what Rob was used to technologically. Rob made a note to himself to stay willfully ignorant of the Metal Man's exact place of origins, lest the AIS, or worse, the AIS' rivals in the Inquisition and Urdnot Overwatch, look to dissect more of his kind.

As the team entered the hotel room, Rob felt a bit of paranoia set in. The last field assignment was in the badlands of Arcologia, a lawless hive of intrigue. The walls had ears, and given the crime rates and labor practices, probably literally. He hadn't pried into the Metal Man's full capabilities. He was able to read his file for himself after all, and didn't want to highlight the differences between him and other team members. Still, he couldn't help but feel there had to be some very useful devices in that suit he was wearing.

After checking to the best of his admittedly meager abilities, Rob found the Metal Man sitting and talking to Zoey. He tried to word it correctly, didn't want it to sound like an order, that was Iasitas' purview, or that he was on bug duty solely because he was the only one who might be able to instinctively pick up electronic signatures. "Leon, when you get a chance, have you noticed any signs of bugs? I've swept the place as best I can, but this isn't really my thing."

[Tagmatium]

Travelling by ship wasn’t something that Iasitas was accustomed to. He had rarely done it and then it was mainly port-hopping along the coast of Tagmatium. If he had needed to travel, either on III business, with PIT or for personal reasons, it had always made more sense to do it by plane, train or car. The short trip to Oxana had allowed him to discover something about himself – he got seasick and fairly badly as well. It meant that he wasn’t mixing with the rest of the team. Iasitas was also unaware of the opinion of Waalturs, that he found some of the group to be beneath him or he was dismayed with them. If he had, the Tagmatine would have put more effort into trying to mix with them, rather than standing apart and trying to concentrate on not feeling ill.

He’d tried to join in the conversation between Waalturs and the Metal Man, christened “Leon” by Zoe. But they were talking about some barbarous poet he’d never heard of and poetry had never been a strong point of his, anyway. The secret policeman had wandered off after a few moments, giving no excuses. The parts of his face that were visible above his short beard were pale, so those two would have been able to make up their own minds as to why their team leader was walking quickly away to the side of the vessel.

That Zoe and the cyborg got on well was good. He’d feared that Zoe would be isolated and alone amongst the adults on this mission, but she’d found a friend in the Metal Man. They’d avoided him as they ran around on the ship, fighting off sea monsters or something, and Iasitas was glad about that. The weather itself didn’t look particularly nice and Iasitas had zipped up his jacket and put on a wool hat.

Once they’d got on land and found the rented vehicles, Iasitas had chosen one of the vehicles to drive. It felt good to be driving, allowing him to shake off the feelings of nausea. Driving himself around for a change, rather than taking trains, taxis, bloody boats or being shuttled around by underlings. The satnav also did a good job, proving that the horror stories about people mindlessly following them onto railway tracks were the minority. The city itself looked much the same as any other industrial nation, nothing to shout about.

And the hotel was nice. Much better than the provincial crap-holes that he’d used when on missions, either in the Greater Holy Empire or with PIT. The latter did often seem to spend a lot of cash on its agents, whilst the former was often monolithic and uncaring. Whilst they checked in, the sprog ran around the place, probably annoying other residents as see did so.

Iasitas watched with mild curiosity while Rob checked the room, realising that the man was looking for bugs after he’d watched the soldier for a moment. The thought hadn’t occurred to him that they’d be spied on. Why would they? They were, admittedly, being presented as members of a for-hire intelligence organisation. Perhaps the Oxanians were curious about what they’d talk about or why they were here.

“Good shout, Mr Glenn.”

Not that the man needed a pat on the head for doing this. In all honesty, it irritated Iasitas that he didn’t think of it. He put it down to spending most of the trip over trying not to puke. If they were being bugged, could that point to the Death Cult having a lot of resources at their disposal? Iasitas waited with interest to see what the cyborg could do.

“Once you’ve swept this one, would you mind doing the other two… Leon?”

He used the name that Zoe had given him. It was much less of a mouthful than the Metal Man.

“And it’s probably best if we use my suite as a makeshift HQ.”

The benefits of command. It meant he didn’t have to stumble too far in the mornings to get to where he needed to go.

[Kazomal]

Neither Rob nor the Metal Man turned up any trace of a bug. The rooms were clean, as far as any member of the team could tell.

Brantford's book, coming in at 257 pages, straddles the line between academic and "soft" history, mostly leaning towards "soft." It contains a brief history of the Death Cult, and discusses their rituals and beliefs. The Cult worshiped a pantheon of dark spirits, and claimed the ability to talk to and command departed souls. Though most Oxanians regard the Death Cult as mere historical curiosity, some regards them as more of a national embarrassment, and don't like to talk about that aspect of Oxanian history. Brantford argues that, as the island's only indigenous religious tradition, the history of the Death Cult deserves more attention than it gets. He also makes the assertion that the Death Cult died out in the early 1900s, rather than in the mid 1800s, as most Oxanian historians believe.

Brantford's book, while sporting a respectable bibliography, is regardless not well cited enough to qualify as "academia." It also makes several minor leaps of logic, and has one or two factual errors regarding it's main premise, which Metal Man's internal processor identified by comparison to other, more academic texts and journal articles. A few articles pointing out these errors are also found on the Oxanian Historical Society's peer-reviewed online journal, as well as a rebuttal by Brantford disputing evidence on the subject than other academic sources consider sound.

[Brays Bastards]

Briggs had spent most of the ride over trying to read his partner, to get a feel for what the man was all about. Somehow, the rest of the team had lumped Jerico in with the 'muscle', what amounted to security for the egg-heads the team sported, and while entirely capable of ruining someone's day, he'd simply come along to make sure Danny had the hang of the investigative side of things. The old man had passed the time reading a book of some sort, and seemed to be taking a serious interest in it. Danny, not the least bit put off by the fact that Jerico seemed to be intentionally ignoring him, had instead flipped through the unnervingly-thin dossier he'd been handed before he met the man himself at the airport for the ride over to this interesting bit of work, and mentally rattled through the highlights as he checked the usual hot-spots for listening devices and drew the curtains to keep prying eyes and laser microphones at bay.

'Ten years, 3rd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment. Retired Staff Sergeant Jerico St. Croix. Two tours Viet Nam, Long Range Recon Patrol (LRRP) detachment. Silver Star for valor, Purple Heart awarded for wounds. Seven years New York City Police Department, four spent working homicide as a detective. Convicted of Second-Degree Manslaughter after a mishandled warrant service resulted in the shooting deaths of two African-American youths, ages 19 and 16. Sentenced to ten years in federal prison. After release, started 'Lost Hope Bail Bonds' in Miami, Florida. Two years later, allegedly began working with alleged vampire hunter Tabitha O'Kane until her death from natural causes in October, 2010...'

The former operative nodded in satisfaction as their room came up clean from his impromptu sweep. He'd conduct it again if they ever left the room for any length of time.

'Wonder if there's still any old detective instincts rattling around in that head of his... Guess we'll find out soon enough...'

In response to the cooler weather, Danny had opted for a fleece jacket in flat dark earth as well as a black fleece watch cap that gave him the appearance of an over-zealous tactical enthusiast. Jerico, on the other hand, had simply pulled a worn-out black leather jacket from his duffel and shrugged it on. He was old, he'd endure like he always had. Between the little girl and the metallic man whom she'd dubbed 'Leon' zipping around the deck during the boat ride and the team leader's bout of sea sickness, he'd begun to doubt the seriousness of this operation. Then again, that might have been the old veteran in him being a little more jaded than usual.

The former detective and convicted felon scratched the graying stubble on his chin thoughtfully as he thumbed through a copy of Brantford's book he'd been reading and re-reading since they'd left for Oxana. It read like shitty fiction, but then again perhaps that was the point. If he'd dismissed half of the nonsense he'd been told during his lifetime he'd never have met Tabitha, or spent those wonderful years by her side. Maybe that was why he avoided little Zoe like he did; He and Tabitha both had been too old for children when they'd met, and he'd never really had a free period in his life where he'd had the option to settle down and even make such considerations. The child reminded him of what might had been, what parts of his humanity he'd lost during his relatively-long life, and how dearly he wished he might have made a change here or there. The other part of him, however, the scarred and battle-hardened portion detested her as a liability, a weak link like the emotions he'd gradually phased out of his psyche on the road to becoming the man he currently was, and the man he'd likely end his life being. Striking a balance between the two would be an interesting undertaking, but would be vital for the success of this operation.

Briggs represented a potential ray of hope in his twilight years, an opportunity to pass on the skills he'd learned to a worthy successor without said successor having to make the monumental sacrifices he himself had had to make during the long, painful journey. Danny wasn't without his own demons, however. A lifetime of lies, deceit, and violence had hardened his spirit to a considerable degree. Much like his current mentor, he hadn't yet had a chance, or even the reason, to settle down and consider family. Zoe was a curiosity, a child that didn't beg him for MRE's, ink-pens, or luke-warm bottles of Gatorade and value-brand energy drinks. The grandfatherly approach of the cyborg surprised him, to see such a being was still capable of having such feelings. At the same time, Zoe was a reminder of what he was missing. He had a sister back in Colorado, who'd married and had a couple of little girls of her own. 'Uncle Danny' was only around during the holidays, had never missed a birthday, and always had the most unique gifts, usually from his last assignment. He enjoyed what little time he spent with his nieces, but never did have much of a desire for children of his own. You had to meet the right girl, there was the whole marriage thing, and on top of that he really enjoyed the travel his occupation provided, and the fact that there wasn't someone at home worrying about him...

"What you reading, old man?"

Jerico shot him a narrow glare of the rim of his reading glasses...

"The only information we've apparently got on this cult we're looking into, Mr. Brantford's book. Figure'd it'd be nice if someone had at least read the damn thing before we meet the man himself. Isn't that intelligence gathering 101? Mr. Super Spy? Or would you rather I called you James Bond?"

It was Danny's turn to look mildly miffed...

"I'm not a fucking spy, dammit. And I skimmed the fucking book on the flight over, there was a copy in my go-bag if you'd asked... And don't you dare compare me to fucking Rodger Moore..."

The older man grinned as he continued reading...

"Then drop the 'Old Man' bit before I tell you how poorly you measure up to Sean Connery..."

Briggs simply scowled at the smirking Jerico before walking out into the hallway to find Iasitas and see if their hardware had arrived yet. He knew the former secret policeman would be feeling a little twitchy without what had appeared to be his trusty sidearm on hand and ready for use...

[The Fanboyists]

Sea travel is something that's not usually an issue for me. Admittedly, few Skraelings have any notable experience with the sea, but we have the great inland rivers, which in plenty of cases function similarly. I usually opted to go against plane-rides, if I could help it; like many wizards, I tended to make electronics (especially the more modern ones) go FUBAR, so boat and land-travel were my preferred modes of transport. And even those tended to be larger boats and trains. I usually didn't even bother with cars, since I'd never owned one that had been terribly reliable around me. It was just something I'd had to live with.

I spent most of the trip reading. I've always been a bit of a bookworm, but it's a tendency I seem to have lost the opportunity to indulge most of the time as I've spent more and more time trying to pay for food and rent. It was a rather philosophical book, but then, Hesse's work tends to be, in my experience. Demian was the book I'd brought with me. Along with my copies of Beowulf and The Voyage of Theodurik, both of them epic poems, with the former being more familiar to the wider world and the latter being one of the epics of the Skraeling people. Those were the only things I'd brought in my bag that were meant for my enjoyment. Metal Man (or Leon, as he was increasingly preferring to be called) had discussed Peter Shelley's poetry for a while, although frankly I took more from the discussion than I was able to contribute; neither of the Shelley's were in my area of expertise. It seemed to be a subject which he had read up on plenty, though.

I noticed that our team leader was not a man of the sea, to put it mildly. He didn't seem particularly aloof, nor, as I began to realize, was he particularly disappointed in who had been assigned to his team. It seemed I'd misread him, to some extent. That said, I couldn't really get any other bead on his attitudes towards the lot of us. For most of the trip, Zoe acted like any other child, letting her imagination run wild with Metal Ma-- Leon's companionship. I briefly considered joining them, but decided I was too tired, and instead closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

When we arrived, I had to hold in my powers during the car ride. At least that's the best way to describe it. It's sort of odd. As it was, the climate control was a little erratic, and one overhead light came on a little more frequently than it should have, but I didn't seem to have fried anything. It was conventional enough. When we arrived at the hotel room, 'Leon' and Rob sweeped for bugs. I wasn't sure we needed to worry about it, but a little caution in an unknown situation never hurt. As it turned out, there wasn't anything found here, but I had a feeling we might need that caution before all was done.

I took the other developments in stride, and I was stretching and yawning as I asked "So what's our first move, chief?"I was still a little groggy from the trip over, and I was hoping to grab something caffinated before we got really rolling.

[Tagmatium]

The lack of bugs was a good sign. If they’d found anything, the Tagmatine would have called Miranda and put forth the opinion that things were fucked, never mind that they were probably chasing the deluded ramblings of a journalist that had seen one too many murders and started chasing things that weren’t there. As it was, once the Metal Man had finished his sweep, Iasitas relaxed a bit and started to unpack his gear in one of the rooms of the suite he’d selected as his own. He was taking folded clothes from his suitcase when Waalturs tracked him down and entered his room, disturbing him from the task.

‘Chief’, the Tagmatine thought as he stuffed the finale t-shirt into a drawer and pushed it closed. ‘Merikai Kephale’ would probably be too much of a mouthful. It was, however, Iasitas’ proper title as a departmental head.

The drawer didn’t close properly and Iasitas frowned at it but turned to look at the wizard.

“Our first move will be to visit the ruins,” he said, scratching at his chin. “I want to do that as early as we can, as going there whilst the light is best is a good idea. We’ll have a cursory search before we head back. Once we’re back in Elos, I want to speak to Brantford. Either you or Mr St Croix will accompany me, as I think Mr Glenn or Mr Briggs would be a bit too militaristic, maybe put the wind up him.”

He didn’t add that taking Zoe wouldn’t really help the professional look of the team and the Metal Man, for all his shape-shifting abilities, often came across as a bit otherworldly.

A brief look around at the ruins would mean that they could get familiar with where they would be spending a lot their time, bar libraries. Elos was some 50 miles distant from the ruins, so it’d probably take an hour or so for them to get there, meaning they would get there about 15:00. A couple of hours there to check the lay of the land before heading back and meeting with their contact. Whilst they didn’t have all their gear with them at this point, safety in numbers would be the best. And it’d give the chance for the more esoteric members of the team to show off what they can do. Iasitas was prepared to think the worst of this exercise. He’d not taken the opportunity to read the man’s book, but it was probably a good idea to do so in a spare hour or so this evening. At the moment, he didn’t want to cloud his own judgement by reading the populist bullshit the man seems to write.

Brantford’s motivations were… strange. The Organisation’s services weren’t cheap, if the hotel that they’d been put up in were anything to go by. It could well be a publicity exercise for the journalist, to sell a new book on the Death Cult or to rub his naysayers’ noses in the dirt.

A couple of hours alone with him, a quiet room and some simple household implements and I could really work out whether I believed Brantford or not.

Leaving Waalturs to trail in his wake, Iasitas left his room in search of the others. It was immediately partially successful, as he virtually walked into Briggs. The mercenary didn’t look particularly happy and the secret policeman guessed it might be to do with the fact that his small armoury hadn’t been waiting for them when they’d arrived at the hotel.

“If you’re looking for the gear, Mr Briggs, it hasn’t arrived yet. The front desk has said that they’ll give me a call if it does.”

As if on cue, Iasitas’ mobile rang.

“Mr Briggs, would you mind running down and collecting the gear? Once you’re done, I’m going to gather the others and lay out what we’re going to do over the next few days.”

[Brays Bastards]

Danny nodded, and left in search of the equipment they'd had shipped separately. He found it down in the lobby, his familiar Pelican case along with Glenn's rifle and the team lead's handgun case. Gathering the three parcels up, he began the elevator-assisted ascent up to the floor the team was staying on. He threw his own case into the room he was sharing with Jerico, not surprised to see the older man still staring intently at the book, as if it was going to yield its secrets merely by being glared at...

"Team lead wants us to rally up. Gear's arrived, too..."

Jerico simply nodded, got up from his bed, and followed Danny down the hall to drop off the rest of the equipment and see what Iasitas wanted...

[Kazomal]

The team loaded up and got on their way, going as far as the roads would take them before embarking on the final hike through the woods to their destination. A datapoint on a GPS, and not much more.

The highway west took the team through the town of Neilla, a dreary little collection of buildings that served to house the workers from the logging sites nearby, as well as the timber they sent in. The timber was sent on to mills and factories in the major cities to the east. The town also had a seasonal tourist industry, and served as a jumping-off point for hikers and campers in the western section of the Oxanian National Forrest, though only the more dedicated outdoor enthusiasts were active in this cold season.

The hike took the team through some harsh terrain, but for the most part, it was just a tedious walk, and a tedious navigation job as the course needed to be reset after each detour in order to avoid a river or cliff. The hike took longer than expected, and by the time the team began to close into their destination, it became clear that they would need to make camp for the night.

The team eventually arrived at the structure. It was first seen as a shape in the distance, growing larger as they got closer. It was a one-story structure of brick and wood, about 50’ x 40’, rectangular, and burned. The ceiling was caved in at one part and, while much of the decayed, overgrown walls were still standing, other sections had succumbed to flame and age.

Inside the building, rubble, animal nests, dirt, and plants covered the floors. There were several pieces of junk that resembled portions of desks, chairs, cots, and other signs of past human habitation. Rusted pieces of metal can be found among the rot and the ash.

[Tagmatium]

As soon as the team had been rounded up, Iasitas outlined his plan.

“We’re going to be driving over to the ruins of the Death Cult’s temple. I only want us to carry out a basic recce.” He used the suite’s kettle to make himself a cup of tea as he talked. He paused as he added a dash of milk and sank into an armchair. Iasitas took a precautionary sip of his tea, before deciding it was too hot at the moment. “Nothing too deep, as by the time we’ve got there, we won’t have much in the way of decent light left. Once we’ve carried that out, should take a couple of hours, we’re going to drive back to Elos. If you encounter anything strange, anything that looks odd, leave it where it is, but make a note of it. We’ll be coming back tomorrow morning, as early as we can, to spend the whole day at the ruins.”

The Tagmatine took a small sip of his tea and looked at the rest of the team. To those in the team used to gathering intelligence, taking only a quick look around undoubtedly sounded foolish. However, taking a quick glance, being seen to do so, was part of a plan the secret policeman was coming up with. It wasn’t the best of plans ever, but it would at least demonstrate if people were keeping an eye on the team itself.

“If we come back tomorrow and find what we’ve noted has been disturbed, I’ll be more convinced that we’re not chasing someone’s obsession. I’m going to give Brantford a call before we leave, try to pin him down for a talk.”

Iasitas had made up his mind over who to take. Waalturs might have eerie ways as a wizard, but he trusted the experience of Jerico, an investigator with what must be thirty years on Iasitas, if the Tagmatine was any judge. He might well see something that Iasitas missed, or vice versa. He still felt that the Oxanian was leading him on a wild goose chase and actually talking to him face to face would confirm or dispel any of these suspicions.

“Myself and Mr St Croix will then have a chat with Brantford, hopefully. I know most of you will want to meet with him at some point, but I think it’d be best if we introduce ourselves in limited numbers.”

They could read into that what they will. He didn’t want to overwhelm the man or show him the more… esoteric members of the team before they were properly prepared. Whilst the cybo – Leon would probably come across as odd, exposing him to Zoe would just undermine the credibility of the team. Rob and Briggs looked like stereotypical soldiers, which would just put off any civilian. They’d feel intimidated.

“When we’re having this chat with Brantford, I want the rest of you to try to track down as many sources on this Death Cult as possible. Avoid Brantford’s work, as he has undoubted bias. OK, then, you’ve got the next half hour or so to have a smoke, a cuppa or whatever. I’ll see you in the lobby at 12:00.”

---

The journey over wasn’t brilliant. Dull forests, hick villages and the like. Iasitas was a city boy at heart, used to following his marks through urban streets, lurking at the edge of political meetings. Even when he’d been transferred to one of the provincial branches of the III, he’d never liked it. Didn’t understand why people found the country relaxing, saying that it didn’t have the noise of the city. Instead, it was full of the chatter of birds, the bellowing of livestock, the constant sound of trees. As if humanity hadn’t spent the last thousand years or so stamping its mark on the wilderness.

Driving one of the vehicles again, he followed the SatNav along the road as far as it went and disembarked from the SUV with an element of reluctance. Would it be worth having someone stay with the vehicles? Probably not. He’d be happy to leave a pair of people with them, one for each of the 4x4s and to make sure that it was less easy for them to be tampered with, but they didn’t have enough in the team to do so. They would have to trust the fact that they wouldn’t be touched.

The fact that it took so long to get to the structure irked Iasitas even more. His fairly well judged plan had been blown out of the water by the difficult route they had navigated. Foolishly, he had assumed that the ruins were much more reachable that they were. This was primarily because his own country prided itself on its past and tended to venerate it. The Tagmatine was in a bad mood, but it was primarily aimed at his own assumptions. Back home, things were a lot more at his beck and call, and he cursed himself for growing used to that fact. Any chance of meeting Brantford had gone out the window, making him look even more foolish.

The building itself, the apparent temple, didn’t really look anything like Iasitas imagined it. No standing stones, no obvious altar, no real sense of foreboding. The scorch marks showed that it had felt the lick of flame sometime in its past, but the furniture littered about the place seemed to demonstrate that it had been in use a lot longer than had been supposed by conventional Oxanian history. They’d need someone along the lines of a forensic archaeologist to truly tell what had gone on and the Tagmatine supposed that Leon might well be of use in that matter.

Taking a break from poking about the ruins, Iasitas cracked out a Thermos of tea and sat down on a fallen log, studying the grounds around the ruins. He drank from the plastic cup that made up the lid and considered their surroundings. In all honestly, he was glad that they'd been time to get the heavy gear from the Organisation. Setting up camp near the ruins struck him as asking for trouble. His hand slid to his baton and he unbuttoned its holster. Iasitas felt they were somewhat exposed, this close to the ruins of the temple, but his watch told him that they'd be lucky to make it back to the vehicles at this hour. Walking back to them at this hour didn't particularly daunt him, but driving through the dark with just the SatNav as a guide did.

“Mr Glenn, Mr Briggs, I need you to find us a campsite, somewhere we can watch the ruins, and if needs be, without being seen.”

[SF n F]

Because he could perceive directly the entire electromagnetic spectrum, the Metal Man was very good at finding bugs. Transmitters literally blared at him; closed circuit monitoring devices were like tracks along the walls. Even the people walking the halls would not elude his surveillance--he could pick up their heat signatures through the walls. He told no one of this, judging it to be better to give them their illusion of privacy. Thus, the Metal Man did not actually sweep for bugs--he just looked...and didn't find any.

"The Gear" arrived, but The Hornet did not. This was obvious because the suit stood a meter and a half tall and weighed close to half a ton. It had been shipped in a crate, separate from the other "Gear," and probably didn't do well on the standard transport vehicle. If all was well, it would arrive soon enough. Unfortunately, its owner would not be immediately on hand when it did.

Then they started climbing into the cars to go to the ruins, and the cyborg finally ran out of patience.

"Iasitas, would you mind too terribly if I met you at the site?"

"Yes, I'd mind."

And that settled it. It was too public for the cyborg to demonstrate his aptitude for the job, so he climbed into the car.

What was he going to do? Explain to them that he could become invisible at will? Give a demonstration for the skeptics in the audience? It would be hilarious.

The ride itself was uneventful, despite the fact that the Metal Man and Waltuurs sat next to each other for the entire trip. One might have thought that Waltuurs' anti-electrical-ness and the Metal Man's anti-esper-ness would have caused numerous mechanical and spell failures. This did not happen--though the trip did not conclude without the two wily warriors making a pact to spar later, so that each could learn to defend better against the methods of the other. Perhaps some benevolent deity had allowed their similarities to outweigh their differences--Clarke's Third Law still had its applications.

Not surprisingly, the task of giving the ruins a cursory examination fell to him...after he pointed out that the first order of business of an archeologist would have been to rope the area off so that no one obliterated any evidence by stepping on it. The best evidence was usually not above the ground, but within it.

Normally, the Metal Man would have done a job like this from the air, but there was too much concern that the wrong someone might be watching the group. Thus, the cyborg was put under strict orders to maintain his human appearance. That hampered him. Still, he managed to get the job done. Bringing Waltuurs along to deal with any wards and ill omens, the cyborg paced the temple and its sacrificial hearth and checked the foundations and its outermost traversal tunnels for what he might find. In particular, he was interested in finding any hidden passageways or traps that might lead to trouble later. Other than that, he basically collected images of the place. Then, he walked through the grounds, noting any snares that he or Waltuurs found in the process, and built a topographical map, so that they could make sane decisions about where to concentrate their efforts the next day.

[Hittanryan]

In all honesty, despite the tension and staying on the lookout the entire time, it was good to get outdoors for a little while. Since Operation Trinity, Rob had been either cooped up at an Artifacts and Irregularities Division lab undergoing tests of his newfound abilities or on brief assignments in various Arcologia slums wrapping up loose ends. The terrain was similar to the lowlands of the mountains Rob had grown up in back home; small, fast-moving rivers, some uneven terrain with a few rock outcroppings, and what appeared to be thin secondary-growth forest. 'Wonder how long since this part of the country's been logged,' he mulled as he went along, 'If I had to guess, I'd say there used to be more people around here.'

After taking a few wrong turns and falling way behind schedule, they finally arrived at the ruins. Nothing particularly eerie about the burnt-out foundation, although the presence of a few hooded, chanting cultists might change that. Rob had serious reservations about heading off to the ruins straightaway completely blind. If these ruins were inhabited and the residents responsible for the recent pattern of murders, they could be dealing with anything from a gang with a flair for the dramatic to backwoods survivalists to a full-on resurgent Death Cult. At several points along the way, keeping an eye on his watch, he thought about suggesting they head back and attempt the trip another day. Orders were orders, though.

The order to make camp, however, was even more unsettling. Sure, Iasitas was a cop, secret police, whatever, and he wanted to stake the place out, but thus far the team had so little to go on that they didn't even know if these ruins were of any interest to the supposed present-day cult whatsoever. Times like this made Rob wish he'd been a combat engineer. Plant some explosives in the ruins now, and if a bunch of liches showed up later that night and started resurrecting dead bodies as zombies, remote detonation. "Only way to be sure," indeed. Sure you'd probably lose some of the evidence, but if you could wrangle a zombie to the ground, tie it up, drag it back to the cars, and strap it to a car roof like a deer, at least you'd have something. Rob realized he was letting his imagination go again.

"The farther away the better, sir, I'm fairly sure a few of us have binoculars to keep an eye on the place from a distance," Rob replied, before taking a quick look around. 'A bit of elevation would be helpful...aha,' he thought as he noticed yet another short cliff face about a quarter mile away.

"Griggs, let's take a look at that ridgeline. If we can make camp on the far side, concealed from the temple, we can put a sentry on the ridge to keep an eye on the ruins. A cliff face between us and the ruins couldn't hurt either if things go south somehow." As he finished the sentence, Rob got the distinct impression he'd gotten something wrong in there somewhere.

[Kazomal]

The Metal Man's investigations revealed that the building had a basement of the same dimensions of the ground level, though no direct way in was obvious. Several small mammals inhabit this level, revealed by Metal's unique senses. Aside from that, no electronic equipment or magical energy is detected by the investigators.

Robert and the two merc from Bray's Bastards quickly identified a ridgeline close enough to keep an eye on the structure, while far enough to remain concealed while making camp for the night.

As the team searched the ruins, Zoe starts to hear a low-frequency buzz, which slowly builds, becoming overwhelming within 30 seconds. She falls to the ground in the throughs of an apparent seizure, as the psychic vision hits her.

************************************************************************************************

“Galloway, what the hell are you doing? What the fuck it that?”

“Shut up and help me get him inside.”

“You’re breaking operating procedure, this is not good.”

The two men hustled a third hunched figure into the structure, which was whole and complete. Down a hallway to a staircase they dragged him, covered by a black sheet. Once they got him into the basement they dropped their prisoner roughly into a chair and pulled the cover off of him. It was a young man of about 19, with a tight face and black hair and eyes. His hands are bound, his face is bruised, and his forehead is inscribed with a strange rune. There is hate in his eyes.

“This is a mistake,” the first man said, looking apprehensive. He was barely older than the captured youth.

“No, Lynch, this is an opportunity. Besides, I had no choice,” replied the man who had brought the prisoner.

While the two men in suits argued, the hard-eyed youth took in his surroundings. He noticed, from behind him, a drip, drip, dripping noise. The two men’s discussion was getting more heated. They didn’t even notice as the youth began to crane his head back, back, back as far as it would go, closer and closer to the dripping water. By the time the two men noticed what he was doing, it was too late.

“Hey, what’s he doing!? Grab him!” The two men charged forward as the dripping water finally began to smudge the symbol on the young man’s forehead, breaking the lines. His chair fell backward and he tumbled to the floor, the two men charging after him. There was a flash of light and force, and the two men were thrown backwards. They climbed to their feet, pulling revolvers from inside their suit jackets. The youth was on his feet already, his bindings shattered, and was rummaging through desk drawers until he found a small pistol, turned, and fired first. Galloway, the man who had brought him in, went down, the back of his head blown clean off. His young partner returned fire, and the dark youth went down, bleeding from the head.

************************************************************************************************

Zoe came to, suffering a mild headache from her experience.

[The Fanboyists]

The trip out was nothing to write home about. The car ride was a little too long to be particularly comfortable, although Leon and I had gotten to chatter a bit more, and decided that we had more than a little to learn from one another. The... man, I suppose (I'm still not quite clear on exactly what he is, or what he considers himself to be) seemed to be under the impression that we were similar in a way that outweighed our differences. Personally, it wouldn't surprise me if it's the differences that have helped us to get along.

As it was, we didn't hit any significant problems during the car ride, and the hike out, even with a pack on my back, was nothing I wasn't used to. My coat and pants kept me warm even in the temperate weather, and I remained comfortable throughout the hike. After a lengthy walk, we arrived at our destination.

Call me jaded, but the "Temple of the Death Cult," did exactly leave me awed. It looked like what I'd learned most ruins look like; an unimpressive, dilapidated rock structure with shit strewn all over the place. The place had more than a little inate nastiness to it. It wasn't anything readily visible or anything, and it wasn't particularly overt, as far as such things go, but there was a certain amount of wrongness to the site. It wasn't a place I'd choose to stay near, given a choice, for longer than strictly necessary. Places like this always gave me the creeps.

As it was, I wasn't surprised that Leon asked for me to assist him in scanning the ruins for the psychic imprint. Every wizard, at least in the Allamunnic tradition, has something called "The Sight." It's also known as "the Third Eye" and other things of the sort. Point is, when a wizard uses it, they see everything as it is, no sugar-coating and no deception. Of course, you never get to forget what you see through Sight, so every mind-shattering horror and every life-affirming joy is with you forever. Naturally, it isn't something one simply runs around using, but with something like this, it's damned useful to avoid traps and trace the history of a site in some ways.

Only problem was I had no way of knowing what I was about to see, other than having reason to think it wouldn't be pretty. It was good to know, though, that Leon had almost automatically asked for my help in inspecting the site. At least someone liked me; I got the impression a few other team members were either disdainful or disbelieving of what I was. Can't change everything, I suppose. I closed my eyes, concentrated, and prepared to see the world as it really was.

There was violence in this structure's past. But those of us, including myself, who'd assumed this was the temple in question had been wrong. This was another building. There was a basement, and the entire place reeked of desperation and violence. It was ugly, but nothing I hadn't seen before. I'd manage.

"We're clear on the magical end, Leon," I said to the Metal Man. "Something bad went down here, that much I know. More than one death. Who, when, or how is beyond me, although I can tell you some sort of supernatural energy was involved somewhere in the process of whatever happened here."

[Kazomal]

Along with the vision of violence, Waalturs feels many years of tension, boredom, and restlessness. The final impressions, left during the burning of this place, are of celebration, of a job well done. All the impressions are faint, having taken place decades ago.

[Hittanryan]

As Rob started to scout out a route to the ridgeline, he caught something in the corner of his eye. Zoe, usually running around like a hamster on coffee, was suddenly...very still. In the ruins, he noticed Waalturs had seized up as well, with a hand to his head as if he was experiencing some kind of intense headache. 'Wait...what are they...' Before he could ponder the situation, the two of them toppled over.

"Shit!" Rob exclaimed in a hoarse whisper as he ran back to the ruins. In a flash, Rob's hand went to his holster and drew his sidearm. He assumed Briggs was right behind him as backup. "Only the psychic and the wizard are affected, could be a telepathic attack...possibly even originating from nearby..." Scanning the area as best he could and attempting to at least approach the ruins with his head down, Rob took up a position by Zoe, who was unresponsive. About a hundred scenarios played out in his mind, reaching back to what little intel the AIS had on telepaths, 'If this is coming from a person, we need to find him before he affects the rest of the team. Likely targeted the two who could shield the rest of us first, means we'll be next...'

Rob grew increasingly tense as he had no luck finding the source of the disturbance, but mercifully, no one else on the team appeared to be affected. Thirty seconds later, the two regained consciousness.

[The Fanboyists]

I took in a few more details. The burning of the site, in particular stood out. The boredom and restlessness I felt around the site barely registered; it had all happened so long ago. I did mention all of it to Leon, though. Any of it could be useful, and I didn't fancy that good things had gone down here if someone had been happy about it being destroyed through fire.

That fire, however, also meant that little in the way of residual magic energies would be around. Fire is both a spiritual and physical purifier, and it had likely scoured most of those energies from the site. Anything else we found would have been laid down since the fire gutted the place, and would indicate more recent, and potentially more sinister activity.

I turned to the Metal Man. "Leon, shall we move onto the basement?"

[Brays Bastards]

Briggs and Jerico had refrained from sparring verbally for the duration of the ride out and the hike to the temple itself. Danny hadn't paid much attention to Iasitas when he'd said to leave the heavy hardware at home, however. He'd brought out the 'Honey Badger', mean-ass nine-inch barreled AR-15 variant with an integrated surpressor and a heavy .300 AAC Blackout chambering. His chest rig was about as low profile as possible, flat dark earth in color and with zero ballistic protection, it was little more than a means for him to transport six magazines for his primary weapon and an additional four for his secondary. His primary weapon wasn't all that large, but did pack a mean bite in the form of 200-grain sub-sonic loads.

Walking into what might very well be the lair of the enemy wasn't a situation he'd wanted to go into under-prepared. The team was light on firepower as it was, and holding off a cult Hell-bent on adding them to their undead army was going to be damned hard with the few sidearms they had on hand...

"Griggs, let's take a look at that ridgeline. If we can make camp on the far side, concealed from the temple, we can put a sentry on the ridge to keep an eye on the ruins. A cliff face between us and the ruins couldn't hurt either if things go south somehow."

Danny scowled momentarily...

"It's 'Briggs'. With a 'B'. 'Griggs' was the black guy from Call of Duty: Modern Warfare. And yes, a ridge-line between us and the enemy would be useful. If we're running this little OP at night, however, we need to be close enough to make out whatever we're looking at. Woods ain't exactly known to be luminos at night. I say we plant an overwatch position on the ridge-line, and keep a smaller OP closer to the ruins proper, so we can actually see what the fuck we're glassing..."

His outline gave them a little of both. Covering fire from the ridgeline would be useful in a pinch if things went south, and being a little closer to the ruins would allow for a greater level of observation. Or...

"Hey Leon! You have any cool stealthy tricks you can pull?"

With the EOTech on his weapon Briggs was more than capable of putting holes in something two-hundred meters distant with a high degree of accuracy, and hopefully the surpressor would keep his own position concealed long enough to lay down enough fire to get who-ever was doing the observing out of harm's way.

Several of the group stopped, stunned by some manner of psychic assault if he had to guess. Rob had drawn his pistol and charged off to the ruins, in response to what Danny had no idea, but his own weapon stayed low in a non-aggressive manner...

"Everybody OK? Rob! Get your ass back here!"

Jerico, calm as usual, simply looked towards the little girl. She was here for a reason, and now was the time to find out why...

[Camicon]

When the Metal Man asked Zoe if she wanted to learn a technique called "Chi Breathing", she nodded enthusiastically. However, before she could add words to her feelings, Iasitas came in, followed by the rest of the team. Orders were given out, decisions were made. Zoe sat, watched, and listened, hurrying down to the cars with everyone else once it came time. Passing through the country-side, Zoe had a small nap. Rural communities were nothing new to her, and had long passed the point of being an entertaining playground for her imagination. Thick forests, however, had not. So upon their arrival to the forest that held the supposed Death Cult ruin, Zoe dashed gleefully through the trees, galloping with her centaur brethren and fighting off an assortment of trolls, ogres, and giants. By the time they had reached the burnt and crumbling ruin, Zoe had expended a great deal of her prodigious energy, and so instead of dashing willy-nilly through the trees, she spent some time examining a line of ants crawling up a tree trunk, and trying to sneak up on birds and squirrels without startling them.

Then the vision hit her.

It was dark, disorienting, and on the whole, bewildering. Zoe saw herself, as if from across the room. She saw herself standing inside the, only, the ruins weren't there anymore. It was a complete building, untouched by fire or time. High above, from the rafters, Zoe saw herself follow three men, one bound and being dragged by the other two, down into the basement of the structure. The men's words were short and clipped, heavy with anxiety and anger. They argued briefly, while the bound man strained to wet his forehead from a leak in the roof. He finally, did, the two men noticing just before, and there was a bright flash, like a thunder clap. The two men were tossed back, stunned, and the youth found a revolver in the drawer of a nearby desk. Shots rang out, and one of the two, Galloway he had been called, was shot in the head. The youth went down likewise. Zoe saw herself standing there, unresponsive and unaffected by any of the activity that had just occurred. Then she felt herself receding, walking backwards down a long dark tunnel, until she could no longer see even a pinpoint of light to mark where she had been.

Her eyes opened, and the forest assaulted her with a cacophony of sound and colour. One of the men from the team was standing next to her, muscles tense, head snapping this way and that as he looked for danger. His gun was drawn, muttering something about a psychic attack, and seemed to think that they were all in some kind of danger. Zoe spoke.

"If it were truly an assault of the mind, then the attacker would not be so foolish as to not cloud the senses of the members of our team that are not... gifted, in such a way. A foolish oversight, and not one to be made by anybody without a shred of talent."

This was not the voice of a little girl of eight. This voice was lofty, condescending, critical, and cold. Oh-so cold. Winter's meanest bite could not compare to the disdain Zoe's words carried. Even the manner in which she held herself had altered dramatically. Her movements were no longer exuberant and bright with cheer. She carried herself like a queen, made no unnecessary gestures, and turned a blind-eye to the assortment of creatures and activities that only moments before had fascinated her. To the untrained eye, it would look as though Zoe had become possessed. But such was not the case. Her movements were fluid, her thoughts coherent and her words natural. There was no puppet pulling her strings, and no one controlling her movements and words. Again, her words rang out, crystal clear with a cutting edge.

"They attempted to make a sacrifice here. It was not according to their code. It was opportunistic, a spur of the moment. They had not given great thought on what to do. Their charge escaped, breaking the bonds that held him by a baptism of luck. Shots were exchanged, and in the confusion Galloway lost his head and the charge was hurt likewise."

Zoe took a shuddering breath and dropped to her knees, her eyes fluttering weakly. When she spoke again, her voice was timid and soft. The voice of the girl with whom the team had grown accustomed. She gave a small groan, and staggered to her feet.

"I have a headache..." Zoe said, her words carrying just the trace of a whine.

[SF n F]

"Not without his permission," the Metal Man said to Danny, indicating Iasitas.

Then, he turned back to Waltuurs. "If we're going to have to excavate our way into the chamber, I'd just as soon wait until after sunrise tomorrow. If something bad is sleeping in that basement, it would be better for our military men to be able to see it. From what you tell me, there were guns in that basement before it was sealed. Who knows? Maybe some explosives? Cheap dynamite starts to bleed its nitro when it gets old--it becomes dangerously unstable. And it won't show up on most psychic scans. Best to let it lie for now."

Then, making his way to Zoe, he showed her an accu-pressure point on her hand that could be used to help with headaches.

[Kazomal]

It would have been a good suggestion, but at that moment Robert, his attention now focused outward on possible psychic attack, stepped on a bad floor joist, which shattered beneath his feet, causing other rotted planks around him to tumble, too. Rob's reflexes kept him dancing out of trouble for for a couple of seconds until too much of the floor collapsed out from under him, and Rob tumbled into the basement below, with the debris, the rats and raccoons, and about a fifth of the collapsing floor. The rising dust made everyone cough, and released a mildewy odor.

[Tagmatium]

When the vision hit, Iasitas was up on his feet and moving towards the members of his team that were affected by it. He dropped the cup to the floor as he did so. However, he was unsure of what to actually do. He couldn’t feel anything himself and the structure itself didn’t feel unpleasant or giving him misgivings.

As Zoe spoke, Iasitas had the presence of mind to pull out his notebook and pen, jotting down what the girl said – in a voice that raised the hairs on the back of his neck – about what had taken place. Galloway. It gave them a name, not much to go on. He wondered how common the name was on Oxana. Damn, the kid was real creepy but now the secret policeman had an understanding of why she had been made part of the team. The total change in her, the different voice – it was fairly astounding, nothing that a child could imitate, even one prone to fantasy such as Zoe.

And now they had some more insight into way the Cult worked. Once they got back to Elos, it might be a good idea to run the name past Brantford. Death-by-gunshot in an abandoned ruin would probably have caught the man’s attention, concerned with the Cult’s activities as he was. Unless, of course, the bodies had never been found. The basement would definitely need checking out.

Waalturs looked like he’d been affected, too. Iasitas decided that he’d need to spend more time with the wizard. They had something of an outline of what Zoe had seen, but getting what Waalturs had seen would be very useful. If nothing else, the Tagmatine had no idea if Zoe would even remember what had happened, what she’d seen. He’d have to ask her what she thought had happened, although the thought of doing that didn’t really strike him as something to look forward to.

“Leon’s right – starting early tomorrow is our best option,” Iasitas said. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the Metal Man’s tone, but he let it lie. “And so long as you’re not going to do anything as damn fool as running off on your own - ” he gave Rob a meaningful glance “ - and you feel that it can further our ends at this point, please do carry it out. Just run it by me first.”

If one of them triggered some sort of physical manifestation of the Death Cult whilst fooling around with the psychic, it’d be Iasitas who the Organisation bawled out.

“Mr Waalturs, would you mind speaking to me for a moment?” Iasitas had his pen and notebook in hand again, ready to write down anything pertinent. The Tagmatine turned back to Rob, but the man wasn’t there.

“Mr Glenn, could you get back to Mr Briggs and see if he needs anymore help with setting up our camp.”

Before he could even finish the sentence, a series of crashes from inside the structure echoed around the clearing.

Oh, the unwitting clown.

The first thought through Iasitas’ head was needlessly uncharitable, but then he ran forward to make sure the man was ok, hand resting on his baton. Most people here knew some sort of first aid, but if the man had done himself