Silver, Blood, and Faith [CLOSED, MARKION/FRIENDS ONLY, PMT]

[Stallenbourg]

Walkerville International Airport, Walkerville, Duchy of Southwater

March 25th, 2040

The Stallenbourgian delegation began boarding their aircraft. The vast majority had gone home, recalled to the homeland for some rest and relaxation after such a dramatic series of events. David T. Aurellianus turned to his former guardian, and though it still disturbed him to look into her eyes, it was getting easier.

“Well, I suppose this is it.”

“Where will you be going?” She asked, it's not like she wasn’t allowed to know.

“They’re flying me and the other two on that Bizjet to partake in some conference, I don’t expect to speak much there but that's what they want me to do. What about you?”

Her short black hair rustled in the slight breeze. She smiled.

“I have a feeling I will be getting my orders very soon. Likely going hunting if I read the winds right.”

“Well don’t go dying on me. Someday I wouldn’t mind having you being there to help again. You probably saved me a major surgery bill and a trip to the cleaners.”

“I don’t plan on it. And you're welcome.” She blushed.

He turned and boarded the aircraft, and she watched as it made its way down the taxiway and then into the air a few minutes later. Her duty done, she grinned. Now the real work can begin in earnest.

She waited another moment before another aircraft came into land, and then another. Three Southwaterian Aerial Refueling Tankers landed in quick succession and were followed by a single Stallenbourgian C-17 Globemaster, its unique green and grey camo scheme vibrant in the dusky skies. It taxied down a lane to a hanger on the other end of the airport. She made a brisk jog down to the hanger as she watched the aircraft lower its ramp. A truck started up and pulled out, the Belvere Organization shield emblazoned proudly upon its side. She watched and waited as other men in olive green uniforms and black berets made their way off the plane and rested their gear. Forklifts pulled onto the craft and unloaded pallets of more cargo. Ammo, holy water, crucifixes, rations for both humans and vampires, though there was a lot more for them than for her.

She didn’t mind. Her grin turned to a toothy smile as she watched them all work. She watched as surveillance equipment was tested and checked, before being locked down for transport mode. A man with some gusto approached her, and saluted as he looked down to her. She nodded and he returned his hand to his side.

“Miss Belmont, I am Lieutenant Avery Massena. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He outstretched a hand as she took it. He was a six foot tall, well built, pasty white man with brown hair. His jawline wasn’t very pronounced but he definitely worked out. She looked into his brown eyes and he didn’t so much as flinch.

“Pleasure to meet you as well Massena. Tell me, how is my adoptive mother doing?”

“You mean the angel? Well Mi- I mean, Madam Belmont is doing quite well. I worked with her for some time so I got used to it. And when they asked for volunteers to be shipped out here, I took it. Call it glory seeking or wanting to experience something different or fresh, but I saw this as a good opportunity to get some new experience.”

“Good. How much longer until you are ready to move out?”

“Only a couple more minutes Mis-” She cut him off. Grabbing him by the collar and pulling him closer to her face so he was level to her.

“Just call me Josephine, please.” She looked into his eyes, and started to see the fear in them grow. The crimson orbs boring into his soul, as a reminder of what they were here to do.

“Y-yes Josephine.”

“Good. Once you are ready we will depart and get setup to go hunting. Once you find enough information for a lead, we'll act on it. Now go.” She let him go, and he stumbled a little but kept his composure. He turned and made his way back to the convoy as it got settled in and ready to move. She walked to one of the jeeps that had been unloaded and got into the passenger seat, kicked her boots up and onto the dash and rested her eyes as she tried to get comfortable.

“Where are we going to miss?” She turned and regarded a young looking man, probably just gotten out of his teens and into his twenties. The scent of purity evident on him. A virgin no doubt. To his credit he didn’t flinch either. The training was paying off on them all. That was good, she mused.

“There's a hotel I have been staying at, you will park these vehicles in the gated area behind it and set up. The SIA is going to help us as well as the Southwaterians. Now would you kindly get driving, I’ll give you directions as you go.”

“As you say ma’am.” He grabbed the stick and put it into gear as the small convoy began driving out of the airport and into Walkerville proper.

She felt eyes looking over her again, but she didn’t mind this time. She knew full well someone was out there looking and watching her. Perhaps one day she will go out and bother them for a change.

OOC:

Welcome to Silver, Blood, and Faith. A character roleplay set in the background of other events playing out before the Unified Authority of Kraven and its Allies launches its full scale invasion of Markion.

This thread canonically takes place after Stöckler's Last Speech so it is recommended to read it prior to this thread in order to get caught up.

This thread will explore the more hidden and occult elements of Markion, as its characters do everything in their power to prevent further catastrophe in the coming war. One monster at a time.

[Stallenbourg]

Swamp Monsters

Walkerville, Duchy of Southwater

March 28th

She sat down in the chair, crossed her legs, and brought the cigar to her mouth as she took a drag. The smoke wafted around the ceiling of the command truck's compartment, illuminated by small led lights. Others were sitting at computer consoles and typing, cross referencing, and pouring over documents that had been received from the Southwaterian Constitutional Department of Justice and Security (CDJS). Hundreds of photos of ordinary citizens, files on criminal cases that were believed to have been solved, and even files from morgues following autopsies on deceased victims of unknown causes.

She was handed a summary report and a map of missing persons cases that had been tracked so far. The AI that they used to help compile the information had been working relentlessly for the past three days.

“Van Meter…” She spoke the city's name aloud as she took another draw. In the past five years there had been twelve missing persons in or around the city of Van Meter, with no sign or clues as to where they had gone. There were rumors from the local populace, colloquially referred to as the Moerasmen, that there were sightings of people in the mangroves and swamps, wandering around aimlessly, and would not respond to any calls or hails. Occasionally they would run away if sighted. Local Police have not looked deeply into the case due to the belief that these sightings are of anti-social people who live in the swamps or potentially Moerasland nationalists or pirates who are trying to stay hidden from wider society and the law. There have been two members of the local sheriff's office on the case who have made repeated complaints about the lack of resources and initiative from the wider department to handle this case and have been mostly ignored in favor of cases in Van Meter itself.

“So Inspector Barry Viljoen and Sheriff Frank Hardin… Alright. And yet some locals are claiming it's the ‘Langpaddas ’, some humanoid frog men that might not be real. Others claim it is the ghosts of the Clay family, a family murdered in the area for their gold in the 1910s before the robbers were killed by quicksand.”

Satisfied, she ashed the cigar and took another drag before turning to the Lieutenant who was sitting at a console. She tapped his shoulder and he turned, taking his headphones off.

“Van Meter, get me there. Inform the local police department that a foreign specialist is going to help Inspector Viljoen and Deputy Hardin on their case.”

“I can get you a plane to get you there by tonight. The flight would take about an hour and forty-five minutes.”

“Good. I’ll get my things and get it loaded into one of the jeeps. Have that cute private drive me again. I like him.” She made a devilish smile as she walked down the small steps and out the door, closing it behind her.

Massenna’s brain stopped working for a moment after hearing her last comment, half concerned for the man she was asking for, and the other half trying to remember who it was that drove her when they arrived.

Van Meter International, Van Meter, Duchy of Southwater

March 28th, 8:15pm local time.

From above, the city was a maze of bright white lights, cranes, hotels, with a barrier towards the swamps of dimmer lit houses on stilts. Massive inter-regional ships were scattered throughout the massive bay that gave the impression of a speckled antlion. The ports never slept as the various cranes and dock vehicles scrambled about. The airport itself was mostly busy with cargo aircraft bringing various goods and mail into the city. Some executive jets and Southwaterian military aircraft were scattered across the tarmac, but most of the actual military aircraft in the area were stationed at NAS Hertzog. The Stallenbourgians were instructed to not fly into NAS Hertzog so as to not raise suspicion. The Harlingen Gar touched down on the runway at Van Meter International and taxied off towards the business jet center.

While not busy, Van Meter International airport was important enough to have more than adequate security. The Gar pulled onto the ramp next to a pair of mid-sized Girouard Magnolia business jets, this area was ideal as it had heightened security due to the important business travelers but the section of the ramp often saw other commercial aircraft parked there, like the Girouard Cardinal parked at the very edge of the ramp which was a privately operated aircraft used to transport oil workers to the city. The airport’s architecture looked like it hadn’t been updated since before the Dam War even if the equipment at the airport was fairly modern. The aircraft was marshaled in by a local who, after confirming the power was off, chocked the aircraft. A Southwell produced sedan used as an unmarked police car rolled up before the aircraft door opened. Inspector Viljoen got out and let the ramp worker know he could leave the rest to him. The marshal and other ground crew protested for understandable safety reasons but relented fairly quickly.

The door opened, revealing a set of stairs. The first two off the plane were two Belvere soldiers, one a private and the other a specialist. They were wearing helmets, carried rifles, and were wearing plate carriers. The private had a backpack with supplies while the specialist had what looked like a signals interceptor pack with several folded antennae, stowed for transport. Both were carrying green ammo boxes, they were full of magazines for the 20mm OPR.

Josephine appeared at the doorway and stepped down onto the pavement. Her OPR Rifle slung behind her, a small silver edged hatchet looped onto her belt on her right, and Garmr holstered on her left. She looked around before bringing her gaze upon the Inspector. Clean cut, curly blonde hair, close-cut mustache, average size but bulky in a fit-fat way. A little taller than her, maybe six foot. He seemed unnerved by her gaze, but he didn’t show it.

“Miss Josephine, I am glad you could make it. I am inspector Barry Viljoen. Good to finally meet you. I am glad to have your assistance on these missing person cases. I know you are a specialist on unusual missing person cases that seem to have some variety of pattern.” he extended his hand for a handshake.

“Quite so, it's good to meet you Mr. Viljoen. I hope you don’t mind me and my organization's very militant appearance, but I assume you can understand the severity of the situation and threat we face?” She took his hand and firmly shook it. Mr. Viljoen’s handshake was very firm, indicating an underlying tension.

“I have some ideas of the severity. But, I am still for sure in the dark about why we are bringing in foreign specialists instead of our Federal special units from CDITC.” The CDITC being the Constitutional Department of Immigration and Traffic Control. “Here, let’s get into the car and discuss on our way to where we will be meeting Deputy Hardin.” He then headed towards the unmarked car and opened the passenger door for Josephine. She undid the sling and handed the OPR to the private as she got into the passenger seat. The specialist and private piled into the back and shut the doors. Viljoen got into the driver's seat and started driving.

“Your local department never seemed to understand the situation at all. I just so happened to be in the country with my organization for exactly these kinds of cases. We're working closely with your federal government for the time being. We're hunting, you see.” She gestured as she took in the passing cityscape.

“The former I can agree with, I have a lot of suspicions based on what evidence there is but absolutely no support from the department to investigate as thoroughly as I would like. Deputy Hardin and I have had to pick up the many of the older cases as well as being given many of these new ones. The cases reminds me of some of the legends from the Arcajun parts of Zuidvelden and the Southwest Horn. They seem to fit the bill of predatory abductions and the weird sightings of people not responding to hails don’t quite fully fit Langpaddas. The option of them being ghosts doesn’t make sense either. No, the Arcajuns have legends of cannibals which seem to better fit the bill if this was anything but a serial killer or just a gang.” Mr. Viljoen took a sip of coffee. “I assume by hunting you mean that these are likely spies. I assume they are likely connected to Cravies. I am also guessing they are spies as they haven’t exactly struck a lot of terror on an island that has people routinely get attacked by Alligators, but the twelve cases we are working on don’t fully fit the bill of Alligators as they seem to be abductions of some variety.”

“‘Spies’ is probably the best way to describe them. Very dangerous in the long term, so we’ll be handling them, so long as that isn’t an issue on your end sir.” She rested her eyes a little as she brought her gloved hands together and flexed her fingers.

“As long as we can keep an eye on your lot during the process, we will be fine.” After another thirty minutes, they pulled up to a small dock with a police car and a few other cars parked there with a large airboat with a machine gun on a pintle parked there. Deputy Hardin was dressed fully in police tactical gear, albeit wearing minimal armor so as to not hurt swamp mobility. The machine gun was a Forester Universal derived belt fed in .32-51 Bartlett. A .25-30 chambered Forester Sentinel type rifle (distinctive for the sighting rib), a Mitchell Sporter Mark 24 semi-auto shotgun, and a semi-auto Forester rifle in .458 Boarhound 3 inch were all loaded in cases in the airboat. The latter was derived from the Rifle Model 1945 Heavy. Deputy Hardin himself carried a fairly basic 'open-barrel' type Eastwood handgun in 10mm Mitchell as a sidearm, the same type Inspector Viljoen carried.

Deputy Hardin was a larger tanned man with intelligent eyes and black hair. Before becoming a cop, Hardin was an engineer who left that industry for personal reasons. He waved at Viljoen as they got out of the unmarked car. “The Propdrogger is ready to go. We are locked and loaded, I have some night vision, heavy duty spotting lamps, food supplies, and some energy drinks, among other necessities.”

Josephine grinned as they all piled out of the car. She made her way down the dock and let deputy Hardin help her aboard, the other two followed close behind her.

The deputy eyed the large 20mm OPR with some surprise but nodded, “I see that the Forester 6511 was underkill.”

She smiled as she settled in on the airboat. Inspector Viljoen got aboard and they started it up and began driving through the waterways. Deputy Hardin took the controls of the Airboat with Inspector Viljoen putting himself next to the machine gun but picking up a spotting lamp to take up both spotting and secondary navigation duties.

Viljoen spoke up, “We are heading to the location where the only remains of any of the twelve was found. This is out in the stilt trees in the Van Meter Salt Marsh.” He pointed towards the East. Had the airboat’s lights been turned off, they wouldn't have been able to see a forest of short trees in the distance. “When we got to the site, it was only a skeleton, likely from the scavenger fish or smaller gators. Also, we’ll be avoiding getting in the water. While the engine noise typically scares away gators, it doesn’t always scare them off. With you lot being from what I assume is not a gator infested swamp, it’d be unwise to chuck you lot in the water.”

Josephine looked over the edge of the airboat as they got further out into the marshy waterways, the dark murky water looked like it could be hundreds of feet deep. She shivered at the thought of going overboard. Becoming a vampire made her learn that any body of water was her enemy now. As uncaring as fire, if there was any current she would sink to the bottom and be washed out to sea.

“H-how deep is the water around here?” She asked, trying to hide her discomfort.

“Deepest it gets in the marsh is about 20 feet, but for the most part, the depth is about 6 deep. The water near the location we found the body is about 3 feet deep on average, deep enough for gators unfortunately. We did bring a fish finder to help spot them if we absolutely need to get in, but the draft on the propdrogger is basically nothing so it’s unlikely we’ll hit any unseen obstacles. If we offload to go ashore it’ll be in water too shallow for gators.” Said Viljoen.

She nodded in understanding, and tried not to think about it. The gators hardly scared her as much as deep water. At least she could kill a gator. She looked to the others who had come long. The private had a name tag with the last name ‘Hark’, while the specialist’s last name was ‘Godwinson’. She unknowingly gripped Hark's arm with her right hand and leaned against him to try and get further away from the edge. Hark noticed and saw her discomfort, and brought his left arm around her as she willingly buried herself into his shoulder. She felt a little safer as the airboat sailed on through the marshland.

The airboat entered the stilt tree forest, which to the Stallenbourgians looked suspiciously like a mangrove forest. Ten minutes after entering the forest, Viljoen paused his scan of the area. When he paused, for a split second surprise crossed his face, not alarm though. He murmured “Big fokkin’ bull gator there.” His lamp was pointed onto land where a 25-foot long albino gator was laying on land. Hardin stopped the boat as soon he figured out what was going on. Viljoen smiled as he smoothly got on the machine gun just in case. “Hardin, you reckon that one is big enough to tump the boat if he wanted?” Hardin looked over and putting his own spotting lamp on it, “That’s a real 'Lord Gigantobigicus' right there. I bet he could if he wanted.” Viljoen chuckled as he cocked the machine gun, “I don’t want to shoot him, and ones that big usually ain’t mean like the little ones, but the albino ones seem to always have something to prove. Let’s move on shall we?” Hardin nodded silently and the propdrogger roared to life again.

Josephine glared with small beady eyes at the beast. Maybe she did have a reason to fear gators if they got that big. She closed her eyes and tried to drown out the noise as the boat continued on its course.

The boat slowed way down then turned into a very narrow waterway with stilt trees on either side. “This is the passageway where we found the body via sonar. The area will clear up where the body was. We’ll get on land from there.” After 3 minutes, Hardin stopped the boat at a wider pool in the passageway, and pulled the boat up onto the shore. Viljoen, now wearing full tactical gear and carrying the semi-auto shotgun, hopped out first and tested the mud. He only sank in about an inch. With the flashlight on the shotgun turned on, he looked around and confirmed, “Clear!”

The others piled off the boat. Josephine took the OPR in her hands. It felt reassuring to hold and more assuring to be on land again. She had the flashlight she had been gifted attached to the gun, though she decided not to turn it on just yet. Hark and Godwinson fiddled with the signal interceptor pack, as Godwinson aimed a gun connected to the pack by wire around, trying to catch anything on the air. A loose transmission that was being sent out, an update on orders, but no results were forthcoming.

“Alright Miss Josephine, we took a look as best we could here for clues as to what caused the disappearance. The skeleton didn’t have marks indicative of a gator attack or any damage. It was damn strange and why some in our department think it was ghosts. Some of the legendary cannibals the Arcajuns talk about are said to be able to suck the flesh off humans but I’m not sure what I make of that. I wanted to bring you here in case there was something you knew to look for that we didn’t, the skeleton had been here long enough for some silt to pile up and for any footprints to disappear but we found evidence of something in the 6 foot range having gone through here due to cuts and damage to the stilt trees. Also, the water is only about 2 feet deep here.” Hardin was looking at the fish finder, “No gators here either.”

Josephine looked at the area where the submerged skeleton had been. The water was fairly clear, and apart from where they had dug it up, she couldn’t see anything that could tell her where or who did it. Based on the reports and descriptions, she was confident that this was the work of vampires. Or at least, she knew it could be. She looked to the trees around them for any signs of damage or maybe an errant splatter of blood. Yet she didn’t find anything. She was about to say something when she caught a whiff from the breeze passing through. It wasn’t the same smell as the decaying plant matter or swampy marsh, it was something recognizable, something human.

“Whats to the east of us?” She asked as she pointed deeper into the mangroves.

Viljoen checked the GPS, “Abandoned fish processing complex. Du Plessis & Sons if I recall correctly. It was a small operation that did some commercial fishing in the swamps and sold specialty swamp fish and gator meat in Van Meter, shut down in 2020 as the market for that went away due to the stigma of commercial fishing in the swamps. The complex is a medium sized shack where the family lived, and a small brick and wood building where the fishing boat was stored and where the fish and gator were processed. It’s just past the Mangroves into the Bayou proper, and it sits on a sizable piece of land next to a sizable body of water in the bayou, notably deeper there than here. We had problems with drugs there but the last bunch of junkies left there in 2028 and the place just became too predictable. We have checked on it occasionally but haven’t had any indications of problems there in about a decade. When we went and checked it out after we found the body, we couldn’t go in as we didn’t have a warrant. The place is still under a massive legal battle between the bank and some people who tried to buy it due to the bankruptcy which, due to some provincial laws and weird loopholes, meant it was nearly impossible to get a warrant. However, I suspect with the credentials you have, you practically don’t need a warrant to enter, and by extension, we probably don’t need one either.”

“Is there a path to it from here?” She was hoping to not cause too much noise, and thought that bringing the boat around would only warn anyone in the complex.

“It’s about a mile off, there may be one if I am picking up what you are putting down, but we may have to cut our way through the mangrove to the edge of the Bayou.” Said Viljoen, he paused and checked the GPS, “Assuming the data is still accurate, we can also swing north into the Bayou and land half a mile north of the complex that will lead us right there. That might be too close but we can turn off the engine a mile out and row from there. We’ll probably want to don some night vision kit if we do that to see through the swamps as we paddle without alerting anyone due to the light.”

“Let's go through the mangrove. Hark, Godwinson, drop your packs on the boat, we're gonna go light. Give them the Nvg’s, I’ll be fine.” She racked the bolt and prepared the monolithic rifle as looked on into the distance towards the building. Viljoen and Hardin gave each other a confused look. Viljoen turned back to Josephine.

“Miss, I get it’s fairly light out but with the tree cover, you would be at an extreme disadvantage spotting targets or keeping situational awareness, unless there is something you aren’t telling us.” Said Viljoen bluntly. Hardin was quiet but he seemed to have some guesses about what was going on.

Josephine turned back to them, her radiant crimson eyes staring deep into the two.

“There's no reason to obfuscate the truth any longer. These ‘spies’, they’re working with the Kraven in some way. We don’t have a way to prove it just yet, but that's why we're here. This is my organization's first step to uncovering their network across Markion. We're not here to hunt mortal men, but the immortal. Supernatural even. That is why I came. Do you trust me?” She looked on and gave a wry smile.

Viljoen calmly responded, “Ah, so you are a vamp aren’t you? I had figured you were a cyborg initially. But a Vampire was my second guess when comparing you to some elements of Leocadian myths of Vampires. I mean, I see no other direction than to have to trust you.”

Hardin frowned, “Don’t look at me, I have diabetes.”

Viljoen continued after a quick shut down glare at Hardin, “Alright, so, we are fighting some immortal spies from the Cravies, I am guessing they are vampires too. It takes one to know one. So, I am guessing our weapons are useless then, unless the machine gun can suppress them somehow.”

Josephine smiled as they finally realized the scope of the situation and threat.

“Your weapons will only slow them down for a few moments at best, that's why I brought some extra help. But yes, I am a vampire, and I hunt other vampires. If you can guide me through the swamp to the complex, I will handle it from there.”

Viljoen sighed, “Hardin, stay here with the airboat, be prepared to evacuate as needed, keep the radio handy, if we have to meet elsewhere while retreating we will link back up at these coordinates.” Viljoen showed Hardin a location on the GPS. “I will guide our visitors through the swamps and guide them back once they finish their business. You three, take only what you absolutely need and be prepared for stealth operations.” Viljoen took off his shirt to replace it with a camo jacket. On his chest was a tattoo of a skeleton holding a harpoon launcher. He also threw off his armor and just said, “Plates probably won’t do me any good.” In no time he was kitted out as a pointman with his face and hair covered in mud to camouflage himself. “Also, for the reasons of mutual trust and not hiding anything, I used to be a Southwaterian Marine Frogman and Swamp Warfare Instructor at Fort Fontineaux in Brusett. Now follow my lead and we’ll be able to ambush even the most wary of vamps.” He pulled out some scent blocker and applied it to himself before quickly handing it to Godwinson. He then reached onto the boat and pulled all the machetes they had and took one for himself. “Right, let’s get a fokken move on.”

Godwinson quickly took off his plate carriers and dumped it on the boat before strapping the Nvg’s on.
“Hark you stay with Hardin, I’ll go with Viljoen and Josephine. Keep him safe in case any decide to sneak out and around.”

“You got it bud.” He said as he strapped on his Nvg set and readied his rifle. Josephine and Godwinson followed the former operator into the marshy swamp without hesitation.

Viljoen cut through the mangroves like a machine, it was obvious he had done this before. In fact, this seemed too natural, he didn’t say a word, even stifling grunts. He pointed and used hand signals to communicate. The rest couldn’t keep up. After fifteen minutes straight of hacking through Mangrove, they found a game trail. Viljoen scanned the area and signaled to Josephine, “anything close?”

Looking around, still no signs of anything out of the ordinary, but the scent had grown more prominent. It was a strong scent of iron as the brisk breeze carried it past them.

“Nothing, keep going.” She whispered.

Viljoen simply whispered back, “Get some mud on your face and clothes. Also, I know we will be encountering some quicksand somewhere, so here’s your brief lesson on it, don’t panic, be still, and throw anything you have on you that can get thrown off you. Also give your body more vertical surface area by leaning and moving your arms outwards, understood? Finally, don’t worry about me when we get there, I know what I am doing, the weasel scent we covered ourselves in will hide us.” The two nodded in understanding as they reached down and covered their faces in muck, and continued on.

They traversed down the game path slowly over the next 10 minutes before they reached a water crossing. Viljoen pulled out the fish finder he kept to look for gators and shoved it in the water. “Nothing, let’s go.” He started crossing the roughly twenty foot wide channel, the water was only about three feet deep. Godwinson waded into it as he held his rifle up, as he tried to keep up. Josephine hesitated for a moment, but didn’t want her deep seated fears to prove she was incapable. She waded into the channel and held her big rifle over her head. The water was up to her chest but she managed just fine, taking Godwinson's hand as he helped pull her up.

Ten minutes later, the mangroves ended and made way for the massive cypresses. Eventually, Viljoen gestured to head off the trail. They started traversing off the path through the bayou, the going overland was easier here than it was in the mangroves due to the reduced foliage density. Then, Viljoen froze and stuck his arm out sideways, a sign to perform an emergency stopped. A well camouflaged snake that when still seemed to be invisible under the previous generation night vision goggles stood up as to strike. In one fell swoop, Viljoen’s machete struck the serpent’s head killing it instantly. He didn’t say what it was, his eyes were on the tree line after the fact.

It was 11:49 when Viljoen stopped the unusual convoy and pointed out their destination. The facility was just as he had described, with the small warehouse actually being fairly interesting architecturally. It looked as if it was built in the 1930s for more official purposes than just a backwoods fish and gator processing facility, but, it was obvious it wasn’t for any purpose worth noting. Viljoen looked at the other waiting for a response on what they wanted to do.

“Godwinson, you stay with Viljoen, you have silver ammo in your gun. Give him your boot knife and pistol. That way if any escape you can cut them down. I’ll go in and do the deed if they are in there.” The scent of iron was very strong now, and even Godwinson and Viljoen could smell it. But it was more than iron now.

“Fokkers got another.” spat Viljoen under his breath.

“Their hunger is endless, I’ll feed them something that’ll put a stop to that.” She checked the chunky rifle once more, it was still clean. She darted towards the building on silent footsteps and took a position outside of a massive wooden sliding door that was open just enough for her to fit through. She, very slowly, peaked into the dark building.

The scent was pungent and thick, fresh blood spilled across the concrete in the center, with the light cast from the moon illuminating a corpse. Something was hunched over it, a silhouette of what could only be a man. She looked around, tables with knives, but not a fish in sight. Plenty of bones, decaying limbs of long dead victims, it was revolting. She looked further and saw others, more silhouettes that looked to be in quiet conversion with one another as they sat around. There was a computer station with a generator in the back, and someone was typing away on it, another man, but his eyes did not show a red hue. She wanted to be sure before she kicked this hornets nest. She looked behind her, and picked up a rock. She tossed it in with her left hand, aiming for an old steam boiler. It clanged against it, and everyone inside the building turned. The one sitting over the corpse looked to the left, and she saw the glowing red eyes.

Without another moment's hesitation she rounded the corner and fired the OPR, the 20mm silver lined projectile crashing right into the back of the one over the corpse and detonating, spraying a shower of black blood and gore across the center of the room. The mangled corpse barely had time to land on the ground before she fired another three shots into the chamber, blowing away three more of the vampiric freaks. One almost surprised her from her left as it jumped out of a closet, its mouth agape, screaming at her with its arms outstretched. She whipped around and fired, the body was thrown to the wall as it covered her in black speckles of blood.

Grabbing her hatchet with her right hand, she met the oncoming rush of another by hacking directly into its face. Screaming in agony and crashing to the floor, the vampire's face singed as it tried to pull the small axe free. She stamped down hard with her left foot as the skull cracked beneath her. Wrenching the axe free she threw it, the head impacting the chest of another, the body falling over a table and breaking chairs beneath it. She didn’t even turn as she fired a shot from the OPR into the writhing half-headless corpse on the ground. Taking aim she put another enormous hole into the torso of another as it charged from the right, the body’s remains tumbling before her.

She made her way to the one with the hatchet in its chest as she brought the rifle up again and fired, blowing it apart. She reached down and grabbed the axe very casually, and looked around. The human had stumbled over and was holding onto the leg of one more vampire. But this vampire looked different. It was wearing a uniform of some kind, a grey tunic and pants, and though it wasn’t wearing a cap, she could see the symbol of a diving eagle on its chest right above its heart.

“So. I take it you are the one responsible for all of this?” She gestured around to the dead corpses of the vampires and of the human victims.

“Kraven will prevail.” It muttered in a low growl.

“Oh, what's that, I couldn’t hear you, could you speak up a little?” She made a playful gesture with her hand to her ear as she slung the OPR behind her shoulder. A wide smile on her face as she gave a sidelong glance.

“Kraven will prevail!” It roared as it charged Josephine. With but a subtle flick of her wrist she quickly drew Garmr and blew the vampires right leg clean off at the knee. The vampire crumbled to the floor, and screamed in agony and pain, before it stopped, having lost a lot of blood. She calculated in her head she had more than enough time before it would get back up.

“You. Now you are something special, aren’t you?” She spoke in a menacing tone as she slowly approached the man cowering in fear against the wall. Garmr aimed right at his head, he was sweating profusely.

“You will tell me everything you know about this little, operation you have been running here.”

“I-...” The man stuttered, his eyes darting to the other vampire that had been protecting him. Josephine looked at this man, his uniform was not much different from the vampire she had just shot. He wore an arm band of some kind, it was black with a white rune or symbol on it.

“Go on, say it.” She brought her hand under his chin and lifted his head up so he was looking directly into her eyes.

“I-... I-I will say nothing! The high chancellor will have your head for this!”

“Oh? Well that's too bad then. I don’t give second chances, unlike my sire.” Within a moment she gripped his head as she bit down on his neck and began to drink. Hardly a whimper escaped the man as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, his limp arms falling to his sides as she stole the life from him in but a few hearty gulps. Satisfied, she pulled away from the pale dead man, and left him there.

Visions swam around her mind of his life prior to this point. When he first went to school, when he met a girl, when he joined the military of this mysterious state he served. A massive rally he had attended five years prior. She saw the flag so clearly in her mind, black with red and white stripes, and a diving eagle emblazoned on the center. The submarine he had been transported on to get here. But she saw him meeting with another and departing the submarine for land at a completely different location.

“You will set up an operation in Dry Acre. Once the signal comes you will move to destroy the city and render its military capabilities inoperable. You will meet up with existing operatives that we have given you names for here.” The man she had drank from spoke to this other, who nodded in understanding as they both looked over the map. She saw the man get into a rubber boat and drive off into the misty ocean. Then a vision of this man making his way to these swamps. His mission orders were similar.

“Destroy the city and render the port inoperable, send its citizens screaming in terror, but let none survive. Easy enough.” He had said to himself as his vampiric accomplice helped row to the marshland.

She returned to the present, a renewed sense of power gripping her.

“So there's more of you.” Spoke as she turned, a wicked grin upon her features, looking down at the remaining vampire. She saw a chain with a sharp hook on the end of it. She picked it up and dug the hook into the vampire's flesh, hooking it to the collarbone. It woke, but before it could react she wrapped the chains firmly around its throat and yanked it tight. It couldn’t scream but it brought its hands up to the chains, unable to pull them free with its losing strength. She dragged the vampire behind her as it kicked and thrashed, unable to fight back. Exiting the building she looked over to the two still waiting for her.

“Not bad, but your traceability moving through the swamps was still too high. I am impressed by the urban skills but if it wasn’t for being about as unkillable as a pro-Maunan TV host, you’d probably would’ve been taken by any decent troopers in the swamp. I saw most of it, and that’s the problem.” Remarked Viljoen, it wasn’t jealousy, it was old habits as a swamp warfare instructor resurfacing.

“Well, it's a good thing we won’t need to be coming back here anytime soon.” She spoke as she dragged the chained one into the light for them both to see.

“Now, what did this fokker say?” said Viljoen gesturing to the chained up vampire.

“His friend and this one were going to destroy Van Meter in the coming war once they received the right signal. The port would have been made unusable, and the people would have been terrorized and hunted down.” She yanked it closer to the two as it tried to thrash itself free, and failed. Its red beady eyes darted around maddeningly.

“I see…” muttered Viljoen, his disposition changed. He saw the Vampire wriggle, trying to free itself. He squatted down and looked the Vampire in the eyes. “I see we have a fokken terr on our hands. You know, we Moerasmen used to be called terrs once, back when we were fokken pirates, more barbaric times, a time known as over two fokken centuries ago. I see we backwards swamp dwellers have progressed more than you for all your powers.” He stood up, took a step back “And you know why we were terrs? Because we had foreign invaders trying to claim our land.” Viljoen then quickly stepped forward again, winding up a kick with a steel toe to the nose. “Now, we don’t negotiate with terrs.”

After Viljoen had gotten done with kicking the shit out of the vampire, the three began to make their way back to the boat. Right before they were about to reenter the stilt trees, Viljoen once again made the signal to stop urgently, this time. Both Josephine and Godwinson could see the problem. A 25-foot albino gator in the water slowly heading towards them. Viljoen pointed his 12-gauge at the beast. “Lord Gigantobigicus’ triumphant return I see.” muttered Viljoen.

The massive gator bellowed, its eyes locked on the group. Josephine looked down at the now muddy but still bleeding wretch she had chained up.

“Well, if he’s hungry, then maybe we best let him do the deed and be on our way while he’s busy. Won’t we.” She said as she glared down at the vampire, who now seemed to thrash harder, terrified of what she was about to do. She undid the chain from around its neck and yanked the vampire between the two forward, letting the hook gouge a deep gash across its flesh, spraying blood into the water. The giant albino gator, smelling the distinct scent of blood, swam over and chomped down on the vampire's chest, before committing to a violent death roll. The vampire screamed as it appeared and disappeared under the water. The massive gator chomped down again and again as the water became blackened with the vampire's blood.

Viljoen muttered, “Bloody hell, great way to make a bastard disappear. Good thing I’ve been bodycam off since we left the propdrogger.” Viljoen then laughed, it was obvious he didn’t care. The three swiftly made their way back to the boat.

“I assume it went well.” Said Hardin bluntly after counting all three as present and one of them covered in blood.

“Yeah, mission accomplished.” said Viljoen, “I’ll debrief you at the station, but we will need to head to speak to Admiral Daniels at the Naval Station once we get some more caffeine in our system.”

“Another day in paradise.” Simply stated Hardin.

Josephine looked around the marshland before climbing aboard the boat. She wiped her face, the streaks of black blood weren’t coming off easily. The rest of her uniform would need a deep cleaning, as usual after a mission. The mud and blood had caked in to the point her uniform was more black than olive green. As she sat down between Hark and Godwinson, she pondered an idea that had come to mind. Those gigantic albino alligators eyes looked to start glowing in the moon light. Did she unintentionally make a Vampire Gator? She shook her head, no that couldn’t be possible. But if it was, she wondered if she had accidentally created a monster that would only end up killing more people. But no, vampire blood doesn’t work that way…

Deep in the Marshlands

‘Lawd Gigantobigicus’ stomped through his territory. Deep within, a new hunger brewed. It bellowed, as it swam through the marshlands. It wanted more land to itself, and the other gators were no longer the masters of their territory. It would be the king, no, the emperor of this bayou for a thousand years as it bellowed loud enough to be heard miles around.

(This joint post was made with Southwater.)

[The Kingdom of Rhamos]

James Ross Hotel, Hog’s jump, Duchy of Southwater

March 29th

The James Ross Hotel, a 5 stories tall structure on the outskirts towards the city's airport. Its exterior of red brick, trees, and hedges surrounded it and helped hide its size giving the occupants a quaint rustic experience of coziness.

For Josephine, this was yet another temporary home away from home while she was in the city. Tradesmen, contractors, families out on road trips cross country, and a ranchhand down on his luck, all stood in stark contrast to her first foray into swamp tracking. Her clothes were thoroughly soaked in dried black blood and stained shades of brown from the mud and muck that couldn’t be shaken off. The smell was as putrid as the black marks left behind on her face from the mud. Nevertheless, after parting ways with Hark and Godwinson, she made her way through adequate subdued tan painted halls, trying not to leave a trail of mud behind her as she got up to her room on the fifth floor. She pulled out the card and was about to insert it into the reader when she saw someone out of the corner of her eye.

At the far end of the hall Adelaide stood for a moment, looking Josephine up and down in silent contemplation before noticing that she was staring back at her. A small wink with her right eye was her greeting as she began to walk towards her.

“Sssooo. You. Must be the supergirl everyone is talking about, hmm?” The question didn't sound so much like one, there was a distinct tone of judgment hidden behind a half-hearted curiosity.

Josephine narrowed her eyes at the question asked by this unknown woman, and brought the card back to her right pocket before turning to regard her. Curly hair, long sleeved leather gloves. Her suit was missing a jacket but it did have a white undershirt, black vest and matching tie. Something seemed off about her eyes as Josephine looked into them, as if only one was real. She remembered back to the swamp and counted the rounds in Garmr in her head. Seven shots left. Her boot knife was back where it belonged on the inside of her right boot, hidden by the muddy waist coat. Her extra magazines were still in their pouch.

“That depends on who is asking.” Josephine poised as this woman approached.

As Josephine affixed the woman in her gaze, she would have noticed that the woman didn't seem to be affected, if at all, by the sight of her eyes. No. In fact, there was something in the woman's left eye. A hint of subtle emotion not shown in the right.

“Ah.” The woman brought a hand to her chest in what appeared to be surprise.

“How rude of me. Where are my manners?” Her Rhamosian accent played into her voice giving it an almost smooth and melodic tone that glazed over a subtle note of anger that was buried just underneath.

She reached up with her right hand and quickly tugged her glove off the left before offering it to Josephine. The skin on it seemed…a little off.

“I represent an organization that's deeply interested in you. Miss….?”

Josephine looked at the outstretched hand, something unnerved her in the way it looked. The skin wasn’t pale but it wasn’t the right color either. Not necrosis but it didn’t look truly alive either. She listened closely as she reached out and grasped the hand and shook it firmly. She didn’t feel a distinct ‘thump thump’ in her wrist. No heartbeat. Her eyes dilated back a little as she stared into this mysterious and confusing woman's eyes.

“Josephine. And you?”

“Adelaide.” She said shortly.

“Princess Ottillé was in my care.” There was a hint of bitterness creeping into her facade now.

“I saw the princess when she was coming out of the chamber, she was covered in the blood of Mr. Stöckler. I wanted to help her but something in my head told me to stay in the chamber to make sure everyone else got out.” She released her grip on Adelaide's hand, some sticky feeling came with it, but she didn’t let it bother her.

Adelaide's hand lingered there for a moment as she listened, a little too intently to those words. Her brow burrowing in response.

“Yes, I'm sure it was too much to help a little girl.” The words were almost spat out. Adelaide blinked for a second before taking a short heavy breath and exhaling.

“I'm so sorry.” She said, suddenly pulling the glove back on. “...It's just a tad strange though, don't you think?”

Josephine blinked a few times at the first comment, taking it in that this woman was quite passionate about her charge. She let the implication slide for the moment after she apologized, before she cocked her head to the side.

“Whats strange?” Josephine asked.

“The whole thing.” Adelaide said a little pointedly. “The heads of the Crown Alliance all gathered together for the first time since the September Island conflict.” She held a finger up off to the side. “All the enemies of the KP just so happen to be sitting in the front row.” Another finger. “A bomb goes off.” Another finger. “And then you.”

“What about me? I was with the Stallenbourgian delegation. I'm a Stallenbourgian citizen. I don’t really know all that much about September Island other than my nation did not get involved in it. We were dragged to the peace summit, and if I remember right we actually supported a few of the Crown Alliances points. But I have no business with any of that stuff. I was just there to make sure our head diplomat was safe.” She shrugged, a sensation growing from her right hand, a strange tingling. She narrowed her eyes again as the seconds passed by.

Adelaide's counting quickly turned to pointing an accusing finger at Josephine's chest. “No one, fucking, saw you.” The words were short and damning in tone. “I don't know what magic bullshit you pulled in there, what fucking disease you gave those people.”

Adelaide's eyes narrowed back at Josephine. “I don't know what kind of fucking monster. you. are.” The words came out through clenched teeth as Adelaide struggled to maintain her composure. “I saw what happened to her.”

Josephine had a sense to know where this conversation was going, but she wasn’t quite sure how it would end.

“You are right. I was invisible as you would put it. But did you watch the recording closely? Cause if you did you would have seen me appear at the last second and grab my charge before the bomb went off. A bomb I had no part in designing or placing. Now please, do not accuse me over your own hurt feelings. I can get it, your princess is dying somewhere and you have no idea how to tackle the virus. How do you think I felt when I watched two of the people I was meant to protect die in a hospital, their lungs literally being coughed out their mouths and into their oxygen masks?” She spoke in a non-confrontal tone, maintaining her composure, not wanting to escalate this situation with this ‘Adelaide’ if it could be helped.

Adelaide studied the monster before her for a moment before choosing her words carefully “We'll see about that.” She said coldly before turning to walk away.

Josephine watched carefully as she walked away. For someone so close to the princess she really wasn’t good at keeping her humors in check, but Adelaide and her ‘organization’ also thought that she was responsible for it all. Easy deduction to make, and nothing she could say would probably convince them otherwise. As Adelaide turned a corner and out of sight, Josephine waited five long seconds, trying to listen to her distant footsteps, but found that it was being matched by the sound of… clapping? She turned around, and checked behind her, but it wasn’t coming from that direction. Returning her view to the hallway, she waited as the clapping grew closer.

“Bravo, BRAVO!” A voice called out from down at the end of the hallway before a man rounded the corner. He was dressed much differently than the woman who had just left. His long brown leather duster concealing much of what he wore but it was obvious that there was gear underneath it. The apparatus on the outside of each leg showed he was wearing some form of light exo-skeleton. To top it all off curiously enough there was a small bird perched on his shoulder, though it looked more like a toy.

“Bravo Madame Josephine! I must say that was quite the performance just now!” He called again.

Josephine watched as the man continued his little taunt. Blonde hair, light brown eyes, and though he wasn’t wearing a helmet, he seemed like he would be wearing one. Beneath the duster, she saw the hips were a little more pronounced, holsters for pistols. He was maybe a couple inches taller than her, maybe 6’1”. She took a deep breath, using her nose so as to not show any discomfort. ‘So this was Adelaide's body guard. All of the civilians in the building should be safe. Okay.’ She talked to herself internally, maintaining her composure, but she was really starting to feel that tingle in her hand. It hadn’t been that long since she felt that exact feeling before. The clock would be ticking, but she reasoned that she had plenty of time before any of the particulates came free of the sticky residue.

The man didn't approach beyond the edge of the corner. His voice had none of the accent in it that Adelaide's had, not that he looked Rhamosian either. No, he was different. His body language displayed that he was content to stay right where he was.

“Allow me to put on one of my own.”

At that, another man popped around the corner beside him, this one got in a kneeling position with a Carl Gustov leveled. This newcomer wore an exposed lightweight exoskeleton, forgoing any attempt to mask themselves.

“Fire Broadside!” The man yelled with a mock pirate accent as the other man loosed a canister round down the hallway, erupting the hall behind them with a cushioned back blast along with bits of masonry, wallpaper, and carpet.

Josephine reacted as soon as she saw the newcomer, she flicked her left wrist and quickly drew Garmr, firing a hip shot that sailed past the incoming wall of flechettes and straight towards the faceless goon.

The .454 Casul Anti-midian round crashed into the visor and broke through effortlessly, pulping the head of the assailant as the core of the bullet exploded, sending the corpse falling lifelessly to the ground. The Carl Gustav clanged to the ground and rolled to a stop.

She braced herself, rapidly going to one knee and putting both her arms up to cover her head and face. The thousand flechettes tore up the hallway around her, nicked her sides and cut her uniform up, she felt dozens embed themselves into her arms and legs as she was thrown back across the hallway and into the wall. The smoke and dust blew up around her, masking her for a moment. She took a deep ragged breath, stifling the pain. Blood trickled down her face, her hands, her entire body. She coughed and did her best to focus on what was front of her.

She brought her gaze up through the dust and smoke, looking for the two down the hallway. The one she had shot at was lying dead, but the mocking one was standing there with a sawed off M79 grenade launcher leveled at her.

“Boom” was all he said before launching a 40mm incendiary round down the hallway at her. Proceeding to advance calmly down the hallway towards her while drawing the second one from his other holster.

Josephine saw him raise the grenade launcher and mouth the words. As soon as she heard the tick of the trigger being pulled, she hurled herself to the side and into a door, burying herself into the cut out to try and get some cover. The projectile crashed into the wall and exploded, hot white fragments sent flying through the air. She clenched her teeth, the scorching pain, as she patted down her left side of any lingering flames. The sprinkler system would be turning on any moment due to the smoke and fire. She gripped Garmr in her left hand and took aim, firing a shot aimed for the man's hand holding the second grenade launcher. ‘Five left’, she counted in her head.

The grenade launcher exploded out of his hand much to his delight “My! Still got some fire left in you after all that?” He flicked his other wrist causing the original M79 to open and with a gunslinger flair smoothly twirled it while sliding another round in. “Dodge this.” Hip firing a beehive round down the hallway at her as he spoke.

The wall shook as it was peppered by flechettes. Josephine tried to bite back the pain but couldn’t any longer, as her left side was peppered by more of the flechettes, her left hand holding Garmr shook. She released a cry out of pain, her voice hoarse as the hallway burned around her. She brought her right hand to the gun and swapped hands, ambidexterity coming in handy for once. She still kept her left hand gripped to the right. Some of the flechetes from earlier had begun to pop out of her, but she had lost so much blood that the wounds were not healing fast enough. She began to feel lightheaded, but swore not to give up. ‘God, guide me through this hell. To forgive the sins of man at the end of my righteous fury, and be delivered to the guardian of the gates of hell itself.’ She spoke the silent creed to herself. It was an old Stallenbourgian proverb one would say to console themselves before giving their all in a battle to the death.

She jumped out from the fire and into full view, smoke clinging to her as she flew. The man looked surprised at that moment, as she fired three more times. The first shot was aimed for the other grenade launcher, the next shot was aimed for the upper arm, with the final shot being aimed right at the face. She crashed into the wall, drywall cracking above her and dust being sent up. The jutting pain as some of the flechettes pushed deeper. She screamed out in anger, both from the pain, and in a blatant refusal of this man's attempt to corner her. ‘Two.’

The same trick wouldn't work a second time, the man was already moving to get out of the line of fire when she switched hands. But a man was only so fast even with exo-armor, as his last M79 exploded into shrapnel, his arm grievously wounded as the second huge round had its intended effect of forcefully ripping his armor from his arm as it sailed through. The last shot left a sizable gash along his face, as it sailed past and into a wall, exploding harmlessly.

“Still alive are we?” He hummed cheerfully as he examined his arm with bored amusement. “You really are what they say, me on the other hand I'm still skeptical.” He flourished out his hand and the toy bird that had been perched on his arm flowed into his outstretched hand and gave form to a cutlass.

“Vampires, the undead, mythical creatures, nothing but childish fancy.” The words came closer as he still advanced. “But surely you know they hate you girl, whatever you are, you're different, no matter how hard you try it's just human nature.” He punched his sword and good arm through a door, and with a satisfying crash freed it from its frame. “How could you not hate them back?”

Josephine staggered to her feet, Garmr aimed low, her face dripping with blood, her uniform hardly resembled what it once was as the green was replaced with hues of red, black and brown. Most of it was shredded, the patch on her left shoulder barely resembled what it had been. The flames behind her licked the ceiling and walls as smoke billowed behind her. She was shaking, blinking repeatedly to get the blood out of her eyes and to prevent the smoke from stinging them. She heard the crunch of the door more than she saw it. She visualized what he was doing as she heard the hinges rattle in the air. She ducked and rolled to the right as the door was flung at her, crashing through the drywall and studs and embedding itself in the wall. She turned, remaining knelt down as she aimed, listening for any movement. ‘Why haven’t the sprinklers turned on already?’

She waits, looking around as the flames lick closer and closer to her, the heat growing. The smoke reduced both of their visibility, but she couldn’t hear any movement. Carefully, she got up and inched her way forwards, dripping blood behind her. She stopped, as she saw a clay figurine of a black bird in front of her. Little red beads illuminated by the fire. It was like a child's first sculpture, not crude but well made.

The wall next to Josephine erupted in a shower of plaster and splinters as the man barreled through, attempting to slam his palm and by extension Josephine's head into the opposite wall behind her. His exo skeleton working overtime to give him the speed and strength he thought he needed to close the gap.

She heard the crunch and crack of lumber and rolled, squishing the clay figurine as she fired the last two shots. The first aimed for his outstretched palm, the second aimed for the joint where the arms armor and shoulder meets. Before she finished her roll, her left hand instinctively reached down to her belt and undid the flap in a single, but shaky motion. She pulled another magazine free as she dropped the empty one, and slammed it home. A fresh eight rounds to play with.

The man crashed into the opposite wall like a freight train as plaster dust and smoke swirled around him and temporarily obscured him from view. It was but a moment of respite for the girl as the debris cleared to show him still standing there, haggard and breathing heavily, blood pouring from his freshly removed hand and down cuts along his own face. The bird however was not squished along the floor. Like a shadow it clung to his arm as it slowly covered the wound and took the shape of his freshly lost hand. His smug blood stained smile still gleaned his purely red tinted whites.

He made to move again when he stopped. The new hand raised up as if it was talking though no movement was seen or sound heard.

“Oh I suppose you're right, I've gone too far again haven't I.” He looked at Josephine for a moment staring at her directly in the eyes, a silent message of intent.

He would find her again.

The light of the fire illuminating his garish wounds and mangled form. “Until next time, Madame Josephine.” The floor beneath him gave out as he plunged through the flames to the next floor, though it seemed intentional, rather than a mere accident.

Josephine shakily lowered her gun a few moments after he had fallen through the floor. She took deep rasping breaths. She coughed a few times as the flames burned their way through the hall. At the end of the hall, the ceiling collapsed, revealing light and a fresh flow of oxygen as the flames surged higher. Bloody and clawing herself to her knee’s, she fell forward. A jolt of pain surged in both her legs as some of the flechettes were still buried deep. She began to crawl on her stomach. She was losing herself, her vision grew weary.

There were footsteps, a dozen boots scampering towards her, she gripped her gun tight, waiting for the end. But she felt arms under her, then she was in the air, being carried and rushed down steps. It was all a blur to her, but she opened her blood encrusted eyes to see someone she knew. He wore a panicked face but knew what he was doing.

“M-… Masse…”

“It's alright Josephine, we got you.”

“Put her here, yeah right here on the seat cmon.”

“Okay carefully, lift.”

“Be careful with her, she’s an angel.”

“Hark, take her to the nearest hospital, ask for a private room, show them her credentials. If anyone asks, she works for the government. Go!”

“Yes sir!”

She couldn’t tell who spoke or from what direction. She felt a blanket cover her. She saw the smoke in the air, but was rocked back ever so slightly as sirens wailed nearby. She could barely hear an engine and gears shifting, before she lost consciousness.



Francis J. Lester Memorial Hospital, Hog’s Jump, Duchy of Southwater

March 31

“She’s waking up.”

“Shut, shh shh.”

Her eyelids fluttered open as they adjusted to a darkened hospital room. She blinked a few times as her vision dilated in. A couple of the Belvere guys were standing around her. Massena was watching her from a chair, while Godwinson was busy cleaning her OPR for her. At the doorway, she saw two on the inside of the door and two outside, rifles at the ready. They were protecting her, standing guard in case of another attack. She pursed her lips and found a tube was in her mouth that was connected to a blood bag. On a few nearby trays, there were stainless steel tweezers of different sizes, and what looked like a hundred or more flechettes, dried red blood coating some of them.

“Where am I?” She asked. Turning her head, she regarded Hark, who sat next to her and was holding her right hand.

“You’re in a hospital. We were able to get you accommodated and the Southwaterians are handling the mess.” Hark spoke, he ran his thumb in a circle in her palm. She smiled at that, and it appeared the whole room started gleaming.

“You have been out for a whole day, had us worried sick.” It was Massena who spoke this time.

“Did you see where they went?” She asked, a concerned look on her face. Her voice betrayed her, and sounded weaker than it should have.

“Don’t try to speak too much. You’re still healing. But we didn’t get a glimpse of the guy who did it. He was gone before we had a chance to put a couple holes in him.” Godwinson spoke as he doused a rag in gun oil and returned to working on the monolithic bullpup.

“Are we safe?” She whispered.

“I am confident they won’t be coming for you here.” Massena spoke as he looked out at the guards blocking the door. “Too high profile, too much collateral. Not that the bastard seemed to care.”

“She called me a monster.”

“Who did?” Massena got out of his chair with a note pad and a pen.

“She was named Adelaide…” She took several pauses but she described her to him as he wrote it all down.

“And what was the man's name?”

She paused, looking down at her arms. Small pricks and scabs were present, she looked like a pin cushion. She looked back into Massena’s eyes, and looked back down again.

“I don’t know.”

(This post was made in collaboration with Stallenbourg.)
Stallenbourg

[Christbol]

The Lantern House basement floor -4, Containment Class P.S. Area, Weltholm, ChristBol, Markion

The unofficial departments of the OMA, despite what few people unlucky enough to be on the receiving end think of them, are far from the business of dissolving or destroying all anomalies and artifacts. Some anomalies or artifacts are deemed harmless or manageable with the right oversight, and therefore with an adequate sponsor are sometimes kept safe by OMA officials or third parties. Some of them even hide in plain sight - as reliquaries kept in Christbolian churches or beings capable of independent thought delicately hidden from society but supported by the select few who know of their existences.

There are some of these that are deemed too useful for the OMA to let go of, and so a use within the OMA is found for them, hence the name of the class - Practical Service. Rooms upon rooms of these such anomalies and artifacts scatter across part of the basement to the Lantern House, the building housing the Ministry of State Intelligence, though others prefer the more menacing and unofficial name for the structure - the Confessional. You are likely to bend reality several times over while trying to locate any one specific anomaly, going through doorways upon doorways that lead to places which feel like they have no real rhyme or reason; unless you know what you are doing exactly, ending up in some hallways just seems to net you stuck in some infinitely stretching hallway ouroboros, a sort of containment and security method in of itself. There are no physical maps or schematics to the place, and what kind of methodology the OMA uses that isn't prior knowledge of how the entire basement operates seems to also be a privilege of the select few to know.

One room, closer to the entrance to the class P.S. area, and therefore being one of the easier ones to manage getting into, sits as a neatly organized 1970s Christbolian replica office. Tiles covered the roofs with pristinely kept low-intensity fluorescent lights shining and most cubicle tables contained banker's lamps. Things unimaginable to see on a desk in modern ChristBol with the rise of the electronic industry also spread across them: typewriters, rolodexes, rotary phones, letter trays, paper filing folders and so on. Christbolian flag poles decorate a few far ends of the room and one wall is covered in various electrical panels and doohickeys which perplex the mind given that they connect to absolutely nothing on the outside.

At the opposite end from the electrical panel a truly gargantuan amount of filing cabinets sit in place, not looking out of place from the aesthetics of the room, with each drawer marked seemingly random streaks of letters and numbers like "EM-10", "T-17", "O-12", "JRG-757". From the inside of the cabinets and even a little bit just standing outside, the sound of graphite pencils sliding over paper and creating words can be heard.

It is in one such drawer, neatly marked "UIX-7", where a nigh identical copy of the notebook Arsi had previously used to at first glance just write down Josephine's habits, among many similar but not identical others in the same drawer, begins to just generate words upon words of handwriting, Arsi's handwriting, onto the pages. The contents of the pages encapsulate a degree of surveillance that would sound not just nearly dystopian to some average citizen but bordering omniscient. There is effectively almost nothing Arsi has missed seeing or hearing in regards to tracking Josephine in the last few days.

The first few paragraphs included descriptions of the meeting Josephine had with her other allies within the command truck on March 28th, what she spoke about in that truck, the words she exchanged, the trip to Van Meter on the very same day, the cooperation between herself and the Southwaterian inspector, her admittance to Viljoen that she is in fact a vampire hunting vampires, the engagement and her display of combat skills against hostile vampires, the use of silver and so on. Almost all conversations are transcribed verbatim as if handled by some stenographer sitting not even a few feet away from Josephine's party. Arsi even denoted a potential fear of deep water citing a strong heartbeat within Josephine's body whilst staring down at the invisible bottom of the swamp rather than at the creatures themselves. He could even confirm the existence of the alleged ghosts moving invisibly around them, though lacking concrete evidence it was actually the Clay family which Josephine mentioned earlier in the day. Across the entire report for March 28th the word 'Kraven' appears four times and is underlined all four times: once when Josephine says it, twice when the captured hostile vampire confirms it, and once when Arsi himself swearing on the contents of this report.

The subsequent report about the events of March 29th read less like a story in the earlier case and more similar to an extremely detailed battle report, as well as where Josephine was taken after the battle. At the bottom of the paragraphs for March 29th reads one more sentence, entirely underlined and bolded:

Advise seeking audience for cooperation with Josephine's organization. Upon independent investigation, we may soon conclude Fortress Norska is deploying anomalous threats.

[Stallenbourg]

White Roses

Francis J. Lester Memorial Hospital, Hog’s Jump, Duchy of Southwater

April 1, 04:17 AM

For a day synonymous with practical jokes, pranks, and lighthearted jeers, none were to be found in the secluded hospital room that housed Josephine Belmont. It was morning, and she was struggling with sleep. She had just finished ‘breakfast’; another blood pack. It didn’t taste that good to her. For ‘A type’ blood, it was clotting far too easily, and she had to chase it with water just to get it down. She looked to her left, and only saw the sea foam green painted wall of her room. The room didn’t have any windows or any obvious large vents. She wished the air conditioning wasn’t set so low, she shivered in the blue scrubs she had been given, the only thing that she had at that moment.

She had seen her uniform, or what was left of it. The thin titanium-polyester hybrid stitching held most of it together. Water resistant, fire retardant olive colored material interwoven into its unique tailored design, optimized for all operations the organization expected to send its units into. A uniform she had used for well over a decade at this point. But when she saw it again, it barely resembled what it had been.

Pockmarked by hundreds of holes, stained red, black and brown, entire chunks of the heavy duty fabrics ripped away. Sections of it were scorched or had burned off. Her beret came off during the fight, likely burned away in the hotel, pinned to a wall by a flechette. Her boots had seen much better days than that one. The patches on her left arm and on her chest were ruined, shredded to naught but red and black thread. Even the word ‘god’ had been bisected by one of the darts that grazed her.

But it was all gone now, incinerated due to the risk of contaminants and due to the particulates that Adelaide had on her fake hand.

‘Stupid.’ She scolded herself internally, she shouldn’t have shaken her hand, but given what came after, it could have been worse. She could have actually inhaled any of that virus. Her blood running down her arms had likely diluted and washed away the particulates during the firefight anyways, but she had been disinfected and cleaned when she was admitted.

The guys had come in intermittently ever since she woke up to check on her, see how she was doing, try to lift her spirits. But every time she was left alone, she found herself drawn back to the same thoughts.

‘Why am I here? Am I strong enough? Why did they want me dead? I didn’t hurt their princess. I never wanted to hurt anyone… human…’

The last thought bothered her. Even after twenty years of life as a vampire, how could she just be normal?

‘Monster.’

Never once had she been called a monster during her service to the Belvere Organization. She had always been called by her name, or ‘The Crazy One’, but that was always done affectionately by the men she worked with. Some of them really liked her personality and enjoyed being around her, others feared her, but Cynthia was no different. Always attracting the eyes of the men she worked with, and rumors abound of the things she had done with them. Be it counseling them, answering dumb questions, or making them shut up for a couple nights and needing a transfusion, the many stories she had heard of her blood-sire seemingly had no end. They called her ‘the Angel’ long before Josephine had joined them. And yet now, for the first time, the men under her command called her that.

She sniffled as she looked down at her hands. Her arms and legs were wrapped in dressings and gauze. She probably didn’t need them but appreciated the work the nurses had done. As soon as she had been admitted, the doctors, surgeon, and nurses who agreed to work on her had to sign an NDA, and were paid double time. Two bottles of chlorhexidine had been used just to disinfect the hundreds of wounds. They had her taking various antibiotics and medicines, the surgeon had kept her under the day she arrived when he went in with his tools to repair her severed blood vessels. He made a comment on the sheet near her nightstand stating how astounded he was by her body's regenerative abilities, as it made his job much easier. She reached back with her left hand, and felt her fingers rub across the nylon sutures, right where the back stab from twenty years before was. She reached down to her hip and felt more stitches. The wounds ached still. She sniffled again. For all of her abilities and regenerative powers granted to her by vampirism, she still could not heal those old wounds so easily.

“Am… Am I strong…” She whispered to herself as she held her hands before her. She looked ahead of her to a mirror that was facing her. It was stuck to the wall right above a table just a few feet beyond her bed. She choked as she saw the crimson tears creep down her face, troubled even to look into her own eyes. She pressed her hands to her face and cried.

“M-... Monst…” She sobbed, unable to stop now. She moaned her grief aloud, though if anyone heard it, they didn’t mind her. The tears kept flowing, staining her hands and dripping off her chin and onto her scrubs.

She heard something. The popping and crackling of timbers and the smell of smoke and ash. She opened her eyes and brought her bloodied hands away from her. She was there again, the hotel as it burned around her. She looked left and right, nothing but crumbling walls as the flames burned through them. Looking ahead, she saw a silhouette of that man, the flames behind him roaring as a backdrop of hell. She saw him raise a weapon.

“You know they hate you girl, whatever you are, you’re different, no matter how hard you try it’s just human nature.” The voice was ethereal yet damning in its tone.

“How could you not hate them back?” As firelight illuminated the face of that man once more.

She grabbed something within reach and threw it at the visage. It cracked, then all of reality shattered around her like glass as she heard it all crash and crunch on the floor.

She opened her eyes for real, and found that she had thrown a pair of surgical scissors directly into the mirror. The scissors were embedded into it as the glass spider webbed around it. She saw her reflection in those broken shards, the streaks of red down her face and eyes. Shaking, shuddering as she breathed, her chest rising and falling with every deep breath.

The door opened as Massena entered, a pistol drawn and looking around the room.

“Are you okay Josephine!?” He blurted out.

“Ah-.. Uhm...” She answered, her voice betraying her again. Not the voice of someone who was sick or groggy from waking up, but a voice of defeat.

Massena looked over to the shattered mirror as he lowered the gun.

“Edwards, get that out of here. She doesn’t need it. And do not ask for a replacement.”

“Yes sir.” Edwards acknowledged as he carefully removed the mirror from the wall and took it out of the room. Massena holstered the pistol and knelt down beside her bed so he was eye level with her. The door closed behind him as her guards blocked the door again.

“What happened?”

“I… I just saw a v-vision of the man again… I did it instinctively, you know. I-…” She fumbled the words in her mouth as the tears returned. Massena got up and embraced her, holding her tight as she wrapped her arms around him and cried into his shoulder.

“He can’t hurt you here, he won’t. You’re safe. We’re all safe. Don’t hurt yourself over what happened. Please Josephine.” He spoke as he caressed her head in his left hand and rubbed her back with the right, making sure to avoid her wound.

“Am-... Am I a… M-Mons…” She spoke, her voice meek.

“No. No no no, you aren’t. Don’t let that bother you. You’re not the monster here.”

“But I d-drink…”

“That doesn’t make you a monster. You’re better than those who are. Not all vampires are monsters, only those who forget that they were human are."

She whimpered and sobbed as she nodded, her black hair rustling as she shook.

“You’re more human than most humans out there. You’ve met them first hand, and you stood up to them. You didn’t give up and fall over did you?”

She shook her head.

“Thats right. I know we're here to hunt vampires, I know that's what you were trained to do. Things have changed and not in our favor. I’m just glad you’re still with us. I don’t know how we would be able to do this without you, you know?”

She gripped him tighter, the warmth of his embrace and from the words he spoke just felt so reassuring. She continued to weep into his shoulder, staining his uniform red, but he didn’t seem to care. He just wanted to make sure she was safe.

She brought her head back and looked into his eyes. None of the discomfort was there anymore in those brown eyes of his, a tear crept down his face.

“Sorry I just. It's contagious, you know. Like laughing.” He half chuckled as he wiped his eyes.

She sniffled again, as she looked to her right to the empty chair.

“Can you get Hark in here again?” She asked.

“He should be up in an hour, so I will send him as soon as I can.”

“Thank you Massena. For everything.” She made a meek smile, but that was good enough.

“You’re welcome, now let's get you cleaned up.” He grabbed a sterilized rag and wetted it down in the sink on the opposite end of the room, before returning to her side and wiping her face clean of the crimson streaks.



Francis J. Lester Memorial Hospital, Hog’s Jump, Duchy of Southwater

April 1 02:06 PM

“I ain’t going to the hospital! That’s where people go to die damnit!” This was a sentiment a lot of stubborn old Southwaterians had in their later years. An impression not helped by the grim man and his guards walking through the hospital. Mr. Ernest Baldwin and his entourage walked up to the guard and Lieutenant outside the room. Mr. Baldwin was a grim looking gentleman of about 45 in a black dress coat, black pants, black dress boots, and a tall black hat.

“Deputy Director of the Constitutional Department of Global Information? What's your name sir?” Massena held out his hand.

Ernest extended a black gloved hand and took off his hat. “Ernest Hamilton Baldwin. I am here to speak to Miss Josephine Belmont on matters of Southwaterian security. Mr. Kerr and Mr. Conagher at the CDJS are both very unhappy about this flagrant act of terrorism on Southwaterian soil. Thus, he sent me to begin the investigations.”

His voice was as close to monotone as one could get without sounding like a robot. It was not strong, yet carried enough sternness for his position of power. He flashed Massena his badge. “Please understand this matter is now one that brings overlapping responsibilities between us and the Constitutional Department of Justice and Security and I represent both organizations in this matter. Finally, understand we require your full cooperation in this matter as anything less will be detrimental to both parties.”

“We understand. Just… Go easy on her. She hasn’t been taking all of this that well. Don’t speak the word ‘monster’. I hope you understand.” He adjusted his collar. Ernest should be trustworthy. Every meeting was a security risk for her, he just hoped this would be quick.

“I understand the situation is sensitive, both in terms of time and emotion.” Mr. Baldwin put back on his hat.

Massena nodded and opened the door, letting the newcomers in. Josephine looked at the grimly dressed men entering the room. She may be cold but something about the look of these men made her feel colder. They looked like they were prepared to attend a funeral rather than speak with her. She took a deep breath.

“Miss Josephine Belmont I presume? I am Mr. Ernest Baldwin, Deputy Director of the CDGI and CDJS. I have come to have a post-mortem discussion with you after the recent incident and what comes next.”

“O-okay.” She was getting uncomfortable at them bringing up the ‘incident’ as they were calling it. Massena took note and sat in the chair beside her bed, holding her right hand in his left to give her some comfort.

“Go on, deputy. She’ll do her best.” Massena spoke for her, letting her prepare herself for the coming questions.

“I will try to make this as painless as possible. I understand you were subject to two attacks, first a failed bioweapon attack, second, the attack that destroyed the hotel. Please tell me what you remember about the attackers.” Asked Mr. Baldwin, his tone trying to be sympathetic.

Massena released her hand as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the notepad he had from when she talked about the two that came for her, and handed it to Ernest. On it were the physical descriptions of the two individuals, a crude drawing of what they might have looked like on the pages. He sat back down in the chair before nodding to her.

“The woman… Her name was Adelaide. She was very curious about me… But after the hand shake she got so angry with me, like she was looking to provoke me. I didn’t take it but she mentioned the Rhamosian Princess Ottillé… She said that she was supposed to protect the princess. She accused me of planting the bomb that killed Mr.Stöckler. I don’t know if there's any way to convince her since I can… well. Make myself invisible.” Her voice was soft but could easily be heard in the deathly quiet room.

“I see… So a rogue Rhamosian element it seems, and one present for the Stöckler debacle. I understand there is an unfriendly relationship between Rhamos and Stallenbourg, do you believe that could have been the cause of the attack?” Asked Mr. Baldwin. His eyes were steady and observant, but not harsh, much like that of a crow.

“Massena?” She turned to him, not sure how to answer.

“Forgive her, she only gets briefed on things that are important for her operations and in turn, ours. Matters of international affairs are a bit high for our pay grade but we’ve been thrown into it unwittingly. The Rhamosians have in the past accosted Stallenbourg and her allies, but we’ve been so focused on domestic affairs that we haven’t considered this happening. We deal in the supernatural and the paranormal. We don’t kill people unless they work with such powers for the detriment of wider human society. Having Rhamosian operatives attack us like this, and in a foreign land of all places… We're a little out of our element, sir.” He spoke like a professional lecturer at a military academy. Josephine wondered if he had served before he joined the organization.

“I understand, we will discuss the question of how we ensure you all are in a position to deal with the Rhamosians later. Now, the second attacker, the one with the ordnance, please tell me everything you remember about them.” Asked Mr. Baldwin, his first sentence hung in the air for a split second. The very slight shift in tone made it clear that his boss wanted to make sure that if they were going to have foreign agents descend upon this vampire, that they could at least take out the attackers.

Mr. Baldwin very distinctly remembered the words when he and several other deputy directors were summoned to the office of the Head of the CDGI, Mr. Edwin Kerr. Mr. Kerr was in a rage over the whole thing; “I want whoever did this to be turned into a fucking blood diamond on Balthazar Huxley’s shelf!”

“He…” She had to pause, the memory still too fresh in her mind. “Bastard.”

Massena’s head turned at the comment, concern on his face.

“He was a bastard. Made ridiculous commentary to his actions, and had every intention of killing me. Or at least, he tried to…” Her voice had become more aggressive, but relented at her last comment. Her hands had shook, but much like her voice, relaxed as she contemplated.

“He was a hunter of something. I don’t know if he was hunting me or hunting simply for the thrill of it. He had no concern for the people around him or the people under his control. That was evident when I killed the one that pulled out a rocket launcher.” She looked into Mr.Baldwins eyes, though her eyes didn’t display their usual radiance and glow that they once did, a sign of her weakened state.

“I see… So this man was not the one we found in the rubble of the hotel. We found a badly beaten up exoskeleton on him. Do you recognize that technology at all? It is of certain interest to the Duchy and her allies.”

“I have never seen anything like it.” She said, shaking her head.

“I see…” said Mr. Baldwin. He contemplated seeing if he had any more questions, and upon deciding he didn’t, began to speak again.

“Now, for the other reason I am here. To say the least, Mr. Kerr wants to ensure you have bodyguards against the mundane, having locals who can blend in better while holding their own in a fight was decided to be optimal. Thus, I am leaving four of my men in your charge, Mr. Frederick Buell, Mr. Curtis Donelson, Mr. Bradley Gardner, and Mr. Silas Holmes. They are all well trained fighters with considerable experience in combat and in security roles, all armed with their own assortment of weapons. I believe this added firepower will ensure the remainder of your stay in the Duchy goes smoothly. I am certain you will find these gentlemen most amicable.” Mr. Baldwin gestured the men forward before doffing his hat.

“Now, if you will excuse me, my colleagues back in Walkerville are expecting me with this report, thus, I must bid farewell.” Mr. Baldwin proceeded to show himself and the other two men in his entourage out of the room.

Massena got up and walked over to shake the hands of their new guards.

“As much as I want to allow you all to stay in the room with Miss Belmont, I can’t allow it for the time being. She does need time and privacy to herself, but you are more than welcome to help cover our rotations to protect her for the time being. Standing outside the door and at the entrance to this hallway. We have spare cots and a room that the hospital staff set aside for us. Come with me, I’ll help you get set up for the shifts. We’ll keep this up until she’s better.” He walked over and opened the door, letting the men follow through it. They all individually tipped their assortment of hats to Josephine and gave a bow before leaving the room, a sure sign of their acceptance of this task.

Massena closed the door behind them, and looked back to Josephine as she sat in the bed. She shivered for a moment before bringing the blanket over her and staring at the ceiling. She breathed out heavily. With nothing to do, he could tell her mind was running back to those dark recesses. She was restless, uncomfortable, cooped up in this damn building like a bird caged, waiting to burst free and soar into the heavens.

But she couldn’t move. Her old hip wound was still recovering, and no amount of surgery or inadequate blood packs could do it. He had to do something. But what?



Francis J. Lester Memorial Hospital, Hog’s Jump, Duchy of Southwater

April 1 09:32 PM

Edwards, Godwinson, and Hark were sitting at a table in the room that had been set aside for the impromptu hospital visitors. They had made it into a temporary barracks all things considered, even though they all slept outside in or around the vehicles of their small motorpool. Massena entered the room.

“Hark, c'mon son I got something I need to ask of you.” He got up from the chair and walked with the Lieutenant down the hallway.

“How have you been James?” Massena asked.

“Oh, things could be better but I can’t complain sir. Still three meals a day, still get to tell myself I'm making the world a better place. Just wish we could get back out there and, you know.” Hark gestured with his hands. They were getting a little stir crazy being cooped up here and not actually doing their jobs while they were waiting.

“How have you been making out with… with White Rose?” The code phrase for her name wasn’t really something he could get used to, especially around her. But the checker board had been replaced with a chess board, and their opponent knocked over a very important rook. Things had to change. They had to change.

“Ah.. Yeah. She gets happier when I am around. I don’t really know why exactly but she likes me.” Hark scratched his head, not understanding where this was going.

“I have to ask something very difficult of you.” Massena’s tone changed, a little more stern, but also softer so his voice wouldn’t carry. They passed two the guards that watched the hallway leading to her room.

“Okay sir. What do you need me to do?”

“You have never had sex right?”

“Whoa hey hold on-”

“Hey is for horses and it's not that type of question. Just answer me. I never got a chance to read your file before we left the homeland.”

“I haven't, sir.”

“No girlfriends, no sweethearts at home, never been kissed by a girl when you went to school?”

“No sir.”

“Good. You fully read the contract when you agreed to join us right?”

“I did. Is this about that one clause?”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“Look. I know there's others on this detail I could ask to do this, but you’re the one she has latched onto. I don’t know why other than it being the fact you’re a virgin. She outranks me, but she is in no state to be able to make orders. That's why I have to stand up and do something. I would do it, but I have a family already so I know it might not work. On the other hand, what do you have at home?”

“I have no siblings, my mom and pop are still kicking but where I came from, I don’t expect them to be around much longer. It's not a good part of the country if you understand.”

“Why did you join?”

“I was recruited when I was in a coffee shop and, well, Cynthia was there. I had just lost my job and was pretty mad about it and looking for work. She made an offer I couldn’t say no to. Now I'm what might as well be a million miles away from home in a place that's kinda like home, albeit without the violence. I wanted to just have a job, and I wanted to make the world better than I left it.”

“I see.” Massena paused as he looked him over, just out of view of the glass of the door to her room.

“Look James.” He said as he gripped Hark's shoulder. “I need you to go in there, and convince her…” He looked away, not sure if he had the stomach to say it.

“Sir. If it will save people's lives, I’ll do it.” He pushed Massena’s hand off and walked over to the door. The guards moved aside as he looked inside. She was looking at the wall, as if she was imagining a window to appear. He opened the door, and stepped in, closing it behind him. He took a deep breath, and exhaled. ‘No going back now.’

He turned around, and saw the beady crimson eyes look into him, a little smile appeared on her face.

“Hi James.” Her voice was soft but sounded jovial as she spoke.

“Hey Josephine.” He put on a smile of his own.

“Come here, sit down.” She reached over and patted the chair to the right of her bed. He made his way over to it, and sat down. Taking another deep breath he looked over to her.

“Is something wrong?” She wore a puzzled face. When he came in earlier in the morning, she was much happier to see him. She could tell this was different.

“I'm just a bit nervous.” He blushed.

“Nervous about what?” She shuffled to be closer to him. He looked her in the eyes. Before, it wasn’t that hard to look into them, even now he wasn’t struggling, but what those eyes meant were different.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re pretty?”

“Ah. Me? Pretty? In this state?” She gestured to her arms and legs, the wrappings made her look like a mummy.

“No Josephine, I mean it.” His heart was pounding.

“I mean. There was that one guy who did say I was. But that was a couple years ago and he passed. You know how it is in our line of work. But, here and there a good number have come and confessed something to me. Is that what you are here to do?” She was blushing now, expecting to hear it as she gave him a sidelong glance. Even in her current state, she was pretty. At least her face and hair was.

“Its hard not to love someone we all look up to and protect with our lives.” He played it cool, trying to get at her feelings. He needed to navigate this right otherwise she might not take it.

“Oh stop, you’re just saying that because it's your order’s.”

“Josephine.” He got up and rested a hand on her thigh, looking directly into her eyes. “I mean it.” And in that moment he knew he had done something right.

“You… bold aren’t we, heh.” She gave a cute short laugh. Her face was very red now. Her own heart was pounding. “How… old were you again James?”

“Twenty three.”

“Wow. They get bolder and bolder every year.” She said, instinctively she reached out and grabbed his hand as it rested on her thigh.

“I want to do something for you Josephine. I just, I don’t want to see you in here any longer if I can do anything about it.”

She watched, as he pulled his hand back and undid his jacket, throwing it to the chair. He wore a white undershirt, nothing fancy. It was tight to his chest and arms, giving the appearance that he was actually quite built, unlike the jacket which mostly hid it. Her eyes marveled at the sight.

“Wow.” Was all she could say as she gazed at his physique. He got closer to her, his eyes locked to hers, as he brought an arm around her, pressing her against his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and held tightly.

“Josephine, I…”

“Shhh… I’ll take it from here.” She whispered as she brought an arm up and pulled his head down to her, and kissed him. For the first long few moments, it felt like the entire world had been turned on its head for James as she pulled on him. After a few moments, they separated, though she still clung onto him.

Before he had time to say anything, she pulled him closer, and brought her mouth over his neck. As gently as she could, she bit down. Pain surged through his body, but he scrunched his face tight and didn’t so much as let a peep out of his mouth. She didn’t do it quickly at all, very slowly, and considerately. She sipped at his rich, strong, pure virgin blood.

‘Deep breaths James. Don’t lose yourself. Just take… Deep Breaths.’ He told himself without saying the words. She grasped his right hand in her left, and he held hers tightly. ‘She’ll be able to tell. She will. Just breathe. In. Out. In… Out… In…’

She could feel the strength in his grip beginning to wane. It would only be a matter of time until she reached the threshold. She dragged it out, savoring it, while also being sure not to take too much. She felt his hand twitch, a tell tale sign he was at the limit, right before it went limp. She pulled back, and grabbed him, holding him upright. His eyes blinked a few times, but it was obvious he wouldn’t keep his balance. She guided him to the chair, as he sat down, bordering on passing out.

“Josephine…” He asked, her name came out a little slurred.

“It's okay James.”

“I just… wanted to… do my best…”

“I know you do. Don’t talk too much. Just relax.” As she spoke, she licked her lips. “To have blood offered to you, instead of being forced to take it. Thank you James.” She grasped his left hand and held it in her right as she adjusted her pillow and laid down.

“A… monster…” He started, pausing to take a breath. She looked at him intently, waiting to hear what he would say.

“Would have… taken… everything…” It was an effort for him to speak.

“Yeah.” And it was the nicest smile she had ever made. She closed her eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep, leaving James alone holding onto her hand.

A few more minutes passed before Massena and the unit's medic opened the door and crept into the room. They hooked James up to a drip and patted him on the back.

“Good job bud. You’re on light duty for the next week, and you’re going to get that bonus payment as part of the clause. Make sure to buy yourself something nice one of these days.” Massena whispered as he grinned. James made a ‘thumbs up’ with his right hand, before passing out at last. They strapped his arm to the chair to make sure he didn’t fall out of it during the night, and turned the lights off before leaving the room.

(This joint post was made with Southwater.)

[Stallenbourg]

Descent

Francis J. Lester Memorial Hospital, Hog’s Jump, Duchy of Southwater

April 2, 06:33 AM

She opened her eyes and sat up on her bed. Looking over, Hark was gone from the chair, probably taken to a proper bed to recover. But in the dark room, she saw something sitting on the countertop of the cabinets. She pulled herself to the edge of the bed, and carefully, put her feet to the floor. She held herself on the bed for a moment as she felt the blood flow through her legs. She wiggled her toes, flexed and stretched her feet, before putting her full weight on them. She breathed a sigh of relief; the pain was gone at last. She put one foot in front of the other as she made her away across the room, a rising sense of purpose growing in her. Being able to walk again after three days of resting in a dark, cold hospital room brought a big smile to her face.

She reached the counter, and blinked a few times. A brand new uniform, tailor fit to her, and a new pair of boots in her exact size. They would need to be broken in but that wouldn’t take too long. The beret was missing but she didn’t mind. She tore off the hospital scrubs and got dressed as fast as she could, trying to imagine how she looked since she lacked a mirror. Her black hair was a mess, but when was it not? The black gloves completed the look. She took a moment to appreciate the feeling of security washing over her. Her eyes gave a subtle glow, and she was ready. She made her way to the door and opened it.

The guards stepped out of the way, and followed her as she made her way down the hallway.

“Right this way Josephine.” One of them spoke, and she followed them, going outside to a foggy morning, the sun had only just appeared from beyond the horizon. It was a secluded area behind the hospital, out of sight of any onlookers. Massena and the others were there, Hark was in a wheel chair with an IV drip beside him, Edwards sitting behind him as they talked. As she approached, the other guards around her fanned out to the trees nearby and took positions.

“How are you feeling Josephine?” Massena asked.

“I feel better.” Her voice no longer sounded weak, it was as it had been before.

“Any discomfort?”

“None that I can feel.”

“Well we're going to need to test that. Do some stretches. Doesn’t matter what kind, just do some.” The others looked on as she went through a regime not dissimilar to an acrobat. She twisted her waist, flexed her arms, bent her whole body around, flexed her hands. Then she began cracking her back, her fingers, wrists, neck everything to relieve some pressure.

“Alright, now do something more complex. How about a jump and a roll?” He had his little notepad out and wrote a little check in it. She squatted down and jumped, at least ten feet straight up. Coming down she hit the ground and rolled instead of landing on her feet.

“Anything yet?”

“No, I feel great so far.”

“Alright.” He made another check. “How about doing a ring around these tree’s, you aren’t allowed to touch the ground, go.”

Without a moment's hesitation she launched herself onto a tree branch, then from tree to tree she threw herself across the gap, landing perfectly every time as she navigated the branches and leaves. Doing an entire counter clockwise circle across the thirty trees in less than ten seconds. She waited in the last tree directly ahead of Massena. The others clapped, impressed at the feat she had just completed.

“Alright, final test, get to the top of the Hospital.” He spoke as he made another check, and turned his head to see she had already leapt onto the building and ran up the side, reaching the top of the fourteen story building in hardly a few seconds. Turning back, she looked down as she watched him make another check in the list. She backed up, and with a running start, launched herself off the building into the clearing. She raced towards the ground and made an impact, rolling four times before coming to a stop. Not a single scratch on her uniform or boots. Everyone was clapping now, including Massena. One of them whistled and yelled out “Fuck yeah that was awesome!”

She blushed, pride flowing through her at last. Massena made his way over to her, and at last he pulled the black beret out from behind him.

“You’re ready. Let's get you back out there.” It was brand new, and would need some shaping, but she took it without any hesitation and put it on.

“Let's do it.”



17 miles outside of Dry Acre, Duchy of Southwater

April 2, 10:01 PM

The outskirts of Dry Acre were dryer than most of the western part of the Plateau, hence the name. The altitudes the plateau reached were some of the highest in this area, but Dry Acre sat inland of the tallest ridge of the plateau. The oak and juniper hills of Hog’s Jump had just given way to rolling hills of just junipers and rocks. The air still smelt of a vague hint of burned juniper from a recent controlled burn. Most of the buildings out here were made of limestone, wood, and/or patina’d corrugated metal.

This whole part of Southwater felt rough, not in the same way that a bad part of town felt rough, but in a way that the rocks out here felt rough. The scant few lights out here felt cold and uninviting. Some of the lights were drab and beige coming from houses guarded by no trespassing signs. Some were bright white outdoor lights attached to utilitarian structures that became the dance halls of nighttime insects. Myriad antelope were seen on the drive here and Mr. Bradley Gardner, one of the Southwaterians accompanying Massena, mentioned that this area was seeing the population of Southern Sharptooth Cats come back. Mr. Gardner also took the drive to explain more about the area, talking about local politics, customs, nature, and history. Along the way, Mr. Gardner pointed out a few houses with parapets in the root as well as gun ports due to needing defenses against the natives.

The area around the target was about 300 feet off the highway in a narrow sloped valley. The area was dark save the moon and starlight, just perfect for these kinds of operations. Josephine walked up to the building. It looked abandoned but she knew better. They tracked a series of disappearances that occurred in and around Dry Acre, and even other nearby cities and settlements. Most were kidnappings of some kind, some cases being brutal murders, and one case stuck out in particular as the autopsy report specifically stated that the person had been ‘drained of blood prior to being admitted to the morgue’.

Everything pointed to this limestone brick and corrugated steel warehouse. The internal layout of the warehouse was not known, as the man who started the business over forty years ago now was presumed dead, but she knew that was a lie too. He would be found with all of the others deep within, however deep in it was. Turning back, she looked at the nearby hills and spotted the sniper teams they had set up to blow a hole in anything that escaped the building. All armed with the Accuracy International AW50 sniper rifle, firing a 12.7mm round with an explosive core and silver coating, much like the rounds Garmr fired.

She had the OPR strapped to her back, her pistol, the silver edged hatchet, the silver boot knife. Everything she would need. She wore a look of determination as she scanned the building for an entrance. Finding a door, she made her way to it as she pushed it open. The iron hinges were rusted, with the door creaking badly as it moved. Inside, the warehouse was virtually pitch black. She could see it all with her vision, the lines of machines that seemingly had no purpose. What was the original purpose of this building? What did it do before it shut down? Why did it shut down was the most important question.

Carefully she moved through the warehouse floor, past conveyors and stepping over tools and scrap metal strewn about. At the far back end of the building was what looked to be an elevator. There was a stairwell to its left, but what made her pause was there was a light. The plastic button to go down was illuminated. There was not only power to the building, but someone had just gone down the elevator only a few minutes before. Or at least, she considered that was why it was on.

“Green Field, White Rose reporting.” She keyed the earpiece in as she whispered.

“White Rose, status?” Massena spoke through the mic.

“Theres power to the building, an elevator that looks like it works, and a stairwell.”

“The call is yours to make White Rose. Just know you might lose us as you descend. It all depends on how deep the complex is.”

“Copy. I’ll send a ping when I reach the bottom. If I ping once after that, it's just me checking in. If I ping three times, send the squad in after me. Stairwell is in the back left of the building.”

“Understand, continue at your discretion. Green Field out.” The channel went dead as she made her way to the stairwell. It was not a normal staircase but a spiraling metal one. She smelled something in the dead air from beneath the complex. As she took her first few steps, she tried to take in the scent. There was a hint of iron, but the smell of decay was present too. She had her boot knife out and ready to strike at anything as she silently made her way down the steps and deeper into the depths of this building.

Brick gave way to concrete walls and stone floors as she reached the bottom, the floors were covered in some dust but she could make out boot prints, though not recent. ‘They must like using the elevator’. She took another few steps forward, but felt a vibration, then another. She focused, listening as the sound was of steps. They were not close yet, but would be soon. Looking around, it was not bright at all in the hallway she found herself in. No discernable light at all to guide anyone without night vision through this concrete and stone maze.

Looking above, the ceiling arched like a half circle. She grinned, as she walked to the cross road and jumped up, resting herself in this half circle, waiting as the unknown got closer. The steps became clear as she heard whistling. The figure came into view beneath her, it was a guard of some kind. They wore the same grey fatigues she had seen the vampire in the swamp wearing, a black helmet donned on their head. He was holding an assault rifle, though it resembled nothing she had seen. The black jackboots and long grey tunic told her everything she needed to know. He took two more steps before stopping in the center of the crossroads. He turned left and right, still whistling.

She launched herself downwards, immediately pinning the enemy to the floor. Before he could have even yelled out or reacted she had already put him into a headlock with one arm, before she drove the silver knife into its neck, yanking it across in one continuous motion as the vampire's blood spilled out, steaming and smoking. She pulled it free and buried the blade into the back, striking the heart before she severed its head, stamping down hard and crushing it as she tossed the helmet aside.

‘One down, god knows how many more to go.’ She paused as she tried to report in.

“Green Field, White Rose.” She whispered. Nothing but static. She had to be at least two hundred feet down, too far for normal communications equipment to function. She sent a ping through her earpiece, and got one in return. That at least was fool proof.

She backtracked the guards path, moving down rarely trodden corridors and hallways. She paused, another guard was around a corner. He was right next to a wall, smoking a cigarette, but his back was to her. She rounded the corner, pulling the hatchet free, she buried it into the neck as she dragged the vampire to the ground. Yanking it free she struck down on the heart and severed the head just like before. The rattle of the rifle and this one's gear gave her pause as she listened closely for any more movement. There was none, but she knew that if they had consistent guard postings, someone would have to figure it out at some point.

Moving down another corridor, she realized this complex was far larger than it appeared from the outside. This underground section could be miles long, but she had made good time so far. She found a large two piece metal door that was protected by two guards. She could do it silently, but she decided the OPR needed a bigger tally. Wielding it, she took aim and fired two shots out of the blocky suppressed bullpup. The first one exploded apart in a shower of black gore, the second one turned in a brief moment only to be eviscerated and thrown back, a black splatter across the walls where he had been standing. The suppressor didn’t completely suppress the shots, but to anyone else it would have sounded like a big thump. It was the shells themselves that exploded which made the most noise.

The door wasn’t locked, but had to be pulled open. She did so, making a gap big enough to pass through. On the other side was a large open area. She kept the OPR in her hands as she crept forward, sniffing, watching all angles. There was a catwalk above her going to a different room, it looked like there were some blue lights in there as they shined through the glass. The walls were concrete with some pillars supporting the catwalks. There were two large garage doors on opposite ends of the room. This facility was very well built for what it was.

She made her way to a metal stairwell. Taking the railing she slowly crept up them as she scanned the open space and kept an eye on the room with the lights on in it. The catwalk led to a door, and she tried to open it. It was locked. Taking one last look around her, she saw no eyes nor any cameras. But she knew she had to get into that room in order to find out just what this place was. She gripped the knob, and yanked it, ripping it free from the door and tossing it to the floor. She reached into the door and ripped out the rest effortlessly before reaching her hand through the hole and breaking the door open. The noises no doubt alerted anyone in the room, she didn’t have much time. ‘Eight shots in the magazine.’

Rushing through the hallway she turned left and then left again to a door that led to the room. It was another metal one but it opened into the room. She kicked it, denting the hollow metal door inwards as it nearly broke free from its hinges. Several figures were inside. Two were vampires, two were human. The vampires fired their assault rifles for only a brief moment before she cut them down with two shots from the OPR. Their upper bodies eviscerated as the corpses steamed from the anti-midian rounds. Their shots had gone wide, missing her.

One of the men was an officer of some kind, the same one she saw in the others' memories. He raised a pistol at her, his face was sweating, fear wrought upon it. He fired, she dodged, and it was the only shot he got off. The 20mm round barked out of the OPR as it annihilated the man's entire arm, sending him crashing to the floor. He gasped for air as he was overcome with shock, his black uniform with white trimmings stained red with his own ichor as she stepped past him and to the other one. This one wore a similar uniform, but he had a white jacket instead of a black one, equally stained in the essence of his fallen comrades. The same arm black band as before however. He was sweating, scared to speak as she backed him into the console nearest to the window.

“Talk. Now.” She pushed the muzzle of the OPR into his stomach as he shook.

“Y-you… You were t-the one who silenced t-the V-van Meter outpost.” He stammered, his accented voice told her that this was a man cut of the same cloth as the other.

She gave a subtle nod. She pressed the muzzle harder.

“Okay okay! Ja, yes! Ah, w-what do you want to know?”

“Who do you work for?” She stared coldly, her eyes glowing a deep crimson as she bore through him, making him continue.

“W-we were given orders to destroy the city, I’m s-sure you know that already. But I am true to my l-loyalty, I will neve-.” She moved the gun to his lower left chest and pressed harder, jamming the gun's muzzle into him. A loud snap was heard, she broke one of his ribs. He yelled out in pain, shuddering as he brought his hands down to his chest, unable to force the gun away from him.

“I said, talk.” Her tone was demanding now, the threat of further harm hardly a hairs trigger away. She let him breathe as he tried to reconcile with the pain. She looked at his armband, and back into his eyes.

“What does the arm band mean?”

“It is the… Todesrune. A symbol of my allegiance to the… greater cause.” The words took some effort for the man to get out. She relented ever so slightly with the pressure, not out of sympathy but out of a desire to keep him talking.

“You don’t work for the Kraven, do you?” She narrowed her eyes as she looked into his, looking for any sign of a lie.

“No. I mean, yes, but no. I don’t take orders from them if that is what you are asking. My country willingly follows them wherever they go.” She kept the gun muzzle pressed to his body as she turned to check on the other one. He was still breathing, moaning in pain at the ruined remains of his arm. She turned back to the one she had pinned.

“How long have you all been here?”

“I have only been here for the past seven years. He came to us five years ago, the others had been here long before me and him. The vampires I mean.”

“How many of them are there here?”

“How many did you kill to get to me?”

“Six.”

“Oh… You’re more thorough than I thought.” He gulped, sweat pouring off his bald scalp. His growing fear told her everything about the truth in that.

“I am under orders to eliminate everything and everyone in this facility. You are on borrowed time. I can make your death painless or I can drag it out as long as I want. I am giving you a choice. If you do not tell me what country you are working for, and how many other terror cells you have in the Markion region, I will make you suffer so much that you will beg for my mercy. Do you understand?” She cocked her head to the side, waiting for an answer.

“It's called Totenhoff. I don’t know how many others there are. We had all attended a rally at one point. It was g-glorious. The sight, the banners flying, the feeling of being part of a greater purpose. Exhilarating you see.”

“How. Many. Were. There.” She moved the muzzle to the right side of his chest, pressing it against him.

“I- I don’t know! Ah! Maybe, uhm. A thousand? I was in the middle, it was too hard to see my surroundings. Everywhere I looked were more men who had similar tasks as us here. I was too caught up in the moment to count.” He shook, trying to push himself away from her, his hand clambering on the console nearest to him.

“Now what were you really doing here? What was your plan?” The end of this pathetic man's existence was only a few moments away. She just wanted to know what they were doing.

“Oh. You didn’t look in the rooms did you? The ones downstairs behind those big doors?” An unhinged smile of disbelief crossed his features, as he depressed a button on the console. She glared at him, raw hateful anger in her eyes, her fangs out now as she clenched her teeth.

“Bastard.” She growled, pulling the gun back as she gripped the man's neck in one hand, brought him close and bit down. He screamed before losing himself, the pain and shock instant as his eyes rolled back. She looked out of the glass as she drank, seeing yellow lights rotating near the garage doors, a distinct alarm being made as the doors began to shutter open. She dropped the lifeless body, ripping the arm band free and stuffing it into her right breast pocket, as she began to walk back through the room. The last one was still on the floor, unable to get up as he had gone pale, the pool of crimson growing larger and larger around him.

“You were a waste of ammo.” She spoke as she walked past the dying one, and through the door. Making her way back to the catwalk, she looked down into the garage doors as they opened. There was the scent, wafting through both doors now. Strong, pungent, the smell of death. A smell she had known before. The sound of clambering footsteps, the inconsistent inhalation of breath and exhalation. The unnatural snarling.

“Dear god. How many did they have down here?” She saw them as they started shuffling out of the doors.

“Ghouls.” She said in disbelief. They looked like they had once been ordinary citizens, there were hundreds, maybe more than that even. Some still wore hats, others hardly had any clothes at all. She brought her hand up to the ear piece, and clicked it three times.

-

Massena got the triple ping in his headset. He pinged back three times.

“She’s in trouble! Edwards, Godwinson, Josiah, Neaman, get in there. I’ll send in a follow on team after you all. Go!”

Words of affirmation crossed the net as he saw the four get off their perch and scamper down the hill. Their assault rifles, the Stallenbourgian SAR-25, a domestic variant of the Augustinian Stg 16/25, had been in service for quite some time in the Army. Chambered in the NDP standardized caliber of 6x45mm, but exchanged for a silver jacketed version instead of the normal and less effective round. At least, less effective for vampire hunting.

They ran across the open field as quickly as they could, stacking up on the building and taking a breather, they adjusted their nvg’s and made their way inside. Passing through the building they found the stairwell and made the descent. They heard ghastly screams and loud gunshots echoing from within. They hastened their step as they reached the bottom. Before them was a blackened bloody grey uniform and a black helmet that had been tossed aside. The body was still there. Edwards lit a thermite stick and shoved it into the clothes as they moved on, letting the corpse burn to ensure it was gone from reality for good. They followed her path and the sounds of destruction. The next corpse, they did the same thing. Thermite, move on.

They got closer to the big doors that were open just enough for them to squeeze through. The bodies outside of it were still there. It was their job usually to go in and make sure all of the dead vampire's bodies were burned and destroyed if she didn’t have the time to do it herself. The gunfire had ceased, most sounds emanating from the other side of the doors had stopped, but there was a consistent chopping noise. Godwinson and Neaman pulled at the door, trying to force it open enough to get them all in there, as Josiah and Edwards handled the guards bodies and took positions. Once the doors were open, they moved in.

It was a gruesome sight. Hundreds of pale-grey ghoulish bodies strewn about. Limbs and splatters of black blood coated the walls. They turned as they saw where the noise had been coming from. Josephine was standing over the body of one of them, repeatedly bringing her hatchet down on the ghoul. It was long dead, but she still hacked at its body.

“Just! Fucking! Stay! Dead! Aaugh!” She yelled out in a panicked hoarse breath as she slowed her rhythm. Burying the hatchet into the body she shook, taking vast deep sobbing breaths as she collapsed to her knees in the black pool of ichor around her. The four men rushed over to her. Godwinson took a brave step and knelt down beside her.

“Josephine?” He asked calmly. She turned her gaze, rage in her eyes for the briefest of moments, her face was covered in blackened blood, her own crimson tears highlighting her eyes as they looked on into him. She relented, as she took another deep breath, realizing who he was. She moved to him and embraced him as she began to cry again.

“I… I didn’t think… I… Why did they… have to…” She moped as the tears kept flowing, holding onto him tightly. He let Neaman take his rifle for him as he held onto her. Godwinson didn’t have a clue how to handle the situation and just let her get it out of her system.

“To… to use… innocent people… and…” She sniffed.

“And turn them into ghouls.” Edwards finished for her. She nodded, unable to speak anymore as she wept, shuddering in Godwinson's arms as they took in the gruesome sight she had created.

“You didn’t have a choice. You had to protect yourself from them. They took their humanity away from them, and made them into… into monsters.” Neaman spoke up, swallowing hard, trying not to gag at the smell of death that was around them. She nodded again.

“It's just… not fair.” She spoke again, the sound of defeat in her voice.

“I know. Let's get out of here.” Godwinson carried her in his arms as she still clung to him. Edwards picked up the hatchet and silver knife, while Josiah picked up the OPR and the magazines that she had gone through.

Within five hours, a Southwaterian fuel-air explosive bomb would be positioned in the chamber, and ignited on a delayed fuse in order to burn out and destroy the facility.

(This joint post was made with Southwater.)

[Serderistan]

Forward Outpost Markion(AKA Fort Kickass)

In the wake of Markion’s most recent series of crises, the Crown Alliance’s fortress in the Interregional sea was bustling with activity. While the CA as a whole wasn’t going to war or planning on getting involved, one of the key member states had been victimized by the activating event. It was only natural that Rhamos’ allies would support the Kingdom in its time of suffering. One of those members, the Republic of Serderistan, made its contribution in intelligence…which would be the only way it planned to be involved in Markion’s affairs following the September Island boondoggle. Unfortunately, there is a saying regarding “best laid plans.”

The bioweapons attack at the GMAN summit was certainly on the Serderi Intelligence Community’s radar as were Kraven’s threats of war. But then again, those events were on everyone’s radar. However, those even left a trail of bread crumbs that one particular agency watched. The first was the appearance of one Josephine Belmont, whose sudden and unexpected appearance during the height of the terror attack was noted. While her uncanny ability to avoid detection was determined to likely be anomalous in nature, the Emergent Threats Assessment Section figured that her involvement in the plot as "negligible.”

What wasn’t negligible was her activities in Southwater, the two most prominent being a shootout with a direct action element–with Rhamosian involvement assessed to be “highly likely” due to presence of a known affiliate of the infamous Duke Red–and the detonation of thermobaric weapon. On their own, these two events wouldn’t even be a blip on Section’s radar. However, the presence of the same superhuman-type entity at each event connected them.

If these events took place anywhere else in the world, Section would likely consider taking some form of action–even if it was merely to ask Stallenbourg what the hell they were doing. Since this was in a region of the world where the Republic had a strict policy of non-involvement, they merely took note of those occurrences for future use. That would have been the case…if there wasn’t an interested party tapped into the Serderi IC’s feeds for the time being. While Section wasn’t interested in the actions of the Stallenbourgian Vampire, the Serenity Group very much was.

’The Shop’

“All right boys and girls, gather round. We might actually have some work for you lazy assholes.”

A group of six contractors filed into the barren conference room and sat around a rectangular table, getting ready for their latest brush with death by PowerPoint. Crow–former member of Section’s direct action arm and now Serenity Group Cadre–looked over his Candidates with an approving eye. While none of them were at the level of the Republic’s Tier One SOF elements, they were getting closer each day thanks to the training and kit provided to them. They would do for now.

“All right, I’ll keep this brief. As of 0500, Basilisk has compiled aggregate data on recent events happening in our new home and determined that there is anomalous activity in the region. Both it and the Director have given the go-ahead to investigate…with the understanding that we may become engaged.” With a click of a button, the darkened monitor turned on, displaying a still image of Josephine Belmont getting off a plane along with some extremely sparse biographical data.

One of the contractors, a former Barnopean Royal Marine Commando, gave an overly obnoxious wolf whistle. “Now that’s a posh bird. Who’s she?”

“We call her Subject Nightcrawler and she’s the key person of interest in our investigation.”

A former Serderi infantryman rolled his eyes and gave an audible groan. “That name sucks. I bet that damn clanker chose it. I vote to call her Elvira.”

“No. This is Nightcrawler. We’re not renaming a subject just because you think she’s cute.” Crow was beginning to rethink his optimistic assessment. “She’s on our radar because she’s anomalous, likely some form of superhuman. And everywhere she’s gone, shit seems to blow up.”

As one, the hired guns leaned in to learn more. The jokes and cat calls were gone, replaced by hardened professionalism. Like the other candidates, they had brushes with the supernatural…but only a few encountered superhumans while on the clock. With the sillies vanquished, Crow provided the cliff notes version of their research; from Josephine’s presence at the Summit to her misadventures in Southwater. As the Cadre member continued his brief, the contractors seemed more eager for the job to start…even if the job was mainly recon.

“So what do the intel folks and their scary computer think she’s doing?”

“We don’t know the specifics, but we can assume that she’s looking for something…or someone.” Crow clicked his remote one last time, ending his presentation. “Could be a capture mission…but with shit blowing up, it’s not likely.”

The heckler snorted “So we just follow some esoteric chick and snatch whatever we want from under her nose…and with an ROE that says we can’t just blow her up. Way to start us with an easy job sahib.”

“She’s leading us to possible assets. Once she’s no longer useful, then we can blow her up. We don’t know where she’ll turn up next, but command is looking at this as a high-risk mission. We’ll have some Vilhalan Fodder on standby if we need to employ them.”

The Barnopean groaned. “Mate, you know as well that we can’t rely on those muppets.”

“That’s why the Director is attaching Series Alpha and Beta to this team. Just in case we end up in a shootout with Nightcrawler.”

That got everyone’s attention. While everyone was rightfully pissed about the restrictive ROE, at least the head-shed wasn’t going to make them helpless. If you’re going into a supersoldier fight, it helps to bring your own.

“So what about…other interlopers. What’s the Director’s policy on them?”

The inquiry came from a Nova Prussian and everyone knew what she meant by “interlopers”. While most of the contractors in the room came from nations friendly or at least cordial with Rhamos, the Nutk’s nation was not one of them. Crow stared at her and gave an easy smile.

“If we are engaged by a concerned third party, we are to terminate them…with extreme prejudice.”

[Christbol]

12 Miles outside of Walkerville, Duchy of Southwater

April 3, 05:20 AM

She sat in the back seat of the covered jeep as the small convoy rolled down the highway. She wore a heavy weighted blanket, and was leaning on Hark. She hadn’t stopped shaking since they pulled her out of the complex, her mind racing as her emotions flowed over her like an ocean.

Massena sat in the passenger seat as Neaman drove them towards Walkerville. He was trying to think of how to handle her now. She had been in charge ever since they touched down, and even after the battle at the hotel and subsequent hospital visit, she seemed to be ready to go. But she didn’t even want to talk about what she found out or saw while she was down there. The four did fill him in on what they could get out of her, but it was clear she hadn’t fully healed even if she displayed every capability to tell him that she was. Either the information was that severe, or her inner wounds, the ones in her mind, hadn’t healed.

His phone began to ring in his pocket. Reaching down he pulled it out as he looked back to check if she was okay. Her eyes were shut tight and she wore a frown as Hark had his arm over her. Looking back at the smartphone, it was a christbolian number code. He pressed the green button and brought it to his ear.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice is on the other end of the phone, not anyone Christbolian he is familiar with, but he could definitely hear some metric of administrative chatter in the background. - “Good morning, this is a representative from the Office of the Execrant of the Kingdom of ChristBol calling, I have been tasked to follow up a request from one of your operatives on behalf of the Execrant, her name was Josephine I believe, have I come into contact with Ms. Belmont’s unit?”

“Oh, yes excuse me, this is Lieutenant Massena-” He paused, considering the hotel attack. They could be listening in on the conversation. “Is this line secure?”

“ChristBol has pioneered quantum cryptography for the better half of the past decade sir. If it wasn’t, both the Ministry of Silica Animus and the Ministry of State Intelligence would be out of a job.”

“What was the code phrase she left with you?” He knew what it was. Her favorite color, hardly anything auspicious or grandiose.

“Magenta.” - The woman plainly replied with haste, sounding like she expected this question to come and had it written down, though he figured this more from the noise of papers being shuffled around a desk in the immediate vicinity from the other end of the call more than the innate skill of him being a master sleuth.

“Good. I'm currently in charge, she isn’t doing well. But I can’t divulge the details. She told me what the request was, so I am guessing you found some candidates?”

He hears the woman lean back on her chair thanks to a bit of a loud creak, so loud that for a second it overwrites the commotion in whatever room she is in through the microphone. - “Indeed. We have discussed the details with the Office of Michael the Archangel and they have sent forward some personnel files. They’d like to meet, matter of fact they wanted this fast-tracked, even offering room and board at ChristBol. I’m not sure what you want with a MSI office investigating cults and exorcisms, but it’s not exactly my business to ask, and these files have been wrapped in so many layers of classified I am astonished anyone but the Execrant was handed them at all.”

“Okay. I can get a plane ride scheduled once we get to Walkerville. We’ll be in Christbol before tomorrow.”

“Noted. Execrant Annor will try to attend for a meet-and-greet, however some… domestic disputes, have rendered him only sporadically available. I will nonetheless relay to him the news that you will be arriving today in the… afternoon?”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll get our schedule sorted out. Should only be a five or six hour flight. We’ll be coming in on the C-17 we have tasked with our unit.”

“Noted and thank you for your cooperation sir, we will have the Execrant’s motorcade arranged to meet you and your unit outside ZEIA. Have a good day and a pleasant flight.” - After receiving a farewell the lady at the other end of the call hangs up.

Massena slowly put the phone back into his pocket as he tried to stretch in the old jeep.

“Working with a socialist Catholic nation. God above I have seen it all and it’s hardly been a week.” He spoke as he rubbed his eyes, groggy and tired as the rising sun began to crest over the horizon.



Zeleke-Esra International Airport, Weltholm, Kingdom of ChristBol

April 3, 3:08 PM

She was startled awake as Massena gently shook her.

“Think you can walk now?” He asked, trying to give a warm smile.

“Yes. I’ll walk.” She slowly undid the seat belt and looked around. She didn’t remember getting into the massive transport aircraft but she took it in. It was her first time flying in the big bird, and she never considered how loud it was. How she stayed asleep the entire time was beyond her. She made her way down the ramp behind Massena and the others, they formed a loose ring around her once on the ground, not trying to shield her from prying eyes but at least making it difficult.

Behind them, the skeleton crew for the vehicles fired the three of them up and rolled them out of the aircraft and were guided by airport personnel to a side lane before they were out of sight.

Reaching the exit of the airport, they found a small motorcade of fancy Christbolian SUV’s. The hydrogen transmission system makes them barely make a sound, but they do honk at them to signify they’re the personnel meant to meet up with them. The jeeps and trucks reappear behind the motorcade. The Belvere Organization symbol on the truck has a tarp over it, trying to obscure their identity. But a big green military truck and two smaller jeeps made them stick out like a sore thumb in this foreign land.

A higher rank security officer appears out of the shotgun seat of the middle car, making a welcoming gesture. - “Good day, the Execrant has assigned us as part of your group today. He is waiting in the back, and requested a Ms. Belmont and Mr. Massena to join him. The inside of the vehicle is a deadzone for intrusive electronics and signals. The rest of the unit is free to distribute either in their cars or ours as they see fit.” - Jüri was waiting inside, hiding behind several layers of bulletproof glass. His features looked aged, as if stress had begun to take its toll on the man. It was like he hadn’t stopped frowning until this moment.

Josephine looked up to Massena. He nodded and gently pushed her along as he let her climb in first. He sat down, and the door was shut. The rest of the unit dispersed to their vehicles, more out of habit than out of any preconceived notion at the quality of Christbolian vehicles. The motorcade began to move.

“I am glad that you could join me, as well as that I could make the time to join you. I feel like this is stating the obvious but the situation for us is… not exactly good. Half of my government is debating whether I should take up emergency powers, the other half is arguing I can’t under any circumstance. The Christbolian public is more or less split upon the same lines. As you can see, I’m sober, so even I am taking the events of the last few days to heart.” - Jüri takes a look at both Josephine and Massena, but turns to Massena first after the fact for a handshake within the confines of the car. - “I believe we haven’t met. I am familiar with Josephine’s previous associate, but I understand he has been busy at the conference in Auersten.” - Following a handshake with a rather firm grip, he then turns to Josephine. - “You look like God had just taken everything you had before flying here like in the Book of Job.”

She barely acknowledged the comment, only briefly looking into his eyes before looking back out the tinted windows. Her uniform was stained black in several spots and along her elbows and knees. They didn’t have time to get her cleaned before they left Southwater. Most of the stench had left her, but she could still smell it.

“Mr. Annor, she has been having a fairly rough time since we started operations here in earnest. I would ask that you be patient with her. I am more than ready for any questions you have.” He gestured with his hands as he got comfortable. It was a nice car, very high quality faux leather seats. The dark brown color reminded him of his favorite chair at home in the garage.

“It took 90 years of my family’s lineage for the Christbolian and the Arcadian governments to agree over anything and now they do, so I think Ms. Belmont can be entrusted with even just a fraction of that time to recuperate to a state where she feels better… but enough about me and the Christbolian state and the Cappers. I actually have with me what you’ve both come so far away from Southwater to skim over.” - He fondles several folders of documentation in a little cubby near his seat, taking out about 4 of the folders and handing all 4 to Massena. Two were personnel folders, the third one was basically everything the OMA had on anything remotely resembling vampires in Markion (this was significantly thicker than the other three) and the last one was everything the OMA had on anything remotely resembling vampires in ChristBol itself. Most of the information in the third and fourth folder didn’t seem to fit the MO of Totenhoff vampires, even if some specifics did align. Stuff that actually seemed promising would get cut off immediately when finding any potential iota of a trail got mentioned. - “Our colleagues at the OMA are convinced there is something going on that they just can’t quite prove, or if they’ve got some idea they didn’t seem privy about it enough to tell me and put into these files.”

Massena opened the fourth one first as it was more important to know what the situation was here and now, rather than the entire picture. Bringing his finger to his tongue, as he flipped through page after page. He didn’t have the time to really skim what he had been given, and thought about throwing the two folders at the AI to compile the data in a more readable manner. A few things did stick out here and there but he couldn’t really discern anything useful for the moment from the pages.

He opened the first folder. The first detail that stuck out was a clipped on photo of Arsi next to a brief summary of basic information like name, eye color, hair color, date of birth, place of birth, anomalous abilities, service record etc. Arsi appeared red haired, had brown eyes and boasted a not-so-clean shave plus a surprisingly soft look for someone getting his picture taken. The file also lists him at about 173 centimeters or roughly 5’8”. - “This picture is a little bit outdated, he’s since changed eye color from brown to green as you can see in the added file-” - Jüri interjects. - “But I am told everything else about your man here is largely unchanged.” - The details about Arsi’s abilities go on and on, giving the impression he could no less see the individual strains of hair inside Massena’s nose from thousands of meters out.

Massena nodded as he hummed, opening the second file. The individual in this file looked to be more combat oriented, but Massena really liked the look of Arsi. He glazed over the details, feigning interest for now, but having already made up his mind. He noticed that this person was listed as ‘married’. Giving a second thought he reopened Arsi’s file and flipped to the page where his status was. ‘Single.’ He brought his pointer finger to his mouth and bit down, now unsure if he really was the right choice. He looked out of the corner of his eyes to Josephine. She looked like she had sunk into the seat, her neurotic mood getting to her as she watched the lights pass by. It was his call to make.

“Definitely him.” He placed the file on the seat as he adjusted the others, content to look them over again later once they could get the command truck online.

“Good choice. Most other troops like Arsi with such a high degree of investigation abilities are assigned and occupied elsewhere. We have more troops like the one in the other file on standby, but we selected them along Arsi in case you needed someone with a different set of skills for an entirely alternative caliber of operations. All the other Knights and Dames of the OMA are unfortunately still on a trip through space from Mars to ChristBol at this time.” - Jüri quickly set a reminder to arrange Arsi’s involvement on his phone, in a note app that wasn’t password protected which is just about his worst habit while using a phone. - “The OMA has supplied you and your unit with guest rooms within a Christbolian Church monastery. It’s part of the official OMA, so there is a paper trail of the building, but there won’t be a paper trail of your presence. The monks have been informed beforehand to keep you as much or as little company as you’d like, they’ve just been informed you are here as reinforcements to handle the occult, but are otherwise oblivious to the… vampiric nature of the occult at hand. The location isn’t exactly central in placement relative to the city per say, but the guest rooms are packed with amenities and facilities for private use, I can vouch for that as I’ve spent time there myself.”

Massena was listening right up until Mr. Annor mentioned ‘Mars’. He had to stop himself from overthinking the comment, but the fact that he said it so nonchalantly bothered him. He listened to the rest and nodded in approval.

“Mr. Annor I and my unit very much appreciate the hospitality your country has provided…” He stopped, almost for dramatic effect but mostly to make a confused face. “What do you mean ‘on a trip from mars’.” The idea of colonizing mars even to this day was unheard of in Stallenbourg, but Massena didn’t so much care about that as he was in disbelief that this was apparently serious.

“Mr. Massena…” - Jüri paused. - “How much of the OMA’s capabilities and tasks has Mr. Aurellianus actually disclosed to you?”

“I… Uh… Who?” He had no idea who this ‘Aurellianus’ guy was or how he would know about this. He tried to trace anything in his head about if there was a Stallenbourgian official with the name but he had no idea.

“Mr. Aurellianus was one of the top Stallenbourgian diplomats present for the GMAN summit where Mr. Stockler unfortunately lost his life. He later entered my office in the presence of Ms. Belmont to discuss our mutual issue… did… Did Mr. Aurellianus really not inform you about the OMA fighting demons on Mars, which is why our numbers are so thin with them in ChristBol? I assumed he would have, or at least that Ms. Belmont would have, given it is quite critical to understand our situation.”

Massena just sat there, flabbergasted at what he was hearing. His brain was short circuiting trying to process this information, so he turned to Josephine for once. She was clearly listening to the conversation, as she cast a sidelong glance and merely gave a nod to him before returning her gaze outside. He put his hand to his head and took off his beret as he looked at Jüri. His features gave not a single hint of a lie, he was completely dead serious. If anything, Jüri looked shocked at Massena that he didn’t know.

“I… am going to need a drink.” He said. Jüri understood that request as immediate, and one tap on a nearby console and one beep boop later, a small liquor cabinet appears from a side compartment built into the doors of the vehicle. The bottles were chilled, and there were tumblers as well.

Massena was royally confused now, but he had bigger fish to fry than questioning why there was a secret alcohol compartment in the vehicle. He hesitated at first at the variety, but he grabbed a familiar looking bottle, assuming it was a cognac from the label. He grabbed a tumbler and poured until the glass was half way. Putting the bottle back he took a deep sip before he breathed out. It was a very smooth cognac, a hint of vanilla and some fruit but he couldn’t name them. The whole ‘demons on Mars’ thing was clouding his head.

Jüri reached for a second tumbler and picked up a bottle of whiskey that Massena had ignored, pouring the glass almost all the way to full. - “Kipasa!” - He declared before chugging the whole thing in what appeared to be one movement, just like the last time Josephine saw him do two weeks ago. Massena was impressed at the fact that this man just drained an entire tumblers worth of whiskey without even a moments hesitation. He half wondered how many in the Christbolian government were just functional alcoholics.

“Kipasa.” Massena spoke, before finishing the drink. Might as well start learning the local mannerisms early. “Demons on Mars…” He shook his head, reconciling to himself that he would never go to the red planet.

After thirty minutes of driving the car stops at a red traffic light, one out of the dozen prior they also had to stop at. Josephine hadn’t stopped looking out the window as the two went on about details and even made some jokes. It wasn’t important to her. She looked at a path of concrete making up a square. Her eyes moved further into the distance as she spotted a brawl going on between several thugs and… just one man?

She watched closely. Fighting that many people at once for your average man was nothing short of impressive. His bulk was immense. He must be 6’4”, maybe even 6’5. An absolute pillar of muscle in any sense of the word, between moments of the cape kicking up Josephine could see he was without a doubt at the physical peak that someone of that stature could achieve. She saw him throw around most of the assailants, sending them into the alley walls or crashing into garbage cans and a dumpster in the back. Although moving too quickly to tell, he was wearing some sort of armor, his gauntlets emitted some electrical pulse to them. She couldn’t tell if it was the kinetic force of the punches that sent the thugs flying, or the thousands of volts of electricity.

She watched as he sent the second to last thug flying, landing hard across a bench. The tall figure picked up the last one still recovering from the previous punch and raised him in his left hand into the air by the neck. She could barely make out what they were saying through the bulletproof glass, but she could see them mouth the words.

“The WPD will be here a few minutes from now.” - The tall hooded figure stated.

“Y-yeah- so!? I am not sticking around to see them!”

The second to last thug got off the bench, recovering what composure he had as he went in for a powerful swing on the man’s right. The tall man simply turned his head, held his right hand up, and blocked a high right hook. Then a low left hook by effortlessly moving the same hand. He grabbed the subsequent right hand jab, and forcefully dislocated the second thug's wrist, sending him to the ground as they screamed out in pain. Before the second could react, this apparent supersoldier stamped down with one foot on the chest of the thug. Expounding little effort at restraining both men, the figure continued the conversation.

“Yes, you are. You all are.”

Still struggling to get his words out due to the grip, the thug being held up nonetheless manages to blurt out a threat through his clenched teeth. - “When I recover from this, I will find you and kill you!”

“Good. Make sure to bring your friends.” - With this final line delivery, the tall man kicks the screaming thug on the ground away from him and, with both arms, hoists the remaining criminal above him. He slammed the thug into the one on the ground with enough force to knock both of them out cold, evident to Josephine only by the fact that neither had further consciousness to continue groaning in pain.

The hooded figure takes a few seconds to check the condition of his gauntlets and realizes, unconsciously, that he was being watched by someone other than the crowd around him and his quarry. He spots the white government SUV being trailed by foreign military vehicles. Despite the quirkiness of Christbolian traffic, it still stands out like a sore thumb. Turning to face the concrete square, Josephine is offered a clear view of his entire body instead of mostly just the cape and limbs - covered face, covered eyes, combinations of black and silver but very flexible armor stretching across the whole body - and some sort of sleek, full head covering visor, featureless in a way that was deliberately designed to provoke fear. From head to toe the man looked closer to some faceless and nameless neo-militarist knight in plate armor than a superhero in spandex. Of the gear visible on him alone, it must cost millions to have equipped him, nevermind the R&D costs.

He stared into Josephine's eyes for a long and drawn out moment, before reaching for some grappling device behind him, disappearing deep into the city. She didn’t know it, but she had just caught a glimpse of the Weltholm vigilante known as the Silver Wraith.



Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

April 3, 05:06 PM

She stepped into her room, Massena closed the door behind her as she looked around. It was more like a modern apartment than a simple ‘guest room’. A little kitchen, a fancy microLED television, and a very comfortable looking couch. There was a door to the left past a small closet leading to another room, the bedroom. It all looked to be inspired by a romanticist art-deco theme. She took a deep breath, and exhaled. The scent of decay and the visions of what she had done, what she had seen, still heavy on her mind. She looked down at her clothes. Her new uniform was discolored at her knees and elbows. The black blood and ichor had seeped into it.

She began to strip, taking everything off and leaving it in a laundry basket conveniently outside the bedroom door. Her bedroom had a queen sized bed, barely if ever used. Turning to her left was the door to the bathroom. The tiling of it was modest, but she appreciated the design. She turned on the shower and stepped in. The hot water was soothing as she cleaned herself, washing away the scent that was haunting her. The soap cleansed the smell, and she felt better once she stepped out. There were some bath robes hanging outside of the shower. She put them on.

Stepping back into the living room and into the small kitchen, she walked over to the fridge and opened it. It was empty, bar several bottles of beer. She checked the cabinets and only found glasses, plates, silverware, pots and pans, and one which had several bottles of wine and fruit brandy. Looking back at the silverware she narrowed her eyes. She reached out very slowly with her left finger, and poked the handle of a spoon. Nothing. She grabbed the spoon and held it up, easily seeing her reflection in it.

“Flatware. Good.” She mused to herself. If it had been real silverware… she didn’t want to think about it. Painful memory.

But with nothing to eat, she felt her stomach growl at her. That bastard didn’t taste all that good in the end anyways, had to have been A+ blood. She looked in another drawer and found a notepad and a couple pens. She made a list, mostly ingredients for a dish of some kind. She paused at the end. Not sure what else to add. She looked over to her uniform in the hamper. She actually didn’t have any other clothes to wear.

When she agreed to the mission to escort the Stallenbourgian delegation to the GMAN summit, she had planned for only a few days. Even Miss Belvere assured her it was only going to be a few days at most and told her that a few undergarment changes were all she would need. It was now two weeks since the speech on that fateful Tuesday. She wrote in a few things for clothes. She made sure to list sizes for everything so she wouldn’t have to try them on before buying them. She heard footsteps outside her door and made her way over to it, poking her head out into the hallway to see Massena carrying a basket of his own clothes.

“Hey Josephine, how are you doing?” He noticed her damp hair.

“Can you take my clothes as well since you are doing yours?” She spoke softly.

“Sure.” With that she grabbed the basket and brought it out to him.

“I need you to do something for me as well. As soon as you can.” She held out the list, written entirely in cursive. Massena thankfully knew cursive so it wouldn’t be that hard. He scanned it over and had to stop.

“You want a suit?”

“Parts of one. Something to wear comfortably when not in, you know.”

“Did you not bring any clothes with you?”

“Well I was told that the speech was going to go well and it would be easy, and now we're here. I’ll shop for my own lingerie thank you, but if you can get me what's on the list, it will be easier for me to go out.”

“Alright then. I will.”

“Thank you.” Her stomach growled again.

“I’ll get them to bring up that crate from the truck.” He moved a bit faster down the hallway. She closed the door and turned back around to the room. She grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and grabbed an amber fruit brandy, pouring a glass half full and sniffing it. The scent was that of a lively apple orchard. She tipped the glass back and drank it all, the warm taste mixed with a decent burn. She didn’t want to think about the mission, the ghouls, or the Kraven or Totenhoff bastards, she just wanted to relax. She poured another glass and sat on the couch, putting the bottle on the coffee table.

She noticed a little radio on the table next to the couch. She turned it on and turned the dial, trying to find a nice station to listen to. She found it and adjusted the volume. Taking another sip she breathed in and out. It was a stately yet melancholic waltz. Closing her eyes, she reminisced the fields upon fields of grape vines, the blooming roses and tulips of spring. She saw aged towers of tan brick and blocks with clay roof tiles, the brisk yet refreshing breeze as the leaves on the trees rustled. She saw her home in the distance. Atop the hill and surrounded by hearty oaks, it had an idyllic view of their surroundings. The old city of Linbourg stood off in the valley, the bustle of life far and away from her worries. The beautiful sun shone in the afternoon sky.

The crimson tears came not long after, as she saw her mother wave from the porch of her home. She ran to her, not the lightning speed of the vampire, but the vibrant and young girl she had once been. Each footfall kicked up dirt behind her as she passed through the wine grove. She ran up and embraced her, as her father came through the door and joined them.

“I love you guys.” She had said that day.

“We love you too Josephine. Now cmon, dinner is gonna be cold if you keep playing out here.”

She took another deep sip from the brandy, and refilled the cup. She looked down at the amber liquid and swirled it around, her reflection cast upon its surface as it slowed, the red streaks there again.

“Would they be proud of the things I have done?” She asked the glass. It could not answer her questions.

“Would they be proud of the blood I had shed?” A flash, the vision of the Van Meter swamp, the Dry Acre facility room, and the hotel where she had fallen.

“Would they be proud of what their little girl has become?” Another flash. She was drinking James’ blood. Then, deeper, she saw the vision of when she first tasted Miss Belvere's blood. When she had been bound to her will.

“Would they have agreed with my decision?” A final flash. She was staring into the dark, on her side and bleeding out on that cold September night. The alley way where she had been stabbed in the back, and gouged at the hip. She couldn’t move. Her vision was fading.

“What is your name?” The angelic voice had called that night.

“J-... Josephine…” She could barely reply.

“Do you want to live?” The voice asked once more as they stepped into her hazy vision, black boots and olive pants.

“Y-yes.” Her voice was so weak, blood was coming out of her mouth. The wound was deep enough that it got into her lung.

“I will take care of you. But it comes at a cost.” The figure knelt down, their face out of view, but close enough that she could feel their breath on her face.

“A-anything. I-... I’ll d-do… anything.”

“Good. This will hurt at first, but you will be safe, I promise.”

She reached to her neck, the two bumps still there after all these years.

“Thank you Cynthia.” She said at last. She raised her glass, and took another sip. Maybe, just maybe, they would be happy.

OOC: Made in partnership with Stallenbourg.

[Stallenbourg]

To have peace

Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

April 3, 05:12 PM

Massena emptied the pockets of his uniform and threw it in the washing machine. Reaching into the second basket he pulled out Josephine's uniform, and began sifting through the pockets to make sure there was nothing in them. In the left breast pocket he found the olive branch cross she always held onto. He would have to get it back to her. He opened the right breast pocket and reached into it, pulling out some black rag. It had specks of blood on it. He wondered why it was in her pocket. Then he turned it over.

Two white lines went across the entire length of the arm band, and upon it was a rune. Two squares made in the shape of an infinity symbol bisected by a line where the corners met. It was simple, subtle, and deeply concerning. There were more specks of blood on the arm band, some rust colored, most of it black however. Turning the band over again, he found little white stitching that said: ‘Hergestellt in Totenhoff’

He didn’t know a lick of German, but he knew Josephine didn’t either. He hurriedly chucked the rest of her clothes into the wash and started it up as he made his way back through the Monastery to the inner parking lot where the vehicles were. The men inside the command truck were hard at work putting together profiles, getting a consistent feed of information from the WPD and OMA on the daily lives of random citizens of the country. Massena put the armband down flat into the lamination machine and started it up. Within a few moments it had been sealed tight, and ready to be scanned. He sent it through the machine and let it be processed for any biographical data that could be scraped from the blood on it.

He turned to Godwinson, who was sitting at the console and rubbing his eyes.

“Godwinson, think you can run some errands for Josephine?” He pulled out the list she had written and gave it to him.

“Sir, I can't read cursive.” The man said plainly.

“Crap, okay hold on.” Taking the list back into his hands he quickly rewrote the entire list and handed it back to Godwinson and patted him on the back.

“Take it all straight to her room when you are done okay?”

“You got it sir.” And he got out of the chair and stepped down to the door and out.

Massena sat down where Godwinson had been and opened a separate AI instance. The entire system was running from in the truck and had a direct sat uplink and downlink that reached all the way back to the Wendler region, and the homeland more importantly. He accessed the files and began to look through, and stumbled across the picture he had looked at before.

‘unknown_soldier_of_kraven_affiliation.png’ As it had always been, it was a candid photo of a soldier with a grey helmet and grey tunic, black jackboots and holding a rifle. He too wore an arm band on his left arm. Taking the mouse again and drawing a highlight around the arm band, he brought up the scanned image of the arm band he found in Josephine's pocket. The AI enhanced the image quality as much as it could to make the arm band in the photo legible. The one in the original photo was different, far more small runes on it instead of the white bands, but the large one in the center remained unchanged.

“They’re the same, this one is just older.” He right clicked the photo and navigated the drop down menu to the ‘rename’ function and clicked.

‘Totenhoff_vampire_old_1.png’ he clacked out on the keyboard and confirmed the change. Miss Belvere would no doubt see the change at some point, and he counted on it as he wanted to get an update on the condition at home, but he also knew that there was a risk. Though unlike previously, the risk was never of vampires, but of humans and vampires with their own agenda’s.

‘Totenhoff_armband_current.png’ he changed the name of the photo. Two pieces of raw evidence to actually point them towards the wider goal. Had he known they were wearing stuff like this earlier he would have asked her to take more trophies.

The AI pinged him in the headset as it brought up an image of a street, highlighting a box in green. It was the rune, openly spray painted for anyone to see on a concrete wall as hundreds passed by it. Then the AI pulled up a live street camera, then another, then there were over a hundred applications open. A map opened on the large wide screen monitor as others in the vehicle began to notice it populate with green confirmation icons. Massena pulled his chair back on its rollers as he watched the map get larger, going outside of Weltholm, outside of Christbol itself.

It had finished compiling the third and fourth file an hour ago, and was focusing its effort on this sudden new task. He saw a spread of green icons appear in cities all around Markion. He sank back in his chair, realizing the magnitude of what he had just found. Eventually, the icons stopped populating. What had been just some symbol haphazardly sprayed onto a random piece of concrete had become the single biggest revelation he had since arriving here. Even bigger than Demons on Mars.

“We're gonna need to fast track that meeting with Miss Belvere.”

-

Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

April 3, 08:40 PM

Godwinson turned the corner down the hallway. He had a couple of reusable bags he had to buy, not knowing that you don’t just get given a paper or plastic bag when you go to a store in Christbol. He got to her door and knocked. No reply. He knocked again, still no reply. It really wasn’t right in his head to go into her room, but he wanted to make sure she was okay. He opened the door and was surprised.

There she was, splayed across the couch, lightly snoring. There was an empty bottle of brandy on the coffee table with an empty glass next to it. Carefully and quietly, he got the bags into the room and opened the fridge. He put the cold stuff in the fridge, and left everything dry out on the countertop. He took the bag with the clothes and put it in her room, and made a spot on the bed for her to sit.

Making his way back over to her, he slowly brought her up into his arms. He could smell the apple on her breath, she was completely out. He walked her into the bedroom and laid her down in the bed and pulled the covers over for her. He left the bedroom, and then left the room. Leaving her to dream in her drunken bliss.

-

Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

April 4, 01:23 PM

Hark was walking through the hallway, still on light duty as promised, with nothing much to do. Josephine had said to Massena that she wanted to see him, so he decided to do just that. He smelled something in the air as he turned the corner. Her door opened and she stuck her head out, her black hair swaying a little. She was wearing a white shirt buttoned all the way up and a pair of black business pants with a belt.

“Come in.” She gave a smile as she left the door open for him. A little surprised that she knew he was coming before he even knocked, he followed her inside. The little radio was on, playing string music, though he did not know the name of the song. She was working a ladle in a pot with some olive oil nearby. There was a cutting board out with tomatoes, onions, basil, and… garlic? Not a little amount either, entire bulbs of it. There was a scrunched up aluminum foil with the remains of what looked like a garlic bulb’s husk, it was oily.

“Go on, sit down at the counter, I’ll get you a bowl.” She gestured as she grabbed a bowl from a cabinet and spoon from the drawer. He sat down and saw as she took the ladle and poured the steaming soup into the bowl. She sprinkled a little bit of basil on the top and put it in front of him. It was one of the most perfect tomato soups he had ever seen.

“I hope you don’t mind only having one bowl of that by the way, cause now I have to make it edible for me.” She said as she reached down to the green box and opened it, pulling out a little blood pack.

“I don’t mind, I had a small lunch earlier.” He said as he tasted a spoonful. It was very rich, sweet. He could taste the garlic in it, but it still made him wonder why. Weren’t vampires allergic or hated garlic? He watched as she opened the end of the packet and poured the contents into the pot. The aroma in the room changed a little, but it wasn’t a drastic change. The scent of the spices and tomatoes mostly drowned out the scent of blood. She turned the heat off and moved the pot to a little pad on the countertop for it to cool down. She got herself a bowl and sat down next to him. Her bowl was much darker than his, the color was closer to brown or maroon than the orange he had.

“How is it?” She asked as she took a spoonful.

“It's very good. Where did you learn how to cook?”

“Its just something I picked up as a hobby over the years. I enjoy doing it. Cynthia I know doesn’t cook for herself much. She always just takes the easiest path, a blood pack or just taking one of you guys she fancies and… well you know.”

“She never really asks if that's something they want to do for her, does she?”

“Yeah.” She took another spoonful. “She charms them, woos them, listens to them, and then just takes it once she’s played with them enough. She tried to get me to follow her in that path but I just couldn’t do it. It felt so wrong to not ask if they wanted to give me their blood. I didn’t drink that night, and looked to Miss Belvere instead for answers. She was delighted to teach me and bought everything I would need to learn and master it.”

“So the Belmonts don’t see eye to eye when it comes to drinking blood?” He took another spoonful, it was very rich and tasty, probably the best soup he had ever had.

“It’s what makes us different. Cynthia is the deceiving charmer, and I would never take it unless it was offered. Our enemies… Well they don’t get that choice. They know what they signed up for, and that's a good enough reason to take as much as I want from them. Besides, it’s a good source of information for our operations when you can take their memories and the things they know without having to waste days interrogating them.” She took a couple more spoonfuls.

The two ate while listening to the music playing from the radio. It was a very beautiful piece of music.

“So.” He started. She looked over to him.

“What's up with the garlic?” He asked, dangling his spoon in his hands as he looked into her eyes.

She blinked, not sure how to respond at first.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, aren’t vampires supposed to be deathly allergic to garlic?”

At that, she gave a chuckle, and then exploded into a laugh as she rocked back in her chair. She slapped the counter top a couple of times as she tried to reel herself back in, only to look at his face and laugh again because she realized he was serious.

“Oh my gosh! Okay. Did they not teach you this? How long have you been with the Organization?” She asked as she rested her spoon into the bowl.

“I’ve only been in for… eight months now?” He counted on his hand how many months it had been.

“Ah. So it’s a funny story really because when I was once a young woman I knew the same myth. ‘Oh you should hang garlic around you, eat lots of garlic, and put garlic by an open window to scare away vampires.’ My mom always said the last one ironically enough, but once you have become a vampire, that myth completely breaks.”

He nodded, eating the soup as she carried on.

“Garlic when it's cut or digested, it releases its sulfur compounds. These produce a very strong odor. There used to be cults across many old world nations and even ours long before the dawn of the republic as we know it, where people would consume vast amounts of garlic, travel into the forest, and perform a blood letting ritual to attract a vampire. They would usually ask to be made immortal but more often than not were drained of their blood. Garlic makes your blood have a very strong scent, similar even to the scent of a pure virgin. It is part of what attracts them. As for me.” She raised another spoonful into her mouth and rested it back down.

“Garlic reminds me of the dishes my mother would make, and it is one of the few things I can still taste.”

“You can’t taste normal food?” He asked, curiosity in his eyes.

“Well, it depends. Some normal foods have a very strong taste to them, others don’t. You have to sort of trick your body into remembering what it tastes like. That's why I put that blood pack in the soup after I gave you your bowl. It’s sort of like a placebo, where you dilute blood into any dish, and your body can’t just extract the blood from it, and it is forced to digest everything else. Taste wise, your brain notices the blood in the food and it tells your mouth ‘hey there's blood’, and it kind of turns on your taste buds. I’m not a doctor for vampires but that's the best way I can explain it.” She shrugged as she continued eating.

Hark stopped eating for a moment as he looked down at his now half empty bowl. A thought crossed his mind. But he wasn’t sure now if he wanted to continue eating. But, if he did that it might upset her.

“Uhm…” He paused, not sure what to say. She noticed how he was looking at the bowl. He brought a hand up and massaged the left side of his neck where the bandage still was. She giggled, and he turned to look at her.

“What? You think I just seasoned you for a midnight snack later?” She laughed, bringing her hand up to her mouth to hide her fangs as she did.

“I… uh… yeah.” He said, unsure of what she was gonna say next.

“I won’t take your blood unless you were to offer it. I’m better than her in that regard. Besides, you’re still recovering. I would want you to be ready and in your prime if I was to do it again.” A seductive look crossed her features as she licked her lips. Though she didn’t follow in her blood-sires footprints, the apple didn’t fall that far from the tree.

“Okay.” He blushed, unsure how to keep conversing with her. His brain said run away from her but the other side said that she loved him. He couldn’t decide what he should do, so he settled on finishing the bowl of soup in front of him and taking his leave.

“You know James. You told me you were twenty three right?” She swirled the spoon around her bowl.

“Y-yeah. Why?”

“Well, it would be improper for you to have to ask me my age, but I don’t think it's fair for me to only know yours and you not to know mine.”

“Well, let's hear it.”

“I was born on November the twelfth, 1998. I died on September the twentieth, 2020. And yet I have walked this earth for forty two years. Think about that. When I died, I was younger than you are, but I haven’t aged a day since then.” She smiled.

Hark sat there in long contemplation. This woman, an immortal forty two year old vampire, who was twice his age, liked him. Worse, she had a taste for him. And yet something about her made him okay with that. Was it the fact that she was genuine? Was it because she was more human than she appeared? Or was she getting into his mind and manipulating him? He didn’t know how to express the feelings he had, they were too conflicting. She noticed he was thinking just from the way he was staring into the bowl.

“I like you James. I really do, if it makes you feel better. All I want is someone to keep me company at times. Your scent reminds me of what I lost all those years ago. But don’t worry. I’ll never take what isn’t offered.” She said before she finished her bowl. He took the moment to finish his as well. She took both bowls and put them into the sink. He got up and had just rounded the counter when she stepped back in front of him.

“I wasn’t going to let you go just yet.” She reached around him with both arms and gave him a hug. He never realized that she was about the same height as him, yet her presence gave the impression that she should be taller. He embraced her as she held on for a few more moments.

“Come by to see me again. I’ll make you something nice so long as you get the ingredients.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Good, see you later.” She kissed him on the cheek and went back to the sink to clean the dishes.

He opened the door and left the room, closing it behind him. He breathed out like he had been holding it the entire time. He knew for a fact she heard him cause he heard her giggle from behind the door.

“God what did I sign up for?”

-

Liminality

April 5, 02:00 AM?

She opened her eyes, and only saw white. She sat up and looked around. Nothing but a massive white space. There was no wall, no sky, no floor, only white. Up and down, left and right, merely suggestions. Standing up, she found that she was in her full uniform, black gloves and everything.

There was a footstep to her right. She turned, and saw a red ethereal outline of someone approaching her. There was an instinct to reach for her gun, but it wasn’t there, and she knew who this was.

She walked towards the red outline, and as she grew closer, she could see the features become clearer. The short white hair, tall height, and the hourglass build. Cynthia Belmont towered over Josephine. At 6’6”, Cynthia was undeniably a demigoddess given form, even the reason why she grew so tall after her transformation couldn’t be explained, but Miss Belvere wasn’t there to see it happen. She made Josephine slightly uncomfortable with her height, but she was still her blood-sire, and in a sense, foster parent now. For a 63 year old, she didn’t look a day over twenty three at most.

“Hi dear, how have things been?” She smiled, her own matching olive uniform and black boots, though she never wore gloves.

“Well. I have completed two missions, killed at least twelve or thirteen vampires, can’t quite remember, and three men, drank two of them. I have been hunted by some Rhamosian agent named Adelaide and her henchmen, or at least, I think he is hers. I'm in Christbol now but you probably knew that. The Pharmascience box you gave me is about halfway to empty already, but I have been managing as best I can.”

“You were hunted?” Cynthia wore a concerned face.

“It’s not a good feeling to have. He used flechettes and fire. Burned down a hotel in the process of trying to kill me.” Josephine spoke sternly and bitterly about the incident.

“The fire could have killed you for certain.”

“Exactly why I am going to kill him if I ever cross paths with him again.”

“I hope you do. I don’t want to know what it's like to be hunted. Were the hunters, not the hunted. It is not in our biology to be hunted.” Cynthia made a fist, and it shook, the power behind it evident.

“It was… a harrowing experience.” Josephine looked down at the floor that was not there.

“I was told they took you to a hospital. What happened there?”

“I struggled with healing while I was there, and… I struggled, on the inside.” Josephine rubbed her chest, feeling a sudden pain.

“Come here Josephine.” She said as they both met and embraced. Cynthia ran her fingers through Josephine's hair as she caressed her.

“Did the men in the unit help?” She said, looking down into Josephine's eyes.

“They saved me from the burning building, and one of them volunteered to give me their blood. His name was James, James Hark. He was only twenty three but he was so bold and full of life.” She gripped Cynthia's uniform tightly, remembering the days again.

“Ah, James Hark. I saw that happening you know, a very long time before I recruited him, I saw him there with you. You did end up kissing him didn’t you?”

“Maybe.” Josephine blushed.

“You're a terrible liar you know.” Cynthia made a smug face. “But it is good to hear that they stood up for you and helped you. I knew I recruited the right ones. But my vision doesn’t see that far into the future, everything is still hazy beyond what you do in Christbol. So after this, you are on your own.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“I am glad you are still with us Josephine. I am sorry my vision couldn’t prepare you for what happened at the hotel, but I try my hardest here. When you try to predict the future, you see every future, not the one that will happen, as that is never known.”

“I wish it was easier to divine where our enemies hid.”

“I can’t disagree with that.”

“Did you know James had B- blood before you recruited him?” Josephine asked, she made a curious face.

“I know you Josephine. Of course I did.” She smiled, though it was devious. “It’s a good thing for him that I prefer O type blood of both kinds.”

Josephine sighed. “You really are a man eater I swear.”

“I can’t help it. When a bunch of cute virgin men wander around the estate, and always ask questions about ‘the angel’, I feel inclined to entertain them. Ask the right questions and they get to leave with a kiss. Ask the wrong ones, and I take what I want.”

“I’ll never understand how you sleep at night.” Josephine said as they separated. Cynthia laughed under her breath.

“You were always so human Josephine. I expected you to follow me, but here you are, caring for your men who could provide you with so much more power and strength.”

“I would rather starve than force them to provide for me.”

“Suit yourself dear. Regardless, just take care of yourself. I want to hold you in person again, doing it here only gives me so much. Miss Belvere is worried about you as well. She confides in me privately often about you. Asking how you are holding up, how you are doing, how you are handling command, and if you need anything.”

“More cigars, more spare uniforms and spare clothes maybe. More ammo is on the menu of course, not just for me but for everyone. I need more blood packs soon. I know it might be hard but if you can ship them from home that would be better than nothing.”

“The Green Union is still able to supply them, but only by air. We’ll get them to deliver a couple more boxes soon. Dawn will be upon us soon though. So I will have to leave you. Sorry for bothering you while you were trying to dream, I just wanted to check up on how my little angel is doing.”

At the mention of the word ‘angel’, something snapped in Josephine's head.

“Don’t call me that please.”

Cynthia drew a confused face.

“It… makes me feel inadequate.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, that wasn’t the intention. I didn’t know.”

“Maybe you can just call me white rose instead.” Josephine looked up into Cynthia’s eyes for the last time.

“Okay, my white rose.” She knelt and they embraced once more.

-

Josephine awoke in a cold sweat. She looked over to the digital cordless clock on the nightstand. It said it was four in the morning. She breathed out, and shuffled under the covers to a different position before falling back to sleep, wanting to rest more before the next day.

[Serderistan]

17 miles outside of Dry Acre, Duchy of Southwater
April 4th, 0030

While Crow and his motley band of killers waited for their target package, the unsung "heroes" of Serenity Group were hard at work, combing through the results of Subject Nightcrawler's handiwork. Having gained access to the site thanks to falsified IDs and backstopped legends, the pair of investigators were scouring through the ruins of the ruined structure alongside the local authorities. Unfortunately for them, their thankless work also seemed fruitless due to their inability to immediately exploit the site after the joint raid…and the fact that they set off a goddamn thermobaric weapon. The one thing that was in abundance was the multitude of charred human remains, much of it consisting of shattered bones. With Nightcrawler still being an unknown quantity, the apparent massacre left the investigators shaken. Just how many people did this superhuman kill? Thankfully, the gun monkeys were the ones going after her and not them.
As they sifted through ash and bones, they finally caught a break. Hidden among the wreckage, the lead investigator found a portable hard drive. It hadn’t escaped unscathed, with some of the case being melted from the extreme heat of the sterilization measures. However, there were some details on the device’s exterior that survived – specifically the manufacturing data. While the lead investigator couldn’t read German, there was one word that she understood; Totenhoff.

What in the Goddamn…

While it was likely that the data on the PED was gone, it beat sifting through bones and casings. They stashed their ill-gotten gains immediately, keeping the Southwater officials they were “helping” none the wiser to their discovery.


The Shop
April 5th, 1100

After a short flight away from civilization, the investigator duo returned with their prize. Now away from prying eyes, Serenity Group could take their time with their digital sleuthing. With the device originating from a nation aligned with the very hostile Kraven Empire, the hard drive was hooked up to an air-gapped machine set up within a hastily constructed faraday cage. While it prevented Basilisk from accessing the drive and making the work easier, the last thing anyone wanted to do was introduce the malware to their hyper-intelligent agentic weapon…especially since one of its processes was being used to track Subject Nightcrawler. As such, Preston Abd Manaf was stuck waiting for the contents to be decrypted.

Typical…even going private, I’m stuck doing shit duty. I wish I didn’t understand kraut.

The computer analyst sipped away at his java, watching as the Totenhoff encryption measures were ripped away from the surviving data…of which there was very little. The investigative branch was overly optimistic with how much intel had survived. Though the fact that anything was left after the deployment of thermobarics was a miracle in itself.
Once the information was thoroughly decrypted and organized, Preston went down to business…and found the information both enlightening and confusing.
—
April 5th, 1400

“Mr. Abd Manaf…are you saying that we have competition in the supersoldier market?”

Despite not being physically present, all eyes were glued to the darkened screen as the Director’s authoritative tone filled the room. Surrounded by Crow and his chosen troops, Preston felt a little intimidated after being singled out…especially since he suspected that Basilisk was also present.

“Yes ma’am. While much of the information that I-Branch recovered was related to key targets within Southwater, what I found interesting was the roster of Totenhoff personnel assigned to the mission.” He quickly brought up his notes on the screen for all to see. “There are eight key personnel, two of them listed specifically as human along with six guards.”

“I’m sorry, why are only two of them listed as human?” Crow interrupted.

Preston gave the operator a knowing look. “While the pax listed as guards might be some form of enhanced soldier or supe, what I found more interesting is the mention of ‘subjects’. One of the human personnel was in charge of ‘monitoring the state of the subjects’, specifically making sure that they were docile. Now it doesn’t mention how many of these subjects were present, but there are notes about how they became more feral and less controllable upon ‘reversion’. While there aren’t specifics about this ‘reversion’, I suspect that these supes degrade somehow.”

“So Totenhoff’s experiments might be focused on increasing the longevity of their mass-produced products.” The Director paused briefly, either to ponder on the new information or to let it sink in. “Does the data show if these ‘subjects’ were present at the Dry Acre site or if they’re spread out in Markion?”

“Unfortunately not, but based on the state of the charnel pit that I-Branch found, I wouldn’t be surprised if Nightcrawler and her friends killed them. But aside from that, I do have something more actionable for Crow and his team.”

The notes on-screen were soon replaced with two lines of German text, with its translation shown below:
New Orders from Rhastov station; Confirm receipt?

“I don’t get it.” Crow snapped, “Basilisk has tracked down that supe thot and her polycule to Christbol. If she’s out hunting Totenhoff projects, then is she there and not in Rhastov?”

“Probably because this Stallenbourgian organization doesn’t know about the Rhastov connection. While we don’t have information about Totenhoff operations in Christbol, it doesn’t mean they don’t have sleeper cells in that country. Besides, that country is only permissible for Basilisk…not us.”

“Thank you for the presentation Mr. Abn Manaf. Please try and narrow down the exact source of that transmission.” Even with the blank screen, somehow everyone knew that the Director had shifted her attention to Crow. “Basilisk will continue to monitor the situation in Christbol. You will deploy immediately to Rhastov. Now that we have a clearer idea of the opposition, your mission is now capture/kill; focusing on Totenhoff superhuman personnel. I’m willing to provide you with additional Vilhalan attachments because you have a change in ROE. If you encounter Nightcrawler, you are to terminate her.”

OOC: Made in partnership with Stallenbourg

[Stallenbourg]

Young blood

Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

April 5, 09:50 AM

Massena was just finishing setting up the big screen in the command truck when Josephine entered.

“Hey there’s our girl! How have you been feeling?” Neaman spoke to her surprise.

“Better. Definitely need to get more of that brandy they have here. The music stations they have are nice as well.” She gave a genuine smile, she was wearing her olive green uniform, fully clean of any horrid scent of the previous mission.

“How have you been, Massena?” She quipped.

“Oh, you know. Working to the bone trying to get a handle on this ever expanding situation. How long did you plan on holding onto that armband?”

“Well I was planning on telling you when I gave you the uniform but I figured you would find it. Did you want me to tell you everything else the bastard had in his head?”

“Uh. Maybe. Any important details?” He turned to her as he checked his watch, the camera was on now. Just needed time to data link back to Stallenbourg for a smooth connection.

“Well. There was a big rally some time ago in their nation, both of the men did attend, but I couldn’t really tell how many were at the rally from both of their perspectives. The latter one told me it had to be at least a thousand or so. I'm guessing by the looks of that console that the armband gave you more info?”

“It did, tells us something far more useful than there being a thousand or so. We could surmise there were at least five to maybe eight hundred of them just from the map, but anything helps.” Massena shrugged.

“We’re still good to meet with our candidate today right?” She asked.

“Of course, the OMA has that end covered. And one other thing.” He got closer and whispered to her.

“Are you sure you are fine?” It was very, very important that he knew her condition.

“I hear things, but...”

“Can you manage it?”

“I want James to be with me as much as possible. He helps. But I can manage otherwise.” She nodded. She rubbed her right shoulder with her left hand, she wasn’t that great at hiding her discomfort when talking about these things.

“Alright. Keep me posted on that front. If and when we can, we might be able to do something to mitigate that problem. That reminds me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled the Olive Branch Cross from within it, resting it into her open palms. “You need this.”

“Thank you Massena.” She brought it close to her chest and felt the warmth emanating from it. After a few long moments in silent prayer, she put it back in its left breast pocket where it belonged. Massena turned to the screen and checked his watch. Everyone else in the command truck turned their eyes from the consoles and watched the big screen as a loading icon disappeared from view and was replaced with a familiar sight.

The long graying hair, warm amber eyes, fair but wrinkling skin, and the smoking end of a cigar. Mary Rosefort Belvere, Matriarch of the Belvere Organization, was sitting at her desk. Behind her and to the right was Cynthia. Everyone in the command truck stood at attention and saluted, except for Josephine.

“At ease everyone. It is good to see you all.” She gave a warm smile, as did Cynthia. “I have been worried something might have happened to all of you since the last time we talked, but I suppose my fears were misplaced.”

James was over and to the right side of the truck. Cynthia noticed the bandage on his neck and her eyes narrowed, more in delight of proof of what Josephine had done than at the fact that he was ok.

“And how are you doing dear?” Miss Belvere looked at Josephine. Instinctively, Josephine bowed deeply, the loyalty in her blood compelling her to do so out of habit than at any request. She straightened herself before going on;

“I am doing better. It warms my heart to know my family still wishes to see me, even during these difficult times.” She looked into those Amber eyes, and though they were hundreds of thousands of miles away, felt as if she was in the same room, commanding her as she always had for the past twenty years.

“That is good. Now. What plans do we have going forward?” She turned to regard Massena.

“Were working on a possible lead that could uncover the full scope of Totenhoff operations in Christbol. A woman was spotted on a street camera with a tattoo very similar to the rune on the armband Josephine had found. It is also equally similar to the spray painted markings we have seen around the city and the region as a whole just based on street view cameras from the Markion internet systems.”

“What does this woman look like?” Miss Belvere asked. Massena pulled up the image on a console and brought it to the screen, which on Miss Belvere's end would appear as a slightly pixelated but higher resolution photograph enhanced by the AI’s imaging software.

“So, she has short black hair, light skin, and wears sunglasses. Do you have a lead on her name yet?” She questioned, looking at Massena again.

“We’re trying to work with the OMA to track her, find where she works, get the name through there, and hopefully see where she sleeps at night. Our star agent here can handle the rest from there.” Massena gestured to Josephine.

“You are quite adept at planning these spy-like missions Massena. I like how you are thinking, but how does Josephine fit into this?”

“What I am to suggest is that we put Josephine in this woman's apartment. Have her confirm for certain that this is the one we are looking for, and have her ‘take her place.’ It's an inglorious thing to ask of her, but we need to know where these monsters gather before we can nail them all and torch them. This city is far too big to be spending all our time hunting each of them individually. Worse, if they are using Christbol as a recruitment center, then only getting one a day isn’t going to cut it. We need to get them all in one go or be stuck in this city forever.”

“Christbol is a catholic nation where adultery is punished severely. The nation is a breeding ground for vampires on account of there being so many virgins. You can smell it in the air can’t you Josephine?” Miss Belvere brought her hands together as she blew smoke from the cigar.

“It is unusual for it to be this strong, but yes, I do smell it. This city is full of pure blood. All it takes is one foolish move and suddenly, a person we are here to protect is transformed into the enemy. Bound forcefully to the greater cause of these Totenhoff agents and their goal.” Josephine nodded.

“Then we will go with that mission. Any possible lead or trace or easy way to snuff them out and put them all into a very confined space will make all of this easier. And yes, that does mean you all will be on duty for when the time comes to strike. Make sure all of your weapons are checked. We will be sending an aircraft soon with more supplies once the mission has concluded. In the interim, keep up the good work and keep resting. Don’t give them any ideas that we know where they are or what they are doing.” Miss Belvere drew on her cigar before exhaling. Everyone in the command truck was nodding.

“Lastly, Massena. I am promoting you to Captain. You will be receiving back pay to account for what you have already done. Keep up the good work.” She nodded.

“Thank you madam. I will do my best.” He beamed.

“I know you will. Do not expose yourselves too much. Keep an eye out for strange things. Always go in teams of two or three if you are going to go out. If that means working directly with the OMA, then do it. The last thing we need are those Rhamosian dogs to get in the way, or a rampant uncontrolled vampire. Or worse, if that is even possible. Happy hunting.” Miss Belvere nodded.

“Bye, Captain.” Cynthia spoke as she waved, a devious grin on her face as she looked at Massena. The screen went blank as the connection was cut. Massena paused at the last remark, and turned to Josephine. She wore an annoyed face and shook her head.

“Please don’t fall for her, Captain. She’s just trying to get you into her room one of these days.” She scoffed.

“When I worked under her, I definitely felt like she was eyeing me up. I suppose it was the right call to volunteer to work with you.” Massena wiped his brow and swallowed.

“It was. Keeps you out of her reach and well within mine. When do I have to be ready to meet with this ‘Arsi’ fellow?” She turned to him and flexed her hands.

“A couple of hours. Should be around two in the afternoon.” Massena checked his watch.

“I will see you all later then.” She made her way to the door as others in the vehicle said their goodbyes. She closed it behind her. Massena looked at James and walked over to him.

“You should probably go with her, James.”

“Sir I-... I’m.”

“Go on son. What is it?”

“I don’t know what it is about her. The way she treats me, the way she talks, it's very blunt and obvious about what she is and I just don’t know if I feel comfortable around her. She kisses me on the cheek and all that but like, I’m not so sure now sir.”

“Has she ever done something without your approval?”

“She hasn’t sir but-”

“Good. If she changes at any point in time I need you to tell me as soon as possible. You are my bridge into her privacy James. She trusts you with so much more than she trusts me with, and isn’t telling me everything that is wrong. She likes you, she’s honest with you. Please, do this for us all James. I know she might look at you like a fucking snack at times but if you want to keep us all alive, keep at it. I’ll give you light duty again and again if she asks for your blood or if she just asks for you to keep her company. Alright? I wouldn’t be asking if your relationship with her wasn’t the difference of life and death for us all.” Massena had gripped Jame’s shoulders as he talked. Everyone in the command truck looked to him now, as their Captain was virtually begging him to keep a relationship with her.

James was sweating now. He thought that maybe he could escape seeing her again, but now he was being asked by not only his captain, but by his entire unit to date Josephine as a way to spy on her and make sure she is alright, just cause she would be brutally honest with him. And if he didn’t then all of their lives would be on the line.

“I’ll do the best I can sir. I can’t make any promises. If I don’t respond one day after spending it with her, you need to make sure I am fine.”

“You have my promise that I will keep you in good health in case something goes wrong between you and her. Just tell me what she tells you. Anything about her mental condition, anything she says that is out of the ordinary, I want to know about it.”

“Yes sir. I’ll be going to see her now then.” He turned and was stopped, turning back, Massena grabbed him by the hand and pulled him in for a bro hug.

“Thank you James.” And patted him on the back. Others in the truck gave a thumbs up as James turned back and opened the door before stepping out. He took a deep breath, and exhaled.

“I suppose it could always be worse. At least she likes me.” He tried to reason with himself as he made his way to the monastery doors that would lead to her room.



The Lantern House basement floor -1, Training Area, Weltholm, ChristBol

April 5, 02:02 PM

Though the exterior of the buildings architecture was imposing, the inside of the Lantern House could be described as anything but hostile. The Christbolian Intelligence Services pride themselves on the deception. The warm ceiling and wall lights, sensible furniture, fancy yet ergonomic electronics, it was the opposite one would have expected upon entering a socialist intelligence service building if stereotypes were to be believed. ChristBol as a nation over their stay has proved it is anything but stereotypical. The staff on site react and act courteous to the arriving seven strong Stallenbourgian unit while making way for them as OMA officials led them through the hallways and corridors. Josephine looks to the staff they pass, and though the others in the group seem to be unaware, she doesn’t smell or sense any warmth from a number of those they pass by. Even the woman who noted their arrival at the reception desk did not emanate any true warmth.

'Did the Christbolians have… synthetics?' She let the idea fall from her conscience as she focused.

They were led to a cargo elevator in the back of the ground floor, and gathered upon it. An OMA agent steps forwards and interfaces with the fingerprint scanner. It was more intricate than the one the Belvere organization used, and far less invasive. Within a few moments the elevator shudders as it descends to the lower levels, stopping at floor -1. What greets them is an official training area for Christbolian intelligence, something each branch of the Ministry of State Intelligence shares between each other. They are led away from the first few hallways and rooms, entering a restricted space on the same floor and reaching a modestly sized area containing several pieces of workout equipment, and a fighting mat. There was a gun range in the next room over generating the weirdest noises the Stallenbourgians have ever heard, if they really were ‘guns’ in the conventional sense. Waiting for them at the other side of the room are six OMA troops operating with VEIN’s, one of them being Arsi and Arsi’s commanding officer. They were of various heights and builds with little standing out (apart from the obvious back exhausts holding up golden strings which appear to stretch up into the sky until turning invisible), the hefty Armature suits mounting several kilograms of armor and matching helmets that left nothing visible to differentiate one from another. One soldier breaks away from the group to greet and address both the OMA officials that brought Josephine’s unit here.

“Dame Commander Honkanen here as requested. Knight Leino is here with us in the group, the rest wanted to follow claiming to be moral support, though I am skeptical they didn’t just wish to see the vampire among you that Arsi will spend the rest of your stay here cooperating with.” - She manages to tell apart which of them is Josephine the vampire off just a preliminary glance alone. This would not be a difficult thing to figure out thanks to the extensive reports she had read beforehand, however she caught on to Josephine’s physical features like skin color, eyes, and her exotic appearance. She stuck out from the uniformly dressed unit as being the only one without a name tag, and by being the only woman.

The squad's CO turns and gestures towards the assembled OMA soldiers, causing the shortest of the five to step forward, the rest staying behind. - “I am Knight Leino. The Execrant suggested I would be the best of what we have currently available in Markion to offer some form of operational support to you.” - Nobody could really tell what he looks like, the only thing most of them see is that something glints on the other side of his visor.

Captain Massena stepped forward and extended a hand in greeting. “It’s good to finally meet you, Knight Leino.”

Contrary to Arsi’s psychological profile, he extends his own hand to accept the greeting. Massena is washed away by an instantaneous calm upon contact, a total objective serenity taking him in its warm embrace. It takes effort to make him want to let go, as if he was bidding a loved one farewell, thinking he’d never see them again. He did not know if the thoughts he was having were his own, as if they were compelling him to continue holding onto Arsi’s hand, or if these thoughts were his and his soul subconsciously refused to let go of someone so intimately acquainted with the heavens above. The handshake continues for longer than it should have.

“You good captain?” Godwinson asked. The others in the group were curious now, giving each other looks that said more than their words could have. Massena pulled his hand away, and the warmth and calm that was there faded instantly, leaving him a fair bit confused, and concerned. He did read Arsi’s file again before coming to meet him, but he was having second guesses now. How was she going to react to this?

“Sorry about that. I just… is that a normal thing you guys are used to?” He asked, wondering if other average people had the same reaction he did just by touching a VEIN equipped soldier.

“Knight Leino keeps his VEIN’s on almost constantly.” - Dame Commander Honkanen interjects. - “When OMA troops with VEIN’s tap into them, they must adopt a form of mental conditioning where they believe that they share the same radiance as angels in order to make the power inside them filter through the VEIN and use their abilities, in part at least. You can think of it like… a powerlifter trying to lift a massive weight by conditioning themselves that they just got into a traffic accident, and their children are stuck under a car.” - She pauses for a moment, shooting a stern look at the squad in the back after hearing some snickering. - “This has the side effect of them transmitting some of the divine through presence and contact while they are in this state, an experience your Captain just went through for the first time.”

Massena turned back to his squad and before he could say anything;

“What was it like Captain?” It was Edwards asking this time.

“It was… the most calming experience I have ever felt in my life. As if I was actually holding the hand of an angel in the flesh.” He didn’t realize how severe of a statement that was when Josiah stepped out of line, then Mackenson stepped out, everyone but Josephine walked over to Arsi and started asking if they could shake his hand.

“C'mon dude I wanna shake hands with an angel, that would be sick.”

“Bro you already handled Josephine, why do you need to shake hands with this guy?”

At the last comment, Massena noticed Josephine's brow furrow.

“Ahem.” She spoke, her eyes shut and her hands across her chest as the squad turned to her.

“Step away from Knight Leino, and get back into ranks.” She spoke sternly. The command was simple, non-threatening, but nobody was going to question her. Reluctantly, they returned to Massena’s side and waited.

“All of you will get to shake his hands later, I don’t want to waste Dame Honkannen’s time on something so trivial.” Surely it couldn’t have been that enjoyable to shake this guy's hand, was it? She made her way over to him and looked at the helmet visor, knowing he would be looking through them and into her eyes. She extended her own hand, and he took it.

“Josephine Belmont. It’s nice to finally meet you.” She gave a smug grin, but felt something in her hand. His grip was strong, but it was a genuine feeling of warmth and calm that began to sweep through her body. Massena hadn’t been lying, but there was something off about the feeling. Where Massena felt a calm completely overtake him, Josephine felt that same calm, but it was reaching deeper into her. She felt as if golden strings had stretched out to pull her from some endless abyss. It was reaching for who she had been, not who she was now. She saw the sun shine over her as a child once more. She looked up into his visor and saw the glint again.

Arsi received information communicated through the handshake, more than just words could say. - “I don’t think part of you belongs here. This physical reality. I don’t think you think you belong in part at all.” - He didn’t mean it as praise, or a scathing criticism. He attributed no tone that could indicate it going one direction or the other at all. The angelic conditioning in him wanted to, but the human part held on to a neutral interpretation.

The words took her aback, but she held her gaze. Her left hand reached up to the left breastpocket, and that same warmth she was feeling through this handshake could be felt upon the olive branch.

“I have to agree.” She spoke. She was trying to let go but something in her head to hold on just a little bit longer, he might have something else to say.

Arsi’s mind raced at several different questions to follow up with - ‘Can you recognize yourself?’, ‘Do they know who you are?’, perhaps even a philosophical question about undeath. ‘Do you have a soul?’ rang out thinking through his head, several times even…. No… these questions would come too early right now. He deemed it best to loosen his grip on her hand to weaken the effect, letting her choose a time to let go. He refocused on why they were both here with a statement more damning than his opening one. - “Several days ago I was conducting reconnaissance on official orders to determine what you were doing in Markion. I apologize for invading your privacy then, it is up to you whether to accept it.”

As his grip loosened, a sense of clarity returned with it. She thought back to a week ago, and knew that she had guessed right on that day. A wide smile crossed her features, finally meeting the voyeur who had seen her in such an undignified manner. She whispered;

“Per-vert.” And grinned. She didn’t say it with malice or disdain, only a playful tone. She knew he could hear it, but nobody else would have.

“I accept your apology.” She spoke aloud, ensuring everyone could hear that, as she loosened her grip and let her hand fall to the side. The connection severed, and normalcy returned.

The Dame Commander glances at both of them, not sure of the subconscious yet intimate conversation that took place, but they seem to be fine with eachother so that’s… good? The Belvere unit at the least is not leaving the room and Arsi’s neuroticism didn’t put Josephine off. She attempts to segue the moment away into why they’ve gathered. - “Alright well, I understand that you are interested in getting a gauge at Arsi’s abilities. If those nimrods in the back know how to do something other than giggle-” - She shoots a second angry gaze behind her. - “-this could also be a chance to see how OMA troops perform. That is what we’ve been told and I assume that is why you are here.”

Josephine turned to regard Dame Honkannen, and nodded in agreement.

“Yes, I would like to test your clairvoyant abilities, Knight Leino.” She regarded him and the suit he wore. She turned back to her squad.

“Everyone get to the back wall to make room. I would have to ask if the lights can be turned off for this first test.” She turned back at the last comment to the Dame Commander, waiting for a reply.

Honkannen didn’t move a muscle, she simply triggered one VEIN and, with psychokinesis, killed the light in the room by flicking all the light switches into an off state. There were at least a dozen switches, but between the request and total darkness only a few seconds had passed. The only light source came from the hallway outside through the small opening at the bottom of the entrance doors, and it wasn’t enough to impact visibility in any meaningful way.

Josephine's eyes radiated a subtle red glow in the darkness. A chill passed through the entire chamber, even as large as it was.

“Alright, let’s see how good you are.” And with that she closed her eyes. Not a sound was heard for ten seconds before Massena spoke on cue.

“Alright Knight, point to where Josephine is.” He had put on a pair of glasses that gave subtle night vision, it was not very high end but it worked in low light environments well enough for this.

Instead of pointing, Arsi chose to announce Josephine’s location to everyone directly. - “Northeast, 74 degrees, 31 minutes and 8,73 meters out relative to me.” - “Northwest, 134 degrees, 58 minutes and 6,25 meters out relative to me.” - “South, 240 degrees exactly, 2,01 meters out relative to me.” - “Above me. Directly above me. 2,39 meters out from my head to her head.”

By the third guess and beyond, Arsi wasn’t even looking at her to confirm. He could simply hear her bodily functions - breath, heartbeat, muscle tension tightening and relaxing, not even the noise of her own blood moving through her cardiovascular system was a sacred sound impossible to hear.

“Very good.” She spoke at last, as she stepped out in front of Arsi, those crimson dots examining him. He hadn’t even moved so much as a muscle from where he had stood.

“Alright Massena, phase two. Let’s see how difficult I can make this for you.” The chamber felt another chill pass through it. Massena, who had been watching her previously, lost track of her.

“Yes, phase two. Alright Knight. Where is Josephine now?” He had checked several boxes on the notepad he was fiddling with as the tests went on.

Arsi focused, but he could not hear her. He opened his eyes again, but he also could not see her, or rather, at least her material form. He first thought to look for her through a metaphysical layer - her spirit, but wondering if she had something to sense like that he instead tapped into the minute where he could denote some vague forms here and there. He couldn’t figure out directly where Josephine is, but by process of elimination this vague amalgamation of floating particles that had no physical form attached in visible space, was most likely her. For the first time in the test, Arsi walked imprecisely, past Massena and the Belvere troopers, into Josephine’s general direction and stood face to face with the outline that had no dust occupying it, not staring at her eyes which would help denote he has a certain location, but he does know where Josephine in physical space is. - “I do not have an exact estimate, but I would take a guess that you are here.” - He reaches into a seemingly empty blackness, brushing over Josephine’s shoulder without knowing. - “I apologize if this is invading your personal space.”

She watched curiously as he reached out, and actually touched her. Just her shoulder, but the hand drifted to her neck before pulling back. She let herself be seen, the red eyes reappearing before him.

“Very interesting.” She spoke with a curiosity in her voice. “Not a single person before you has ever found me in the twenty years I have served. You are the first. Tell me, what gave it away?” She stood to her full height and brought her arms across her chest.

“You are invisible and your body makes no sound in this state, but it still occupies a physical space. I could see the dust in the room avoiding your outline. I guess this would count as a home field advantage, being that janitors don’t pass this room often.” - If his helmet still wasn’t on him Josephine would have been able to tell he is actively smirking. - “Though even if you weren’t in physical space, I’d be able to denote that location as well. I can also see spirits, like the ones circling you and your previous team back in the Southwaterian swamplands.”

“I have to say. I am quite impressed. But that is not the end of the tests. Dame Honkannen, lights please.” She gestured with an open hand to Honkannen.

Just as fast as darkness seeped into the room, a few audible clicks of several light switches later and the room is illuminated once more. Everybody is more or less in their original spaces from when the lights went off, even if the direction they were looking at slightly changed or if there were now a few inches more or less of difference in distance between them.

Josephine moved to the large collection of blue mats arranged in a massive square.

“I want to test your reflexes, Knight.” She flexed her hands, and stretched a little before getting into a stance.

Arsi moves to stand at the opposite end of the mats, checking his gear. - “I’ve seen you work, I do not exactly have the speed to keep up, but I will humor you.” - This was half a lie.

Before they both take a combat stance Honkannen decides to speak up. - “We have a Knight utilizing hypervelocity here with us if you’d prefer something of a more equitable matchup. Arsi has decent hand to hand combat training, but I’ve also read the reports on you Miss Belmont - he is far outmatched on speed in this situation.” - Also only half a lie. The aforementioned OMA soldier appears to stand up from his seat out in the back, but Josephine retorts before allowing him to make more than a step forwards.

“No, I want to test Arsi.” A smile crossed her features as she got ready. She would be easy on him, at first. Most vampires don’t have the same reflexes or training that she does.

She began to circle the mat clockwise as Arsi matched her. For a few long moments all they did was circle, both measuring each other, waiting for a tell tale sign of an impending strike. Josephine struck out, throwing a left hook. To her surprise, he grabbed her fist and pushed it away. Another hook from the right, but it did not connect as he grabbed her wrist and pushed her aside. She adjusted quickly, throwing her weight behind a punch directly to his chest, and yet he caught it, bracing against the mats as he pushed back, throwing her back a few feet.

‘He’s caught all my attacks. Nothing about his profile said anything about precognition. Maybe…’ She watched him as he began to make a move. He threw a punch, but with so little effort she parried it. She watched as he threw another, going low with his right to try an uppercut, but she merely flicked his hand, sending him reeling back. He shook his hand, his body language told her that he had some doubt now. She let him throw another left hook just to make sure she was right. She dodged it and rolled back, a wide smile on her face.

‘His mind works faster than his body can react to move. He isn’t predicting anything, just figuring out in my initial movements where the strikes will land and preparing beforehand. That’s why. So if I just…’ She took a lightning fast step to the left and feinted a left hook. She saw him raise his arms to catch it.

‘Got you now.’ She changed her direction, stepping to the right, and threw a right hook directly into his gut. The impact made a loud thud, as Arsi was taken off his feet and fell back onto the mats. He coughed through the mask as he tried to adjust to the sudden pain in his stomach.

“I suppose that makes us even.” She cocked her head to the side as she smiled, putting her hands behind her back as she walked over to him.

Arsi stood kneeling on the mats for a long moment, still coughing, but knew he needed more air than the environmentally isolated helmet could give him. He released several clamps around the neck to detach it from the rest of the armature, and lifted it off his head. He had short red hair and had shaved recently. He continues coughing after the fact, but it subsides soon after he gets to breathe. The scent of his virgin blood, enriched with angelic qualities, was strong. Too strong.

Josephine stopped once the scent reached her. Her eyes shrank to the size of the smallest marbles man could have ever made. Her hands went limp to her sides as she took it in. It was so enthralling, so enticing. She had had caviar once before. But this; this was better than caviar could have ever tasted. For a long moment she just sat there, immobile as the scent never dissipated, never subsided. And yet, there was something in that scent that told her ‘no’. It was too perfect. As if it were a gilded chalice of King Midas, but with the drink of King Mithridates resting within. She snapped out of it, forcing herself to ignore the scent as best she could.

“Do you need help?” She reached out with a hand.

Arsi reached out with his hand, this time not followed by any sense of calm. Josephine had punched hard enough that it had pulled him out of his mental conditioning, and brought out the human within him. Standing up, the lack of a helmet gave away his whole face for the first time. Though his eyes did not glow like Josephine’s, they were golden. The irises were green, traced with gold. Outside of the range of the irises, was only gold. Turquoise veins traced his eyes. He ‘blinks’ a few times, although calling it ‘blinking’ is a stretch; the eyes remain open, and the physical space around the sockets appears to glitch. Could Arsi blink and close his eyes, or does his condition give the illusion of doing so?

Despite the glare and uniqueness related to his look, Arsi’s mortality and humanity was unveiled for all to see. He looked… concerned? Exhausted even. Josephine saw fatigue in him, not too dissimilar to how she had been days prior.

“Thank… you?” - He says in a confused tone. Despite the fact that she might be investing a considerable amount of mental restraint not to bite him, it was the first time someone outside of the Office had seen him human and treated him like a human in a while. Lesser vampires might have bitten his neck off already, consequences be damned. He wasn’t certain, but he made a fair guess of that, and in that avenue he even found a measure of respect for her which he didn’t have before.

“You’re welcome. I have to say, the scent coming off of you is… intoxicating. But I think you will do just fine for our needs. As long as you keep your helmet on while we are out on missions, they wouldn’t be able to tell you were even there.” She swallowed, a bead of sweat coming down her forehead and dripping onto the mat. The urge was there, in the background, but she forced it down. His blood was far too pure to ever consider drinking. And perhaps… far too lethal.

“Well, if you’ll have me…” - Arsi winces, still sensing aftershocks of pain lingering around his abdomen. - “I’d be happy to help.” - Now spoken with a certainty he didn’t have before.

Taking his hand out of her grip, Arsi picks up his helmet back from one of the mats, placing it on and applying the clamps he unlocked to take it off, sealing back the smell away. He returns to his mental conditioning. - “I’ve seen enough, and I believe so has Miss Belmont. It is time to discuss serious cooperation.”



Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

April 5, 08:32 PM

James had just finished moving all of his personal items and clothes into one side of the small wardrobe in Josephine's room. She asked him before she left if he could stay with her for the night, but he made a guess that she would not settle for just one night. Remembering Massena’s words, he decided he would stay with her so long as she would have him. Even if it meant sacrificing his own free time. She wouldn’t always be around at least so he would have time to himself. And at some point he reasoned he would be asked to get back to work. But for now he mentally prepared himself for when she would return.

There was a knock at the door.

“I'm coming.” He said aloud, not knowing who it would be. Maybe someone wanted to come see Josephine not knowing she was out still. He walked out of the bedroom and into the little kitchen, and had just put his hand on the door knob and turned it. The door swung open, catching him off guard as he stumbled. He found himself pressed to the door, his back against it as he looked out at the room. Clutching him tightly, burying her head into his chest, was Josephine. Her black hair brushing against his face as she shook, her arms wrapped around him as her hands gripped onto his shirt. She was still wearing her uniform, but he had changed earlier into his normal clothes.

“J… Josephine?” He spoke, taken aback by her sudden embrace, and confused as to why she was shaking. Slowly, she brought her head up, and he saw her crimson eyes. They were smaller than usual, what had she seen to have her this way?

“Ja… J-…” Her eyes welled up as she closed them. He saw the little red beads form at the edges of her eyelids, before they began to creep down her face. She brought her head back down, and pressed her nose tightly to his shoulder. She was sobbing, taking deep breaths and sniffling.

“What happened?” James asked, as he brought his hands around her, and held her tightly. Slowly, she began to shudder and shake less as he caressed her in his arms. Though he didn’t know it, she was getting calmer just being in his arms.

“Just… keep doing that.” She spoke through a rasping breath. Her heart was racing, but he felt it slow the longer he held her. He brought his head down to her shoulder, bringing his hands up and down her back. After a few more long moments, she pulled away, but still held onto him.

“I… I’m sorry James.” She looked down, ashamed that she had done that.

“There is no need to be sorry. Just tell me what's wrong.” He didn’t let her go, moving his hands to her upper arms and trying to look into her eyes.

“The people we are working with. The Christbolians. They’re… I just… Arsi is his name. I held it together as best I could and was confident the whole time. Even after the detailing and talks we had after the testing session, his scent just… didn’t go away from my senses.” She looked up, her face now muddied with small red streaks. Her beret was on the floor but she didn’t seem to care.

“What scent? Was it like mine?” He knew he had a scent, he knew that was why she latched onto him in the first place, but this Arsi fellow, what was special about him?

“No, it was nothing like yours. Humans aren’t supposed to smell like that. I don’t know exactly what they did, but there was something… his blood was just, too pure. He was a virgin I know for sure, but there was something stronger in his blood. Something diluted into it from heaven itself. Maybe it was the VEIN thing. It was so hard to control myself after it was revealed from under that suit.”

“You were scared you were going to lose control?”

“Yes! My instincts took over my senses entirely, all I heard was static when the scent caught up to me. I was able to pull myself out, but after the hours that followed during the meetings, I couldn’t stop but smell it in my nose. Like it had gotten stuck in there. Tempting me. I had to excuse myself, and raced here as fast as I could. I just needed to cleanse the scent. I needed something familiar. I needed you, James.” She finally looked into his eyes. They had returned to normal, and she had stopped crying.

“What was wrong with his blood?” He questioned, his tone calm.

“I just. I don’t know. It smelled too pure, to the point that I believed it was poison. Yet it drew me to it like a moth to a flame.” She shook again, but he brought her close and embraced her.

“Well it’s okay now. I am sure Massena will work something out with this Arsi guy to make it so he doesn’t take his helmet off around you. That might help. I hope at least.”

“Yeah.” She spoke, quieter now. Another long moment passed.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” He asked.

“Yes.” She smiled.

Two hours later, 10:55 PM

The credits were rolling on the wireless tv in front of them. A half drunk bottle of the apple brandy was sitting on the coffee table in front of them. James hadn’t taken a sip, letting Josephine have her way with the bottle. The local popcorn was good though, not as sweet as it was back home, but he found he liked this better. She was leaning against him, her glass still in hand as she took the final sip from it and placed it on the table.

“What did you think of it?” He asked.

“It reminded me of the first mission here, in the Southwaterian Swamps. That was a fun mission overall.”

“Yeah I remember when you held onto me when we were on the air boat. It was the first time you did that wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was.” She smiled, the memory fresh in her hazy mind. The booze was doing wonders in suppressing her thoughts.

The movie was called ‘Six Months in Southwater’ or by its homelands name; ‘Shest' mesyatsev v Sautuotere’. It was from the nation of Arseny-Sazikov and it followed an Arsenian student from the town of Tver, who thinks he is taking a scholarship program in Southwater when it turns out he actually agreed to be an airboat tour guide. It’s a surreal comedy film, and though most of the references flew over their heads, they did understand some of them. At the end of the movie, the main character; Antosha Daniilovich, makes friends with a talking alligator, and marries a local woman. He even goes so far as to change his name to ‘Anthony’, and settles down for a long and happy life in Southwater with his new family.

“I wish I could have kids.” She said bluntly. She brought a hand to her chest, but let it fall. James looked down at her, wondering what she meant by it.

“Are you past your time or is it just-”

“No you goof. I’m a Vampire. We can’t have kids normally, we can only sire more vampires and adopt them into our bloodlines. I stopped getting periods entirely once I became a vampire. It was so bizarre, but that was taken from me as well.”

“It sounds like you miss the feeling, even if it was painful.”

“It was always painful in some way. Forced to take time out of your day to handle yourself. But now, never having to worry about it ever again. It's a relief, and another sign that I am not even human anymore.” She sat up right, swaying a little.

“Josephine, you are human. Nobody is ever going to take that from you.”

“You really think so?” She turned, and looked into his eyes. The crimson orbs radiated in the dark as the flicker of the credits on the screen continued. Such an intimidating sight, yet she looked so vulnerable.

“I do. You show more emotion than some people I have known for years. You express yourself, you laugh, you cry. You have bad days, and good days. You drink, you make excellent food, you still eat like a normal person, even if there's caveats. But, you care most about others around you. And that is great but I need you to care about yourself too.” He put an arm around her. She began to blush.

“Can you promise me something?” He asked.

“S-sure. Anything.” She was a little flustered now. Her red cheeks were nearly the same color as her eyes.

“If there is anything wrong, I want you to tell me. Okay?” James spoke, looking into those crimson eyes. Not a hint of discomfort on his own.

“I will.” She turned and embraced him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She yawned, which surprised him. He decided to do something. He brought his hands around and picked her up, cradling her in his arms. She looked surprised at him. He carried her to the bedroom and rested her on the bed. He was about to walk back outside the room to shut the TV off but he was pulled back and under the covers, face to face with her.

“Please James, just stay by my side for the rest of this night.” She gave a small smile.

“Alright, I will.” He nodded, as they hugged each other. They drifted off into a deep sleep, together.



Weltholm Metro tunnels, Weltholm, Christbol

April 8, 06:45 AM

“So is there a reason you wanted to go to a Catholic Mass while we were here?” Massena asked.

“I wanted to see what it was like.” Josephine answered, as she held James’ hand. The trio stepped through the doors before they closed behind them.

Finding room to sit on the Weltholm Metro is like trying to find fire in a vacuum - even theoretically it is not possible, unlike a needle in a haystack. The trams and trains are larger in ChristBol than anywhere in the rest of Markion by a significant margin, the only exception being the Great Markion Railway. She wondered if she would ride on it one day. But, even with the massive size of the metro cars, it was still overcrowded. The Weltholm Metro boasts standing legroom closer to that found among packed sardines in a can. There were seats, an amount that would boggle the mind within any other country, but all of them were occupied. Within a few stops, some would relinquish their seats to the elderly, visibly expecting mothers, the injured or similar. Surrendering your seat to people isn’t mandatory, merely suggested in the PSA’s present along the tram, but most behave as if it were legally enforceable. Some people nearby ogle at Josephine, James and Massena. The foreigners sticking out even with christbolian civilian clothing. Most who do eye up Josephine notice her pale skin first. In the sunny and often scorching Christbolian climate, having pale skin is uncommon, even anomalous. Her red eyes were concealed behind a pair of aviator sunglasses, but she did occasionally readjust them. Most reasoned that she wore contact lenses with red irises, not an uncommon sight among the more expressionist types in ChristBol. But consistently pale skin? Virtually unheard of. The one saving grace of the Weltholm Metro is that it is fast and on time, a trait picked up from the Rhastovians who are actively employed, and likewise paid what is considered a small fortune back at home, to help make it efficient.

The religious buildings around the city are in many ways just as massive and overengineered as the government buildings, albeit more complicated in facade through ornate geometry and detailing covering the walls, glass, roofs, arches, statues, pedestals, towers - everything really. They stand radiant in their own way unlike the much sleeker skyscrapers surrounding them - the modern buildings do not lack in style, however the churches by comparison look designed closer to somebody trying to reverse engineer neo-Gothic architecture with mid-21st century funding and materials.

What stands out to Josephine the most, and what even gets her to consider entering this particular church on her travel path, are three huge doors at the front adorned with lunettes above them depicting Jesus and Christbolian workers around him. Above the lunettes were pediments, and all over the facade were portals for statues of men of faith who may have done great deeds for the city. A more ornate portal housed a statue of the virgin Mary, regal yet beautiful in her appearance.

While a cathedral can only be considered a church that is the seat of a diocese, cathedral also implies a larger sense of scale than a regular church, and this church in particular trumps Josephine’s perception of that sort of scale entirely.

‘If this is how big regular Christbolian churches are, then what do Christbolian cathedrals look like?’ She mused in her head, trying but failing to grasp the sheer scale of what they might look like.

With the Christbolian Church sharing governmental authority with the state, all of these must be money pits. Thousands of people beyond the group flock in, the entrance drawing from the sidewalk as if the entrance of the church has a localized gravity well, moving them into the building. Hundreds of rows of pews persist and yet there are still people with only enough room to stand. The trio were of the lucky few, though once again in this context ‘few’ still refers to thousands, to enter before the benches filled up completely.

Sitting down to experience mass in ChristBol, the procession itself was largely what Josephine understood service to be like but grander, more complicated and in a Christbolian coat of paint both in words and practice; the priest began by greeting the assembly, moving onto a confession of sin, then an opening prayer followed by mass continued onto liturgy. First liturgy was of the Word, readings from the Gospel of Luke and the book of Psalms. It went on longer than the typical scripture readings she was used to.

Then the liturgy of the Eucharist, far more metaphysical in nature than she was used to. The liturgy was intriguing to witness, feeling very foreign in a way. A big help was Arsi, far and away in a different part of the city but who still saw and heard the procession which Josephine sat down to witness through multiple layers of steel, concrete and urban commute, who decided in his spare time to translate bits and pieces of the Christbolian phrasing which Josephine could not understand into her earpiece but was curious about. It didn’t come across as unprompted to ask for his assistance in this considering she has been giving him her impressions of the whole ordeal that is traveling through ChristBol the past few days, having obtained his frequency earlier in the week. Arsi was… warmish enough to respond most times and converse with.

Josephine looked around and saw as many of the congregation stood up and turned to one another, others remained seated. She saw hand shakes from people reaching across pews, hugs between men and women who looked like they had known each other for decades, yet only met today, and some even shared a kiss upon the cheek. All of them said something akin to ‘peace be with you’ before returning to their seats. She felt a tug on her left sleeve and looked down. A small girl in a little dress looked up at her. - “Raha olko kanssan!” - the girl says, reaching her hand out for Josephine to shake. She assumes it's the same phrase that the others had been saying, but knowing she would butcher the local tongue, she says it in her plain english.

“God be with you.” As she knelt down and shook the girl's hand, a smile on her face at the gesture. The little girl nodded, and turned, sitting back down on the pew with what looked like her parents.

“Well that was sweet.” Massena quipped before he turned to receive and give a similar greeting to a gentleman. James sat in the middle, and received a greeting here and there. Once everyone had returned to their seats, the priest broke bread and dropped a small piece into the ornate chalice of wine. He spoke the words to himself, Josephine was able to hear them but she didn’t understand them.

”That is between himself and God to hear. I wouldn’t intrude on his privacy at this time.”- Arsi chimed in her earpiece. She gave a solemn nod, knowing he would see it. What followed was communion. To her surprise, both the communion wafers and wine was distributed amongst all. Children received only the wafers but the sight of so much wine for the thousands in attendance was obscene.

“Is it a holiday I wasn’t aware of?” - She asked aloud. - ”The Christbolian Church offers communion in both ways. Both the Church, State, and even private individuals produce so much alcohol that it would be a waste not to provide it. This used to be something reserved only for smaller church gatherings or special days.” - Arsi chimed again.

A helper asked the trio if they would partake, but Massena spoke for them as best he could. He had made a serious attempt to learn the language, but only knew a few words. It was enough that the helper understood and carried on. A few others remained seated among them, mainly children who hadn’t received their first communion yet.

As the communion continued, Josephine looked out amongst the crowd and saw a woman sitting at the edge of a pew. It took her a moment, but she recognized her from the still image of the street camera. She was the ‘target’, her name still alluding the Christbolian domestic intelligence services. Trying to track millions upon millions of individuals in a city as dense as Weltholm, with a government that had uncharacteristic tendencies of value against digital intrusion, was challenging enough, trying to identify one specific individual in a sea of people who all look similar was harder. Josephine keyed her ear piece.

“Arsi. Who is the woman I am looking at? Do they have a name on any of their belongings? She might be the ‘target’ we have been looking for.”

Arsi refocuses, while he previously sat rested upon a chair translating words during mass for Josephine in real time, he now leans forward with his game face on. - ”Her name…” - He took another second, dismantling first to see through the layer of clothing, finding nothing, and then through the leather of both her purse and her wallet to catch information off her national ID, credit cards, membership cards, anything. - ”Minna Räsen. Ruusuneu apartment complex, number one hundred and thirty seven. Nataa Street 48. It is printed on a keychain strapped to a key in her purse.” - Arsi pauses to first obtain some information from a computer console in the room he is in, then shifts his gaze in a different direction. - “The complex overlooks a public park. I am looking at it now. The surname on her ID matches the nameplate on the apartment's front door with the corresponding number. I am at a bit of an awkward angle to read it, but almost certain the surname matches.”

“Does she have the tattoo of the rune?”

Another quick shift back to the church Josephine is in has him confirm something she already knew. - “Yes, on the inside of her left arm, between her elbow and wrist.” - Arsi traces an exact replica drawing of the tattoo into his notebook, the same one he used to monitor and relay Josephine’s movements with weeks earlier. They have copies of it already but his human part likes to doodle and lacks a less work related piece of paper to draw on.

“Thank you Arsi.” She smiled.

-

Leaving the Church, she felt happier. It was a beautiful service overall, and everyone was quite polite. The trio made their way towards the metro when Arsi chimed in;

”You’re being watched.” - His words ringing out and alerting her senses. She whipped around, looking for anyone out of the ordinary. - ”Light fixture on the building left of the church. One of the black birds on it is looking right at you.” - Arsi specifies.

She focused her vision, and picked out all of the crows on the top of that building, maybe it was some offices or similar. But one of the birds was slightly larger than the others, and she saw those distinctive fake looking red eyes. It was just like that toy looking bird she saw back in the hotel, the one that confused her for a moment. Instinctively, she brought her hand up and gave the fake bird a middle finger, before she rushed to catch up with the other two.

“Stupid bird.” She muttered to herself.



(This joint post was made with Christbol.)

[The Kingdom of Rhamos]

April 1st 0300hrs

Cédralo, Osiria
-----------------------

"Tell me, Missss.....Marie was it?" The huge Spaniard towered over the cowering girl as he walked around the room with an air of abstract nonchalance. He pulled one of her books down from the shelf with a gloved hand and proceeded to idly thumb through it barely paying her any mind as he talked.

"Please stop this!" The girl begged in-between her wails, her hands over her ears as she continued to weap on the floor practically ensured his questioned hadn't been heard. Not that it would have been heard anyways, the commotion coming from the bathroom of the cheap motel they were in overpowered all but the loudest of sounds. The thrashing and pained screams echoing out of it all but drowned out his words, a fact that greatly annoyed him.

Tossing the book aside, he strode over to her and gently lifted her chin as he kneeled down to get closer to eye level with her. Her face was contorted in the pained anguish of having to listen to her friend scream for her life. "W-w-w-we were just trying to help pepepepeople!" Her words were a sputtered mess as she started to hyperventilate.

"Please-" She began only for the Spaniard to cut her off with a shush.

"How did you think this would end, hmm?" He mused. " You two would just, galavant through the city, dealing out vigilante justice like some some sort of superhero?" His stoic features turned into atoothy smile showing her he found the thought rather humorous but Marie said nothing in return save for trying to look away from the man to rob him of the satisfaction of a reaction. An action that was rewarded with his chin lift turning into grabbing her face and forcing her to look back at him in the eyes as he spoke.

Marie reluctantly obliged and stared back into the mans cold dead gaze, her mind awash in sudden horror of her situation.

How could this happen to them.

They had been so careful, she made sure of it, never staying to long in one spot and keeping their online presence near zero. They were a team trying to make the world better. Granted, Marie was just a normal person, but she had been the brain, the Microchip to Soléne's Punisher. They were unstoppable, and now Soléne, or what was left of her, was getting god knows what done to her in the bathroom while Marie was getting manhandled like a doll.

"You should be happy." purred the Spaniard.

"You shot her!" She whimpered in his vice like grip.

"To immobilize her." Came the stoic reply.

"You ripped her to pieces!"

"She's a monster." The words were a plain statement from the Spaniard that hurt her to hear her friend devalued to less then a person.

"She was trying to help people!" Her voice broke as she started to sob again.

"You said that already." Retorted the Spainard calmly as he let go of her face finally and stood up to look over at the bathroom door where his compatriot exited in a silence the engulfed the whole room. He was holding a hand towel that he was using to clean the viscera off himself.


Marie took one look at him and began to sob louder while the two men ignored her.

"She dead?" the Spaniard quipped.

"Nah, just passed out, that thing is talking now." Replyed the man.

The man then produced and held up an eyeball before continuing. "Said to give this to her." He motioned towards Marie on the ground.

The Spaniard looked from it to Marie for a second before forcefully lifting her up like a child's plaything and setting her on her feet against the wall in spite of her pleading protest.

"The parasite needs a new hosts." The other man noted.

"Please, give it back to her!" She protested weakly, "You're taking everything from her!" she was trying to slowly slide along the wall away from them but fround herself in the corner now.

"And we'll take everything from you if you don't." The Spaniard said as he reached out and took the eyeball from his compatriot and examined it curiously in his hand. It was noticeablely moving on its own, looking at each of the people in the room in turn quickly before turning to Marie, even without the rest of the face there was evident fear in it.

In spite of the pairs indifference Marie continued to plead for Soléne but they fell on deaf ears. Holding the eye up pinched between his index finger and thumb, the Spaniard held it in line with Marie's eye from his point of view as if imagining something before speaking "You wish too save your friend, no?"

Her gazed moved from the eye to the Spaniards face, searching it for a shred of anything but she quickly connected the pieces of what exactly he was imagining. "Please don't do this, please don't do this!" She urgently pleaded over and over. "I don't know what it'll do if both hosts are still alive!"

The Spaniard shrugged, "I suppose we shall see wont we."

Marie's hyperventilating returned now as she started to panic, the gravity of what was about to happen on top of what had already transpired was to much for the girl to handle at this point.

"Please...don't change...me...not...my soul...I love...me...please...no....." Her breathless gasped words of absolute terror were making less and less sense as she edged towards unconscious at the sight of the Spaniard bringing the equaly terrified looking eye towards her.

"B-but....I still...I still..have.....both my...eyes..."

"Oh, so you do." The Spaniard said reaching towards her.

--------
April 5th 0700hrs

Wildlands, Beyond Colonial Borders, Southern Continent, Markion

The theory that the Markish weren't Homo Sapiens, as outlandish as it seemed, was not a new one.

Indeed the great question to the existence of people in Markion had spawned a myriad of competing theories and schools of thought.

Some were philosophical in nature.

Some were religious.

Some scientific.

And some were ignorant, devoid of reason, and a convenient justification of the most base of human emotion, hatred.

Here in the Wildlands, beyond the borders of established nationstates, absent of the rule of flags and ruled by tribal ties the colonial reach of Rhamos slowly slinked through the shadows and extended outward.

Far flung outpost for trade, security, and research dotted the map. The furthest of these, Atele Nalu, hosted a rather interesting research site that was Anthropological in nature. Today, it hosted a rather interesting set of visitors.

Dr. Étianu wiped his brow as he sat across the room from the motly assortment of RICIA agents who were conversing in his office. They had been chatting rather absently as if he wasn't even in the room and he frankly found it rather bizarre.

"So far this route has netted us a .05 percent success rate." Spoke the one of to his left.

The man in the center, the one Étianu assumed to be in charge, sipped his coffee pensively as he listened.

"Frankly, it's been a rather large consumption of resources and time for little gain, Red. Following up on every urban legend, every shitty homemade cellphone image and picture. We're chasing our tails here." Said another off to the right.

"Mein kameraden, you're too focused on the negatives, what of this half percent? Tell me of my prizes." This Red said between sips of coffee.

"We caught that wanna be vigilante couple in Cédralo, real nasty piece of work in one of them, and some hairy ass guerilla thing wondering a forest over the border."

Étianu perked up surprised "Sasquatch?! You caught a-"

The group continued to talk over him leaving his question unanswered much to his dismay. What in the fuck is happening, his inner thoughts screamed.

"We've got to figure out a better way Duke, this shit is getting us no where."

The Duke looked to another man sitting next to the Doctor. "What of the Jovies back in Wendler, surely our erstwhile allies didn't disappoint?"

"They are willing to play ball and we are searching for suitable candidates now."

"Excellent!" The Duke beamed, something about his expressions and mannerisms were starting to raise the hairs on the back of the Doctors neck, but he couldn't put his finger on it yet. Not that he had time to process that thought any deeper as he realized the Duke had now fixed him in his gaze.

It was to be blunt terrifying for reasons he couldn't understand. The smile on the Dukes face seemed warm and inviting, but the look in his eyes was anything but. He felt like they held the subtle promise of something ghastly should he not answer correctly.

"And that brings us too our latest friend," The Duke said in a jovial tone, "Doctor Étianu, was it?"

The Doctor studied the man some, rather taken back by the sudden mention of his name, one he hadn't given out yet. "Uh, err, y-yes. I'm the head of extra-regional-" He was cut off by this Duke again.

"The good ~Dhoktur~ here, leads studies on the relationships between the Markish and ourselves."

Ètianu could feel the eyes of the group shift to him and he ever so much wished that he had the ability to phase out of reality at this moment.

"His deeply intrinsic relationship with the locals and their history provides a unique opportunity for us to explore other avenues to this conundrum." Continued the Duke before stopping to take another sip of his drink.

"P-p-problem? What kind of problem?" The Doctor stammered.

The man to the Doctors right spoke up again this time. "What kind of wee beasties are they hiding out here Doc?"

[Stallenbourg]

Temptation

Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

April 9, 12:20 AM

The wireless desk lamp in his room flickered, casting long, sharp shadows across the walls. It was well past midnight. Captain Massena sat alone, the quiet hum of the data links filling the silence as he reviewed the plan for tomorrows operation. The name for the op was ‘snakebite’, but he didn’t really like it. Too on the nose considering the one doing most of the work had fangs.

On the corner of his desk rested a small, worn leather folding frame. Inside was a photograph of a smiling woman with soft brown hair, her arm wrapped around a bright-eyed five-year-old girl holding a little plastic toy. He gently brushed the edge of the glass with his thumb before he reached for his pen.

A sudden, unnatural drop in temperature chilled the room. The air grew heavy, thick with the intoxicating scent of crushed nightshade and bitter almond.

"You work too late, Captain."

Massena didn't jump. He didn't even reach for the sidearm holstered at his chest, though his jaw tightened just a fraction. Slowly, he capped his pen and turned around.

Standing in the darkened corner of his room, stepping effortlessly out of the shadows, was Cynthia Belmont.

She was a breathtaking, terrifying vision. Towering over him, her figure was sculpted with predatory perfection—a body made for sin. Though she wore the same uniform of the organization, hers was tailor fit to accentuate every lethal curve of her body. Her pale skin radiated in the dim light, and her crimson eyes glowed with an aged, mocking intelligence. Her short white hair served to complete her look. She glided across the floor with a feline, silent grace, closing the distance until her shadow completely engulfed Massena’s desk.

She leaned down, placing her hands on the wood, bringing her face inches from his. The sheer physical presence of her was an assault on the senses; her heat was palpable, her dark glamour rolling off her like heavy velvet smoke.

"A captain’s coat looks heavy on a mortal man," Cynthia purred, her voice a low, resonant cello note that vibrated in Massena’s chest. Her eyes lingered on the pulse point at his neck. "All this paperwork... all these endless, bloody directives from the homeland. Do you ever tire of carrying the weight of the world on such fragile shoulders?"

Massena remained still. He didn't pull back, nor did he allow his gaze to wander over the statuesque beauty looming over him. He met her crimson eyes directly, his expression as flat and unreadable as a slab of granite.

"It’s part of the job, Ma'am," Massena said, his voice gravelly, dry, and devoid of tremor. "My work keeps the men under my command alive."

Cynthia let out a soft, melodious laugh, a sound that could strip a lesser man of his sanity. She shifted her weight, leaning closer still. Her chest nearly brushed his shoulder, a deliberate, suffocating display of proximity.

"I could give you rest, Massena," she whispered, her tongue flicking subtly over her crimson lips. "A real man—a strong leader—deserves more than cold lonely rooms and short nights. I could show you pleasures that would make this war feel like a distant, irrelevant bad dream. One night. That's all it takes to know what it feels like to truly live."

She tilted her head, her gaze shifting down to the leather frame on his desk. She reached out a long, pale finger, letting her fingernail tap softly against the glass right over his wife’s face.

"Or are you so terrified of what she might think?" Cynthia teased softly, her tone dripping with dark, mocking intimacy. "A sweet, fragile mortal woman back home. She can't protect you out here, Captain. She can't offer you power. She can't keep you warm in the dark."

Massena looked down at Cynthia’s nail resting on the photograph. For a fraction of a second, the air in the room grew still. Slowly, deliberately, Massena raised his hand. He didn't strike at her. Instead, he placed a firm, calloused hand over the frame, smoothly sliding it out from under her finger and pulling it closer to his chest, placing it safely out of her reach. Then he looked back up into the face of the 6'6" apex predator before him.

"My wife doesn't need to protect me out here, Cynthia," Massena said quietly, his tone laced with ironclad certainty. "They’re the reason I’m here. I don't scare easily, and I don't trade my soul for a quick thrill. Especially not with another woman.”

Cynthia’s eyes narrowed, her dark aura flaring as if testing the air for a lie, a tremor, or a spike in his heartbeat. She searched his face for the subtle flush of lust or the subtle twitch of hesitation that almost every mortal man yielded under her focus. She found nothing. Massena’s heart beat with a slow, steady, stubborn rhythm—the pulse of a man who loved his family, respected his uniform, and refused to be bought or broken.

A long, tense silence stretched between them. Then, Cynthia straightened up to her full, towering height. The suffocating weight in the room eased just a fraction. A slow, wicked smile spread across her flawless face, revealing the subtle tips of her fangs.

"Unbreakable," Cynthia murmured, her tone shifting from seductive temptation to sharp, analytical approval. "No cracks in the armor. No lust to exploit. No foolish pride to break."

She took a step back, folding her arms over her chest as she looked down at him with a fresh layer of respect.

"You pass, Captain," she said softly. "If you were weak enough to bend for a pretty face and a dark promise, you wouldn't be fit to command. Perhaps you might be half the man my captain was all those years ago." She turned away as she began to move to the corner once more. Massena saw a wooden rosary dangling from her right hand that he hadn’t seen before. He placed the photograph back onto its spot on the desk.

"I didn't take this command to impress you, Miss Belmont," Massena replied dryly, checking his watch. "And if you're quite finished testing my moral character, I have a joint operation with the OMA to finalize. Goodnight, Cynthia."

Cynthia let out one last amused chuckle, turning and stepping backward into the deep shadows of the office corner.

"Goodnight, Captain Massena." her voice echoed, fading into the dark just as her physical form melted into the gloom. "Don’t forget about her tears."

The ambient temperature in the room returned to normal. Massena sat in silence for a long moment, taking a slow, deep breath through his nose. The last remark brought a memory up. He was with Miss Belvere, and she had handed him a liquid dropper and a gilded amulet of some kind. It had a mechanism that held it shut and only required the flick of a finger to open, but it was large enough to contain at least a few ounces worth of liquid. She had told him that he would need it before he got on the plane to travel to Markion.

Returning to the present, he opened the drawer to his desk and saw it.

“Crap.” He muttered. He had to get it to James tomorrow when Josephine was out.

-

Cricket Subsidiary Building, Floor 12, Weltholm, Christbol

April 9, 05:00 PM

Minna Räsen had just finished up work for the day, and packed her purse. She had a deadline to meet by midnight the next day and did not want to miss it, but she was more concerned with the event she was going to tonight. She wondered how Lauri was doing. But she knew he was fine in her apartment, maybe watching the TV. She took the elevator, had a quick chat with Sanna to see how things were going, and left the building.

Making her way down the street, past hundreds of people, all crowding the sidewalk as cars and trucks trundled on by. She felt a drizzle on her head, and ducked into a ramen shop. She made her order, and took a seat while she waited for it. In the interim she decided to text Lauri to see how he was doing.

‘Hey babe, how has your day been?’ She typed out on the touchscreen and sent it. A few moments later she got a text back.

‘I’ve been good dear. Be home soon, you don’t want to miss out on what we do tonight.’ A little smile emoji was at the end of the sentence. She smiled, and felt a chill go up her spine. She wasn’t scared, more anxious and giddy that the day had finally come.

‘I’m having some ramen first, then I'll rush home. I might have to wait for the rain to stop but it shouldn’t be too long. Love you.’ She rapidly typed out as she put her phone aside, her food had arrived.

Her phone dinged again, she looked over as she used the chopsticks to get the first few noodles into her mouth.

‘Love you too.’

She continued eating. The drizzle outside had become a torrent of rain. It was always like that in springtime. Either no rain or torrential downpour for about fifteen or thirty minutes. Maybe ten if you were lucky. She happily waited and sipped on the warm broth as the rain continued for another nine minutes. Once it passed, she paid her bill and left the shop. Strutting down the street, she waited for a stoplight, and crossed when the little icon flashed.

9 blocks later, Room 137, Ruusuneu apartment complex

She pulled out the little key card and pushed it into the slot. The reader chimed and a tiny green pip illuminated. She grabbed the handle and pushed the door in as she passed over the threshold.

The apartment felt… colder than usual. Lauri didn’t normally keep it this cold. She shrugged, maybe he was having a hot flash, if he got those.

“Lauri?” She asked aloud as she put her purse down on the countertop of her kitchenette. Turning around, she walked past the small wall and looked into the bedroom. It was empty, but the bed was made. Lauri didn’t make a habit of doing that…

She checked the bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary. But she caught something in the air. She sniffed, and walked back out to the kitchen. The trashcan had something on it, a black blotch that had dripped down from the lid.

“Lauri…” She asked aloud, though there was no reply. She got chills as she got closer and closer to the trashcan, each step taken slowly. She pressed her foot onto the pedal at the bottom of the can, and the lid opened. The scent was overpowering, she could hardly stand it, but swallowed and looked inside. Lauri’s head rested in the can, his mouth agape, one of his fangs broken off as black blood dripped down the face.

She was about to scream when she felt a hand grab her by the throat and another pull around her arms, restraining her. The wind was taken out of her as she began to choke and cough. She looked at the window, and saw her reflection in it, and the reflection of who was grabbing her. They had black hair just like hers, pale skin, and were wearing a skin tight black suit. The eyes were what caught her, those crimson orbs boring into her through the reflection. They were just like Lauri’s.

“You should have stayed at the shop a little longer, Minna,” the voice murmured. It was quiet, calm, and weighed down by a tone that made their disappointment evident, as the hand clamped around Minna’s throat was like an iron vice.

Minna gasped, straining against the grip, but she couldn't break free.

“Tell me... when did you decide your life was worth so little?” The woman's face got closer to hers. The eyes were small, predatory pinpricks of crimson, yet behind the red glow, she saw pity. “Was it the night you met him? Did he wrap his cold arms around you and whisper promises of eternity? Did he promise you beauty? Power? Eternal love?” The grip on her throat slackened just enough for a desperate breath.

“L-Let me g-go!” She tried to say, only to feel the grip tighten once more.

“I can’t,” they whispered. “You crossed a line you can never step back from, Minna. The OMA knows what you agreed to. I saw you at the church yesterday... I watched you speak in prayer. And yet, here you are, packing your bags, ready to surrender your soul to an eternity of sin.”

Minna’s breath hitched. She stared into those crimson eyes, desperate to find malice, something she could hate, something to make sense of her death. But all she found was a mirror reflecting her own foolishness.

“Look at you,” the voice had a slight tremble to it, heavy with a grief that wasn't their own. “So young. So vibrant. Throwing yourself into an abyss because you thought the darkness was romantic. And where did that fantasy lead you, once you hit the bottom?”

The crimson eyes dilated, absorbing the dim light of the apartment.

“It brought you to me,” the woman said softly. “I gave you these moments to consider what you’ve done. Not to be cruel... but because you deserved to understand what you threw away.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look into their gaze any longer.

“May God forgive you for what you surrendered,” the vampire whispered into her ear, her breath cold against Minna's skin. “And may he forgive me for what I have to take.”

Then, the fangs sank deep into her neck.

-

“It was right to be brief in her send-off. She was terrified.” - Arsi rang out in her earpiece. He observed the entire exchange from a rooftop nearby, much closer than where he was earlier when taking a gauge at the apartment. He got to see Minna’s heartrate jump to over 160 BPM down to zero.

“I felt bad for taking her life, and wanted to give her peace. She was just naive. Now let's focus on the mission.” Josephine replied, her eyes still radiating as she looked down at Minna.

Josephine had placed the body on the bed with her arms at her sides. She had closed the woman's eyes, unable to look into them anymore. She wanted to give a short prayer, but she knew that Minna’s soul was now trapped within her until the day would come when it could be set free. She swam through the thoughts of her mind, and adjusted herself. She didn’t hesitate, and rummaged through the wardrobe, finding suitable clothing to hide the matte-black skin suit and her gear. Going into the bathroom she tried to put on some make up, but decided to stop after the first few attempts. Perfume was much more important in order to mask herself. Looking in the mirror, she was fairly impressed, but decided to wear sunglasses to hide her eyes and their glow.

It's not that the contacts she was given wouldn’t work, they were just overkill now that she knew what security was like at this venue before she had even left to go there.

“Arsi I am heading to a club where this venue is hosted, it's on B. D. Teodros Avenue 4, eight or nine blocks away. The venue is called the Feathered Jester.” She spoke aloud as she made her way to the kitchen and grabbed the purse. It was a comedy club by design, but one could book it for other purposes, and this happened to be one of many.

Arsi looked away and to the location. The sign had some fancy holographic feathers that floated, fluttering in the programmed illusion of wind. The building didn’t look run down by any stretch of the imagination - even if it was in a ‘bad’ part of the district.

“I see it. Fancy sign, I don’t think you’ll miss it. I’ll keep an eye out for danger.” - There were cars stopping by the front entrance with couples getting out of taxis and chauffeured vehicles. He counted two guards, but he could see that they were human. Some of the couples were definitely vampiric. Others had documents on them, notes, pamphlets on what this venue was for.

“Good. I’m going now.” Looking through the purse, finding everything she needed inside it, she left the apartment. The OMA would no doubt investigate the room and clean up right after she left. She wasn’t used to walking in heels, but Minna never stopped using them. She eased herself into moving as her target did only an hour before, finding her balance without any trouble, as if she had always worn high heels. The fact they shared the same size shoe was nothing short of pure luck. Still, it didn’t make her feel any more comfortable wearing a dead woman's clothes.

She strutted out the apartment complex and down the streets. There wasn’t as much foot traffic now that night had come, but there were still a fair amount of people out and about. None paid her any attention, bar a few. There was a distinct sound of a whistle, someone just cat-called her. She looked over to her left and saw a group of men across the street, one had his hand up to his mouth. She lowered her sun glasses just a fraction, revealing her eyes. The man appeared to choke in the moment, and fell back into his friends who stumbled trying to keep him up. They all began laughing at him, and she made a smile as she adjusted her glasses.

After walking eight blocks, she made it to the feathered jester. Arsi keyed her earpiece;

“Two guards at the front, two at the back entrance, two on the rooftop. Five in the building itself. They’re all armed with pistols. None of them are vampires but they all have tattoos. Everyone entering has the tattoo of the rune.”

Josephine looked down at her arm, and wondered if they would bother checking. The tattoo on hers was identical, but it was only temporary. If she got wet it would come off. She crossed the street and made her way to the entrance and looked at the two guards. One was holding a clipboard and the other had their arms across their chest.

“Oh hey Minna. Where's Lauri? He knows it's the big night right?” The one with the clip board spoke.

“He couldn’t make it, I’m sorry. He’s resting in the apartment, and has been sick all day.” She lied, imitating Minna’s speech and voice with ease.

“Stomach ache?” The other guard asked.

“Yes, I think he got into trouble with some thugs yesterday. One of them must have had some silver on them, maybe a piece of jewelry. I don’t really know what he does when I am at work.” She actually knew a fair bit about Lauri just from Minna’s memories. He had gotten into trouble before with thugs. This wasn’t anything new or out of the ordinary, cause he used them to feed himself over Minna most of the time.

“Sounds about right. You did let him drink some of your blood in order for him to heal right?” The one with the clipboard spoke again.

“Of course. I would do anything for my love. When he gets better, we’ll just have to do it in private.” She smiled, making sure not to show her teeth.

“Thats what I would prefer too, but my girl insisted we do it here with everyone else. I don’t know what exactly got into her, but I can’t really argue. Come on through.” He scribbled a check onto the clipboard while the other opened the door for her.

“Thank you.” She said, passing over the threshold and into an antechamber. She saw a bathroom sign off to the left leading down a hallway. Before her was another set of double doors. She passed through and into the large room. There were stairs that led down to the main floor, where there were dozens of tables, all lit by candlelights. She saw men and women intermingled with vampires of both sexes here and there. Swimming through the memories once again, she knew a few of the couples here. She did her best to avoid them, moving to the bar on the left side and taking a seat. Looking around, nobody else was sitting at the bar either.

Arsi kept careful count of every individual present at the event in his notebook, making a spreadsheet of any names he could read off personal documentation, name tags, or any documents that belonged to the organizers just laying around. If the OMA is serious about cracking down on all the vampires in Weltholm, then this would be a prime place to start jotting down population demographics and information.

“Care for a drink madam?” The bartender appeared as he cleaned his hands in the little sink.

“Just a glass of ice water would be fine. If Lauri was here I would have asked for wine.” She answered.

“Ah, he couldn’t make it. Trouble again?” He asked. She nodded in return.

“Well, enjoy the speech. Even if you can’t partake tonight, there is always another time.” He spoke as he slid over a cup of ice water.

“Say. Weren’t you also going to do it?” She asked.

“Me? No. I'm not a virgin, I can’t take part in it. I'm not even going to be around for the speech either so you caught me at a good time. I hope you have a good night Miss Räsen.” He nodded as he grabbed his jacket and opened up a box of cigarettes, making his way to the door.

She turned to the stage, and crossed her legs, getting comfortable leaning on the bar. The lights in the room dimmed, as the stage was illuminated. Footsteps echoed as a man appeared on the stage and adjusted the microphone. He was wearing an all black suit, but his eyes were not the normal crimson of a young vampire. They appeared to be much darker; how old was this one? Not more than a hundred for sure. No, the real question was; how many people have they consumed?

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome, to your grand ascendancy. From this day forward, we will all be equals. No more will we all have to hide behind the veil of secrecy, the veil of normalcy, the veil of humanity. No longer! Tonight, we will all be one and the same. A toast to our immortality!” He was handed a glass from a helper, and many others raised their glasses. Josephine saw in the memories that Minna had done similar, and she played along, raising the glass of water. She didn’t sip it, and rested it back down on the bar.

“I wish for you all to enjoy your last meal, for after this, there is only one source of life for us all. The rich vitae of this country! It shall flow and feed our presence, expanding it ever further and larger beyond Weltholm! Perhaps even, to other countries outside of our home! Think of the great things we all will accomplish together, unified through one purpose. A purpose gifted to us to bring humanity into a new age of enlightenment!” Applause followed suit as the clinking of flatware and plates was heard. Josephine saw waiters and waitresses bring out small portions of food. She smelled steaks, likely filet mignon. Some seafood smell was there too. Then she smelled the iron, she didn’t know exactly where the scent was from, but she saw various plates being brought before the vampiric attendees.

“They made food for the vampires. It smells interesting.” She mused, then gave a sigh. “I’ll never get to know the recipe."

“One second.” - Arsi makes a quick glance in the direction of the venue’s kitchen, where food is still being put out. It doesn’t take long to see the cookbook and figure out the relevant recipe based on the illustrations matching the finished food. He grabs a fresh sheet of paper and writes it down word for word. He pauses when he scans it one more time, and checks the kitchen again. He spots the blood bags next to a bowl of sauce with a whisk coated in the bowls contents, he makes another note. "I got it."

Josephine made a slight turn of her head and smiled. “Thank you Arsi.” She whispered.

“Exscuse me miss.” She turned and saw a waitress. “Would you like a cut of steak?”

“Oh no thank you. My boyfriend isn’t here to turn me like all the others here. I’ll have my last meal another day.” Josephine raised a gentle hand.

“Ah, I'm sorry. It must be disappointing for you isn’t it?”

“It is, but the day will come I am sure.” She gave a nod.

“I would offer my husband to perform the deed, but he has me to worry about. But, there's enough room for three on our bed. I’ll let you think about it.” The waitress had whispered the last comment before she walked away.

Josephine blushed. The gall of some of these people. Even if they had rescinded their faith in God, hearing them turn so easily towards adultery, and to then casually offer a threesome, revolted her. Something tugged at her chest, deep within, she tried to ignore it as she forced the feeling down. She gritted her teeth for a brief moment, and breathed out.

“That was disgusting. Judgement will soon follow them.” - Arsi chimes in, displeased with the offer by the tone of his voice, an infrequent show of emotion considering Josephine hasn’t heard him speak in anything but the same consistent octave.

“Yes. Yes it will.” She whispered bitterly, clenching her left hand into a fist.

Thirty minutes elapsed before the man returned to the stage. Theatrically, the candle lights on all the tables had been extinguished, the lights illuminating the stage had been altered to a red hue. The room was deathly quiet as people made final adjustments and preparations for what would come next. Josephine watched them. Some had bottles of painkillers. A few had small needles with anesthetics in them. She breathed in, a bead of sweat forming on her head. It was becoming harder to maintain her impersonation with every passing moment, as she was bearing witness to something she was trained to stop at any cost. She felt around for Garmr on the inside of the jacket. The silver knife was in a protective sheath in the other pocket. She had eight rounds total, nothing more. It would have been too obvious to have five more magazines jingling around as she moved. The speaker stepped back up to the microphone, and cleared his throat.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Following what I have to say, we will dim the lights, and plunge the room into pitch darkness. What follows will be the great moment you have all waited so dearly for. But before that, I want to thank all of you for coming. Please, do not forget to attend our final session at the Grand Theater in Carllennola Park. It will be on April the eleventh. Our leader will be present to greet you all, so be there by eight in the evening please. Otherwise, I implore you all to enjoy the rest of your night. When we meet again on the eleventh, I hope to see all of your eyes upon me on that theater stage.” He took a grand bow, to the sound of applause that boomed around the chamber.

Josephine had seen enough, heard enough, and did not want to stay any longer than she needed to. She got off of the stool, as the red lights on the stage were turned off. She heard the noises, it was not something she hadn’t heard before, but to hear it throughout the entire chamber, made her shake. Looking over, she saw the myriad of men and women, as they held each other in that damned embrace. One she performed not too long ago, but for a different purpose. She reasoned with herself that what she did was justice, nothing more. And yet, she felt disgusted at what she had done just from looking at all of these… monsters. At the thought of the word ‘monster’, the pain returned again, like someone had grabbed her heart and squeezed it tight. She lost her breath and stumbled on the steps that led to the double doors.

‘Hypocrite.’ The hushed whisper cut through her thoughts, its tone sharp and icy cold. A pair of phantom hands seized her jaw and temples, digging in with unnatural strength, forcing her head to jerk back toward the dim chamber.

‘You don't get to look away,’ the whisper hissed directly behind her ear, filled with thick bile and hatred. ‘You belong to this darkness too. Look at them, Josephine... look at what you are.’
She saw them, they were being born right before her eyes, created in a orgy of death and reincarnation into something worse. Some wore faces of bliss, ecstasy even. Others were tight lipped, scrunched features on their faces as they tried to endure the pain in silence. Most had already passed out. There were so many pairs of red eyes. Too many. She instinctively reached for her cross, but it was not there. She had forgotten it in the left breast pocket of her uniform.

Arsi had about as good of a view on the whole ordeal as Josephine did, feeling no less bitter. He tracked every transformation happening in real time - the subtle changes in heart rate, physical alterations, synapses in the brain firing to suggest some individuals became mentally rewired into completely different people - it took restraint not to turn this upheaving feeling in his stomach into vomit. It is by this point he sees Josephine struggling on her own with something and, although he has no anomalous ability that could tell him precisely what she is thinking, he has enough intuition to recognize the existential nausea making her physical self sick all too well. - “Pull yourself together Josephine. They all change for a high, for conquest, or for sport. Your transformation has been put to use into far nobler pursuits.”

Josephine swallowed, nodding as she forced the pain in her chest down. She made for the door and exited into the antechamber. She pressed on the door handles but they did not budge; she was locked in. She exhaled in a sharp gasp as a chill went up her spine. She took another deep breath, trying to stay calm. There was the back door, but it would be guarded or locked too. The roof was an option but there were guards up there no doubt. She looked to the bathroom sign and made her way to it. Going into the bathroom she looked for the big grate that was venting air out, finding it on the wall above the handicap stall.

She entered the stall, locking it behind her, and pried the grate off the wall with ease. It was held on by cheap metal clips, which could be bent back into place without tools. She undressed from Minna's clothes, down to the skin tight black suit. She stuffed it all away into the garbage can in the bathroom, knowing it wasn’t going to be checked until long after this venue was over with. She climbed into the vent, put the grate back over the hole, and bent the clips back into place. She made an effort not to make any noise as she crawled.

“Go right.” - Arsi chimed. She followed his guidance, confident he knew where the best exit would be.

“Go up, it's about three meters. It gets tight at the top. There will be a panel on the left. You’ll need to break it, but no one should hear or see you.” She ascended, and found the exit panel. She punched it, and it came off easily as the rusted bolts snapped off. She shimmied herself out of the hole, and threw herself out, landing feet first in a puddle. It had begun to rain again.

“Someone is coming. Turn around, ten long strides, take the first left.” Without any hesitation she sprinted and ducked into the alleyway.

“Take a right, then the third left down this alley. Should be home free.” She kept sprinting, taking the right, and bounding over a dumpster and chain fence as she made her way to the alley. She took the left and got into the alley, slowing her stride down as she took a moment. The rain had soaked her hair, and she tried to keep it out of her eyes as she walked forward.

“Josephine duck!” Arsi yelled into the earpiece, but she was caught off guard as a fist crashed into her face and knocked her to the ground.

She opened her eyes and scrambled to her feet.

“Woah now, easy girlie. My friend here was just makin’ sure you paid your tax for entering our turf without any ‘protection’.” A stout little man talked as a much bulkier bruiser loomed over her. She brought her hand up to her nose and felt the pain, as blood was spilling out.

“Careful with the merchandise. Don’t hit her face again.” The stout man said. “Now, you will give me and my boys here all your money, and we’ll let you walk freely.”

“And if I don’t?” She said through gritted teeth.

“Then I’ll let these three have their way with you. Not like I need to be around to see what happens. So what will it be?” The stout one smiled. She looked behind her and saw two other men, both armed with knives. Josephine smiled.

“Im going to kick your ass so hard you’ll go flying into the ocean.” As she looked back into the eyes of the stout one, her eyes radiating a vicious red hue. She saw fear cross his features as he began to shout.

The bruiser struck out, his fists aimed for her face and chest, she dodged both strikes with ease as she jumped onto his arms and kicked him square in the face. He stumbled to the ground, blood and teeth spitting out of his mouth. The two behind her closed the distance, but she brought her legs down low in a wide sweep, taking them both down to the ground. One almost got up before she pounced on him, driving a left hook into the man's jawline as she grabbed his wrist with her right. She broke the knife free as she stabbed it into the concrete wall beside her. The other man with a knife tried to get up but she brought her arm around his neck and swung him over her shoulder, sending him flying into an open dumpster, the lids crashing down as he landed in filth.

She turned as the brute stood up, willing to try again as the stout man egged him on. She took a moment to crack her knuckles as she gave a vicious look, gritted teeth bare to see. The big man stumbled for a moment, and that was all she needed as she performed a wide left kick, striking the man's left knee. He fell to the ground, clutching his knee as he yelled out in pain. She leaned in close to the brute's face, and he looked up.

“Nighty nighty, bastard.” She grinned as she brought her right leg back and kicked him in the groin. Immediately he was sent to the ground, his manhood either destroyed or ruptured. He writhed in pain. The little man tried to flee, but she jumped, and landed right in his path. She gripped him by his pathetic collar and pinned him to the wall.

“Next time you ever, and I mean, EVER, threaten another woman, with extortion and rape, I will come back to this city. And let me tell you this, you do not want to see me ever again. Got it?!” Her tone was venomous as she spat in his face.

“Y- yes! Got it! Right as rain! Heh…” He gave a very nervous laugh, his joke was terrible and he knew it.

“Start counting your days, shrimp.” She took the little man and threw him into an empty trashcan. Grabbing the lid she slammed it shut, before kicking it down the alley, hearing the little man moan in agony and pain from inside it as it came to a halt.

“Green field, this is white rose. Call the WPD to handle these goons please.”

“White rose, this is green field. Understood, we're getting them on the line now. Get home as soon as you can, you’re done for the day.” Massena was on the other end of the line. She dropped her hand from the earpiece and looked back at the mess of the alley. She hadn’t killed any of them. They deserved worse, but she reasoned the WPD was the right institution to handle this.

“Wow. That was cool.” She turned again, surprised to hear a child's voice. There were three of them, two boys and a girl all wearing colored ponchos. She blinked, had they been watching the whole time?

“What’s your name miss? White something?” The girl asked. It took a moment for Josephine to realize what they saw her for.

“White Rose.” She nodded, wiping the blood from her nose.

“Wow. You’re awesome, Miss White Rose.” They all smiled.

“Thank you. Now go home, your parents are probably worried sick about where you three are.”

“Okay! Thank you for keeping the city safe Miss.” The youngest boy spoke as the trio waved goodbye and began walking down the sidewalk. She watched them go, and smiled. Just good kids, in a harsh and unforgiving world.

‘Monster.’ The whispered accusation cut through her. She flinched, before she climbed the building, and began to traverse the rooftops on her way back to the monastery. She leapt over gaps with ease, hardly making a noise. No one was looking up, but one had watched her as she fought from a distance.

The Silver Wraith had seen it all, and heard it all. He was going to leap down and help, but saw that she needed none. It was the same woman he saw in the car with the Execrant. He said nothing, as he looked down at the thugs below. His massive bulk, encased in armor dripped with rain as he stood and pondered. She didn’t kill them, but easily could have. He watched her now as she leapt across entire roadways, not needing a grappling hook or device. It was as if she could fly, yet she had no wings to speak of.

“White Rose.” He uttered the name. He brought a massive armored gauntlet to his chin as he pondered; not a single thing about her was white, only her skin appeared pale to him. But he had seen her eyes before. Perhaps that was where her name came from. Pale skin and red eyes, a White Rose.

-

An OMA safehouse, Weltholm, Christbol

April 10th, 07:41 AM

Arsi ‘opened’ his eyes after a night of rest. He accomplished falling asleep around two in the morning this time, something close to a personal best of his. Ever since the VEIN exhausts made it impossible to lay on his back in bed it has made sleeping physically uncomfortable, and it was already taking a mental toll on him to do so: he possessed the ability to tune himself out from the sounds and sights of the world as much as he wished, and this included going to near zero, yet in this state the mind still does not stop thinking, and the way his mind does so would already be enough to drive most mere mortals mad. Still, he needed sleep, even if he couldn't stomach more than a few hours of it.

Arsi does not have the initial willpower to get up from bed, but finds the will to do so by convincing his mind into sitting at the edge of the bed first, giving him the psychological push he needed. Without angelic conditioning taking over in the early morning he is just a stumbling mess, not needing any liquor to motivate his behavior in that regard. He makes it to the bathroom sink, looking less intimidating than his fully-armored self, sick even. He releases a dry cough several times, though to his great dismay, searching the hand he used to block the cough with, no blood comes out - perhaps if something did come out he would finally be rid of this cursed experience where he exists but is not living, trying to instead convince himself he is an object - an instrument of judgement. The alternative of being fully human most of the time is no more appealing to him.

He spends much of the morning doing laps inside the safehouse apartment. Although OMA soldiers are allowed to use any safehouse they see fit and are actively free, Arsi has gone and slept the night in this one enough to where the lacquer in the parts of the floor he paces has somewhat given out. Sometime during this circling he picks up a package of bite sized breadsticks with sesame seeds and begins eating the whole bag. Arsi uses this moment as his intimate time allotment to think about things he wants to think about without divine conditioning - the passage of time, the state of the universe, anything. Today’s topic was Josephine, despite Arsi’s otherwise unbridled range of thoughts every day limited only by choice on what to think about by his human part each morning.

Does he really like Josephine or does he much rather like how she makes him feel about himself? Arsi has never liked the undead, in vampire form or alternative variations. Before they engaged in blows, he already knew he could break her with words, or at the very least make her doubt herself; he could have called her a monster. It wouldn’t be a stretch, and he has been blunt about these things before. What could she have said in response? He is in a perfect position to state this, for all she knows Arsi is the only one qualified to convey absolute truth… so why didn’t he? His angel half itched too. The pain would give him control. It would only be natural, bad faith even to claim otherwise: a monster who denies that it is a monster still is… but she was once (and arguably is at times) human, and has a right to think to herself about her own human reality. If anything, she sometimes feels more human than he is. Her existence is more good mannered than his is. She desires judgement, but her contradiction is that which she is and keeps telling herself she is not.

He continues this train of thought, stopping after a few hours only to lay down on the bed over his side for the next three.

“What a funny trick she plays on God.” - His one audible sentence slips.



(This joint post was made with Christbol.)

[Stallenbourg]

Abyss

Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

April 9, 9:01 PM

She opened the door to her room and shut it behind her, pressing her back to it as she shuddered.

“James?” she called out. Her voice sounded fragile, lost in the stillness of the apartment. She saw a note on the counter.

‘Hey Jo, I am going to the store to buy some food for us, I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

“No...” The paper crinkled in her fist as her voice cracked, small and desperate. “No, I need you now...”

A sudden, sharp spike of heat burned in her throat; a phantom ache at the exact point where her fangs had torn into Minna’s neck, followed by a sickening, cold coil in her gut. She gasped, doubling over the counter, a wet, ragged cough tearing from her chest.

Then the quiet split open.

‘...what you surrendered...’

The whisper wasn't in the room. It was inside her left ear, wet and rasping, as if someone were standing right behind her shoulder, breathing against her neck. Josephine spun around, her glowing crimson pupils shrinking to pinpricks, but the living room was empty.

‘Let me go...’

Another voice, younger, higher pitched, choked with tears echoed from lower down. Vibrating beneath her own ribcage like a trapped bird.

‘You said I couldn't escape judgment, killer... so where do you go now?’

Josephine clamped her hands over her ears, but it did nothing to muffle the sound inside her skull. Panic surged through her veins. She shook as she held herself against the bedroom door frame, and almost fell into the bathroom door. Her hands slipped on the handle, still wet from running through the heavy rain. She gripped it and yanked the door open, before stumbling into the bathroom.

Her hands clawed at the collar of her suit, and pulled the zipper down. The damp, matte-black synthetic peeled away from her chest with a harsh, tearing sound, pooling around her ankles like shed skin.
She got into the shower, and turned on the water. It was ice cold, but she didn’t care. She wanted the smell gone. The damn perfume, Minna’s perfume. She grabbed the soap and loofah, dousing it before she scrubbed vigorously at her neck and chest. She could still smell it, the cheap, sweet floral fragrance. She kept going, every part of her body had to be clean of what she had done. But it wouldn’t go away.

‘Is it in my mouth? On my face? My hair?’ She asked herself. She collapsed to her knees, and rested her head against the cold tile wall as the frigid water rinsed her trembling body.

“God, help me.” She pleaded in a hoarse whisper.

She had used her. Minna was just a key to unlock a door to gain information, that's all she was supposed to be. But… Josephine had abused her romantic naivety, her belief that her boyfriend was waiting for her, when he was already dead. She had lied just to get her to her room so she could take her life and wear it, just like that skinsuit. Stupid, vanity-driven, and naive Minna may have been, but she was still just human. A human, who was going to turn her back on her life in pursuit of a romanticized fantasy she barely understood. And now all her memories, her thoughts, her passions, her motivations, were flowing through Josephine's body. Three different souls swam around her mind, two were the enemy, and one was just a misguided woman, led along on a path to damnation.

-

20 minutes later, 9:39 PM

A soft, double knock echoed against the door of Josephine’s room. Two quick taps, a pause, then one more. It was James’s private knock. But he heard no reply come. He wondered if she was still out on the mission.

He opened the door, and walked inside, resting the bags of food and seasonings he had bought. Opening the fridge, he began to sort everything out. It didn’t take too long, just a couple of minutes. Once he was finished, he hung the bags on one of the chairs. He stretched, and brought his hand through his brown hair, he got caught in a drizzle and learned quite fast how sudden the rain came after that. He made it under a bus terminal and waited out the torrent, attempting small talk with some of the locals. None of them really knew English at all, but phone apps helped with translation. A few jokes were had, some laughs, and that was all before the rain cleared.

He took a few steps, and found the room cold. Much colder than it should be.

“Oh no.” He spoke in a hushed voice. He grabbed the handle to the bedroom door and opened it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, in the dark, was Josephine. She was only wearing the black linen bathrobes she had bought a while ago. She was shivering, and didn’t even look as he opened the door. Her eyes were glowing a vibrant crimson as she took panicked breaths.

He took each step with care as he got closer. She didn’t move. He could see that her hair was damp in the moonlight, cast through the window of the bedroom. He got in front of her, and knelt down to eye level. He could smell the strong odor of the soap she used, but he saw the skin around her neck and collarbones. It was raw, inflamed, why did she scrub herself so hard?

“Josephine, look at me.” He spoke softly, trying to ease into her senses and not disturb her too much.

She hesitated, her breath caught in her throat. The deep luminous crimson stared into his blue eyes, but hers were unfocused, as if she was drowning in a sea of internal noise.

He reached out to touch her hands. She flinched, a jerk of her fingers before she forced herself to stay still. He grasped them in his, they were so cold, as if she had become ice.

“Your hands are freezing,” he muttered, as he massaged the palms of her hands with his thumbs. “What happened? Tell me everything.” He spoke quietly.

“S-she packed her purse. Talked w-with a coworker, and went to a ramen shop.” She whispered, as she stared into his eyes. Each word spoken with strained effort in her voice. “She h-had a bowl. And texted her boyfriend, L-lauri. A vampire. I had killed him before then, s-stuffing him into the trashcan in the apartment. I… she… we texted back and forth, I pretended to be him. S-she was excited, James. She wanted to become a vampire.” She took a few deep breaths.

“She got into the apartment, and I watched her from the ceiling of the kitchen. When she opened the trashcan, I dropped behind her and restrained her. I tried to give her some peace with why I had to do it, but she didn’t see it. She loved Lauri so deeply, and I took him from her.” A crimson tear fell from her left eye as she spoke the word ‘loved’. “She called me a monster.”

James took a deep breath of his own, and nodded. “Keep going.”

“I took her memories. Her accent, her speech, the way she did her hair. I wore her high heels, I don’t wear high heels, but my body acted like it had always known how to. I wore her perfume… and I still smell it even now.” She took a moment to breathe. “I walked to the venue, and at that moment I wasn’t me. I felt like I was wearing the skin of someone else, someone who I wasn’t, someone who wanted to become a monster. I threw it all away after I was done with it, but it still feels like I'm there.”

He waited for her, letting her breathe. He didn’t want to push her, but he didn’t want her to panic. He just wanted her to calm down.

“The club, it was a comedy club. A sick joke if any there was one. Everyone in that building was in on it. Everyone except the bartender. He was the only one who left before it began, and I envy him. I shouldn’t have stayed, I should have just counted heads and left, Arsi could have done the rest, seen the rest, but I stayed. I didn’t want to stay, but Minna made me stay.” She swallowed hard, shuddering at her own thoughts as she closed her eyes tight. She tightened her hands, but James didn’t let go of her. He wouldn’t, not now.

“After the speech was over, they turned out the lights. I had stood to leave, but something clutched my heart from inside. It was Minna, trying to force me to stay, to become part of it. She made me turn, and I saw everything James. Everything! The fangs as they punctured flesh, the blood pouring out, the scent of iron as it filled the air. Some moaned in ecstasy, others groaned in pain, but one by one I saw them all change. Twenty eight pairs of eyes became thirty, then thirty five, then forty, then fifty, then sixty,” She took a few panicked breaths, before she continued;

“I wanted to kill them James! I wanted to pull my gun and knife out and dive into them all while they were still weak! They were monsters, all of them! Not a single one showed any sign of regret in what they had done to themselves!” Her voice cracked as her tone grew intense, aggressive. She shook, but James held his gaze into her eyes. He would not pull back, accepting every word spoken without judgement. She looked down, unable to speak any longer. Ashamed at what she was unable to stop.

“Josephine.” He brought his right hand up, and cupped her face in his hand, bringing her back up to look into his eyes. Streaks of red came from both of her eyes now as she looked into his.

“I… I am… a monster. Aren’t I?” She spoke, her voice filled with emotion as she sniffled, unsure if he could ever accept her as anything but.

“No.” He shook his head. He let go of her hands and head, and reached under her arms, and pulled her cold frame tightly to his chest as he stood up. He brought his left hand up as he held the back of her head, while he stroked her back with his right. She buried her face into the crook of his neck.

“You are not a monster. You will never be a monster in my eyes. These past two weeks I have worked with you, been with you, spent time with you. It has taught me so much. A monster doesn’t get me to wake up early to walk in a park, just cause she wants to hear the birds chirp in the morning. A monster doesn’t make food for herself or me. A monster doesn’t pull me under the covers and lets me hold her at night. You are not a monster Josephine.” He could feel her body begin to warm up the longer he held her. She was gripping the shirt as she embraced him, the tears still flowing from her eyes.

“Just focus on me Josephine. Don’t think about them, don’t think about Minna, just breathe and focus on me.” He spoke as he brought his head down, speaking into her ear so that she would hear him, no one else.

She breathed in, his scent overpowered the phantom smell that lingered on her mind, bringing her back to the real world. She could smell the cologne he had bought, the soap that he used. Everything he wore carried his scent, it only made her hold him tighter. She could feel his heart beat in unison with hers.

“You did what Massena asked you to do. What Miss Belvere taught you to do. You held onto your morals and your discipline, even at the sight of all those monsters. That is why you will never be one of them. I look into your eyes, and behind the veil of crimson, I see the woman within you. And that soul is one of the purest things I have ever borne witness to.” He spoke, and it was then he knew he had said the right thing.

“James…” Her breath hitched. A soft involuntary sound escaped her throat, a release of pressure that had been building inside her chest ever since she first stepped into Room 137.

“You aren’t a vessel for their sins.” He continued as he brought his face closer to hers, the heat rising between them. His voice dropped to a low, husky whisper. “You are soft, and you are beautiful. You are mine, if you’ll let me have you.”

It was as if her heart had stopped at the voicing of those words. She choked back a breath. Her eyes shrank as their radiant glow receded, revealing only a velvety and warm shade of red as she reclaimed her mind at last.

“Yes.” She whispered, a desperate desire in her tone. He leaned in, as their lips met. Her legs began to give way, slowly pulling him with her as she sat on the bed’s edge. He pressed on, moving away from her lips as he kissed her cheek, then down to her neck. As he did, she let out a quiet sigh, surrendering to him as she laid back on the bed. She pulled her arms around his neck and brought his lips back to hers. He took his right hand and brought it through her hair as they laid together.

When they broke the kiss, both of them were breathless. James reached over and pulled the sheets. He picked her up and put her down in the opening as he took his shirt off, throwing it aside. He climbed under the covers with her. They kissed again. She wrapped her arms around his neck once more as he reached around her waist, pulling her close. She surprised him when she interlocked her legs with him. They broke the kiss as she buried her face into the crook of his neck. She felt his hands trace slowly up and down her back, a soothing, rhythmic motion that stroked away every remaining thread of tension in her muscles.

“I’ve got you,” James whispered into her hair, his lips brushing her ear. “I’ve got you, Jo.”

“Don’t let go,” she whispered back, her voice thick with emotion, as she held him as tight as she could, as if he was the only solid object in an uncertain universe. “Please… just hold me like this until morning.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

He pulled the sheets up over both of them, tucking her head under his chin. Resting together on the bed, Josephine let her body go limp, as she listened to the steady, unyielding beat of his heart in the quiet dark. The monster receded, the soldier slept, and only the woman remained.

[The Kingdom of Rhamos]

On board the Atele Class GTM (Grand Transporteur del Mer) Somewhere in the Central Ocean

1300hrs April 9th
------------------------------

The Atele Class was something of a novel niche aircraft in the Rhamosian inventory. Far too large and unwieldy for use back in the Wendler oceans, it had found its purpose in life ferrying cargo and passengers across the inter-regional seas and around Markion itself, given the vast distances of the region involved.

This particular sea plane was of the passenger variety, with all the amenities one would expect on an ocean going vessel of similar caliber; cabins, a galley, a rather extensive medical facility, and so forth.

It was here on this flying vessel, as it soared above the waves like a great oceanic bird, that Adelaide made her way down its long hallway. The upper deck was home to most of the passenger facilities while the lower hold was reserved for crew, cargo, and other activities. This allowed for fantastic scenic views of the passing ocean and coastline if she had an inkling of care for that sort of thing at all right now.

For Adelaide though, her perturbation from the chain of events that had seen her stuck in that good forsaken swamp hole of a nation for so long had taken the over the majority of her focus. No amount of the famous local cuisine could make up for it either.

Passing cabin after cabin, she muttered obscenities under her breath as she looked for hers so she could finally get a long overdue shower. Her body practically ached all over from all the hurdles she had to jump through to ensure her team didn't make contact with local Southwaterian law enforcement. Their ridiculously high caliber weapons, coupled with the inclinations of certain members of her own team all but assured a much much larger diplomatic kerfuffle had the two sides met. In fact, she still wasn't done covering their tracks for that matter either, the furious typing of her phone belaying her regard for anything else around her.

Her thoughts had kept her so engrossed, that she all but ignored the sounds reaching her ears as she passed an open door. She had barely given it a sideways glance before stopping dead in her tracks. Over the sound of the engine's rhythmic hum, a sad mournful tone reached her ears from the strings of an instrument foreign to her. She couldn't help but admire how beautifully it played, and yet the sight and the sound's origins still alarmed her none the less.

She paused for a moment as she recalled what she thought she had seen inside, there was a girl in the room. Not one that had boarded with any of them and listed nowhere on her manifest. She had seemed young too…far too young to be hanging around with any of this sort of company that was contained now on the vessel.

Quickly, she back tracked to the door and looked inside.

A man was sitting on his bed playing what she discerned to be some type of fiddle-like instrument for a small black bird-looking thing sitting on the floor. Adelaide's one good eye scanned the room quickly, trying to confirm if her mind was playing tricks on her, but the man had noticed her and had no intention of letting this intrusion pass unpunished.

“Why if it isn't our dear friend, Madam Adelaide, Arma!” His jovial bullshit greeted her ears like nails on a chalkboard after days of being stuck in the country with him.

“Cut the shit Karl! Who the fuck was that?!” Adelaide demanded shortly, still scanning the room while pointing to where the bird was sitting.

Karl merely shrugged the question off as he set the instrument down. “Why, my good Madamé, what so ever do you mean? There is no one here but myself and poor little Arma.” He motioned towards the bird who had now affixed Adelaide in its unnatural little red beady eyes.

It made her spine tingle.

“Bullshit, Karl! I fucking saw her, where did that kid go?” She had entered the room now as she spoke, looking around. “The kid with the long black hair.” She said as motioned towards her own hair and its similar color.

“Honestly, I have no idea what you are speaking of, I was just trying out my new hand.” He wiggled his fingers and flexed it around as he did so, showing it off to Adelaide and her own very much mechanical arm. “Works quite well compared to yours, don't you think?”

Adelaide looked from Karl, then to the bird, then back to the man and his stupid smug expression. She knew what she had seen and she was sure of it. But every passing moment in the room with the pair gave her the feeling of being in a slasher movie and he was starting to try and provoke a reaction.

She would get nowhere fast here anytime soon and with a sigh of defeat she finally relented. Her shower was still calling her name after all and this just wasn't worth it for now.

“Fine, fine, keep your weird ass secrets.” She pointed a damning finger at the man. “But, if I find out you're doing some weird cult shit on this plane Karl, you're ass is mine!” A threat to which the man feigned an innocent hands up gesture in response as they locked eyes.

“Really now, dear Adelaide? Such childish fancy for a man of my talents? You wound me with your accusations!” He laid the back of his hand against his forehead as he spoke, like a madame about to faint.

Not but a decade ago, the very thought of being left alone with this hyena was the contents of Adelaide's darkest nightmares, but now? Adelaide's nerves had finally failed and her body moved faster than her mind. She grabbed the man by the collars and slammed him back into the wall, a feat far too easily accomplished.

And that stupid smile of his. It hadn't changed for a second but now up close, she could see something in his expression, in his eyes, that she hadn't before. “If something was in here, you and I both know I have it recorded.” She spoke before realizing a key factor in her predicament had changed. A blade as black as the night rested gently just a hair away from her throat and the bird was gone.

“Tsk, tsk, temper temper.” Karl's words had lost the playful tone from before and were now a terse whisper of venom. “We all have our ghosts, Adelaide, stay away from mine.”

The fact alone that he was whispering cued Adelaide in on the grave error in judgment she had made. Quickly, she released her hold and stepped back, like she had just touched poison itself.

Karl, for his part, didn't move an inch as the blade fluttered back up and onto his shoulder as a bird again. He was clearly giving her time to let his words sink in, and Adelaide was unsure, for once, of how to proceed.

Out of options and preferring to end this charade she did the only thing she could. An abrupt about face and a brisk paced exit from the room.

“Au Revoir, Madam!” That horrendously happy toned called after her to which her own terse, “Fuck you Karl!” Answered in kind.

She needed distance from whatever -that- was and time to finally decompress. She made her way down the rest of the hallway and to her cabin, a cozy little stateroom reserved for those of the leadership type, and finally exhaled all her pent up stress and she crossed the threshold and collapsed onto her bed.

“Umm, Miss Adelaide?” Came the voice of a mouse from the corner causing the poor woman to nearly jump out of her own skin.

Adelaide whirled around to see a figure dressed in street clothes sitting in the corner and groaned in excruciating frustration, “Aw fuck me!”

[Christbol]

Lem Darge History Museum, Weltholm, ChristBol

April 10th, 08:42

Finding enough spare silver in ChristBol to slay an entire underground society of vampires and their subordinates was always going to require a creative solution: silver mines were virtually dried out a little over a century before the first Christbolian colonists arrived at Markion on Emerstarian ships as part of a collective minority migration. Although there are some small mines today discovered in the last quarter century along with plenty of silver imported from trade partners every year, the tons of silver which move through ChristBol every single day end up inside printed circuit boards, RFID antennas, switches, capacitors, batteries - and just about anything else that isn’t through the skin and sliding down the gullet of what most in the country consider a bunch of fake mythological creatures. The OMA keeps a handful of bullets made up of silver at the request of Rhastovian monster hunters, but the material can’t get sourced in significant quantities without raising a few alarm bells within one day. Luckily, the settlers of this vast swath of land ChristBol sits on that lived in the past offer a convenient solution; and for the OMA to get its hands on that solution all it takes is a brief field trip to a couple museums.

Reaching the inside of the building from a side entrance, Arsi and Josephine find the museum cleared out of people and populated by OMA personnel only. Some were shifting around cultural exhibits while others carried unmarked crates which emit various clinking and clanking sounds.

The museum was well maintained and populated with different collections. Passing by the front lobby, Josephine looks in awe to find a pair of antique stone stelae dominating the room: two sizable towers tall enough to make her take a step back and shift her body just to see the top. They used to mark the grave sites of a king and queen which used to rule over the tribal kingdom here during the 5th century AD. A myriad of artifacts coat the floor such as tombs, an impressive surviving composition of 8th century native sheet music, flutes, lyres, surviving (but often bare) statues of animals and ornate, eye-catching flags at the rear end of the ground floor. Arsi and Josephine are far more interested in what is kept up the stairs on the first floor - the arms exhibits. By a stroke of luck, the once great aristocratic class that ruled over the area before settler arrival had an affinity for silver as a ceremonial weapon material.

“They look eye-catching, don’t they?” - Arsi asks while they look over a display of various swords. The description card attached to the display suggests all five examples were forged somewhere around the 8th century. The swords appeared straight and double edged, with many grooves, but that was less important - what was more important was the fact they were all silver. - “People living here used to have an aversion towards touching iron, so the poorer soldiers tried to mitigate getting into contact with it by wrapping the hilt in some other material. The rich, however, could afford to make their blades without any iron at all.” - He presses one hand onto the glass pane, admiring the tasseled baldric two of the five swords are wrapped in.

The swords were not the only item on the floor made up of silver - there were silver-tipped arrows, bolts, halberds, even entire silver ingots and coinage in the more numismatics oriented side of the first floor that could be used to forge silver ammunition on a time constraint. It is at this point that Josephine looks up, and sees the CCTV cameras still blinking a red dot next to their lens.

“Why are the cameras still on?” She asked, it was a harmless question but it didn’t make sense why they would be kept on during this time.

“The Ministry of State Intelligence has a piece of software that lets them edit out and replace our likeness, live on a recording in real time. The Christbolian public has been told history museums like this one are experiencing a shuffling of artifacts between eachother. Any Christbolian looking at the footage is going to see employees of a logistics company instead of us and the OMA. Turning off the camera feed during this time would be more suspicious and keeping the cameras on generates the official Christbolian government an alibi.” - Arsi responds, taking a key he was given by a passing OMA agent one floor down and unlocking the glass cabinet to take one of the swords out and give it to Josephine. - “I trust the quality of this will suffice.”

She gingerly took the sword in her hands, the aged leather wrapping the scabbard looked as if it could fall off any time soon, but she had a feeling it would hold. She carefully unsheathed the sword, taking the grip in her left hand as she brought it up. The blade still shone brightly even after all this time. She brought her right hand up and took the glove off with her teeth, and very carefully brought the tip of her ring finger to the sword's face. She reeled it back once she felt the slight burning sensation, as a tiny puff of smoke appeared.

“It’s definitely silver. I can only imagine how hard this would have been to create in such times.” She brought the sword back into its scabbard, and redressed her glove.

“If we work through the rest of today and some of tomorrow we should be able to melt down most of the pieces here and in other museums we are sourcing from to make enough silver bullets to fight with.” - Arsi takes the remaining four swords in both hands. - “Alternatively we can use some of the weapons as is. The swords and halberds are self explanatory, the silver bolts can be repurposed to shoot with from magazine fed air rifles instead of crossbows.”

“I recall seeing a painting of one of Miss Belvere’s ancestors wielding a crossbow. I can imagine with modern bolt designs, they would be just as lethal as a silver bullet. Swords are self explanatory really, I think we have a dozen in the mini-armory in the command truck. If half the OMA troops can fight like you can Arsi, I think they are more than a match in melee against the untrained vampires. Halberds I'm not that familiar with, but if they’re silver they will work just fine.” She shrugged, her eyes cast a hint of a red glow upon the exposed surfaces of the blades.

“It is settled then.” - Arsi replies, pulling up a box to place the swords in. Midway through crouching and placing some spare silver coinage into the box that a previous OMA agent dropped, he speaks again. - “Minna’s death haunts you.”

Her eyes dilated, taken aback in the moment as she wasn’t expecting him to say that. A noticeable shiver coiled up her spine. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Think about James. Think about what he said, think about him.’ She spoke the words in her mind, trying to force down any guilt or doubt she had.

“It does, but I will manage.” She spoke as she exhaled, her eyes opening, though the glow had faded back to a red velvet.

Arsi stands back up from the box, turning at her to speak unlike earlier. - “The tongue is a great fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the body, sets the whole of one’s life on fire, and is itself set on fire by Hell. Humanity has tamed all kinds of animals: mammals, avians, reptiles, sea creatures… but no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, through which we both praise our Lord and Father and through which we can also curse our fellow human beings.” - He proceeds to do something uncharacteristic of him, which is temper himself out of the mental conditioning to put his hand on Josephine’s shoulder. - “In your state it is fine to doubt yourself, but not to be consumed by it.” - He releases her before flowing back into a state of angelic conditioning.

For the brief moment he grasped her shoulder, she noticed that she didn’t feel the calmness that had greeted her when she first met him. Did he do that just for her? Or, was he trying to send her a message. ‘I can be human too.’ She stared into the visor, and saw the glint of his conditioning as it returned. She nodded.

“Yeah, I…” She paused, looking down and away from him in the moment, not sure of what he had seen in the past day. She brought her left hand up and held her right arm, trying to hide a growing sense of mortification. A faint hint of red scored her cheeks.

“What did you see?” She spoke as she brought her eyes back up to his.

“Last night I saw the human side of you that constantly asks itself the same question phrased wrong, and obtaining the right answer to the wrong question.” - He pauses, looking around the room for a second before refocusing his vision at Josephine, eye to eye now. - “I… cannot offer absolute truth, but to answer your wrong question like James had that night, I do not believe you are such a monster either.”

To hear the words spoken from someone who had watched her and the actions she had taken during her time in Markion so far, and to have that person be so far removed from the culture of her homeland, struck deeper than it ought to have. Anyone could have said it to her, a random passerby, a distinguished official, a soldier from an army who wanted to get lucky. But hearing it from someone so attuned with the divine as Arsi, yet so human, it lifted a great weight from her shoulders.

“Thank you.” She sniffled, holding back a tear in her left eye.

They finish sorting whatever was silver that they could carry into one more box and begin dragging both piles over the floor and down the steps they came from, Arsi’s armor clinking with every step now that quiet has settled in - they were the last ones to leave the museum. - “His heart does not palpitate when he speaks to you about what he thinks.” - The boxes make loud thuds on the steps, several times, before Arsi completes his thought. - “He believes it.”

“Thats more than I could have asked for.” She smiled, knowing he was talking about James at that moment. She wondered just how often Arsi watched them. Every day and night? Or only a few hours here and there? She wasn’t sure what to make of being watched so closely, but it was clear that he did not mean harm or to intrude on her privacy. There was another angle to it; he cared.

On the way out of the museum and through the emergency exit to the cargo trucks only one faint question held the attention of Arsi’s human part - ‘Do I still have time to also be afforded the same grace?’.

-

Undisclosed warehouse improvised into a staging area, Weltholm, ChristBol

April 10th, 21:33

A curse that has always been a blessing in disguise for some in Weltholm is the noise: going on your daily commute to work is a disaster that nothing but the most stalwart premium noise-canceling headphones can fix… but for hiding something noisy that would otherwise be very obvious, it serves its purpose. In the past several hours the OMA has been moving massive amounts of equipment into a warehouse located just a 10 minute drive away from the grand theatre. Since this evening silver bullets have been flowing into the location in unmarked crates, transported in trucks driven under ChristBol’s iconic black on yellow government license plates.

There were about several dozen OMA tier one troops across the whole warehouse, and a handful of tier two soldiers. Usually, the assortment is the opposite, but this situation was an exceptional circumstance. Many kept their hands busy sorting equipment, others practiced with the weapons not melted down, some helped load magazines with the incoming silver bullets. A handful spent their time napping against the walls, tired of the on-hands-on-deck situation since yesterday. Josephine’s experience with tier one troops has for the most part been just Arsi, so getting to see individuals in Arsi’s gear behaving a lot more normal than he did felt unusual, like going from one of those families which lived isolated using some weird rules into living among regular society.

Josephine and Massena stood aside, with Massena scribbling across a clipboard as he looked at the crates of ammunition, bolts, and spare swords. He looked at the halberds for a long moment and nodded, noting them down before flipping a page.

“What are you writing down?” Josephine quipped, as she looked over.

“Im just taking inventory and trying to rationalize everything.” He spoke as he scribbled another line.

“Quite attentive to details.” She smiled.

“I used to be a jumper, and a doorkicker.” He sighed as he spoke.

“Jumper?” She drew a confused face.

“Paratrooper, and a ranger. I served in the army and special forces before I joined the organization seven years ago. When you work in those fields you get used to making checklists on everything because you want to be sure the operation goes smoothly, or at least as close to smooth as you can get it.” He stopped as he turned to face her, looking down to meet her eyes.

“I never knew.” She shrugged.

“Did you serve Josephine?” He pulled his clip board up again as he began to walk towards another pallet of crates.

“Before… no, I never would have wanted to. Twenty two years ago my friend went to become a medic, and I learned after I had been turned that she died overseas. A complication with a then-unknown disease while she was on a humanitarian mission. I think about her occasionally, cause I could have joined her. But I never wanted to serve.” She made a neutral expression.

“I see. Sorry that I asked.”

“No, it's fine.” She assured him as they moved on. She turned to regard a few of the OMA troops, who were loading some magazines. They looked up as the two approached.

“Ah, the Belvere agents Arsi spoke of.” - One speaks out, making Josephine more surprised about the fact Arsi has friends and speaks of her than to be addressed.

“How are you all doing?” She asked, wondering what these troops had to say.

“A bit overworked, but such is the job when stakes are always so high. Even Arsi is contributing.” - The second gestures off in the general direction of the motor pool, where Arsi is seen standing over some vehicles to assess maintenance, Josephine can hear his voice. - “There’s a leaking fuel injector. We’ll need to remove the intake manifold, but it’s a straightforward repair. There’s also some damage there…” - Arsi says in the further end of the warehouse, staring at a military utility jeep with a closed hood, an older model given that if it was new it would be running on hydrogen or battery power instead. The OMA is not shoddy with funding, but it definitely seems shoddy in how tier one troops are used and sorted around if even the best tactical tools among them are caught in repair work.

“I see. What abilities do you two have?” She looked at them as they stopped loading the magazines.

“Regeneration and scleromancy.” - Replies the first on the left. - “Teleportation, earth manipulation and precognition.” - Replies the second on the right.

“How does your regeneration work?” She asked the one on the left.

“It is advanced regeneration, so it is quick, but it does not allow me to retain previous memories if brain tissue damage occurs. That has only happened once. I can make new brain cells but I require forming new memories for them. Regeneration only applies to myself, but I have been attempting to practice applying it to other people.”

“Ow, but interesting. If regeneration worked like that for me, I am not sure I would be the same person that I am now.” She brought a hand to the back of her head and scratched her neck, a slight nervous tremor passing through her in the moment. “And how does your earth manipulation work?” She turned her head to look at the other.

“It is at a basic level, so I can pull and form basic shapes. Complex variations are something I still struggle with and guiding direction is… mentally straining. Out of the three VEIN’s I have, it is my most recent one. Some other soldiers among us are better examples of earth manipulation VEIN’s than I am, even making plants bloom where they otherwise couldn’t.”

“Could you try to do something with it? I'm curious as to what it would look like.” She knelt down, while Massena looked away from his clipboard for a moment to see what would happen.

The soldier closed his eyes and reopened them after having entered conditioning, visible by the three VEIN strings lighting up. He briefly pops out of existence, then back into existence holding a houseplant in a pot, having traveled back to his family home on the other side of the country in seconds. With just a slight look of strain in his facial features, the small fern expands rapidly, as if weeks were passing before their very eyes. - “It helps doing this if the plant in the soil is already well cared for. Of course having a plant or a seed also helps - earth manipulation can’t make plants out of just soil, merely help push along the stuff that is there.”

“Oh my. Even if you consider your abilities lesser than others, I still think it's impressive. You should be proud.” She smiled. Massena stared in confusion as he saw the plant grow in size, to him it shouldn’t be possible, but here it was.

The same soldier disappears to return the pot before coming back and shutting down the conditioning. - “Yes, very useful if I ever decided to become a gardener.” - He found Josephine’s comment funny. Normally the only thing basic earth manipulation is good for in the early stages is running hydroponics in space, but perhaps it’s how you look at it that matters.

“Thank you two, come Massena, we got more boxes for you to count.” She stood up and began to walk, a smug grin on her face as Massena followed after her. He was wondering when he would need another drink. The two moved to where Arsi was hunched over the grille of the utility jeep, standing on his tip toes in his suit made him look a little funny as he was neck deep in the vehicle's guts.

Repairing vehicles was one of the few actions he enjoyed indulging in more out of conditioning than within it, a hobby he picked up from his past, pre-OMA life. He only backed into conditioning upon seeing the two staring at him from behind and deciding to address them. - “Josephine, Massena.” - He nods, moving forward and nearly tripping on an oil slick covering a small part of the floor, but managing to put his hands up before faceplanting. If he hadn’t switched to normal earlier his angelic state would’ve accounted for it.

“Careful where you step big man.” Massena almost chuckled as he saw Arsi pick himself up.

“I am fine. My body and my unconditioned state just have limitations in field of vision and attention where my n… conditioned state does not.” - He grabs a nearby rag to clean oil and sludge off his gloves.

“It has been interesting to see all of us work together this past day. And yet the OMA never seems to sleep.” She mused.

“Some do not. Conditioning keeps the effects of exhaustion away, but only as a stopgap measure. Every soldier must sleep eventually, even if they recover more from less rest. Having a large pool of non-anomalous OMA agents, official or secret, assists us as well. There are enough of them to rotate shifts.” - Looking around you can see the truth to the words. This one op appears to get much more funding and manpower than a reasonable anomalous agency receives in a year.

“I see.” She brought a hand up to her face and gave a yawn. “Excuse me, it's just been a long day.” She blinked a few times.

“You and Massena may go and rest if you wish. Most of us will stay and attempt to finish preparation by tomorrow. This is our country so the task should fall on us.”

“Your diligence is inspiring.” Massena quipped, the fatigue getting to him at last. Perhaps Josephine was contagious. “Let's get going Josephine.”

“See you tomorrow Arsi. Make sure you get some sleep tonight too.” She winked and smiled at him as the two made their way to the exit.

“Good night.” - Arsi responds, before going off in a random direction to check on other things.

The two exited the building and got into the jeep they had parked out of view. Massena took the wheel for a change as Josephine rested her eyes, trying not to let the neon signs and bright lights cloud her mind.

“You ever think you will drive one day Josephine?” Massena asked as he shifted it into third gear.

“I don’t see much of a reason to. If I need to get somewhere I could just run along rooftops.” She shrugged.

“Isn’t that exhausting?”

“You misjudge how much energy I possess. Besides, I never got my drivers license, so even if I could I really shouldn’t.” She turned and looked at his hand and foot movements as he shifted the jeep into second gear, slowing down for a stoplight.

“I think you might enjoy learning some day. Besides, you could carry a lot more things with a vehicle than with your hands.”

“Touche.” She spoke, her livinian accent coming out.

“What was it like living in the countryside? Before all of this.” He asked, not sure how she would respond. He put the jeep into first and second gear as they trundled forwards.

“It was… peaceful. Serendipitous even. No big tech, no big needs in life, everyone was more communal and loving of each other. When someone in the area needed help we all pitched in where we could, and that was how life was.” She harkened back, the memories passing through her mind, the green fields, the sun beaming high above. “What about you Massena? What was your life like?” She gave a sidelong glance as he took a turn.

“It was alright. Pourlion was nothing like Arostoyal but it was still a nice city. My parents wanted me to join the army to follow their footsteps, and I did. My father got me into airborne school from that thanks to his connections, and now I am here after thirty-two years. But life was good. The dust trade was still a problem, I know some of my peers couldn’t stop smoking the shit. Going out and partying all the time, especially after they legalized it in small quantities back in 2025. Liquor tastes better than that stuff.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” She gave a wry smile, thinking about taking a shot of brandy once they got back.

“Any reason why you like brandy so much over wine? I mean, I know you are a vampire, I just thought that was something you all did.”

“It reminds me of the taste of blood too easily, and it hits too close to home. I grew up on a wine grape farm. I know Cynthia enjoys the stuff, but that's her. I prefer brandy, especially apple because it reminds me of the orchard near my home. Picking fresh apples right off the branch, the flavor was incomparable to store bought ones.”

“Have you been sharing the bottle with James?” He looked over to her for a moment as he stopped for another light.

“He hasn’t had much, but the night I did get him to drink I’ll never forget. He was slurring every word, hiccuping constantly. I think he fell asleep in my arms that night but it's hard to say because I was just as drunk as he was.” She almost laughed as Massena made the last turn to the street where the monastery was.

“Well as long as you both are okay, then I’ll sleep better at night. I am glad that things are working out for you two.” He couldn’t help but yawn after he had finished speaking. They would all need sleep for what was to come tomorrow.



Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

April 11, 10:07 AM

James had just finished cleaning the dishes in the sink. Josephine had left an hour before, leaving him alone in the room. He changed the bandage on his neck earlier this morning and found that the marks had gotten better. Josephine hadn’t bitten him since Southwater, though she had plenty of opportunity to ask, but she respected him and his boundaries. She was very self-conscious, so maybe that was why she didn’t just take at will.

Knock knock. He listened, waiting for the third knock to tell him it was Josephine, but none was coming.

“Come in.” He spoke. The door opened and to his surprise it was Massena.

“How are you doing Hark?” he stepped in the room, there were a bunch of the other guys behind him.

“I’ve been good. What's going on?” James had been out of the loop on how things were going ever since he started living with Josephine.

“I am taking you off duty for one day. We need all hands on deck for this operation.”

“Yes sir. What do I need?”

“You were trained as a machine gunner. So we're gonna give you the S.T.A.F.S. We need to save what ammo we can in order to make this work, so it’ll help you hit all your shots.” He gestured to something that Godwinson and Edwards were holding. It was a H-Rig setup with an altered belt and sling system, with connection points and small motors. It was designed to be connected to a compatible machine gun, and automatically account for recoil when engaging hostile targets in the right eye visor. In this case it was fit for the M240B.

“We're really pulling out the fancy stuff for this aren’t we?” James said.

“Yep. We are still working out the kinks in the thing, but it should work for this operation. I can’t say anything about future operations.” Massena nodded.

The others in the group shared some whispers. James turned to them, raising an eyebrow.

“So James…” It was Mackensen who spoke. James didn’t like the tone in his voice.

“You’ve been hanging out with Josephine for a really long time since we got here.”

“Uh, yeah. I just want to make sure she’s okay, and she’s nice to be around.”

“Heh. What does that tongue do?” Mackensen closed his eyes as he laughed. He had almost opened his eyes when Jame’s fist met his face. Mackensen was thrown to the ground by the impact.

“Woah.” Edwards quipped as he stepped out of the way of Mackensen's fall.

Massena calmly put his hand on James' shoulder. “That's good enough James. Maybe after this is done, I’ll let you hit him again if he’s gonna keep saying insensitive things like that.” James reeled back, and shook his hand.

Mackensen was dazed, and needed to get helped up. “Fuck, at least give me warning before you do that.” Mackensen sputtered out.

“Don’t ever talk about her like that.” James said sternly. Massena nodded, though he gripped James' shoulder a little tighter, making sure he understood not to go any further. The last thing he needed was his own troops trying to kill each other right before the operation.

“In two hours James, come out to the command truck. We’ll get you to the forward area to get you set up and ready. Josephine will be there. Just take a breather for a bit.” Massena patted James on the back as he and the others left the room, and closed the door behind them. James sighed, and finished putting the dishes away.

“Stupid.”

OOC: Made in partnership with Stallenbourg.

[Stallenbourg]

Do not go gently into that good night

Outside the Kaana Kosela National Theater, Weltholm, ChristBol

19:50, Wednesday, April 11th, 2040

This theater shattered everything about Josephine’s perception of what a theater is. She expected some sort of classical architecture, a building meant to be wide sitting across a field, like a traditional European theater, made up of fancy bricks, statues, indentures, with the outline of a grand stage in the middle visible even while looking from the outside. This, on the other hand, was a modern tower, dark steel construction and glass along the facade that was leaner than an average national theater is wide, instead choosing to go up rather than spread. Still, even if aiming for height, the width itself was nothing to scoff at. There were ‘only’ 20 floors, but each one several times taller than usual and protruding at parts into one direction off the base of the tower in ways only an architect would draw up deliberately trying to drive their team of engineers to the physical limits of insanity. This was to stack dozens of theater stages and crowd seating on top of each other, rather than having just one massive stage. Assuming full capacity, the entire building could seat tens of thousands. The OMA and Belvere soldiers were only interested in one stage - the one on floor 19, the ‘tippy-toppest’ stage. Multiple squads were standing around on several adjacent roofs, heavily armed and just waiting for the operation to start by making small talk. Josephine overheard a few discussing something behind her as she stood.

“Weird to go through something like this without Matisse. If deployment for the operation wasn’t so immediate we could’ve just sent it and been done with everything that’s been bothering us this past week.” - “Matisse, the Grand Master and most of the rest of the OMA are still a few months off from Earth… but yes, Matisse would’ve solved all our issues by now.” - “Have you ever seen Matisse?” - “Oh no, haven’t been rotated to Mars yet. I was due next year, but it appears things have changed.”

‘Matisse’. She pondered. She had heard his name before but only as an offhand mention. The way they talked about him made him sound like a mentor, or father figure. Someone they look up to. Was this ‘Matisse’ to these troopers the same as how her squad looked up to her? She wanted to know a little more, and walked over to two of the OMA operators.

“Excuse me. If I can ask; who is this ‘Matisse’ guy you guys are talking about?”

The soldiers look back from their conversation, not taken by surprise at the question given it was posed by someone outside the organization. - “An OMA soldier with VEIN’s, much like us, but if we had to simplify it I would say it is the most powerful among us. The only recorded instance of a Tier 1 operator obtaining VEIN’s from the highest tier of angels.”

“It? Wait. They’re not…” She furrowed her brow in thought but one of the operators answered for her.

“The human soldier himself didn’t survive the process. Matisse, the tactical intelligence the OMA integrated into him, did. It keeps pumping the nanomachines added through the exoskeletal connection of the soldier to feign bodily function despite the soul itself leaving, and believes itself fully an angel.” - “It has more VEIN’s than any of us probably ever will, all unshackled. I was on Mars fighting demons with it, and it could crunch entire legions worth of demons with a thought, turning them into paste.” - “I heard it once tore and crumpled a reinforced blast door like it was aluminum foil just with gravikinesis to tear apart a monster on the other side.” - “According to some other soldiers, if they touched it, it could have conversations with them they would’ve had in the future.” - “I’ve seen it get cratered into a wall, unharmed, by a demon the size of an Arcadian industrial robot.” - “It benched a giant chunk of rubble multiple times, saving part of my squad from a building in hell that collapsed on top of them.” - The explanations go on for a while, each one wackier than the next. Both soldiers’ explanations sounded impossible to believe at times, even if one of them alleged to have been near Matisse to witness a few of them. - “If we had it with us right now, we could’ve just sent it to handle this and all went home.”

The longer Josephine listened, the more confused she got. A tinge of nervousness went through her, making her shudder for a moment. If this being saw her as an enemy, would she even have the time to make peace? She pushed the thought away and nodded, feigning satisfaction at the answers she was given, even if the stories were very out there. “Thank you two.” She spoke before she turned and walked back to where she had been waiting on the rooftop overlooking the theater.

“Hey Jo.” She turned and saw James. Fully rigged up with the S.T.A.F.S. and a freshly lubricated M240B, the silver bullets already fed into the gun's feed as it dangled from the straps attached to his shoulders.

“What is that?” She asked, not having seen it before.

“It's the Smart Targeting Anti-Freak System. Pulls and adjusts my aim to make every shot count. It's not a perfect system but we had brought it along in the event we would need it. I guess today was the day.” He brought his arms across his chest as he leaned back to keep himself upright. The gun wasn’t super heavy but he needed to keep his balance to use it.

“Is it a prototype? Did Sir Adam make it?” She wondered if the estate butler even had such knowledge.

“No, it was something that the army wrote off as a failure. We had someone look into it and try to repurpose it. This might be its first deployment so we aren’t expecting it to be reusable if it breaks. This is probably the only example we got.”

“I see.”

“What are you wearing?” He asked, confused as to her change in attire.

“They said they are going to be doing something with holy water and suggested I cover myself if I don’t want to get stung. It's a water proof skinsuit and a poncho. The rebreather mask has a tight face seal so it will protect my face.” She was holding the mask in her right hand. The black poncho had the symbol of the OMA emblazoned on the upper right collar, a small depiction of Michael the Archangel in gold. James could see the black skinsuit under her uniform. It covered her head and hair, and he could tell she had elastic gloves under her normal gloves. On her back was the OPR, its giant suppressor and attached flashlight sticking up past her shoulder.

“I wonder who thought that one up.” He said as they both turned to Massena and Arsi, who were discussing something. They both saw an old wooden chessboard on a table, with Arsi making moves for both white and black pieces. The white pieces are made out of some sort of light colored wood, perhaps Birch, while the black pieces seem to be different wood colored black. The board itself is a mix of Birch and whatever the other one is, possibly Oak. Though Josephine had never played chess before, all the moves Arsi made for his side of the board appeared illegal. He doesn’t stop making more illegal moves after he sees Josephine show up, instead keeping up a conversation while still making moves. - “Good evening Josephine. We should be commencing the operation any minute now.” - He appears close to finishing the Chess match, though he is right: it is about to hit 20:00 on the dot.

“What were you doing with the chess board?” She asks.

“Creating our window of opportunity.” - A second passes, and in that moment multiple churches across ChristBol ring out bells to denote 20 o’clock, Arsi makes the final move, putting the black king in checkmate. In an instant, Josephine and the entire Belvere unit find themselves on top of the national theater roof, with more OMA troopers who had been standing on adjacent roofs around them. No helicopters, no grappling hooks, no climbing equipment. An instantaneous teleportation. She and the other Belvere soldiers are openly unnerved, but the OMA troops hardly acknowledge what just transpired. The only thing that changed physical features was the chessboard, now looking like it survived a war instead of several decades of negligence. - “It will need another cleaning, but we argued this was a perfect use case for this artifact.” - Arsi picks up the chessboard, which doubles as a storage for the chess pieces. He puts all the chess pieces inside and then folds the wooden chessboard in half through a hinge that allows it to act like a little case.

While the Belvere soldiers are still getting their bearings, electronic specialists working under the OMA, but not Tier 1 operators themselves, begin manipulating electrical panels in compartments on the roof. Another team also starts work on manipulating the gravity tank of water for the sprinkler system, detaching the fire suppression of the higher floors from the normal tank and attaching it to a smaller but still sizable tank of holy water OMA soldiers with super strength held onto during teleportation. While both of these preparations are going ahead Arsi explains the idea to Josephine after having explained it to Massena earlier. - “We will disconnect floors 15 through 20 from the regular water and connect them to a holy water supply. Once we make the sprinklers come on it will stun all the vampires and any other monsters weak to holy water while leaving everyone else unharmed. We didn’t teleport enough to last a long time, but if we utilize shock and awe, it will not matter.”

He looks over at the edges of the roof, watching Tier 1 teams set up grappling points to rappel down to the sides of the 19th floor. There is plenty of window access towards the lobby and a smaller handful of larger, panoramic windows to hit the audience chamber itself. A second access point through the emergency roof exit is available for use as well, with more soldiers already traveling down it to secure a foothold on the 20th floor, which should just be an empty floor boasting a counterweight water container.

“So we just need to hook up and descend to the nineteenth floor and go crashing through the windows?” She asked Arsi, as she saw several of the Belvere soldiers and James begin to hook up. She was worried about James, but prayed he would make it through.

“Either by going through the windows or by utilizing the roof entrance and walking two floors down, yes. I am taking the roof entrance and will communicate targets to allies as I see them.” - He turns away from her, but doubles back after thinking of something else worth mentioning. - “Our electronics experts are also going to hijack the floor’s electrical systems. If you’ve read through any of the facility's electrical schematics and feel that disabling the power or utilizing anything else in a specific room would provide a greater tactical advantage, they are right across from us for you to tell them.” - Arsi points at a handful of units that stand out by the amount of hardware they carry from the rest before moving towards the roof access door, air rifle in hand filled with silver-tipped bolts.

She walks over to them, and taps one of their shoulders. “Make sure the lights are as bright as they can be. And if you can override the speaker system, I want you to play something across it.” She leans in as she whispers to the group.

“We can do that.” One of them speaks as they nod.

“Thank you.” She said before jogging over to the edge of the rooftop, and hooking up. To her left was Massena, to her right was one named ‘Mackensen’. She saw a reddish bruise on his left cheek.

“How did you get that?” She asked, not knowing what had happened earlier.

“Don’t worry about it.” Mackensen said as he cocked his rifle and clipped it to his rig before he gripped the rappel line. Josephine put on her skin tight rebreather mask, and looked over to an OMA Knight Lieutenant who was joining them, and was about to signal when to drop. The technicians signalled to the knight with a thumbs up, before he turned to face those waiting to rappel down. He held up a gauntleted hand with three fingers, then two, then one. He made a fist and everyone began to rappel down.

Reaching the large windows, Josephine pulled the OPR from her back, and jumped from the glass. Swinging like a pendulum with the others, as they sent themselves crashing through, the glass shattering into thousands of shards as they hit the ground and rolled. Their rappel lines came free in a fluid motion of their hands before they all stood back up and began to fire.

The combination of holy water, lights, and loud music had every vampire in the audience panicking. The room had a significant amount of ceiling lights across all three floors of seating and the side booths, illuminating the entire chamber as if everyone was forced to stare at the sun. The lights blinded everyone, while the sprinklers pouring down over everything meant they couldn’t keep their eyes open enough to disable the lights or fight back against the surprise assault. The seats were a red velvet with much of the wooden furnishing made up of warm color. The blood splattered across the seats and floor, tainting the surfaces in the black ichor. The only way one could tell monsters were being torn to pieces was through those being shot up against the white walls, the dark liquid clinging to them like vines. Captured civilians meant to be used as cattle were easy to not fire upon - almost all of them were chained or cuffed on the bottom level of seats. Others reacted in fear, ducking down and hiding behind the chairs as silver bullets and normal ones fired back across the rows towards the sudden intruders on this dark event.

-

The vampire who had given the short speeches at the Feathered Jester was a priority target, and one of the few which fell first. The Knight Lieutenant who had rappeled, used the last few seconds of the initial confusion before the shooting began to utilize his gravikinesis VEIN on the leader. He increased the local gravity in increments, making it impossible to move, or raise a weapon; the vampire's joints and muscles were put under pressure by his own body weight first dozens, then hundreds, then a thousand times harder. It wasn’t until a silver bullet was fired into both his head and heart that his knees gave in and buckled under the gravity, fracturing for everyone to hear. It slumped over onto the stage, slack-jawed and broken as the carnage roared around it.

-

Arsi’s team had a much quieter and easier intrusion: few were stationed at guard points expecting an assault coming from up the emergency stairs rather than down the stairs. Thanks to clairvoyance, none of the hostiles got to see anything but a bolt traveling through their forehead or their heart. Many Totenhoff guards began running into the audience chamber hearing shots from the outside, but an estimated half of them were stopped by other Tier 1 operators with VEIN’s by getting crushed in empty space, as if by an invisible hydraulic press. Some burst into flames, others were stabbed in the head or the heart by silver before even having a chance to react.

-

The hall echoed as guns barked and spat fire as the music in the air only accentuated the madness unfolding. Josephine had emptied an entire magazine and slotted a new twelve round mag in, racking the bolt before she stood up again from behind the cover of a chair. She blasted another vampire, still dazed and screaming from the stinging holy water, before turning to see one of the guards at the end of the chamber. She fired, and his chest exploded in black gore as the strange assault rifle clattered to the stage. She ducked again as some bullets came her way. Others, and even some of the OMA troops had taken cover, before one stood up and did something with his hands. A spear of lightning formed in his palms as he vanished. Josephine looked over as he had teleported behind the enemy machine gunner, and speared him through, the vampire shaking violently as he caught fire and burned. Before any return fire could come his way, the OMA Knight had teleported back to where he was.

-

James stood up and held his gun as the targeting visor over his right eye illuminated a red pip over targets and a green pip over civilians and allies. He didn’t even have to shoot the gun as the S.T.A.F.S. did it for him, all he had to do was lay the gun over the target and it fired a short and lethally accurate burst of silver, cutting down vampire after vampire. The hundred round box magazine ran dry as he fired his final burst. Pulling back behind the cover of the chairs as a round embedded itself into one of them on his left. He fumbled with one of the pouches as he tried to get it open.

“Hold on, I'll help!” Neaman yelled out from the chaos as he shuffled over to James, undoing the latch and helping him attach the new box mag to the 240B. James slammed the feed tray cover down. “Thanks Neaman.” He was about to move when they both heard a yell. Across from them they saw Josiah fall back, dropping his gun.

“Keep up the fire James, I'm gonna help him.” Neaman said as he made to move. James stood up and turned back around, and let the gun do its work as he tore down the one who had shot Josiah.

-

Massena took aim with his rifle as he cut down another two. Taking cover and changing magazines, he checked his watch. Only one minute had passed since the shooting had started. An OMA Knight to his right conjured with his hands, and Massena looked over the chairs to see him outright boil a vampire from the inside out, their skin cooking off of them as black steam emanated from their body. Massena took aim and shot the heart and head, helping the Knight secure the kill.

“Thank you Captain. I'm still trying to master that VEIN, but now might not be the best time for learning.”

“Well said Knight.” He said as a bullet went high, zipping past his head. To his left he saw Mackensen shooting from behind cover. He watched as Mackensen shifted to a different position and took aim, only to see him rock back and fall to the ground. Blood splattered down his face and on his chest.

“Oh damnit, Mack!” Massena tried crawling over to Mackensen to pull him behind cover, but the return fire was far too aggressive to make any ambitious movement.

The Knight Commander Josephine spoke to a day ago was returning fire nearby and heard Massena yell before dropping to not lose his own head. Having scleromancy and regeneration, he did not share the same problem. For most of the gunfight he had stood over cover and just kept shooting like an unmoving statue. - “Captain Massena, I can be of service!” - The outer material formed from around his armature, widened out on one hand. It formed into the shape of a ballistic shield, but chitinous and scaly. Massena stayed behind the new structure as the Knight Commander helped him move from one side of the theater to his fallen comrade, many shots landing, but failing to pierce the shield. There was one moment where a stray bullet cracked the top edge, only for the chitin to regenerate in the blink of an eye.

Arriving over Mack, the OMA Knight Commander kept using his body as a mobile bullet sponge to allow Massena some breathing room while looking Mack over. Massena found no bullet wound on his chest or lower torso, but his right eye was missing. “F-fuck! God it fucking hurts!” Mack yelled out.

“It's alright, just your eye, maybe a bit of your brain if you were that unlucky. Just stay down Mack alright?" Massena patted his chest and Mackensen gave a nod, but still moaned in pain. Massena pulled the man as close to the chairs as he could, not leaving his side.

“Just what I needed.” Massena grunted as he took aim once more and fired from under the Knight Commander, who diligently held the shield he had manifested steady.

-

Josephine exited cover and fired the OPR, the 20mm rounds eviscerating limbs and bodies as she emptied another magazine. The return fire had stopped, all that was left now were stragglers. She surged forwards along with other OMA Knights. She saw one wield a halberd and cut down a vampire, still dazed and trying to hide, as the blade scythed through the chest of the creature. She used the back of her left hand to wipe the holy water off her mask visor as the sprinklers ceased spraying. She fired another three rounds, and the cacophony was over.

The sound of a male voice in pain could be heard on the left, but she paid it no mind. She checked every row, as the OMA operators had begun to filter into the theater. They took care of the civilians, unchaining them and guiding them towards exits where they could be handled. She found one vampire still trying to hide, whimpering and mumbling something. She gripped them by the back and threw them to the floor, without even a moment's hesitation she raised the massive gun and fired, the shot liquidating the creature's chest instantly. The head rocked back against the seat, and she saw those cold dead crimson eyes. The mouth moved to form one last word as it looked into her eyes.

‘Why?’ It was not spoken, just motioned with the lips, but she knew what it had said. She only gave the creature one look, one of disdain.

“Because I am not like you.” She said, as the glow of its crimson eyes faded, the head slumping forwards as the body became limp. Every step she took now was slick with black ichor, blood, and chunks of meat. She did her best not to acknowledge it all as she pulled the mask off, and pulled down the skinsuit so her hair was showing, the poncho hanging from her neck now as she took several more steps down the aisle. The remaining noise in the room was just the OMA troopers, moving from row to row and double tapping any remaining vampire body that was either twitching or that they weren’t sure of.

“Jesus.” She said at last, finally taking in the full smell of carnage. Gunpowder, iron, excrement, urine, all and more were present on the air. It was the smell of death heavy around her as she continued her slowed pace. She saw something out of the corner of her eye, and turned to it. A camera had a little red light on it, aimed directly at her face. What set this camera apart from ones she had seen before, was that it looked nothing like the Christbolian CCTV camera’s. It was completely black, with a red band on the end of the lens. She withdrew the OPR, and slung it to her back as she marched back up the aisle. Someone was going to have to take that camera down, and though she wanted to shoot it, she thought better of it. Perhaps they could examine it and get more clues as to where they had to go next to get all these Totenhoff bastards.

She made her way to James, he was unscathed, not so much as a scratch on him, but he was a little wet.

“I think it would be wise to not touch me until I get a shower.” He said as he met her gaze.

“Yeah. It can wait. I'm just glad you weren’t hurt.”

“Im not sure the same can be said for Josiah.” James said as he pointed. She turned, and saw the medic by the man. The medic's last name was ‘Beauford’, the patch on the back of his helmet giving it away. Josephine rounded him and saw as Beauford's right hand slid down Josiah's blood covered face, closing the soldier's eyes. She saw the red splotches on his chest right where his heart was, and the area around those holes where the olive uniform had been blackened by his blood. The medic turned his face up to her.

“I'm sorry Josephine. He’s dead. Three shots to the heart. There was nothing anyone could have done.” Beauford spoke as he looked into her eyes. She looked down at the body and his face. His hand was still gripping the rifle, white knuckled, like he was gonna use it to stand back up. Yet he laid motionless, his face calm and serene, even with the splatters of blood on his cheek.

Massena was helping Mackensen over, and the medic moved to take Mack from him, guiding the man over to one of the empty chairs. She saw the right side of his face, bloody streaks with his hand held up against his right eye. He was crying from his left eye, his body shuddering as he took deep breaths.

“He’ll live, I think. Not what I had expected to happen. The OMA handled themselves quite well, I know a couple of them were hit but their suits kept them in the fight. The guy you talked to yesterday with the scleromancy helped me get to Mackensen. Pretty awesome ability, don’t you think so?” Massena asked.

“I… Yeah. But, Josiah is…” She brought her head down, her eyes looking at the stained red carpet. Massena looked over his shoulder and saw the body. He pulled back the sleeve of his uniform and flicked what water he could off before patting her upper right shoulder.

“I know. He’s my responsibility too.” He spoke as they looked out at the theater. The music had finished, the gunfire had ceased, the smell lingered, but the threat was gone.

-

Among the vampires that attended, four were disciplined enough to temper themselves into planning an escape. With most OMA soldiers attacking from the roof access now moving into the theater, the perfect opportunity to flee up and away presented itself. They hid in the lavatories, and survived by one soldier's negligence in making sure they were clear. They passed the few operators remaining between them and the goal, clinging to the shadows and cover, reaching the emergency staircase. Even though the area near the stairs and the stairs themselves were littered with the corpses of their vampiric kin, they thought nothing of it. It did not concern them. It was too tempting for two not to snicker amongst each other believing nobody saw them or heard them. One did.

“There’s still four of us, on a faster timetable we could recover. No shortage of meat below us thanks to celibacy laws.” - Spoke one upon reaching the roof, by features and adherence to command guaranteed to be the oldest.

“Hell no! Whoever those guys were just wiped out almost everyone! You can keep having a death wish if you want but I think I am going to fake my death again and settle into quiet seclusion somewhere with a view…” - Responds another, close to equally as old but with less determination.

“I agree with Gundehar. If we just kept a low profile it seems we can just be gods in our own little worlds. It’s how he phrased it to me a year ago when we married and I wouldn’t have it any other way. What about you Ellen?” - Speaks up the third, a woman who clung to the body of the second like a rope and popping the question to the fourth, recently turned like she was. She feigned contentment by rationalizing to herself at least they survived, and provided enough effort no organization in the world could find them again once they jumped off the building and got as far away from here as possible.

“I uhh… I think I am not sure about this anymore.” - Responds the fourth, the least certain of herself out of all of them. The first two spoke confidently of changing name and place like fitting a new pair of socks, with the third putting on a facade of equal courage to try. She, on the other hand, responded with nothing but quiver, despite the few days prior of newfound power providing a god complex that all but deflated in the past mere minutes.

Before the other three have a chance to align in thought and kill her to tie uncertain loose ends, a silver-tipped bolt flies from the direction of the door they just came out of, doing the heavy lifting for them by impacting her chest, the bolt spearing through her heart as her body collapsed to the ground. What follows is a haunting voice delivering what sounds like an estimate, but with a certainty none of the vampires had giving their thoughts just prior.

“Four hundred and fifty seven.” - It was Arsi, uninjured and covered in more black gunk than armor, the one thing clear being his visor. The remaining three did not allow for the body to drop before they booked it, faster than Arsi by a vast margin - but Arsi did not need a quick step: he threw the remaining holy water flask from his grenade belt hard, having used two earlier, waiting for the flask to blitz past all three of them before making the water crack out solidified and flying through the air using his hydromancy VEIN. A couple shards of water hit a nearby steam pipe with enough force to crack the metal and let steam out, blinding and stunning the oldest vampire that was also furthest away.

The rest of the volley dug itself into the one that was in the middle of the pack, which was Gundehar who spoke earlier. The holy water stung fierce and flew him screaming in front of his wife into an electrical panel that reacted to the holy water which Arsi deliberately pushed through his body with the explicit purpose to cause excruciating pain through electrocution. The electricity isn’t what killed him though, the second silver-tipped bolt flying straight into his heart after the fact did that. Only the wedding band on his finger differentiated in color from the black, charring flesh. - “Four hundred and fifty eight.” - Arsi delivers another statement of fact.

“What did you do!?” - The remaining female vampire lashed out in scornful disdain, dropping all pretense of escape in the name of survival and sprinting back to leap at Arsi. Instead of stepping back, he kept advancing, pulling a pistol with an automatic fire mode from a holster with his left hand and taking aim. The caliber was modest, but with an extended magazine of silver bullets and with Arsi’s neurotic obsession for accuracy, a spray of it was enough to destroy both the heart and the brain. By the time she flew into range, she was nothing more than a cadaver. Arsi used his left arm to bash it away into the ground and kept advancing towards the last vampire. - “Four hundred and fifty nine.”

By the time the oldest recovered his vision and looked back, the dynamic of the situation had shifted - he was no longer in a pack of predators fleeing in light of a hunter getting an inconvenient jump on them. He was now prey being faced by a predator. Arsi knew this too and kept walking, seeing the last remaining Totenhoff vampire in ChristBol as an instrument for venting his frustrations in the near future.

The mental reframing the vampire's brain concluded disgusted him, his very being felt it antithetical to its nature. Retaliation boiled in every vein, but the desire for flight… no, for self preservation, overtook him. He darted towards the edge of the roof the second anything but water in his eyes was visible, but it was not enough: Arsi condensed the earlier steam near him into ice, using it to catch up to him and wrap both his legs, driving icicles of adamantine durability deep into the floor of the roof. Try as he might, even with vampiric strength, it was tantamount to being glued to the floor while Arsi approached closer, pulling out a loose pipe along the way. Something feral overtook the vampire - it began hissing by the time Arsi was close enough. He stopped and looked into its eyes with nothing but antipathy.

“You and your countries ilk disgust me.” - Arsi does not mince words, even to a creature that has lost all but basic instinct. - “You assign a quantifiable value to all life but yourselves - zero. You condemn the innocent to die for your pleasure. You manipulate the misguided and those who feel lost-” - Arsi pauses to let the creature finish a more aggressive hiss than previous ones. - “...-and make others sharing your state believe that bitterness and suffering are stronger forces than love, mercy, joy, and a light heart.”

Before letting the monster squirm further Arsi slams the pipe into the ice around both legs, crushing each into thousands of pieces. It writhes in pain but still attempts to flee with its claws, an effort Arsi stops by pulling water from the gravity tank near them to impale both its arms into the floor with tendrils of water, putting the creature back at square one.

“The strong need not fear their own mercy, but even if I were to consider it, you would not deserve it.” - More tendrils flow from the tank, forcing the monster's jaw to unhinge before splitting smaller into its mouth; removing each tooth one by one in quick succession and utilizing surgical precision. In this humiliation ritual, the fangs were first to go.

After removing each one Arsi knelt down atop its stomach and began hitting it in the head, hard. He punched until it could no longer try to resist. He punched until the horror was more just an amalgamation of features. He punched until the black finish on his gauntlets gave way to metallic shine.

Several minutes of this continues before Arsi takes the air rifle back into his hands, shoves the gun into its mouth, aiming up into the palate towards the brain and snaps out of conditioning. - “Go raging into that burning light, you grotesque, atrocious and dreadful horror.” - Pulling the trigger, a bolt shoots into the mouth, penetrating through the bottom of the cranium into the brain and out the top, losing all momentum just a few feet out of the skull. The vampire is dead. - “Five hundred and sixty.”

The Holy People’s Kingdom of Christian Socialism was now safe.

-

With the civilians being shuffled down the levels to be handled, the OMA and Belvere soldiers began working to pile up the vampire bodies still present in the theater. Josephine watched them, wondering if they were going to have a pyre in here or if they were just moving them somewhere so they could be teleported somewhere else to be burned. The more she looked around, the more she wondered; where was Arsi?

Then the scent hit her nose. She followed it, that damn aroma. That smell of abject purity released from within the suit. She forced herself to be disciplined and focused, not letting her instincts get her again. She made her way through the emergency exit doors to the roof, and climbed the bloody blackened stairway. She pushed through the door, and saw him.

He was leaning against a ventilation unit, his helmet off to the side of him, as she saw the four corpses sprawled out across the rooftop. He had killed them, all of them himself, his suit coated in viscous black ichor as if he had been swimming in it. Yet she saw his head bobbing up and down, and heard something that she never thought she would hear from someone like him: he was crying. Knight Leino Arsi of the Order of Michael the Archangel, clairvoyant and hydromancy specialist of high praise, coated in the blood of the enemies of his country who could have killed millions, and he was crying.

She didn’t see the golden strings from his suit, he wasn’t in his angelic conditioning. What had made him do this? She took another three soft steps, and stopped as she listened to him speak. He was quiet, in a way meant only for himself to hear.

“Black eyes, passionate eyes, Burning and beautiful eyes! How I love you, how I fear you, It seems I met you in an unlucky hour!” He paused, taking a breath.

“Oh, not for nothing are you darker than the deep! I see mourning for my soul in you, I see a triumphant flame in you: A poor heart immolated in it.” Another pause, and sniffle escaped him.

“But I am not sad, I am not sorrowful, My fate is soothing to me: All that is best in life that God gave us, In sacrifice I returned to the fiery eyes!” He spoke the last in a hoarse breath, as if burdened by a massive weight upon his shoulders.

Josephine did not say a word or move for the next few seconds, unsure if he was done reciting the poem. Though she did not know which one he was referring to in the moment, she understood the weight it carried. He wasn’t talking about her eyes, or those of the vampires he had slain, he was referring to his own. His ability to see everything, as useful as it was, was nothing but a curse upon his mind. A burden he alone carried in service to his role in the OMA. His life, his peace, his happiness, all given up to serve and protect those who could not protect themselves. And what did it cost him? What was truly left of the man ‘Arsi Leino’ before her? How much of his own soul could he claim to be his?

She took slow, soft steps. He did not activate his conditioning, nor pay any heed to her approach, all he did was continue to weep. It moved her deeply to see someone who prided themselves on their own stability and security, be brought so low in a moment where he felt he could be vulnerable, alone and out of sight of all the others who may judge him. A crimson tear escaped her right eye, and made a streak down her face, as she knelt down beside him. In a slow deliberate motion, she brought her left arm over his shoulders and brought him closer. He looked startled for a moment as his face turned, but she did not shy away from him.

“God doesn’t ask us not to feel the weight. But, God never said it was only your burden to bear. Please Arsi, tell me.” She looked into his eyes, none of the glow of crimson in her own, only the red velvet of a soul reaching out to grasp his, and pull him free of this abyss.

“I… after the event at the Feathered Jester. I couldn’t help but watch them. I tracked them as they moved to their little hideouts. Cutaways of society, their apartments. The things they did…” He breathed before continuing, as another tear escaped his golden and green eyes.

“The people they took off the street, they just had their way with them… it was too much. The things they did to them… I can’t say it. Murder would have been a mercy.” She nodded in understanding as he continued.

“I wanted to slay them. I wanted to rush down to their hideouts and execute them, beat them into a pulp, skewer them with ice picks and rip out their hearts and crush them with my bare hands… but doing so would have endangered our operation today, so I held myself. I have wanted to do it ever since that night. And now…” He undid the gauntlets of his hands, and she brought her right hand to her mouth. Bright red blood mixed with turquoise scored the knuckles of his hands, some of it had dried on his skin around the wounds. She bit back the urge, and swallowed as she brought her hand down and looked back to his face, waiting for him to continue.

“The first one I shot up here, the woman with the bolt through her heart, over there-” he pointed, and Josephine looked. “She was an animal. She was one of the ones they turned at that comedy club. She couldn’t even contain herself, using every aspect of her vampiric powers for perverse and heinous acts… I am glad I delivered judgement to that one in particular.” He sniffled, wiping the back of his bruised hand against his nose.

He made to stand, and she stood with him.

“I’m sorry. I should be down there helping. I will-” She cut him off.

“Arsi. You don’t have to go down there yet.” She stood to her full height, two inches taller than him. She wrapped her arms around him and held tight, making sure he could feel it through his suit.

“Nobody is telling you to be a knight right now. I don’t want you to be a knight right now. I just want you to be yourself.” She brought her head down and nestled her face into his red hair.

“Just relax, please. Your soul needs rest. I am sorry for having dragged you into this world where you are forced to fight monsters who appear so human, yet throw it all away. They are the ones who forced people like us into these lives we live. But these aren’t lives we want to live.” She held tighter still, not crushing him, but just to give him something to feel.

“You’re a good friend Arsi. You watched my back throughout all this time, ever since the day you and I saw each other back in Southwater, I had a feeling you followed me everywhere I went, saw everything I had done. I felt safer wandering around Christbol, alone, knowing you were out there watching me while I casually went shopping. You’re the reason why we're here right now. You made this happen with your abilities. You are the one who identified Minna at the church. If you hadn’t done that, Weltholm would have been a warzone. I want you to be happy for what you have done. You saved lives, and more importantly, you didn’t have to do it alone.”

“It… Alright.” - It wasn’t odd for Arsi to get hugged. Tier 1 operators don’t really do that, but he has saved enough people in the past from behind walls and floors with invisible entrances and padding, almost certain that they would never see beyond the deepest, darkest cell their captors kept them in, to know what being hugged with sincerity was like without taking a guess at intention. Instead it was the fact that he was now being embraced for his own sake and out of conditioning that made it unusual to experience. - His overall mood subsides into something more manageable, even if still fighting to reach peace. - “I understand.” - Arsi lets the hug happen for a small bit longer before breaking it off on his own initiative. Picking his helmet back up Arsi puts it on to continue processing his own thoughts in private. - “Let us go join the rest downstairs. I wager the support teams who followed us are almost done dumping the bodies… and a few soldiers would like to shake hands on a successful joint operation.”

Before the two of them reach back to the theater Arsi’s golden threads return. Moving through the entrance doors into the audience seating, about half the bodies have been collected, with several OMA agents in protective gear tossing them into some doorframe-like wormhole of non-euclidean geometry that is bigger from the inside. In a more isolated part of the room a handful of G-men are working through the hostages recovered after the firefight - attaching some vague saucer-looking thing over each of their heads one at a time. Each person says a word or two of thanks or makes a physical expression of gratitude before the device attaches in a non-invasive way. - “Memory modification. They’ll forget everything they’ve seen in the past few days except what we tell them. The official OMA will quote them as part of cult kidnappings and relay the information to their employers to be reinstated at work and have some paid sick leave.” - Arsi and Josephine approach the main group of Belvere soldiers together with the Knight Lieutenant and the Knight & Dame Commanders involved with the strike. They are in the middle of exchanging pleasantries and pledging support to Belvere for transporting the soldier that died.

“Captain Massena.” - Arsi acknowledges him while going through a round of handshakes from his own fellow OMA operators on a job well done.

“Knight Leino. Good to see you made it through this just fine.” He shook hands with him before looking over to Josephine. There was a lone streak of red down her face, but he did his best to ignore it. “As you can see, not every plan survives contact with the enemy.”

The three watched as Josiah’s body was moved to a stretcher, and carried by an OMA and Belvere soldier.

“There will be a funeral in the country for him. I have his will in the command truck. I don’t remember what was on it, but I’ll look tonight. Mackensen will pull through but he’s going to be taken to a hospital for treatment overnight. It's not every day you survive getting shot in the eye.”

Arsi accepted the handshake while Massena explained about their dead and wounded. It helped holding onto Arsi’s hand just to ease his troubles, though on the opposite end Arsi was receiving far more than just a warm and fuzzy feeling: something gnawed at the edges.

At first it confused him because he thought the same residual feeling was what he felt made Josephine distinctly Josephine when they shook hands in the Lantern House. There… is Josephine in this, or Josephine is made up in part of this; something else that made Massena distinctly uncomfortable. It did not stand out to him from Massena the same day they met and shook hands, this was later. Recent enough for him to still detect it and denote the date - two days ago at the earliest. Minutes pass that feel like milliseconds to everyone around but him, there is even a location: Massena’s room at the St. Luke the Evangelist Monastery.

But why is it like Josephine and why does it bother him? The OMA knows there’s not a single other vampire among them or a third party one that could find the monastery they stayed at to- ‘There is a second, far away in body and not pleasant in spirit. Massena’s body is just a carrier of its influence.’ - An angelic inner voice rings out, smashing through his train of thoughts like a hammer rather than with the finesse of a knife, making Arsi return to regular time dilation, releasing Massena to just stare into the gauntlet he just held his hand with for a few seconds.

Josephine watched the two shake hands, but she noticed that Arsi was the one to look down into his gauntlet, rather than it being Massena after they had finished. Those long seconds told her that he had seen something. She looked up to Massena, but he looked no different than the day before. She might never know what Arsi had seen, and would not ask. She knew he needed time to heal.

Trying to reserve this as a question for another day, Arsi puts his hand down and directs himself back to discussing the aftermath of the operation, magnificent in regards to keeping himself unexpressive. - “We will help your wounded and the OMA will pay for your dead’s return back home. They died on our soil saving ChristBol, deserving our full respect. No doubt the Knight Lieutenant today and our Execrant later are going to approach you mentioning a sworn debt to the Belvere Organization.”

“We couldn’t ask for anything more. Well. Perhaps we could ask the almighty to smite down every twisted bloodsucker who turns their back on him, but I guess that would be asking for too much, and I would be out of a job.” Massena shrugged, a smirk on his face.

Arsi moves to the medic’s working over Mackensen and takes his hand. No ulterior motives, he just wished to ease his suffering in any way. The Knight Lieutenant that fought during the operation soon takes Arsi’s place in the semi-circle Arsi used to occupy to properly thank Josephine, Massena and their men. In such an exclusive high-profile company he would take off his helmet, but decided against it knowing Josephine’s need for conscious resistance against consuming Tier 1 operator blood. - “Miss Belmont and Captain Massena, I am Knight Lieutenant Dereje. It has been an honor to work with you and your organization.” - He gives the two firm handshakes, VEIN’s off and no underlying clairvoyance landmines to speak of. - “We owe you a debt we cannot repay with a simple service or money. Ask anything of the OMA in the future, I will put in a good word to make it possible, if not then by my own means.” - A few seconds of pondering pass, in some way refreshing compared to Arsi who replies near-instant. - “I am aware you would like to say farewell to us after this, but please stay until tomorrow to be awarded a few tokens of our gratitude. I have received word just minutes ago that the Execrant would like to present you some next morning, before you intend to leave at least.”

“Oh we won’t be leaving too soon I hope. I need a break from all the work and sleepless nights.” Massena said as he brought his hands behind his back and stretched. Josephine found it a little amusing that he did it. For someone his age to be having back problems, it was a little funny to her.

“Good to hear. Perhaps we could share a drink before you leave Captain. I shall see you two later then.” Lieutenant Dereje turned and followed several other OMA soldiers out, most likely to work on a debrief. Massena turned and saw two of his own soldiers trying to talk to a different OMA Knight.

“Ugh… These damn kids. I’ll be right back Josephine, they’re trying to do the hand shake thing again.” He said as he walked down the aisle to the gaggle.

Josephine stood alone now, but looked over and saw James undoing the S.T.A.F.S. and its harness. She made her way over to him.

“What's wrong?”

“Oh it's just… Well like I said, a prototype. The holy water they sprayed must have gotten into the systems and short circuited them. They were pulling the gun around and then one of the straps snapped and it buried the gun's muzzle into the floor. I just hope it didn’t bend the barrel.” He sighed after letting the straps fall free from him as it clattered on the floor.

“How many did you get?” She asked.

“It was keeping track but I think it was maybe fifty, or fifty five. Sounds impressive but most of those weren’t shooting back. The ones who did, I counted for sure. Four of them.” He turned as they both looked at the stage. The body was gone but the rifle remained.

“While you were gone, Massena said we would be collecting the rifles and anything else they had on them for examination. Probably going to have it all shipped back home. I don’t know why we didn’t do it sooner. Better late than never I guess.” He shrugged.

“Yeah.” She looked down, her hands balling into fists.

“There will be a better time and place to mourn Jo. C'mon, let's go back to the monastery. We can get cleaned up and then I’ll help you cook something.” He brought his arm around her as he led her out of the theater.

“Yeah. That would be nice.” A small smile appeared across her features.



(This joint post was made with Christbol.)
(The idea to have holy water sprinklers was from Soveiniesberg.)

[Serderistan]

Serenity Group Safehouse, Rhastov
April 9th, 0800

“Dude, I know that we’re supposed to be low key. But that doesn’t mean you have to be the one making the coffee.” Crow grimaced as he took another sip of the liquid performance art masquerading as java. “You can go out and snag a local keurig knock off and a few pods. No one is going to think that’s weird.”

The offender, another Cadre member with the handle of Lark, shrugged as he performed routine maintenance on his weapon. “If you think you can do better, then wake up earlier than me. Besides, you don’t see the Sleepers bitching about it.”

Crow looked over at the pair of fit, military-aged males in the conducting their own preparations. Unlike everyone else, the non-descript duo made no small talk as they loaded incendiary shells into drum mags. Though they looked human and represented one of the team’s key force multipliers, the Candidates gave the supersoldiers Alpha and Beta a wide berth. The former BSOG operator gave the ex-Marine Commando the side eye before walking away, judging his battle buddy for using those uncanny bastards to justify himself.

“They don’t drink coffee, you prick.” He muttered to himself.

He gave Alpha a friendly pat on the shoulder as he made his way to their battle board, the supersoldier too engrossed in his current task to pay any mind to his gesture. Advanced Force Operations were proceeding smoothly so far, with the main players on ground with their personal equipment on hand. The tricky part would be getting their cannon fodder and heavier. One doesn’t simply smuggle in a contingent of gun monkeys and UAS in a day. Just because he was eager to let the mask slip and get his war on, he didn't want to rush in and get shot to pieces. So he just had to maintain tactical patience and make sure prep work was properly done. Aside from making sure all pax and gear was on ground, they needed to find the target…preferably before other shitheads showed up to interfere. So far, their battle board had very little in the way of actionable information.

“I think I got something!”

Eyes snapped toward Preston Abd Manaf, their sole straphanger, as the signals and electronics specialist sprinted toward the battle board with his ruggedized laptop in hand. Crow watched in mild interest as the techie scribbled grid coordinates and other gibberish with the dry erase marker. Once he was done, he had several points plotted on a map surrounded by various notes.

“I’ll bite, what do you have?” Crow asked, “Did you find Rhastov station?”

“No, but I think I’m getting close. However, I did find a couple of their enablers and where they tend to operate.” Preston turned the laptop around to show a signal heat map of the area. “The IMSI catchers we planted around have been working overtime. Granted, there’s a lot of junk data due to civilian traffic, but once you filter that out.”

With a few keystrokes, the cluttered heat map became less dense with contacts now that the unencrypted cell traffic was removed from the equation. Of course, there were still enough geolocated dots on the map to make the display a confusing mess. Preston continued to add more variables to refine the results. After a few hasty seconds of clicking, there was a clearer picture of potential targets of opportunity.

Though Crow was impressed at the speed of the tech guy’s work, he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Seems convincing, but how do we know that these phones don’t belong to some drug dealer…or a snitch for the cops? They’d use encrypted apps to prevent the dropping of eaves. And drop phones to call a single contact are a thing both crims and sources use all the time.”

“True, but what sets these guys apart is the type of encryption being employed. Most of the time, it’s your run-of-the-mill Signal or Threema security. But it changes at certain points and starts matching the stuff I saw from the Totenhoff data-drive. Now the opposition is smart enough, they’re hiding the location of their hub by using a mesh network, distributing out their comms among a multitude of nodes to make pinning them down harder. But between the encryption swap and the scheduled check-ins, they start showing their hand.”

A thin smile formed on Crow’s lips, checking his optimism despite the good news. “Guess the loss of their Southwater op got them nervous enough to force their outlying elements to check in. Dumb bastards probably thought they were being clever with the encryption without realizing it makes them stick out. Get me a location and we’ll start scoping them out. Finally get to do some work.”


The Shop

As Crow’s team got their new lead, the Serderi splinter group’s key leaders were engaged in a vigorous debate, concerning the costs and benefits of the potential revelation of their existence to a possible rival. While the Serenity Group was working with a few individuals in Markion’s more illicit and secretive networks, the exposure was limited and it was clear who was in control in those relationships. With this hypothetical, it would be a difficult matter of keeping this partnership as a mutually beneficial arrangement, let alone a situation where Serenity controlled the strings.

“Madame Director, I still believe that this is an ill-advised course of action.” Basilisk said, his smooth professional tone emanated from the speaker in the office. “Exposure alone is ill-advised, but this man would try to use us as pawns in his schemes. If we need more resources, then we should reach out to our patrons.”

“While you are not wrong about the nature of my counterpart, it’s simply a matter of resources. My worry is exposure.” The Director rebutted. “Based on your new figures, how soon before our former employers discover that we’ve been accessing their intelligence feeds? Using the Directorate and Section ISR assets to gather slivers of information?”

The construct was silent, but not because it was crunching the numbers. It had figured them out long ago. It was silent because it knew what point that its master was making. “The most optimal prediction is 48 hours…but the most likely is less than 24.”

“Correct. Reaching out to RICIA carries many risks…but even riskier if Section reaches out to them first. If that happens, you know that our former homeland and that cagey ally will likely work in tandem to root us out. If they don’t, it will be because the Rhamosians will try to force us into their employ. Better to ensure that we establish an arrangement with them. Let them deal with our former nation through the all powerful force of red tape while we continue to operate in the shadows. Make the call.”


Tavi, Osiria

The morning air of the office room was filled with the exquisite aroma of none other than that elixir which all men desired, coffee. None so more than Duke Red at that. His demitasse sat on the desk before him wafting its heavenly fragrance into the air born upon its steamy vapors.

He inhaled deeply and savored it. Imported Bazikstani coffee, a gift from the Serderi Military Attache at the Crown Alliance Forward Outpost. The man knew the Duke's favorite all too well.

Normally, he'd have sent a curt thanks for the gift but the absence of Adelaide gave him a more convenient excuse to visit personally himself. An act that would greatly annoy the Serderi Colonel in charge there with his presence. His solace and merry musings were interrupted as his encrypted VTC program popped up on his computer’s screen, an unexpected call at an inopportune time. The caller seemed to take their anonymity seriously, as the display merely showed their icon rather than a camera feed. In an odd twist, the program showed that his own camera wasn’t recording, as if showing a twisted respect for the Duke’s privacy.

The Duke eyed the monitor with intense curiosity as he sipped pensively from his coffee. In all other circumstances, Adelaide and her networks would have screened this sort of thing out, but it seemed someone knew enough to slip through the net and contact him directly. This fact alone narrowed down the list of culprits considerably and raised his curiosity even more. Nevertheless, this person had caught him on the backfoot, a position of disadvantage he did not relish in the slightest and cautioned his response accordingly.

“Buongiorno.” His voice was as disingenuous as his mood. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“Duke Red, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. You can call me Basil, and I believe I have something that may interest you. I offer the most valuable currency there is; information.”

Red took in the stranger’s words, noting their inflection and tone. The voice was male, his speech pattern clipped, professional and refined. The accent was harder to place, but he pegged it as originating from either Barnopea or the United Kingdom…or was trying to sound like it came from there. The voice immediately calling him by his name though, now that was a different matter entirely. Fewer still organizations he had given that name too and yet somehow, this mostly likely wasn't them.

He stared intently at the screen as he quickly ran scenarios through his head before the beginnings of a smile formed at the corners of his mouth. “Fascinating.” He mused quietly.

At that he leaned back in his chair slightly and took another quick sip of his coffee now optimized to thoroughly enjoy this new game.

“Alight, Herr Basil, you have piqued my…interest. What sort of information would have you go through all this trouble to find little old me, hmm?”

There was a soft huff of amusement from the caller. “I have come to understand that you are a hunter of exotic and dangerous game…with one particular predator who has wandered away from her home island.”

“Ha HA, my freundin! You are a clever one are you not?” The jovialness in the Duke's words and face masked the fact that he was absolutely irritated at this revelation. Whoever this was had completely compromised his barely two week old operation already. Two setbacks this morning already and right when he was enjoying his most precious gift.

Calculations ran through his head at a rapid rate while on the outside he gritted his teeth oh so subtly. If Basil could see those piercing blue eyes, they'd have burned a hole through him already.

This lost ground would be recovered, perhaps there was an opportunity here still.

“There is a peculiar specimen of sorts here in this region, yes.” He carefully thought of how to phrase his next words. “Though depending on the condition, some could even say I'm a bit of a collector too.”

“As she and her retinue are active in Weltholm, I would assume she has recovered from a brush with death...or two. Weltholm may be nonpermissive, but her next hunting ground in Rhastov is not.”

The Duke's eyebrow perked up at this. “Well now, that is certainly interesting indeed.” He proclaimed letting genuine interest creep into his voice as he leaned forward. Karl had been keeping a rather close eye on the mystery gang but the information had always been reactive, not proactive. If this information was indeed factual, they might actually be able to be a step ahead of them for once. *IF.*

“That is of course assuming it is…true. How would a humble lay person such myself be so sure that such pertinent information handed out from a mysterious stranger was indeed truthful?” He subconsciously glanced to his door as if the owner of the voice would be standing there in some grand noir reveal and let out a soft bemused chuckle when he saw it was not so.

“I also imagine such a gracious stranger such as yourself also just doesn't hand out such parcels on the credit of good faith and kindness alone.”

“I understand your concern. One must be prudent in this building. Verify, then trust with limits.” An image of a half-melted hard drive, tagged with the label ‘Data Drive, Totenhoff’ popped up on the screen. “I would imagine that decrypted contents of a device discovered in Southwater would not be enough to convince you of my good will. Who knows what could be hidden in digital content these days? So how should I show my sincerity?”

There was a short pause as the caller made a show of pondering his dilemma. Then with a snap of his fingers, a sound that seemed somehow off to the Duke’s trained ears, “Basil” arrived at his solution.

“I'll provide you with the second valuable gift in this business: leverage. We have a ship scheduled to arrive in Rhastov, laden with men and materiel. Now, the men are just hired augments for our operation over there. They are ultimately expendable. So if they were to be intercepted, we would still have a team on the ground. However such a compromise would put them in a dilemma. Do they scrub their mission or do they continue. For you see, we also seek to collect similar specimens for research purposes…one that your quarry is determined to destroy. So now, Sir Duke, the fate of our mission rests in your hands.”

Duke Red finally set his coffee down and clasped his fingers together. His contemplation had a hundred thoughts running through it as he pulled over this information.

So, that's what this is all about. She was hunting more like herself. Who were they? Was this some form of state sanctioned action? What are they?

He had more questions than answers now, let alone the one pertaining to this new “friend.”

He sat for a moment longer before he finally spoke. “What do you want?” There was no pretense or fake niceties in his voice this time. Who or whatever this clearly had either a death wish or some form of advantage over him to divulge all this information so plainly and openly. Or it was a trap. The prospects of these various scenarios excited him to some degree though, the possibility of an actual game of wits was just something a little too tempting for him.

“What do I want? I want to build a partnership between our two organizations. Despite my…dramatic introduction, I have no intention to disrespect or deride. The private concern that I represent has extensive knowledge in the field of anomalous and esoteric studies. We are unbound by simple boundaries and oversight committees. However, you command the resources of a nation.” That is a capability that money cannot buy. As we have mutual rivals, I would say that it’s more beneficial to work together toward a common goal. A common vision…or at the very least one where we both realize our respective objectives. So, do we have an accord?”

The Duke remained silent as he contemplated his options. Then he smiled and sipped at his delectable beverage.

OOC:This joint post was made with Rhamos

[Totenhoff]

Kleiner Rabe

Sublevel 8, Unknown Location – Markion

April 11th, 08:05 PM Christbol Time

“Herr Major, we had no warning this was going to happen! It wasn’t part of the plan—we had no leaks, no loose ends! Everyone who was scheduled to attend was present, save for two, but we knew their location! I don’t—”

“Save your breath, Gerhard.”

The voice was deep, smooth, and unnervingly calm. A white-gloved hand rested lightly on Gerhard’s shoulder. Instinctively, Gerhard wanted to drop to his knees, but no command had been given. He knew better than to move without reading the Major’s mood first.

They were staring at an enlarged display spanning the main bulkhead. Gerhard sat at the primary console, his fingers trembling slightly as he manipulated the camera feeds. He kept his eyes fixed forward, knowing those deep purple eyes behind him were scouring every frame for the slightest irregularity.

“Zoom in here.” The white glove pointed toward a figure on the screen who appeared to be wearing a drenched black poncho.

Gerhard tilted the joystick left and clicked the primary toggle. The image expanded into high definition.

It was... a woman. They watched her pull the hood back, unbuckle a tactical strap, and remove her face mask and head covering, letting her dark hair fall free. On the feed, her chest rose and fell in a deep, weary breath as her lips moved around an unheard phrase.

“What a... wondrous specimen...” the Major murmured.

“Uhm, Herr Major?”

“Keep watching her.”

Gerhard obeyed, hitting a function key to engage automated tracking. The camera pan followed her as she picked her way through the gore-drenched ruins of the theater. She paused, turned, and then looked directly up into the lens.

“You are recording this, Gerhard?”

“Yes, Herr Major.”

“Good, good. Pull up a secondary window. I want a still of her face.”

Gerhard’s fingers flew across the mechanical keyboard array. A secondary monitor flashed to life, locking onto the exact frame where she looked straight into the camera. The main video feed kept playing, but the Major was no longer watching it. His full attention was fixated on the frozen image: a woman holding a massive anti-materiel rifle, clad in a dark poncho and green uniform, her pale skin set against glowing, crimson eyes.

“A vampire who fights for humanity,” the Major spoke, reverence thick in his tone. “A dog who answers the call of its master. Allowed to live because she fights for what is ‘good’ in the world. How delightful.”

He pressed his gloved palm against the glass screen, his fingers outlining her face as if attempting to touch her through the feed.

A cold bead of sweat rolled down Gerhard’s temple. The Major was utterly entranced. Gerhard looked back at the second monitor, processing the tactical markings. On her left shoulder, a unit patch was visible—a shield insignia matching official records. The system flashed a green confirmation on the telemetry screen.

“Wonderful,” the Major whispered, his voice dropping into a register laced with quiet, possessive desire.

“Herr Major, if I may ask...” Gerhard swallowed hard. “What do you intend to do with this information?”

“I apologize for keeping you out of my mind, Gerhard, but this is a matter of personal interest.” The Major didn’t take his eyes off the glass. “I intend to capture her. Hmm... what to call you, Fräulein of the Belvere Organization?”

Silence stretched across the cold control room for a long, heavy moment as the Major contemplated the image.

“Little Raven.”

“I see, Herr Major.”

“Bring him in.”

Behind them, the massive blast doors shuddered. The heavy hydraulic locks groaned, echoing around the subterranean vault as reinforced armor plating slid back with a deep, rumbling boom.

Heavy, rhythmic footfalls echoed across the concrete floor. The newcomer wore a uniform as dark as the void, accented only by silver buttons and a shoulder patch matching the crest Gerhard had just cross-referenced. Black tactical gloves bore white, intricate sigils across the knuckles. Beneath a tilted black beret, his platinum-white hair was cut short, his skin pale yet full of vitality.

But it was his eyes that made Gerhard’s stomach turn. They were predatory—devoid of guilt, doubt, or warmth. They were the most ruthless eyes Gerhard had ever seen in a living man.

“You called, Herr Major?” The voice wasn't deep, but it carried an edge of arrogant spite that made Gerhard flinch. How anyone was permitted to speak to the Major in such a tone without being executed on the spot was beyond him.

“Herr Ambrose,” the Major said, showing not a hint of displeasure at the soldier's tone. In fact, he sounded almost pleased. “It seems your old masters have finally come looking.”

Ambrose stepped up to the console array. As he drew near, a suffocating pressure filled the room—a primal, skin-crawling aura that made Gerhard’s breath hitch. True terror, cold and absolute.

Ambrose leaned over Gerhard's shoulder, staring at the still image of the 'Little Raven.' His lips pulled back into a wide, jagged smile that revealed far too many teeth. It was the most ghastly expression Gerhard had ever witnessed on a human face. Gerhard shrank as deep into his swivel chair as physically possible, praying neither of them would look at him as sweat soaked his collar.

“Oh, yes...” Ambrose purred softly. “This one... I am going to have fun breaking her.”

“You may,” the Major replied smoothly, “but you know what I require first and foremost. Bring her to me. I do not care if she arrives... damaged. Just bring her. She will make a fine gift for the Chancellor.”

“Yes... she will see the truth of our cause once she is in our grasp.”

“You have no time limit, as usual,” the Major said, gesturing broadly to the room. “Requisition whatever resources you require. All I ask is that you bring her to us, by any means necessary.”

“I will not fail you, Herr Major.”

Ambrose offered a sharp, crisp salute. He turned on his heel and strode back toward the dark corridor, his combat boots echoing until the heavy blast doors sealed shut behind him, leaving no trace that he had ever been there.

Gerhard sat frozen, wiping sweat from his forehead, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“There is no need to be frightened, Gerhard,” the Major said gently without turning around. “He is on our side.”

“M-Major...” Gerhard fumbled over his tongue, his throat dry. “Who... who w-was that?”

“He is the left arm of the Chancellor. And my most prized asset.” The Major rested his hand back on the glass screen, staring into the glowing crimson eyes of the photograph. “He has a formal name, of course. But I prefer his true title.”

“A-and that is, Major?”

“Kinslayer.”

[Stallenbourg]

Victory in Christbol

The Inner Courtyard of the Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

April 12th, 11:00 AM



The soldiers of the Belvere Organization, all fifteen of them stood to the right side of the pathway, with Josephine standing in the sixteenth spot, next to Massena. Josephine was the front left-most in the double rank formation. On the opposite side of the aisle was a contingent of the OMA, with Knight Lieutenant Dereje, Dame Commander Honkanen, and Knight Leino in the front-right most of the double rank formation. Both formations were mirrors of the other, but the difference was that the OMA did not have someone in the casket before the two of them.

The casket was of a great oak tree, no embellishments, no sigil nor label, as it was willed. There before them lay Private Josiah Benningsford. A twenty four year old virgin, who grew up in Davenport city. He had been a conscript in the territorial defense formations for his two years, and found that he liked military service, but wanted something with more adventure. He sought a mercenary contract, but came up empty handed. One day he had met a woman in a bar; and she had merely guided him into the arms of the Belvere Organization. He got his wish, and with it gave a decent paycheck, and the knowledge that what he was doing was protecting the lives of his family.

Never lucky with women, thus he had no one to receive his fortune upon his death. In his will, he had requested that it be returned to the Belvere Organization. A noble gesture for a man with nothing to lose and everything to gain. His adventure had come to an end four years after he had started. Three bullets to the sternum, right where his heart was, and just like that; Josiah was gone from this world.

His body was exsanguinated, and treated in a morgue. He had requested that he be buried in his uniform, regardless of its condition. He wanted the Lord to look upon a man who had fought to bring the light to the darkness, and stared it down, no matter what injury came to fell him. Some of his blood had been taken, as per his request, and mixed with Oak Gall Extract, Iron Sulfate, and Gum Arabic, forming an ink. That ink was used to print his name upon the banner that Godwinson now held high above them.

Originally, Massena had planned to name their unit after her; ‘Josephine's Retinue’. But he had reconsidered it following what had happened after the Feathered Jester. She was, in a sense, their mascot, their guardian angel, but it was too on the nose. James suggested an alternative; ‘The Order of the White Rose’. And so it was that they had crafted with fine linen, a banner that used the colors of the organization. A white rose blossoming in the center, a black outer border, and a red background. Josiah’s name was on the top right of the banner, with the top left in white text reading; ‘To bloom in God's light, is to banish the dark of night.’

Josephine stepped out from the rank. Her black cloak swept over her left shoulder, its white trim made the belted cross of the Order of Protestant Knights of Stallenbourg stand out. Gone was her beret, replaced with an officers hat just like Massena’s. In her white-gloved hands she carried a bundle of long-stemmed red roses, their scent heavy in her nostrils as she forced herself to move towards the casket. Her boots were polished, her uniform clean, her face unmarked; yet her mind weighed with the thoughts of the man before her.

She looked down, and saw the wound. Cleaned, disinfected, and empty. She took the stems of the roses, and nestled them into the wound with gentle tenderness and care.

‘Bury me with a bundle of roses, so that some day when I am gone, my body will give new life to the earth. Send me off with a kiss of a lady, one of great spirit and love, so that I may find solace in my deep slumber.’

The words resonated in her mind from his will, and she obeyed. Moving over to his face, she bent down, and gave a kiss to his right cheek. “Sleep well, Josiah Benningsford. May you find peace.” She whispered, her voice soft.

She stood up, and turned about face, a crimson tear escaping her right eye. It couldn’t be helped as she returned to her spot in the formation. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath through her nose, doing her best to prevent more from coming out.

Mackensen, and a Knight of the OMA stepped forth from their positions in the front ranks, and made their way to the casket. Both of them gripped the lid, and brought it down gently, sealing him away forever more. The two returned to their formations, and both units, all thirty two of them, bowed in unison. An unspoken prayer, not in unity, but one from all of them. It was one of the most important traditions that the Belvere Organization had held onto for over eleven centuries.

A few birds chirped in the courtyard, as a short soft breeze carried through, sending ripples through the banner. They ended their bows, and the funeral had come to an end.

April 12th, 3:00 PM

Many of the OMA soldiers stayed a few extra hours to make conversation after the funeral, interested in what life is like for the Belvere soldiers back home. In truth many also felt terrible putting a cross for their sake onto a shoulder that wasn’t for that shoulder to bare.

It is during this time that a modest motorcade of white Christbolian government SUV’s enters the parking space of the monastery without a sound. Nobody hears them due to a lack of noise, but the inner courtyard goes abuzz by the time the Christbolian Execrant Jüri walks into it. All the OMA operators, Tier 1 and Tier 2 alike, make a Christbolian salute: flat hand, palm facing forwards, upper arm horizontal and near the eyes, with all fingers lined together. There was a certain expectation among the foreigners present that the OMA were going to kneel, however that is demonstratively reserved just for God and His mercy. He knew what happened just moments prior and, like the OMA operators, made some minor smalltalk before explaining why he was here: following behind him is a small detachment of other officials, carrying dozens of small cases. Josephine’s entire section was instructed to stand in formation, with Jüri starting from the left with Josephine.

“Josephine Belmont. It is my honor, as the Execrant of the Holy People’s Kingdom of Christian Bolshevism, to award you the title of Confessor of the Toiling Church-” - One of the aides opens a small case to reveal a golden cross, as thick as it was wide, attached to a white ribbon. Jüri takes it and pins it above Josephine’s left breastpocket. - “-the highest honor the Christbolian Church can give within its own ecclesial authority.” - He hands Josephine a certificate of the award.

Another aide circles Jüri and hands him another case, revealing yet another golden symbol; this time the Christbolian globus as seen on the flag, attached to a red ribbon with white stripes. There are some words in Christbolian she cannot read. Jüri pins this medal onto Josephine as well. - “It is also my honor as the Execrant of the Holy People’s Kingdom of Christian Bolshevism, to award you the title of Venerable of the Revolution, the highest state honor the Christbolian supreme State organ can give within its authority. The award comes with a dedicated pension, free transit, education privileges within ChristBol for both yourself and any direct descendants or wards, all regardless of nationality status, as well as free audience with the Premier or the Execrant.” - Jüri then hands Josephine another certificate, this time signed by the Basilica, ChristBol’s supreme state organ of power.

The second aide presents a third case, with Jüri opening it and pinning yet another medal onto Josephine, this one a golden laurel at the edges wrapping around a vastly oversized red star on a white-enammeled background. - “The Order of the Holy-Red Banner. In recognition of your entire section's heroism in combat.”

Everyone else in the section receives the exact same set of medals before Jüri speaks up. - “Private Josiah Benningsford will be awarded the honors posthumously.” - He then moves on towards giving select few OMA agents the same medals, Arsi among them.

Once Jüri had finished, Josephine turned to Massena, who had been holding onto a small box of a deep red velvet. He passed it to her, and she turned, stepping across the aisle and turning before Arsi.

“Knight Arsi Leino of the Order of Michael the Archangel. Miss Belvere has granted me the sanction to provide you with one of our highest honors. Your courage, diligence, and commitment is greatly respected in our aged order. You have seen the horrors of the dark first hand, and you did not falter in your quest to see them sundered from the earth. It is my privilege to give you this.”

She opened the box. It was a Platinum Commonwealth Star with a red christian cross in the center of it. Above it was a tricolor ribbon of red-white-black.

“The Order of Unwavering Faith. One of our oldest and most lauded of medals. Long in the past, men sung songs of the deeds of those who had earned such an honor to carry this. But I was given sanction only to provide one of these, and I see no other soul more deserving of this than you, Knight.”

With a tender hand, she took the ribbon from the box, and affixed the small magnet provided with it. She let it stick to his chest plate, and adjusted it so it was aligned with the others he had been given. She stepped back, and held out her hand. Arsi took it, and they shook, before she returned to her formation.



Southwaterian Embassy, Weltholm, Christbol

April 13th, 10:00 AM



Josephine and James were led by a staffer to a small courtyard-garden inside the embassy grounds. There was a fountain, surrounded by some local flora that had been brought to Christbol to remind those working at the embassy of home. A man in a three piece was there to greet them, holding a decently sized cypress wood box in his hands. It appeared that the awards ceremony had not quite finished.

“Good day to you two, I'm Frank Ratcliff, the Southwaterian Ambassador to Christbol.” He extended a free hand and shook their hands.

“You are Josephine Belmont? I have to say, it is not every day I get to meet a fine lady, nor do I get the privilege to present that fine lady with a gift as prized as this. I apologise that it took this long to be provided, but our best blacksmith slaved over this for several long nights.” He brought his hands over the lid, and opened the box. He cleared his throat as he did before speaking;

"For outstanding services rendered to the Duchy of Southwater and her people in eradicating the foreign menace, the Duke is pleased to present a traditional fighting weapon of Southwater to the agents of the Belvere organization for use in future display and victories. We also wish to bestow upon you, Josephine Belmont, with the Medal for Services Rendered in Counter-Terrorism Activities.”

The finely crafted cypress exterior box gave way to a green felt interior, revealing a large ‘D’ guarded handle silver bowie knife. No inscriptions or embellishments, showing that the creator of this blade knew exactly what they wanted her to use it for. To its right at the end of the blade tip, was the medal.

It was a shiny aluminum one, with the words ‘Duchy of Southwater’ printed on the top of the circle, and on the bottom read; ‘To seek, defend, and repulse’. In the center of the circle were cypress tree’s, a waterline, and a metallic sawfish swimming in an anodized blue sea. The ribbon was a dark blue on the outside, two lighter blue lines, then a single red line down the center.

“Oh my.” Josephine said. She reached for the blade, and wielded it in her right hand. The weight felt good, the edge looked as if it could cut through any foe that came her way. Its surface was clean as she saw her own reflection in it. It was twelve inches long, the length of a long dagger, and only just shy of a short sword.

“Thank you sir.” She returned the blade to the box, and shook Ambassador Frank's hand.

“You’re welcome Miss Belmont. May we never forget what you have done for us.” They ended the handshake, and Frank put the box in Jame’s hands.

‘I just hope that gator didn’t end up killing anyone since I have been gone.’ She did not speak the thought, only in her mind. Something felt… different when they were leaving.



Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

April 13th, 06:04 PM



She had just finished cutting some carrots when there was a knock at the door. It was probably Massena, or maybe someone else looking for James to get them all to go drinking together. Though after last night, Massena could hardly stand after trying to out drink the Knight Commander with scleromancy. The Christbolian people, if not the OMA themselves, had an unimaginable tolerance for alcohol. Besides, James was still in the shower, so even if they wanted him now they would have to wait.

She walked over to the door. She was wearing her casual white collared shirt and black pants, and a black apron. She opened it and saw Arsi.

“Oh, hi Arsi.”

“Good evening Josephine. May I come in? I have news.”

“Of course, come in and take a seat in the spare chair.” She pointed as she put some of the ingredients on the countertop back into the fridge to stay fresh.

Arsi walks into the room and sits down on the chair. - “I am being promoted to Knight Commander. Knight Lieutenant Dereje forwarded the request. The recent event with the Totenhoff vampires has given the Knight Lieutenant, his peers and the Grand Master’s Assessor for ChristBol a sense of reinvigorated importance for Tier 1 soldiers with clairvoyance abilities.” - He leans further into the chair, more relaxed than he has ever been before the end of the vampiric threat in ChristBol. - “There are too few soldiers with clairvoyance on Earth to create a whole platoon like the one Knight Lieutenant Dereje leads, however there is enough for a dedicated section, which I have been given a training course to prepare for running it, along with obtaining the relevant rank that comes with it.”

“Well that’s good. You have been working yourself to the bone just trying to keep track of all of them, so being able to share the responsibility should they return will make it easier.” She sat down on the sofa, as she looked over to him. She could tell by his body language, even under his suit, that he felt a little less jubilant about the whole ordeal.

“This means that I will be unavailable in the near future. I intended to speak with Knight Commander Honkanen and ask for a mission to help your unit, however she informed me on this news immediately before that. I decided to accept the promotion. I am one of the only superior clairvoyance units in Markion, and believe that trying to centralize command of clairvoyance users here is a good idea; it would do others with the ability much good to have our own career advancement and autonomy. No doubt others share similar horrors witnessed like I have, but the institutional support for healing that after work in the field merely addresses us as any other soldier.” - He looks up at Josephine’s face, long after staring at the floor. - “They all need this so that, after a decade or more of service, they do not end up like me: almost convinced that they are unfit for any human relationship.”

A weight gets off Arsi’s chest for finally being able to explain to Josephine why he can’t go with Belvere should they need him, causing him to look around the room for the first time. He first sees the food Josephine has been preparing on the kitchen counter, the television provided for the room, the Silver Wraith standing in the dark corner of the room next to the-

Arsi jumps up from his seat and both of them have a staredown in a combat stance, although neither jumps at the chance to fight the other. Josephine gasps as she clutches the couch, pushing herself back against the wall as she looks at the silent armored giant. How he got in the room without even her noticing said more than enough about his capabilities. Arsi eases up as the Silver Wraith approaches both him and Josephine, standing just in front of the coffee table.

Arsi did not see him as a threat; but he did have a handful of questions to ask, as confused as he was. - “I didn’t see you. I didn’t hear you… How?”

“I am the Silver Wraith.” - The armored figure replies, voice dressed in a voice synthesizer and scrambler integrated into the helmet. The visor covering the face of the helm leaves everything to the imagination, an all digital display showing nothing but gray and some suggestions for facial features like simplified eyes, protected by a layer of transparent, bulletproof material.

“That is not a satisfactory answer to my question.” - Arsi responds while the vigilante takes two steps towards Josephine, in the light showing that Arsi is a whole head shorter than him. It doesn’t take longer than a quick scan with clairvoyance to figure out that the man standing before him was Onni Isotalo - lone majority owner to ChristBol’s Talos Tech, one of Markion’s oldest and biggest multinational companies. Arsi has known of the Silver Wraith for a long time, but this was the first time he got to see through the armor. The outcome of the peek through the helmet had his heart skip a beat, even in angelic conditioning, because his human side was all too aware what a bombshell this would be for every newspaper, media company and tabloid in all of Markion, nevermind just ChristBol.

Following that, before interacting with Josephine, the Silver Wraith shoots Arsi one more stern look, though perhaps ‘stern’ is a matter of opinion, given the only indicator of expressions is whenever the Silver Wraith tilts his head. - “Your… heart rate went up? A second time?”

Arsi tries to come up with a good excuse, but in the end he only manages a bad one. If the Silver Wraith has been in the room or even just watching him for as long as he thinks, Arsi has blurted his clairvoyance ability for the Silver Wraith to hear several times now. - “The Silver Wraith infrequently sneaks into law-abiding monasteries.” - He mustered as he looked at the faceless helmet.

The Silver Wraith looks him up and down, noticing not a single change in his heart rate. Arsi believes he managed to convince him, but then as if by the flick of a thought the Silver Wraith’s suit begins playback of a conversation, in Arsi’s voice. - “I am one of the only superior clairvoyance units in Markion and believe that trying to-” - The playback cuts abruptly. - “I am convinced you know who I am… however… I am also convinced you are also not in any position to tell.” - Shutting down Arsi with little effort, he approaches Josephine to do what he came here for.

He stops before her, his massive armored frame casting a shadow over her. Her eyes were glowing, though it was only out of instinct for being frightened by his sudden presence. She took a deep breath, waiting for something to happen. Judgement perhaps, as she was, as far as anyone knew, the only vampire left in all of Christbol. He brought his right arm up, and extended a hand. She looked at it for a few seconds, and breathed a shuddering sigh of relief. She stepped down from the couch and took the massive gauntlet with her right hand as they shook.

“I had my suspicions on your nature, they’ve almost all been confirmed… but nonetheless I thank you for your efforts - White Rose.” - Having said so, a low octave repeating ping plays through the visor. Normal people couldn’t possibly hear it due to the padding between the electronics inside the HUD and the rest of the helmet, but Arsi and Josephine both do. The Silver Wraith doesn’t make any sort of audible sigh, but by the change in voice tone it wouldn’t take Markion’s Master Sleuth to figure out that an incoming crime report was just delivered to him. - “Should you find a desire and interest in crime-fighting, I would appreciate having another person on the night shift.” - Releasing his grip, he turned around, and made his way back through the balcony sliding glass door he came through. He aimed for something high up in the sky with his grappling gun, and fired it. He flew up and away with the sound of jet engines trailing behind him, the curtains near the door whipping in the sudden breeze of his exit.

Josephine and Arsi both stared at where he had stood. They both turned to each other, and though she could not see them, she knew they were looking right at each other's eyes.

“So… I'm a superhero now?” She looked at him, puzzled at the last comments the Silver Wraith had made.

“He most likely knows what you are, and was being courteous. It also seems you are more than just a pin-board for medals.” - There was a hint of jealousy in this statement only Arsi’s human self felt. The Silver Wraith wasn’t Arsi’s peer in the classic sense, but he’s saved Weltholm enough many times in situations where the Misilii, ChristBol’s main police force, would’ve been vastly underqualified. An individual whose opinion Arsi, both man and angelic personality construct, respected. - “Rarely, if ever, does the Silver Wraith go out of his way to talk to anyone. It stands to reason that he saw how you had spared the lives of those muggers a few days ago, when you could have killed them without a second thought. He sees the good in you because of that.”

He was right, she mused. She could have killed them, it would have ended the fight sooner, but they were not vampires. They were just humans, humans of a demented and even monstrous nature, but still just humans.

“Yeah. Maybe some day…” She made a small smile.

“Jo, are you okay out there? I thought I heard something.” James’ voice echoed from behind the bedroom door. Josephine and Arsi shared a look. James had never actually met Arsi properly, and she wasn’t sure if it was the right time. Arsi could read the room, and gave a curt nod.

“Yes I am fine, give me a second.” She said, placating him for a moment. “We will talk later, Arsi. Before we leave in a few days time, okay?” She whispered and reached out a hurried hand. He took it and they both shook.

“I will see you then.” - He whispered back as he made his way back out the door of her room as quietly as he could. She closed the sliding glass door, as James opened the bedroom door. He was just wearing a blue linen bathrobe, his hair still damp from the shower.

“What was all the noise?” He asked.

“Oh it was nothing. Just a friend came by to visit and chat for a short while.” It was just a white lie, and for what it was worth, a true statement.

“Oh, alright then. What were you making?”

“Chicken noodle soup. Is that alright?” She got close to him as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“Yeah of course. I love all the soups you make me.” He smiled, as he brought his arms around her.

“That's all I wanted to hear.” She kissed him on the cheek, before letting go and adjusting her apron. The wireless stove read that it was 06:19 PM, she hadn’t even started the broth yet, and was starting to rush it. Taking all the ingredients back out when James came to her side and put his hands on her waist. She turned to face him, her cheeks aflush with red.

“You don’t have to rush it for me, alright? Just take your time.” He whispered.

“Hm. Alright, I will. Do you want to help?”

“Of course.” He smiled.



(This joint post was made with Christbol.)

[Raltirian Denethier]

His eyes open, slowly, peering through that same viscous haze as always. His breath hisses with every inhale through something clamped around his face. He can’t tell what it is. He can’t discern much of anything. Just that yellow haze, and those same blurred, white figures beyond that firmament surrounding him.

The barrier melts, yellow haze turning to blinding white. A chorus of fluorescent lights buzzes above him. But still, those faceless, white figures stand over him. He moves his arms-- No, he’s strapped down on a table. Needles sink into his flesh. It burns. It always burns. He screams, but his voice carries no sound. The figures can’t hear him. Or do they not care?

Blades. Blood flows as scalpels carve away layers of flesh. He screams again. Still nothing. Tubes pump more fluid into his veins that feels like a flow of sand and broken glass moving through every inch of his body. Blood flows onto the floor, but the figures never seem to clean it. They just keep cutting and cutting, rummaging around in him as he wails. He closes his eyes.

Then he opens them. The wailing is no longer his. The blood is no longer his own. The world is a blur, a hurricane of screams and sirens and snapping bone. And always, the warmth of blood flowing between his fingers. He runs. Alarms blare in his head, but he ignores them. Sterile, white hallways stained with blood rush past, piled with corpses.

Forget your fear, sounds a voice, silent and yet booming in his head.

They will learn to fear you.

They have.

Kill them all.

He wakes with a start, staring at the ceiling in a layer of cold sweat. His ceiling. There are no buzzing lights. There is no tile. No padded walls. Just his bed. Just his ceiling, a fan spinning above in the dark. He sighs, sitting up. Every night, the same dream. Every night, for days beyond count. It never ends. He walks to the bathroom, bare feet padding across the floor. He washes his face with cold water, looking into the mirror for a moment before switching off the lights and heading back to bed.

---

8 April, 0645 hours
Weltholm, Christbol

Three large, ornate doors were set in the front of the church under lunettes depicting Christ surrounded by Christbolian workers. It was a love letter to traditional religious architecture amidst a jungle of steel and glass. The Virgin Mary, regal in her posture, looked down over the throngs of worshipers gathering for morning mass. He climbed the steps among them, approaching the doors and entering the church, whose interior was no less decorated than its exterior. Ornate columns rose to a vaulted ceiling painted with scenes of angels and saints. Grand windows in stained glass depicted scenes from Scripture, or Christbolian workers gathered around saints.

He walked toward the rapidly-filling pews, a slight limp in his gait, and managed to find a place for himself to sit next to a small child and her family. He settled in, removing the surgical mask from his face—it was a courtesy when living in a big city, he reasoned, to avoid spreading disease—and the cap covering his medium length, auburn hair. He was young, no older that his mid-20s, though seemed weathered for his age, with rough stubble along his jaw.

The child looked at him, curiously, before her mother quietly scolded her for staring. He just shook his head and chuckled.

“It’s quite all right, ma’am,” he said, gently, ruffling the girl’s hair and giving her a friendly wink.

The church was rapidly filling up. It did every time; Christbolians seemed a devout people. Attending mass was a matter of blending in, to him. At least, blending in as much as he could. He didn’t look the part of a native, though he certainly didn’t stick out as much as the pale woman in shades who had just taken a seat on the other side of the aisle and a few rows behind him. He almost gave her a second thought—she almost seemed too pale—but it was none of his business. He could hardly help noticing, anyway. He, too, was paler than most Christbolians, though the sun had given him more of a tan in recent months, since he moved there, but he still stuck out.

He looked forward as the priest greeted the congregation. Better to look like he was fitting in, but he was just there to go through the motions. He spent most of the time looking at that large crucifix behind the altar, at the serene face of Christ, gazing out over His worshipers with love and sorrowful compassion. The priest went on about sin, and by the time he began the first liturgy, the man had more-or-less tuned him out. It was all a cruel joke, as far as he was concerned.

Sin, huh? He thought, staring at the face of Christ. It was my fault, then?

Christ just looked at him.

Nothing new to say, he observed, sneering inwardly.

He betrayed none of his feelings outwardly. He just stood with the others, or kneeled as they did. He pretended to pray when they did, but all the while he just pondered that serene face behind the altar under its thorned crown. Every mass, he did the same thing, and every mass, he left just as unmoved as the mass before.

Never shed any of those tears for me, huh, big guy?

Christ just looked at him, but said nothing.

Yeah.

When the congregation began to stand, and its members offer eachother signs of peace, he stood to do the same. The child next to him reached out a tiny hand, and he couldn’t help but smile. He took her hand, giving it a little shake, then did the same with her parents.

“Peace be with you,” he said, genuinely. He didn’t have to believe in God to want to wish for peace, after all. He ruffled the girl’s hair again, sitting back down before the priest began to break bread. Christ watched, face serene as always, as His congregation received Communion. The man stood with the rest, but received no Eucharist. He just limped toward one of the building’s side doors. Christ watched. The man didn’t look at the crucifix again.

Fuck you.

He left the building, the same way he always did. He stepped out onto the street, limping slightly, and continued on his way.

1910 hours

Quiet days had a habit of being the least peaceful. The world around him was quiet; the world in his head was anything but. There were too many memories and too many voices to ignore, some days. He sighed, blocking them out as he checked his laptop one last time. Nothing on Greg’s List tonight. No new work this time. Fine; this would have to be one of this difficult quiet evenings. He closed the laptop with a sigh, grabbing his keys before stepping to his door with a cap atop matted, auburn hair and his face obscured behind a surgical mask.

A walk would do him good. Hopefully.

He walked a few blocks, at first, his uneven steps carrying him farther and farther along the pavement. A few blocks became a kilometer. A kilometer became two. He stopped only to eat; as much as he found himself annoyed by many aspects of Christbolian culture, he had to admit he quite liked the street food in Weltholm. Then, he kept walking, just wandering along the streets and watching the city live its life around him. It was far better than remembering. Even then, sometimes it felt as though he could hear screams shattering the peace.

He stopped. There it was, again. He picked his head up and listened. Faintly, down a narrow side street, he could hear a voice. That was no memory; a woman was calling for help, her voice too muffled and distant for most to hear. He heard. He glanced around for the briefest of moments, then bolted down the side street, his limp forgotten. The narrow street led between commercial buildings whose businesses were closed on a Sunday night. The street was unlit but for a single motion-activated floodlight over a small loading dock at the back of one of the businesses. The garage-style door had been slid open, and he could make out a pair of figures inside, though the woman’s screams had, rather worryingly, died down, replaced by the occasional moan and whimper.

The air was heavy with the scent of iron, and it was plain to see why when he bolted up onto the loading ledge. A young woman was, indeed, in distress in the small loading bay, held in the muscled arms of a tall, pale-skinned man. He head was cocked to the side, her blood pooling on the concrete below her as the man’s head was buried in the crook of her neck, making a horrid, wet noise.

What the fuck? The man paused in confusion and disgust, looking down at the blood before lunging forward. He grabbed the pale man by his arm and the top of his head, pulling back. The pale man whirled around, shoving him away forcefully with one arm. The woman crumbled to the concrete in a pool of her own blood, and the pale man just glared at him with eyes that gleamed red, blood smeared across his mouth. He was taller than the red-haired man, his larger frame imposing even without the blood and the eerie, red eyes.

“Who the fuck–!?” The pale man sneered at the interloper before lunging. His speed was uncanny, a blur of motion across the concrete.

The first blow came far quicker than expected. He struck out like an animal, throwing a crushing punch at the red-haired man's head. The interloper blocked the hook, but only barely, and the pale man pressed the attack, wrenching the man's head to the side and biting at the side of his neck. His teeth had barely had time to puncture skin when a knee collided with his midsection. A hand pushed his head back, before the knee connected with his ribs again. The world spun as his legs swept out from under him, and he felt concrete slam into his back, the red-haired man kneeling over him.

The red-haired man glared down at him, the flesh on his neck slowly beginning to knit itself back together as a trickle of blood reached his shirt. His surgical mask and hat had come off in the exchange, uncovering his matted, auburn hair and rough stubble.

Was he… drinking her blood? He thought to himself. Did he just try to drink my blood!?

“What the fuck…?” The pale man stammered, angrily, brow furrowing as he noticed the man's bleeding seem to staunch itself.

“What are you?” The red-haired man growled the question, his accent something totally unfamiliar. The pale man didn't reply except by wrestling the interloper off of him, his uncanny strength giving him just enough leverage to break free.

“I'm not telling you shit!” The pale man spat.

The red-haired man frowned. This one wasn't trained, but he was strong and agile. He couldn't afford to play around. The pale man came at him again, anger driving unnatural strength, but the red-haired man wouldn't be surprised this time. His body tensed, muscles driving him into an explosion of motion. The pale man assaulted him with what should have been crushing blows, only for this newcomer to duck and flow around him, blocking devastating punches and sending him reeling with immaculately placed knee and elbow strikes.

The man struck blow after blow, but this… thing simply refused to stay down. Any other man would have been left in a coma long ago, but whoever–or whatever–this was seemed either too stupid or too stubborn to understand when it was fighting a losing battle. And to leave it running free to prey on others…

The man reached under his jacket, drawing a long fighting knife he'd kept concealed there as the pale man rushed him one last time. He sprang aside, deflecting one last punch before kicking the side of the thing's knee. The pale man's leg buckled sideways, his joint cracking. He howled in pain, struggling to stay on his feet before a steel blade drove between his ribs.

If head trauma wouldn't slow it down, maybe a knife to the heart would.

The loading bay had exploded into violence the moment the man laid a hand on the woman's attacker. Only 47 seconds later, the pale man collapsed on the concrete, black blood oozing from his chest as he gasped and moaned, falling silent moments later. The red-haired man just frowned, wiping the curiously-dark blood from his knife with his opponent's pant leg.

Sheathing his knife, he looked around, collecting his mask and cap. The woman was lying on the floor, unmoving, her clothing soaked in her own blood. Two puncture wounds were clearly visible along the side of her throat, but they no longer gushed blood. He crouched beside her, avoiding stepping in any of her blood. He reached out to check for signs of life, but stopped short.

“Just one more you couldn't save, Marcus?” asked the figure watching from the dark alley. Marcus didn't look; he didn't need to look. He knew there wasn't anyone there. But he still remembered the strangely metallic timbre of those synthetic vocal cords.

“When will you learn not to bother, brother?” the figure asked.

Marcus didn't answer. He just sighed, then pulled his hand back. There was no saving her. He couldn't risk leaving even more of a trail, and he couldn't get himself involved with the authorities.

He turned, instead, to the other body. The pale man had stopped moving, his dark ichor pooling on the concrete. Marcus searched his pockets. His phone must have gotten lost somewhere in the scuffle, and there was no time to linger searching for it. He cursed under his breath, but found the man's wallet, instead. He flipped through it, finding his ID and a business card for some place called the Feathered Jester, with a date written on the back. 9 April… Tomorrow.

Marcus pocketed the ID and the business card. He feared there was work to he done. He set about spraying at any spots of his own blood with a small spray bottle of bleach that he kept on him, then turned to leave.

“All right, Lauri,” he muttered, disappearing into the dark with his same limp as before, “Let's see what you were going to do at the Feathered Jester.”

It seemed this night wasn't so quiet, after all.

---

9 April, 2030 hours
The Feathered Jester
Marcus had scouted the exterior of the building for hours. Countless individuals had entered, and security seemed tight. Try as he might, he simply couldn't find a way in without having to kick the door down, and he simply wasn't equipped for that.

He wasn't in Syria, anymore. Anyway, if there were more of those things inside… He couldn't risk going off half-cocked. He just kept running through his thoughts again and again.

That thing… Someone is engineering vampires, now? He wondered, trying to reason out why anyone would even want that. None of it made sense, but if a new project was setting vampires loose, whether deliberately or not, he wanted to know about it.

“You're shouldering the burden of reining in the world's science projects, now, brother?” the figure mocked. Marcus didn't answer.

Suddenly, he heard a sharp, metallic crash from a nearby alleyway. He crept to the corner, looking down and seeing some kind of vent knocked open, and a woman climbing out into the night air. He couldn't place it, but… she looked oddly familiar.

He caught a flash of red in the corner of her eye, then, and it struck him.

She was in church yesterday…

That pale woman popped into his mind. Her eye had the same, red glint as the one in the pale man's eyes. Was she like him? It was far too soon to make contact, but as he started to follow behind the woman from a distance, he reasoned that she might be his key to understanding what was going on.

[Union of Krastovian Socialist Republics]

The Signal

Vechnost Signals Station #111, Vechnost, Byalo Prerazhdane, UKSR

April 14th, 02:26 AM



“Ekaterina. Please listen!”

“Shut up, Ivanovich! I am so close to cracking it—don’t you see it?!”

Mishka Ivanovich stepped back, staring at the madness scribbled across every slate surface in the room. German words, sprawling columns of figures, and intersecting lines covered the chalkboards. Since the first transmission arrived in late March, Ekaterina had transformed the station chamber into a web of diagrams. When the boards filled, she moved to paper notes, and when the notes ran out, she took a ladder to the plaster walls, covering all fourteen feet of height from floor to ceiling.

He looked at her. Deep sockets framed her green eyes, magnified behind thick, round spectacles that belonged on an aging headmaster rather than a twenty-eight-year-old operator. Her light brown hair hung in frayed strands. Chalk dust coated her jawline, and ink stains blackened the cuffs of her white coat. She needed sleep, but her body remained locked in motion.

“Please Ekaterina, I know how much this matters to you but you need to rest. The signals will still be there tomorrow I am sure. We make a record of every transmission, and we have other signal stations working on these signals as well, collecting them and documenting their contents, but you are the only one so fixed on cracking them. Why do you not let our state cryptologists do the work?”

“Because they do not know the time limit, Ivanovich! Ragh!” She spun around and slammed her clipboard into his chest.

Ivanovich caught the board against his ribs. He looked it over, and it was a bunch of nonsense at first. Then he started seeing some pattern to it, she was cracking it.

“If these Kraut eating bastards have any sense, they will alter their codes soon,” she said, her chest heaving as she gestured toward the wall map of Markion. Red grease-pencil dots clustered across the border regions—rough estimates, nothing concrete. “That means we have a window of opportunity to at least crack them once. If we can crack them one time and retranslate all of the signals we have received, and any future ones we have before they change their codes, we can act on that information. If the world is at war with these Kravenites then we need to find a way to beat them, how are you going to beat a man when you are fucking blindfolded Ivanovich! Tell me! I’m all ears!”

Ivanovich looked at her, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Ekaterina, why are you doing this to yourself?”

There was a long pause as he looked at her backside.

“Because I want purpose.”

“Purpose?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” She said, a bitter sting on her lips. Ivanovich sighed.

“Alright. I’m leaving then. Again, for the tenth day in a row, at two in the morning. If you want to continue to be cooped up here be my guest Ekaterina, but you won’t have a purpose if you kill yourself over this… this… madness.” He spoke as he swung his arms wide open around the room to all the scribbles and scratches.

He turned and began to make his way out, when there was a single chime from all things, the Wirephoto Receiver. It began spinning, and would take eight minutes. Ekaterina moved to the headphones instinctively. Ivanovich stood and watched as she scrounged a single unmarked piece of paper and began writing down the numbers. He walked over to her, and stood just over her shoulder as she wrote.

6, 13, 10, 2, 22, 4, 9, 24, 10, 10, 10

It was just a couple of numbers. It repeated two more times. She wrote down each instance. Not one number was changed.

“This… I couldn’t ask for anything better.” She stood up, and rushed over to a portion of the wall that was unmarked. Ivanovich saw it now, she had made an entire substitution key of numbers trying to guess what they correlated to, before finally reaching a letter. No number exceeded twenty six.

“But… Ekaterina they have to have scrambled it several times. Surely there's…”

But then he saw her write out letters.

fmjb vdix jjj

It was gibberish to anyone who didn’t have a single idea how cryptology worked, but to Ekaterina she saw something in there.

“So close… So very close, Ivanovich.” She muttered, as she reached for a typewriter looking box attached to a console.

“Did you… Make that too?” Ivanovich asked.

“Yes I did. I have done trial and error on hundreds if not thousands of signals by this point. The smaller they are the easier they are to crack. This one’s been the shortest yet.” Her fingers struck the plastic keys of the console as the typewriter looking thing began moving. Brass discs spun into motion, rotors clicking as they swapped alignment. It was an unlabelled mechanism—a custom array of gears and electrical contacts that defied standard military inventory. He didn’t have a name for it and she was far too busy to make one. It was nothing but an enigma to him. Dozens more clicks and spinning rotors, rings being swapped out in place of others, until at last, something.

There was a ‘ding’ from the Wirephoto receiver as the drum completed its final rotation.

“Ivanovich please go grab that for me.” She muttered as she continued to clack away. He walked over and with care, removed the photo from the machine. It retained a faint warmth against his fingers as he carried it over to her. She snatched it and taped it to the corner of the console, not bothering to look at it just yet.

The rotors clicked to a halt as the two watched the letters on the console flicker, descending down the alphabet before stopping, illuminating a single line of decoded text:

Kleiner Rabe

“There! Yes!” Ekaterina threw her hands above her head and let out a harsh, rasping laugh that echoed off the high walls. She paced across the mess of a concrete tiled floor, kicking up strewn papers and empty water bottles, her boots crunching over crackers and wrappers that she hadn’t cleaned up. “I’ve finally fucking done it! Yes!”

Ivanovich looked at the console, the green text illuminated at the very bottom.

Ivanovich leaned over the console, staring at the green glow. “What does it mean?”

She paused her little victory lap around the paper strewn floor, and snatched a Krastovian-Acadic translation book off the floor. Though the book was meant to be used for translating Arcadian-Acadic transmissions, it was equally useful in translating German ones. She flew through the pages with a couple multi-colored sticky notes sticking out of it, two red ones in her hand as she flipped and flipped and- “Here. ‘Little’.” She paused as she wrote it down on the note and stamped it on the top of the page before going to the words that started with ‘R’.

“Raven.” She spoke as she put the second note on the top of the other page.

“Little Raven?” Ivanovich questioned. But the numbers on the bottom of the photograph matched the signal. The photo was a black and white one of a woman. She was looking at whoever had taken the picture. She had black hair, white skin, and dark eyes. Neither of them knew what she was wearing or carrying, but Ekaterina could not care any less, she was overjoyed.

“Finally, I can go home and sleep soundly knowing I have achieved something today.”

Ivanovich made a sigh of relief. “Good. Perhaps I should get the governor prefect to look over this. She would be pleased with your work.”

“Yes! Please do. Anything, anything to keep me going Ivan.” She embraced him, though he did not reciprocate the hug very seriously. She reeked of body odor and… weeks of whatever she had been doing obsessing over all of this. He patted her on the back, and that was enough.

“Now go home, I will make a copy of the photo and your findings as a preliminary report. She will be expecting a full one later, but this is enough.”

“I will, and thank you Ivan.” She waltzed off, a little pep in her severely exhausted step as she had her car keys in hand. She snatched a cup of sextuple shot espresso coffee, and drank the entire thing before leaving the building. Leaving Ivanovich alone, in her mess of a signal room.

“By the Khans, what possessed her to go this far?” He grabbed the photo, and put it into the copying machine, and printed out a larger copy on a big piece of paper, then five more, just to be sure. He worked a different console to type up a small report sheet, and had copies of it made as well, before he too left the signals station. He flicked the lights off, and let the small base descend into darkness.



Governor Prefects Office, Vechnost, Byalo Prerazhdane, UKSR

April 14th, 03:10 AM



He stepped through the tall doors of the office, escaping the frigid wind outside. It wasn’t going to get warmer until the end of May and even then, the ground would never defrost even if the snow melted away. Once inside, he took off his heavy officer's coat and hung it on one of the brass racks provided by the entrance. He crossed the threshold and made his way to the secretariat's desk.

It never got easier to look into their eyes. Those damn engineers and technicians, who had learned from the Christbolians, and the other advanced nations of Markion. Why is it that they decided that these constructs, these, human-like things, were a forward step for the union and its people?

The unit before him bore the face of a young woman—complete with very real feeling synthetic hair, painted red eyeliner, and horizontal seam lines where the facial plates met—yet its movements lacked human inertia. Its body and form beyond the face was simplified in design, allowing for modifications and augments. Most android forms had curves, even the ones that had bolts on armor plates, but still they irked him. This unit, much like all of the others, possessed mechanical human-like hands that were always gloved, but its lower limbs ended in narrow, ankle-less steel pegs that tapped against the black marble floor with a hollow tink-tink as it shifted weight. How these things kept balance perplexed him.

This one was designed for busy-work. Paper filing, small light duties, nothing major, and by being a friendly face. Even if they wore eyeliner and had some semblance of personality, he could not see them as anything but machines. Its eyes looked up from what it was doing as he approached the desk, the soft glow from the brass and green iris' serving to further separate man from machine.

“Mr. Ivanovich,” the unit said. Its voice carried a cheerful, yet manufactured warmth. “How may I assist you?”

“Miss Radina, I have a preliminary report from Signals Station #111. Ekaterina came through with something. It isn’t part of her job I know, but she would not take no for an answer and felt that time was of the essence.” He put the green folder before the unit. It looked down through it, taking its mechanical fingers and rustling through each paper and copy, before returning the contents to the folder.

“Thank you Mr. Ivanovich, would you like me to take you to the Governor Prefect so that you may discuss this with her? Or would you wish to make a full report in person when it is forthcoming?”

“The latter, please. I need some sleep. I have been awake for far too long just trying to keep Ekaterina in good health.”

“I understand. I will take this report to her myself then, have a good night's sleep Mr. Ivanovich.” The unit offered a symmetry-perfect smile as it waved him off. He waved back as he made his way back beyond the threshold and took his coat. He took a deep breath and went outside to his car.

-

Radina, the Governor-Prefects personal secretary, made her way down the central corridor toward the high arches of the main chamber. Each step produced a sharp, rhythmic click against the black marble flagstones.

Where Radina was built to human proportions, Arkadiya stood eight feet tall—an administrative command unit constructed to project absolute authority over the closed city of Vechnost. Her frame featured a built in armored chestplate, and three red diamonds across her brow. They looked as if they were painted, as they did not protrude from her forehead. There had been considerations in the UKSR when they were designing these units to turn them into warforms, but there was massive kickback against doing so, with minimal concessions for armor plates given only because value of each individual unit themselves. Each unit was for either for an administrative purpose, or filled out a security role to lessen the burden on the city’s overall security force. Arkadiya was worth millions in Krastovian Levan alone, perhaps a billion.

“Governor Prefect,” Radina said, stopping five paces short of the large desk. “A dispatch from Station #111. Miss Ekaterina has decoded an encrypted radio transmission.”

Arkadiya rose from her seat. Her shadow stretched across the wall, swallowing Radina in dark relief. Her joints moved with a heavy, hydraulic hum as she stepped forward, her blue-and-gold ocular lenses focusing on the folder.

“She has outperformed our official cryptoanalysts.” Her voice was like a low note of a cello, deep but smooth and mature. She began to pace the chamber. Anyone who had never seen her before would be impressed with her movement, as every step she took looked natural. Radina followed the pacing giant.

“Tell me little sparrow, what is it you make of this woman in this image?” Arkadiya asked as she held out the enlarged photo with her blackened steel fingers.

“The anatomy matches human parameters, ma'am. But her eyes and skin, even in a black and white form, do not appear natural in their hue.”

“Do you think she is like us?” Arkadiya asked as she stopped pacing. She looked down to Radina, her golden and blue eyes meeting the green and brass ones Radina had.

“No ma’am. I think she is something different, biological. I don’t know the term for it. Do you think she could-”

“Help?” The three red diamonds on Arkadiya’s forehead became clearer as they radiated a faint red glow for a brief moment. She considered the possibility, the situation, the… incident.

“Get a Condor to find them and stalk them. I must know if they are capable of undertaking this… plight of mine.” Arkadiya brought her empty left hand to her armored chest. It was a human gesture she had seen many times, and had begun to copy their habits more and more the longer she persisted.

“I will get Condor-Six, Governor Prefect.” She gave a salute before leaving the chamber to the tall, and now moody giant. She paced back and forth, looking at the image of the woman. She looked at those eyes, those dark eyes on the black and white photo.

“Little Raven they call you.” She pondered the woman, wondering what her name was, why she was so important to this unknown quantity beyond the northern ice sheets. The transmission records that went along with the report gave her an indication that the signal had come from within Markion itself, not outside. She brushed her dark steel thumb across the shoulder of the woman, wishing for a name, a sign, anything to know where to find her.

The diamonds on her brow radiated once more as she searched through the UKSR’s intelligence agency’s databases. In twenty seven seconds she processed 5.6 billion photographs and video stills across street cameras that were publicly available on the outside internet, and video systems that the UKSR had planted in critical locations.

She found one image, a still from a video taken in Christbol eleven days prior at Zeleke-Esra International Airport in Weltholm. The footage was logged as being taken from Crow-292, a realistic crow lookalike with a camera lense. It had been activated by Condor-Four who happened to be taking a flight to Seveville as part of a routine insertion operation to assess their nations martial strength. There she was, stepping off an aircraft while being guarded by a ring of men in olive green uniforms, with matching red-white-black patches. All of them were wearing black berets with the same patch. The details of the still were not good enough to read anything on the patch, but that was fine. All that mattered was that she knew where this agent of interest was.

“You are no little Raven-” Arkadiya mused, “You are a great Osprey, just what I need.”

[Raltirian Denethier]

Two in a Billion

Near the Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

11th April, 1000 hours

As far as work was concerned, he'd been hit by a bus and wouldn't be coming in to work for some time. Marcus had more important things to do than maintain his cover at an auto-shop. This was serious, and he needed time. At this rate, he might find himself needing to uproot and move on, again. He needed to make some calls, arrange for transportation, forge documents…

But all of that could wait.

He'd followed that woman the other night. It was difficult to stay on her tail, at times, but he stayed on her as long as he could. She'd gone back to the Monastery of Saint Luke the Evangelist. What could lead her back to a monastery, of all places, he couldn't fathom, but that was where the trail led him.

He'd lingered as close as he could to the monastery that night, for at least another hour. There was nothing obvious, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something going on in that compound. But what?

He'd spent the next day finding himself a perch somewhere. He needed to keep an eye out and see what he could spot without getting too close to Saint Luke's. He had been fortunate to find a multi-storey of one sort or another that had fallen into some disrepair. Many of its units were occupied, but much of the upper floor was vacant. Perfect. It hadn't been all too much trouble to work his way in from the fire escape in an alleyway, and from there, he set about moving some hardware over during the night.

The space he'd chosen, on the corner of the building facing the monastery, had a decent line of sight to where he'd seen the pale woman enter the previous night. He'd covered the windows with thick curtains, leaving one uncovered just enough for a spotter's scope to peek through, observing the monastery compound from afar.

Now, that morning, as the sun cast its light on the front of the compound, Marcus was sure he was on the right track. Something was going on.

He watched through his spotter's scope, eating a cold meal from an MRE pouch, as the occasional vehicle entered or left, usually an unmarked truck. He couldn't get a good angle in any of the interior courtyards, but there was *far* too much activity for a single monastery, by his estimation.

But then, maybe Tuesday was just when they restocked the kitchen. Without more information, he couldn't be sure. He had to keep watching.

2010 hours

Chips crunched as he chewed.

The monastery was quiet. It had been since midday. Or rather, it had been quieter. Marcus had had time to return home twice during the day, first in the late morning and again in the mid-afternoon. He'd furnished his small nest further, with a CB radio by the window he was looking out of. He'd placed a bed roll on the floor in the corner. He'd brought his laptop too, and a few weapons, just in case.

But now, the sun had already set. He kept scanning the exterior of the monastery. He was fortunate that his eyes could out enough even in the dark, but there was nothing to see. The activity he'd watched earlier in the day seemed to have subsided and never resumed.

His bag of chips crackled as he tossed it aside, cracking open a can of beans.

Eventually, the police chatter on his CB radio picked up. Dispatchers mentioned something about an incident at the Kaana Kosela National Theater. Before long, news outlets picked up the story. Apparently, some kind of terrorist attack had taken place. There was mention of gunfire, hostages, and multiple fatalities…

No, that wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't be, surely.

The question was, was that pale woman with the terrorists? After some time, the return of multiple vehicles to the monastery suggested differently. This, by itself, confirmed, in his mind, that something was going on in that compound; that was far too much traffic in the middle of the night just to serve a bunch of monks.

OK then, he reasoned, if these people are involved, are they terrorists? If they mounted some failed operation, I can't imagine they would be returning alive…

So, ‘security forces,’ then. Maybe.

One part just didn't fit. If this group had mounted a secretive operation of a type that local authorities were willing to cover up, what sort of group could it be that would both use a monastery as a staging area and employ some kind of vampiric super-soldier? Was that pale man an escaped specimen? Was that woman part of a group trying to clean up its own mess? It just didn't make sense.

13th April, 0930 hours

There she was, again.

Marcus watched the video feed from the small quadcopter drone he'd launched from the fire escape in back. It was nothing special, just something he'd brought back to his new perch between naps, meals, and monitoring the monastery. He'd painted it grey-blue to avoid catching the eye, and jerry-rigged it with as much additional battery capacity as it could handle. He'd finally dared to fly close enough to the monastery to take a peek into the inner courtyard. There was definitely something going on in there.

Marcus took another spoonful of his rice and beans, watching as that same woman stepped into a green jeep, wearing a neat, olive uniform. She seemed to be accompanied by a younger man with brown hair. He couldn't see much detail from that distance, but he'd found his mark. He piloted the drone away from the monastery, letting it hover at a safe distance while he turned to the spotter's scope in his window. He shoveled down another spoonful, watching as the jeep rolled out from the front entrance.

He followed, flying his drone as close as he dared for as long as he could before interference from the city made flying farther infeasible. He brought the drone back in, making a note of the vehicle. They seemed to be moving in the direction of the embassy district, although there were plenty of other locations that the same route might lead them. For the moment, he reasoned they might be foreigners, if they were headed for an embassy, but there were, as yet, too many unresolved questions to make any judgments.

He made a mental note to look into improving the range of his drone's antenna for interference-heavy environments, but that would have to wait.

For now, he had to figure out how to track that woman when she went out into town. He had a vehicle he could look for; that was a start.

---

Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

14th April, 08:45 AM



Josephine stepped out into the parking lot of the monastery. She was wearing her usual white shirt and black dress pants, with sunglasses. Black dress shoes and socks, no hat or cap today. James was beside her, wearing a buttoned blue long sleeve shirt and matching black dress pants. They made their way to the exit and turned right, making their way down the street.

“Where are we going today Jo?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking about the coffee shop two blocks down.”

“Let's do that then. I wonder what other kinds of tea they have.”

“The last time we went there you had coffee.” She said.

“Yeah but I'm just not feeling it. I don’t really need coffee, I just need something nice.” He turned to look at her. Her cheeks grew rosey as she cast a sidelong glance.

“You’re getting too good at pressing my buttons.” She couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s what you want to hear. I'm more than happy to make sure you hear it.” James smiled.

-

Marcus shoveled the last of the oatmeal into his mouth. He'd managed to get some sleep on the bed roll laid out on the floor, then washed up and had some breakfast while he resumed his observation of the monastery. Two figures walked out in front of the compound, one woman and one man.

Yes, it was her. There was little mistaking it. She seemed to be with the same man she had been with in the jeep the day before. Was this one a handler? A partner?

Marcus moved away from the window. He was about to find out. He made for the fire escape at the back of the building, descending into the alleyway below. He wore a light ballistic vest concealed under his shirt and jacket–he didn't intend to need it, but it was better to have it on hand. The familiar weight of a firearm rested behind his waist, concealed under his jacket, along with the knife he'd used to kill the pale man several days ago.

He had no intention of picking a fight, but Marcus knew how trouble preferred to find its way to him.

He kept his distance from the couple, moving only close enough to avoid losing them. He didn't end up having to follow them very far, though, as they soon turned to walk into the nearby coffee shop, On the Grind. He lingered outside for some time, not wanting to pursue them too closely.

-

After stepping inside, they looked around for seating.

“I don’t see much. This place is packed.” James said.

“I see one, the empty corner booth in the back. See it?” She pointed, and it took him a moment after looking over someone's shoulder.

“Oh yeah I see it. You go claim it before someone else does, what did you want?” He got his wallet out from his pocket and had a mix of Stallenbourgian, Southwaterian, and Christbolian bills and coinage. He pulled out five ‘Christcoins’, they were valued at a hundred each, enough to cover the two teas.

“The Camomile Flower Tea.”

“Alright, I’ll just get english. If they don’t have that, maybe a green tea.”

“Okay, I’ll be waiting.” She walked off to the booth and sat down. She looked around and saw people virtually glued to smartphones, watching videos or face-to-face calling people. These were the moments she wished her hearing wasn’t that great as the constant drone and chatter of everyone bothered her. Everywhere they went in Christbol there were people, and tons of them. Every street, every store, every bathroom, every park, every building; people people and more people. Virgins were so prevalent wherever she went that it was hard not to smell them.

“I remember why we only came here one time now.” She sighed. But she did like being out, it was better than sitting in the Monastery, and even when she was home at the Estate she had plenty of opportunities to go out. But dense city life in Christbol was getting to her. It was too busy compared to Linbourg or Malia. Not even Stallenbourg City with twenty five million people living in its borders was this dense. It doesn’t help that she saw that stupid fake bird again sitting on the balcony railing this morning, and she almost threw a kitchen knife through the glass door just to make it go away.

It wasn’t long before James walked over with the tea and put hers down on the table. He sat on the outside of the booth and she sat on the inside right next to him. After he did, the voices and commotion in the building faded away from her hearing, as she leaned on him.

“Thank you honey.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled. It was going to be a nice day.

-

Marcus finally opened the door and stepped inside. The coffee shop was packed; such was life in the big city. The line was long, and he noticed the woman's younger companion waiting several places ahead of him in the queue. Perfect. They weren't going anywhere. He just waited in line, watching the pair discreetly and taking note of the various patrons milling about the shop, taking drinks to tables, scrolling on phones, or chatting with friends and significant others.

He hoped that an encounter in a public place would avoid unnecessary escalation. He wasn't sure exactly whose side the pair was on in all of this–Marcus wasn't yet certain what “all of this” even was--and he didn't need to be starting fights for no reason.

The man paid for his drinks and walked toward the corner booth where the pale woman was already seated.

“Just one medium coffee, black, please. Thanks.” Marcus ordered when he finally reached the counter. He gave the cashier a polite smile as he handed over his payment, but he was more preoccupied trying to catch glimpses of the couple--were they a real couple–out of the corner of his eye.

He kept his wallet out long enough to pull out a single card as he walked, with his coffee, toward the back of the shop. He avoided eye contact, pretending to be heading elsewhere until the last moment.

“Hey, sorry I'm late.” He said, innocently, entirely for the benefit of others, as he took the liberty of sitting down opposite the woman and her younger companion. He hadn't even settled into the seat before dropping the card onto the table in front of the pair.

It was the ID of Lauri, the pale man he'd encountered and, as far as he knew, killed the previous Sunday. A single droplet of dried blood was still smeared across the card, where Marcus had neglected to fully clean it off.

“Do you know this man? I'm hoping you can answer some questions for me.” Marcus looked mostly at the woman. That ivory complexion was unmistakable; she was just like the pale man…

-

Josephine was almost startled as the man sat down across from them, and so casually as if he had practiced this before. The card sat before her and James, but she didn’t look at it first.

She took in the man's details first. Average length hair, erring on the short side, an auburn color. Lean build but he had to be wearing something under his clothes. Maybe 5’8” or 5’9” in height, early twenties but something about that didn’t match his complexion. She could smell gun oil, so he was armed. But it was his eyes and his scent that perplexed her most. They were grey, and his scent was so… unique. He wasn’t a virgin, but there was something else in there, something unnatural; chemical even. She narrowed her eyes as she gripped Jame’s hand from under the table.

Taking a glance out to the rest of the shop, nobody else was any the wiser as to what was going on in the booth. She turned her eyes to regard the card. The black blotch of dried vampire blood on it tells her more about the person before her than anything else. She returned her gaze to the man's grey eyes, her own crimson eyes emitting a soft glow now, as she took off her sunglasses and rested them on the table.

“So you’re the reason why he was recovering in his apartment when I killed him.”

Marcus's eyes narrowed, taken by surprise.

“I'm not sure what you're playing at, but he was dead when I left him with a broken leg and a knife through the heart,” he insisted. Inwardly, his mind started working at figuring out what this could mean. If she was claiming to have killed the man, did that mean she was acting against whatever had been unleashed on the world? Was she just trying to throw him off?

“Look,” he continued, before she or James could answer, “I know he wasn't just a regular person. One of yours, I take it?”

He nodded toward Josephine, noting her pale skin and the crimson gleam in her eye.

“Somebody's lab experiment gone wrong, perhaps?” Marcus cocked his head, glancing between the two of them.

Josephine looked to James, and they both shared a glance. Josephine turned back to the newcomer;

“You didn’t kill him. If you did he wouldn’t have made it back to his apartment. You hit the heart but you didn’t use silver. That’s why he got back up. His body reknit itself after losing too much blood, and he probably got back to the apartment where Minna was waiting. Minna was his soon-to-be draculina, if that clears something up.” She paused, looking out at the shop again just to be sure.

“He was no lab experiment, and neither am I. What makes the difference is what side we are on. You on the other hand. You are an experiment, aren’t you?” She wore an expressionless face, speaking plainly but softly so she couldn’t be heard from afar.

Marcus blinked. His body reknit itself? He'd dealt a lethal blow and the guy just… got up later?

Huh… So that's what that feels like.

“He was clearly vampiric, but… Silver? Draculina?” Marcus studied both of them across the table. “Are you suggesting he was an actual vampire?”

“I am.” In that moment she let the glow of her eyes speak for themselves. “Vampires are real, so are many other things. But that is why my organization is… or well, was here. I shouldn’t be speaking so plainly about this to someone who we don’t know, but you not only ran into one, but you survived, and you don’t smell like a normal human to me. I would only want to know if I can trust you to stay quiet about what you have heard or seen. Or…” She brought her cup of tea closer to her lips before saying.

“Perhaps you are looking for more answers?” She took a deep sip, the tea was naturally rich in iron substrates.

Marcus wasn't quite sure, yet, whether he bought her explanation, but he couldn't read any lie in her tone, for all that mattered in his world.

“Well, if he wasn't dead, then I can at least say I survived, yes.” He thought for a moment. “If these things are going to be out hurting people, then I suppose I mean to kill them when I find them. Is that what your people were up to at the theater? Killing monsters?”

“And no, I suppose I'm not what your friend would regard as ‘normal’,” he conceded, referring to James, “but I am human.”

That had touched a nerve, as much as Marcus would never want to admit it.

Josephine could tell from his tone and speech that she hit something in him.

“I mean no offense in what I say. I wish I could say I was a ‘normal’ human myself, as much as I try.” She gripped James’ hand a little tighter in the moment. “But yes, my organization has an expertise in hunting and killing vampires. We were helping the… local christbolian forces in neutralizing all of the vampires in the country that night at the theater. It was a stroke of luck that we got all of them. There are none left in the country now. Well, except for me I guess.” She gave a wry smile.

Marcus nodded. So they were with the security forces that night.

“I suppose that was lucky. You have my congratulations, then. But I suspect that particular problem isn't contained yet, is it? It can't have just been a local problem, otherwise I wouldn't be speaking to two foreign operatives.”

Marcus hadn't actually heard James speak clearly, yet, but it seemed logical to assume that his accent, too, would be from elsewhere.

“You either know more than you think you do, or you are really good at guessing.” Josephine said as she rested the teacup back down on its small plate.

“Our work is done here, but we will be leaving in a few days to go to another country. We have a few leads on where we can find more of them.” She looked around the shop one more time.

“You noticed how dense Christbolian life is here in Weltholm I take it?” She asked.

“Hard not to notice,” Marcus answered, finally taking a sip of his coffee. “People everywhere. But then, that makes it easy to hide, if you know how. I won't say I'm not tired of the crowds, though.”

He set the coffee down again.

“If I wasn't good at guessing, I'd be dead by now. But then, I was lucky to run into you at the Feathered Jester.”

He looked at James for a moment, studying him, but said nothing.

“You weren’t there. So…” She tried to recall, doing her best to avoid thinking about what happened there. No he had to have seen her later.

“You’re quite the perceptive one.” A true smile crossed her features, her teeth showing a little more.

“Sorry if I'm intruding but, what's your name?” James asked as he brought his right hand up and away from Josephines, and held it out across the table.

Marcus could see the wheels turning in Josephine's head and allowed himself a slight smile.

“No, I wasn't inside. I caught you on your way out.”

Marcus glanced at James as he extended a hand, then took it slowly. He thought for a moment. What would he say? Should he just use his cover name, the same as he used for everything else in Christbol?

“Marcus,” he decided, finally. “Just Marcus. And you?”

“James.” He answered. He broke off the handshake as Josephine brought her hand up as well.

“And I am Josephine.” She took Marcus’ hand, and she couldn’t feel any serious underlying strength in his grip, though she made sure he knew how strong she was.

“James… and Josephine,” Marcus echoed. He shook Josephine's hand, in turn, with the same grip he'd used for James. Her grip was markedly stronger than the other man's, unsurprisingly.

If her grip is stronger, should I… Well, I suppose I don't want to give her a limp handshake.

Marcus's grip grew firmer in Josephine's hand, not in any challenging way–at least, not that he had intended–just as seemed appropriate in the moment.

“It's been a while since I've met anyone else…” Like me? “...different.”

“I can’t imagine it's a frequent occurrence.” Josephine said as she brought her hand back.

“I mean, just look at where we are. A billion people live in this country. And yet, you went looking for the second needle in that haystack.” She smiled.

“So. I guess just to ask but. What do you want? Or you know, what are you looking for?” James asked this time, starting to get the flow of the conversation now that the tension had all but dissipated.

Marcus thought for a moment. That was always a question that eluded him. What was the point? Was he really that content cleaning up someone else's messes?

“Well,” he started, “I assumed our mutual friend, Lauri, was the result of some genetic project. If that had gotten off its leash… I suppose I have a personal connection to that kind of thing.”

“I have to imagine, though, that wherever they come from, I'm bound to run into them again. I wouldn't have much choice but to kill them when I find them. Or try, at any rate.”

Marcus ran a hand through his hair and took another drink from his coffee.

“I thought you were connected; I just didn't know how.”

“Well, now you do. Our organization hunts them down, and kills them. Under normal circumstances we wouldn't even be in Markion. But I was brought along as a guard for a very important diplomatic mission. That summit, I'm sure you heard, didn’t go to plan. Then James and the rest were brought here after some agreements were made. And we started doing what we do best. We have a lot of ground to cover, and the worst part is we're not here just for vampires in general. Were looking for ones connected to an ally of the Kraven. But I can’t say more, not yet at least.” Josephine said as she brought her hand up at the final comments. There was only so much she could reveal without compromising their mission, even if Marcus appeared promising.

“Are you looking for work by chance?” She asked.

Marcus looked at her, cocking his head. He hadn't expected an offer, though it was work to which he was far better suited than hiding away at an auto-shop.

“Can your people secure documents for me to pick up and move elsewhere when this is all said and done? It's a pain in the ass to take care of myself, to be frank,” Marcus replied, honestly. “But you have my attention. No civilians, though. I won't touch civilians.”

He leaned forward, setting his coffee on the table in front of him. He wasn't sure why he was still bothering to drink it; it wasn't as though the caffeine was doing anything for him in that quantity.

“Our organization does not ever intend to harm civilians. Collaborators, co-conspirators, allies of enemies sure, but we seek to protect the innocent, not to harm them. I am sure Massena can get you any documentation you will need. Perhaps even, Miss Belvere herself might have something to say when you get to meet her yourself. But that would have to come later.” She paused, and finished her tea.

“Under normal conditions, I would not be seeking to recruit a stranger, but you are not the average stranger. And, were down two men, truth be told. One dead and one injured. The attack on the theater was not a perfect affair. We can guarantee payment every week, room and board wherever we go, and time to relax in between missions. And, you would be one of us. It might help your cover and help you lose any tail you have following you. What do you think?” She brought her hands together and rested them on the table while James sipped his tea.

Marcus looked at her, then at James, and then back to her.

“All right, you have my interest. Do you have the authority to make a deal, or am I to meet with…” Marcus paused, thinking. “...with Massena, first?”

He finished the last of his coffee–he never did develop a taste for the stuff–before setting the empty cup aside.

“I have a few things I'll want to bring along, but if we have a few days left, then I assume that shouldn't be an issue.”

“It depends on what they are, but I doubt you have a lot considering your need to keep moving. It shouldn’t be a problem at all. Massena on the other hand… he’s probably still drinking and partying since he has nothing better to do. I do have the authority over him. I may not have Miss Belvere's full sanction, but she will understand after some explanation I am sure. You survived an attack from a Vampire and put it on the ground for a short period of time, that alone speaks volumes to someone like her.” Josephine said.

Marcus shrugged.

“That’s fair enough. And you’d be right, I don’t have much I can’t stand to part with. Certainly nothing that won’t fit on a truck. You’re all at the monastery then, I take it. Saint Luke’s?”

He didn’t bother to pretend he didn’t know. It was clear, at this point, that he knew enough, and the only logical assumption to make would be that he tracked the pair to the coffee shop because he’d seen them leave the monastery in the first place.

“We are. It has been our base for almost two weeks now. We do our best to blend into civil life but once the real threat is gone we relax, perhaps a bit too much. I can’t blame the others but I try to be a little more self-conscious.” She admitted. Marcus had been watching them, and now that he had admitted it, she had an idea of where he had been this whole time.

“Since James moved into my room, we have had a spare room allocated to us in the Monastery. I don’t see why we couldn’t get you in there. But we will need to get you a uniform, a good cleaning up, a beret, and a haircut. We do have spares so I can’t imagine you don’t fit into one at least. Rifles, grenades, knives, pistols, larger ordinance, name it and we might have it. Either way we can teach you everything you need to know.” She gestured a little as she spoke. James was finishing his tea as he could tell the conversation was coming to a close.

Marcus blinked.

“Hey now, I didn't say anything about a uniform!” He objected, waving a hand. “I've got my own fatigues.”

Getting dressed up for these people? Then again, it's an easy way out of this damn country. If I have to go to mass one more damn time…

“Look, I'll talk to Massena, and you've got yourself a deal, but I'm not promising to wear any damn hat or uniform.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. It's quite a comfortable uniform. You might want to reconsider after we find one your size.” Josephine smiled, it was funny to see him finally squirm a little bit after he had made them both uncomfortable with his interruption of their date.



Monastery of Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol

April 14th, 10:22


Marcus followed the two onto the monastery grounds. He'd noticed the looks he'd gotten from numerous Belvere personnel wondering what kind of drifter Josephine had dragged onto base. He said nothing as Josephine and James led him to his lodgings; he just let them all look. He was accustomed to being met with gunfire. This was a marked improvement.

James opened the door. It wasn’t any different from how he left it, the only difference was that it hadn’t been lived in for a week or so. Apart from that it was a copy of Josephine's room, just like all of the others were.

“Well, there's your new home for the next few days. We will handle any lingering paper trails you might have behind you as I have been told. Otherwise, make yourself at home. If you need anything I think you know where the grocery store is, but I would think it wise to ask one of the others in the unit to go with you in case something does come up.” James said as he held the door open for Marcus. Josephine was going through the temporary storage room looking for the right sizes. It hadn’t taken her too long to figure out what he was once they were leaving the coffee shop just from looking at him.

Marcus followed close behind James, taking in the accommodation. The room looked fine-he didn't need much, anyway–though he found the decor tiresome.

What the fuck was I thinking, volunteering to lodge with a bunch of people in a monastery, of all places? It's just a few days, I suppose…

“Thanks, James. I'll get settled in. Who do I see about a car to grab the rest of my things?” Marcus was straight down to business; if he was going to start moving out, there was no sense in waiting.

“I can take you. One of the jeeps should still be in the parking lot, unless the others took it for joy rides. What else did you need?”

“Not a lot. Just some clothes, personal effects, and tools of the trade, as-it-were.” Marcus thought through what weapons and gear he wanted to bring along with him, and what he wanted to leave behind. He'd arrange for Belvere to send Christbolian officials an anonymous tip so they could find the rest once he was long gone. The workbench and anything heavier would have to stay. That wasn't an issue. He'd set himself up somewhere else wherever he settled down after this business was done with.

“Alright then. Lets go get those real quick-” The two turned and before exiting the room, Josephine appeared with a neatly folded uniform, pair of unused boots, socks, and a beret. She had a big smug grin on her face.

“I want to see you wear it, just once, before I let you go out.” She narrowed her eyes at Marcus.

Marcus stared at her.

“Seriously?” He asked, dryly. “You're making me do this?”

He could tell she wasn't backing down over this, and just sighed.

“Fine, fine. I'll give it a try.”

He grumbled, taking the uniform into the bathroom. Before long, he stepped out, wearing the uniform in its entirety. He just looked at Josephine, wholly unenthusiastic about the new outfit.

“Yes, it fits. Very good,” he observed, “are we done?”

She looked him over, and made a big smile. “Is it comfortable?” She twisted her waist as she spoke. James sat with his arms crossed as he waited. Marcus just glared.

“You're enjoying this, aren't you? It's not uncomfortable. Happy?”

“As I could be.” She turned and made her way down the hall towards her room. “When you get done handling him James, you know where to find me.” The click clack of her shoes grew softer as she got further away.

“Don’t let her get to you too much Marcus, she’s just having a little fun. I'm sure you’ve seen plenty of hazing before. Probably not from a woman like her I would imagine.” He brought his hand up to the back of his neck as he scratched it.

Hazing? Marcus thought for a moment. Not really, as it happens.

“No, I guess not,” he grumbled, dismissively, “Not from a woman like her. Let's just get my things before I change my mind about this whole business.”

He left his beret on his bed and swapped the uniform jacket for his own, just while he was to return to retrieve what he needed. No doubt he'd be expected to wear that whole uniform quite a lot in the coming days.

OOC: Post made in cooperation with Stallenbourg

[Rhastov]

New faces, new places

Zeleke-Esra International Airport, Weltholm, ChristBol

April 21st, 04:03 AM



“Well. I guess this is it.” She turned to Arsi. They were both standing alone as they watched forklifts push pallets onto the camouflage C-17. Then the vehicles were reversed on board, with the MTVR Command Truck first, followed by the M151A2’s. No doubt even in the early hours of the morning, someone would be out there watching them.

“I guess there is no better time than now for introductions.” She shrugged. He nodded in agreement.

“James!” She shouted over to him as he was carrying his gear to the aircraft, his rucksack on his back and rifle in hand. He turned and made his way over to her.

“Hey, uh whats up?”

“Put your stuff down for a second, I want you to meet someone.” She smiled.

James undid the quick-release and dropped the pack, and laid the rifle down on top of it. It of course did not want to stay on the pack and clattered onto the concrete; typical. He ignored it and looked at the OMA Knight Commander before him.

“Hi, I'm James Hark.” He held out his hand.

“Knight Commander Arsi Leino. I would have wanted to talk sooner with you, but I understand you were busy.”

James knew the name from when Josephine had come back from her first meeting with Arsi, shivering and shuddering in his arms. He was hesitant, but knew deep down that this man meant no harm, it was just his nature.

Arsi took James’ hand and they shook, the same blissful feeling that once inhabited itself into Massena traveling into James’ core. It made the situation feel much more mellow than it really had a right to be. James heard through other Belvere troops that their captain stood like a statue describing a handshake that felt like being among clouds, but they were really underselling it - by the time Arsi got a firmer grip it was as if James was a cat shoving its head into a jar topped off with catnip.

“There is a mountain of things I need to thank you for, but in the limited time you both have, I am afraid you will have to wait to hear them all in a different moment.” - Trust emanated from Arsi to James. Arsi understood in part the strength it took for Josephine, like it takes for himself, to cling onto life and good mannered disposition. James was part of that strength for Josephine in her world, and if a little bit of a longer handshake is what helps him keep more composed, then there is a reason to do so other than as a neat party trick or intelligence gathering tool. While not exactly addictive, by the time Arsi loosens his grip James comes around to missing the feeling.

“Wow.” Is all James manages to say. The others were right when they talked about it, but their words could hardly sell the real feeling.

“Now that you two have met, it is time for us to leave. Thank you Arsi for everything. Perhaps when this is over we will come back to Christbol before we leave for home.” Josephine said as she smiled.

“You and your organization have my gratitude for your efforts. May we see each other again some day.” - Arsi kept his hands to himself and gave the two some space while he watched James and Josephine pick up their packs and weapons. Their other luggage and personal items had been shuffled onto the plane earlier with everyone else's.

They turned and waved one last time before boarding the aircraft ramp.

Turning around, Arsi boards a metal step into a military utility vehicle, but not entering and closing the door before gazing at the Belvere aircraft taking off. Months ago he accepted he was too monster to be human, but now he had a newfound position to make others like him less so, that comes with the necessary political capital to improve things for the better.

-

“Are you sure Captain?”

“Mack. You’re in no condition to go on with us. It would have been one thing to lose a finger but you lost an eye. Worse; it was your dominant eye. If I needed someone to help with administrative work I would keep you but I need everyone to be capable in combat. You saw how many there were in that theater.” He was hungover, but did his best to keep himself composed.

Mackensen resigned himself to his fate, though in reality; it was a mercy. Combat ineffective for the time being, he couldn’t stay lest he put others or himself at risk. He was going home, back to Stallenbourg. There was a second aircraft that had arrived, a Southwaterian Girouard Magnolia, a mid-size bizjet meant for him. It would take him and Josiah’s remains to Southwater, and then a transfer flight home to Stallenbourg.

“We’ll see you later son. Stay safe, and tell Miss Belvere I send warm regards.” Massena patted him on the back, and turned for the C-17, being the last to board it as they saw Josephine and James wave goodbye.

Mackensen stood and watched as the camouflaged aircraft began to taxi to the runway, and wondered what kind of reception he was going to get once he got home. The three medals clinked on his chest as a short breeze blew over him. He looked over to the casket.

“Yeah… let's go home, buddy.” He rested his right hand on it and patted the surface.



90th Air Transport Base, 18 Miles outside of Ranov, Socialist Republic of Rhastov

April 21st, 10:47 AM



Josephine was awoken by James shaking her by the shoulders.

“How do you sleep on this thing?”

“Oh. I don’t know. It's the second time this has happened.” She got out of the chair and followed James down the ramp as they began unloading the aircraft. The second her right foot hit the ground, she felt something. She stopped once she had both feet on the concrete.

“Whats wrong?” James asked.

“I…” Her words were caught in her throat. “It feels familiar. This land. There's something about it.”

“What does it remind you of?”

“Home. Of Stallenbourg. I don’t know what it is but the energy is… it’s different from Southwater or Christbol. Even the International City didn’t feel like this.” She cupped the air with her left hand and rubbed her fingers together, as if she was holding grains of sand. The two sat there for another minute longer as the aircraft continued to be unloaded. James looked over at one of the pallets, and saw a sturdy cardboard box labeled ‘Massena’s stash, don’t touch or drop’. He mused that the Christbolians were more than willing to give the man as much whiskey as he could ask for.

Massena almost stumbled on the edge of the ramp, before he turned to Josephine and James. It was apparent he still had a hangover after partying for several days.

“I didn’t take you for a man to party like that Captain.” Josephine spoke, her voice holding back a laugh.

“I… Uh… Yeah. Fuck I need a coffee.” He brought his hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I would have thought James, that we would have seen you out with us a few times at least.” Massena said.

“Well, I wanted to be with her. Keep her company and all that.” James smiled.

Massena looked the two over. James had his right arm around her waist, and she was smiling.

“You two dorks. What am I going to do with you now?” He smirked as the two let out a laugh. The three turned as a SR-240 Jeep in military colors was rolling down the runway towards them. The driver stopped the vehicle about ten feet off to their right, as a man wearing an OD green officer uniform, pistol safely held in a leather holster on his right hip, stepped out of the passenger seat. He made his way towards the trio.

“I assume you three are the officers in charge of this operation?” He held out his hand towards Josephine, assuming she is the leading officer based on her uniform.

Josephine took the man's hand, and shook. By rank, she was in charge, but she deferred to Massena out of habit.

“Yes we are.” She said. Admittedly, James was still a private, but none of them wore any ranks on their uniforms, and even though Massena was taller, none of them could deny that the waist-cape that made her uniform unique did give an impression of authority.

“I was assigned to lead you to meet up with the Department of State Security in a safe house in Ranov.”

“Alright, we’ll go in your jeep then. Where did you want our vehicles?”

“They’ll stay on the airbase until further notice. The DSS… refused to specify anything more.” There was a hesitation in his voice, but Josephine knew that he was just a menial, and likely the only English speaker they had on hand. No further words needed to be said as the three climbed into the back of the Jeep, and shut the little door on the back.

The road to the city was filled with a mix of trucks, civilian cars, and a surprising amount of military vehicles - probably from the commotion since ‘the incident’. The car passed rows of small houses with brown-ish roofs and colorful fences as it drove through the village of Otopeni, right next to the airbase and international airport.

Entering Ranov, the road widened up and the single story houses were quickly replaced by stereotypical commie blocs, large swaths of greenery and trees from local parks, various shops, and active construction sites. The car made its way down the wide boulevards and narrow neighborhood streets until, eventually, they reached the safe house - an apartment at the top of a complex overlooking the Ranov Nord railway station.

“This is the safe house, specifically Apartment 14, on the top floor.”

“Thank you sir.” Massena said, as the two helped him out of the jeep so he didn’t fall on his face. The trio made their way through the doors, and through the hallway to the stairs. Making their way up, Massena rubbed his eyes.

‘First it's a Carolina Dreamland with Gators and Arid countrysides, then it's a Christian-Socialist Megastate denser than a brick, now I am in a Communist Shithole. My parents and grandfather would either kill me, or pray for me if they could see me now.’ He thought to himself as he gripped the stair rails. Josephine strutted beside him, it was almost mocking but she did like to flaunt her endurance a little bit. She had to have gotten it from Cynthia, the way she wore a smile the whole way up. Even if it was only five flights of stairs, Massena could feel his age getting to him. Not even James had anything to say about it.

They reached the top and found the room, a brass number fourteen on it. Before any of them get a chance to knock, the door swings open, revealing a tall man dressed sharply in a black trenchcoat.

“Ah, miss Josephine Belmont. We were expecting you. Come on in. You too, James Hark. And you, Captain, we have coffee in here.” he stepped aside, gesturing with his left arm. The three stood in surprise at hearing their names spoken aloud before even having the chance to introduce themselves.

“Well, that's one way to induce culture shock.” Massena said, before stepping into the quaint little apartment. Josephine and James followed behind shortly after, taking a second look at the man in the trenchcoat as they passed him.

They entered the small hallway of the apartment, which on the right side opened up to a small bedroom, and on the left side opened up into the living room, where several more men sat down, either writing down things, checking their watch, or cleaning their glasses. From the hallway’s end was the kitchen, small, cozy, and with all necessities. The wooden furniture in the apartment didn't look any newer than 1987, and the rugs had nice traditional patterns. It looked lived in, despite the fact it was used by the DSS for their operations.

“How did you know our names?” James asked. Josephine and Massena had some guesses running through their heads but James was out of his depth.

“We have our ways.” the man replied, signaling one of the guys in the living room to make Massena a cup of coffee.

“Alright. So what did you bring us out here for then. You want to talk business, we're here to do business. What do you know and what do you need to know?” Josephine spoke, her voice plain but taking an authoritative edge, as Massena wasn’t in a condition to be doing any serious speaking yet.

“We have been informed there are so called ‘vampire cells’ across Markion nations, including Rhastov. We have observed rune graffitis that match the map and images the Christbolians sent. We figured the Belvere Organization would be a great informal… partner to deal with this issue.” the man replied calmly, maintaining eye contact with Josephine.

Josephine looked at the man's eyes. He didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away, no sweat on his brow. Not even any tension in his hands or changes in his breathing. ‘He’s seen something out there, or, he was hiding his real feelings under a facade.’

“We are here because of those cells, and because of the runes that led us here. We made the discovery in Christbol through our systems, and decided that your nation; from what I understand, an ally of the Christbolians, would be a good place to go hunting. So, comrade, where should we start?” She could tell intimidation wasn’t going to beat intimidation, so playing their tune might shake them up from being so rigid.

“We have a paranormal activities department in our organization. They should have more information regarding these… vampires.”

One of the men poured from a pot into a ceramic mug and walked it over to Massena, who was standing by the window.

“Thank you.” He said as he took a sip. It was one of the blackest coffees he had ever had, its taste so bitter he almost spat it out and all over the window. But he kept his composure and took another sip. He could feel himself getting sober the more he drank.

“You don’t believe they’re, real do you?” Josephine asked, having not turned away from the one who had been speaking for the others.

“Not in the slightest. They're simply a work of fiction. Of mythology.” he replies coldly.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘Either he has seen something, or is completely ignorant.’

“When can we meet your paranormal activities division?” She asked, crossing her arms.

“Tomorrow, preferably in the morning.” he slips her a laminated piece of paper with an address and the seal of the DSS.

“Fine. What about a base? Something to blend into wider Rhastovian society. Somewhere close but not so far out of the way. You have a big country here, with too many spots to hide in. Our vehicles stand out too easily, so we might need you to provide transport for our operations.”

“Of course, we will provide anything you need for your mission.”


As they were speaking, Massena was looking out the window to the distant train station. There was a grey electric locomotive pulling a dozen red passenger carriages. It honked its horn a few times as it passed over a road junction and out of view from behind a commie-bloc.

“How about a train?” Massena jokes, the coffee hadn’t made him sober yet.

“Sure. We’re gonna have to pull a few strings with the railway company and the army but that can be arranged.”

“Massena what-” Josephine turned but he cut her off.

“Make it a steam train.” He pushed his luck.

“Consider it done.”

“A steam train? Seriously?” She quipped.

“Josephine, some day you will look back at this moment, and wonder if Miss Belvere ever gave you this much freedom to ask for whatever you want. Look at me. I'm hungover from several long nights of partying in a country that treats alcohol like tapwater, I am thousands and thousands of miles from home away from my wife and kid, and I am being given what may as well be a blank cheque to ask for anything I could want. I'm killing two birds with one stone here, we get a cool train, we get a mobile base, and we run through this country until those Totenhoff cells are gone. Let's have some fun, please?” He brought his arms out wide and nodded his head forward, looking at her.

“Fine. As long as me and…” She stopped, unsure how to say it in front of these men.

“I want a private officer's carriage.” James spoke up as he looked over to the one they had been talking to.

“We’ll include one as well. This kind of train-set and equipment is usually put together in Constanța so you’ll have to drive south about 250 kilometers to the railway depot.” the man turns his gaze to James for a moment before returning to Josephine’s “And if you’re not… needed for the consist, feel free to visit the city however you like. I personally recommend Hotel Intercontinental. Tell the receptionists to put the room on our tab.”

“Alright then. Is there anything else we need to clear up before we part ways, comrade?” She tilted her head as she looked at the man.

“No, miss. Enjoy your ‘visit’.”

Stubborn, and arrogant, the man never once yielded during the conversation. Not even a sweat on his brow nor a twitch on his features. That annoyed Josephine, she didn’t like being talked down to.

“Alright then. C'mon you two, we're leaving. I hope you have a good rest of your day, Comrade.” With the utterance of the last word, she made her eyes glow a fierce crimson, as gave a more toothy smile, only for a brief moment before the trio left the room.

His expression remains unchained, but once the door closes he takes a step back and props himself against the door frame of the kitchen like he was about to stumble over.

“What the hell was that… I… need a drink.” He reaches for one of the kitchen cabinets and pulls out a bottle of whiskey much to the disbelief of his colleagues. His cheeks were a bit flushed as he poured himself a glass and chugged it down like water.

The trio make their way back outside and to the waiting jeep.

“Alright, so I need to help with the consist. Gives me time to talk with your friend you brought along from Christbol. See what's up with him. You two will meet with their paranormal specialists tomorrow morning, after that just stay in the city until we tell you we're ready. Have some fun and enjoy yourselves. Tell me what it's like to be in… how do I put this.”

“A communist state?” James quipped.

“Better than I would have said. But they did give me a train so I can’t really argue. Just keep your phone charged James. If anything happens, you know how to contact me. And if you need to, I doubt their paranormal specialists wouldn’t mind helping you two if you get in trouble.” He opened the little door and climbed aboard the jeep.

“See you later Captain.” Josephine said as the two gave a little wave.

The jeep sputtered to life and drove away back to the airport. Josephine and James made their way down the street looking for the entrance to a metro station. They eventually find one, marked by a distinct white ‘M’ on a blue background, the superstructure meant to keep rain and wind out was simple - a green metal frame surrounded by glass. The entrance opened with what appeared to be a bottomless flight of stairs next to an escalator. Seeing as the stairs were empty and everyone took the escalator, the two made the obvious choice.

The escalator descended for what seemed like an eternity, going deep underground, so deep the rumbling of cars and trains above fainted into silence, before that itself was broken by the loud rumble of the subway trains in the tunnels. The escalator finally came to an end, god knows how many dozens of meters below the surface, and opened up into a labyrinth of hallways covered with cream coloured ceramic tiles, each leading to a different exit or platform. James and Josephine stumble around trying to make sense of the station’s layout before finally asking a random passerby for directions.

“Excuse me sir. You wouldn’t happen to know the trainlines we need to get to the ‘Hotel Intercontinental’?” James asked a man wearing a flat cap.

The man, not speaking a yote of english, looks at them for a moment, as if trying to process the little information he could actually understand: “Hotel Intercontinental”.

“Ah! Da!” he says, his face brightening up, before immediately babbling on in Rhastovian. “Deci luați metroul pe M1 până la Piața Victoriei…” he says, taking them to a nearby map and following one of the lines with his finger “Apoi schimbați pe M2 și coborâți la Universitate.”

“Ah… Thank you.” James said, a little underwhelmed with how to respond.

“Merci, Monsieur.” Josephine spoke, recognizing from the man's speech that this was a romance language speaking country, and decided to use her Livinian to try to bridge the gap. The man nodded and gave a thumbs up as he carried on with his day.

“Did you catch any of what he said?” James asked Josephine as they looked at the metro map.

“None of it. But he mentioned the M1 and M2 lines, and ‘Universitate’. Which is…” She brought her finger back over the map and found the little white connection from the Blue M2 to the Orange M5 line, with ‘Universitate’ underlined next to the white connection. “Here.”

“Okay so…” James muttered. It took them a few more minutes, neither of them had ever been on a metro in Stallenbourg, and Massena handled their little trip in Christbol for Sunday mass.

“So we're on the green M4, and need to walk over to the yellow M1, take it until we hit… Victoriei, the blue M2 line, and then go down and get off at Universitate.” James spoke.

“That sounds right. Let's go then.” Josephine grabbed James by the shoulder and looked up to a sign that had a yellow arrow pointing down a stairwell, under it was the ‘M1’ they were looking for. Past that stairwell it continued on to a ‘M8’ line, and behind them was a sign leading to the ‘M4’ line. They made their way down the steps to the M1 platform. There was a large amount of people, they were waiting around the columns and on the seats. Some looked at smartphones, others had books, some were dressed in military uniforms, one had a few paper bags with a baguette sticking out of one of them.

Nobody seems to notice the two, the people were accustomed to seeing soldiers, but it didn’t stop them both from feeling out of place. Josephine looked up to the main sign. On the left was ‘Pantelimon’, and on the right was ‘Dristor’. She recalled the map again, and remembered seeing Dristor under Universitate, but it wasn’t on the same line.

“Do you know which one we need to get on?” James asked.

“Uhhh. I think it's the Dristor one.” She scratched the back of her neck.

“I mean, it's not like we won’t eventually find our way to the hotel. Even if we do manage to get lost.” James shrugged.

They waited several more minutes as the train pulled up to the platform, a yellow stripe across it. The doors opened and people began filing out as others made their way in. The two stepped aboard, and chose to stand rather than sit. In a few moments, they felt their weight shift as the train began moving. Josephine locked her left arm to James’, a force of habit at this point. There was nothing to see out of the windows except more dark metro tunnels and steel supports, and long electrical lines stretching across the walls of the large tunnels. They did notice that they were abnormally large tunnels compared to the trains actual size. A second purpose perhaps?

A monotone voice speaks out across the train:
“Urmează stația… Piața Victoriei. Cu peronul pe partea dreaptă.”


After another minute, the train came to a stop, and the doors opened.

“Alright if this is Victoriei… then…” Josephine pulled James along as the two looked for another sign in the station. This one still had the same cream colored ceramic tiles, and didn’t look all too different from the one they had left a few minutes before.

“There.” James pointed, and the two made their way to another sign, this one a dark blue arrow pointing down a stairwell with the letters ‘M2’ under it. They made their way down to the M2 platform, and yet again were met with a big sign that said ‘Pipera’ on the left and ‘Jilava’ on the right.

“Shit.” Josephine muttered. Her lack of knowing how metros worked was coming back to bite her.

“It has to be one of these, either north or south. If Universitate is south then that's the one we have to go to, right?” James asked.

“Yes, but I don’t have a compass or anything.”

“Wait, I got you covered.” James pulled out his smartphone, and opened up an app. He pressed a button and a compass display appeared on it. He spun around to let it calibrate before he pointed; “That way is north. And that is South. So Jilava is the one we want to get on.”

“Maybe I need to get a smartphone at some point if they really can be that useful.” She mused.

“Maybe, or you can just stay by my side.” He smiled.

“I know what I’ll do then.” She locked her arm with his again as they waited on the platform.



Universitate Station, Ranov

01:20 PM



The two emerged from the metro, the sun right in their eyes. This Metro entrance and exit didn’t have a covering on it unlike the previous one. Once they put their hands above their eyes, they found the Hotel Intercontinental right in front of them.

“Well that's convenient.” Josephine spoke as the two made their way towards it, following a sidewalk all the way to the entrance. Going inside to the reception, they found a woman in a suit behind the desk, working at a computer console. The desk had a red face with polished brass trim. In the center of the desk’s design was a black marble post, with a stylized brass letter ‘I’ in the center. The wall behind the receptionist had multiple clocks that kept the time for other capitol cities across Markion.

“Bună ziua! Bine ați venit la Hotelul Intercontinental. Cu ce vă pot fi de ajutor astăzi?” The receptionist said in a cheery voice, though neither of them had a single clue what had been said.

“Uhm, English? We're not from here so I apologize if we don’t understand.” James spoke up.

“Oh no, the apology is mine. I'm so used to speaking to natives that it is how we usually greet our guests.” She changed to english without any hesitation, her voice was still cheerful but heavily accented. “Welcome to the Hotel Intercontinental, How may we be of service to you two?” She beamed a smile.

“We were told to come here if we wanted to get a room. They said that this would be enough, and to put it on their account.” Josephine reached into her left waistcoat pocket, and pulled out the laminated paper, the DSS logo printed on the right side of the page.

“Oh! Uh.” The receptionist's demeanor shifted as her voice cracked. Her hands shook for a moment as she typed something up on the console. A machine on the desk clicked twice, and she pulled two cards up and put them on the desk for the two.

“Your room keys, sorry if I had to make you wait. Heh heh.” She failed to hide any of her discomfort at the sight of the DSS symbol. James and Josephine looked at each other and shrugged.

“Thank you ma’am.” Josephine nodded, as they took their cards. They made their way to the elevators, and stepped inside. The doors closed, and the receptionist exhaled deeply, bringing her hands up to her head, trying to recompose herself after what she thought would be a brush with death.

Inside the elevator, they were looking at their cards.

“So what room did we get?” Josephine asked.

“I don’t know.” James shrugged. The cards had a brass color all over them, with a white band that went on both sides and a chip reader on the face of it with an arrow. The card did say it was floor nineteen, which was where they were heading.

The elevator opened, and directly in front of it was an antechamber with another door, and the card reader.

“You do the honors.” She motioned for James to do it, a rising feeling in her gut.

‘Beep’, the reader chimed as he opened the door. Both of their eyes were wide open. There was an elaborate black marble kitchen, brass trimming on almost every corner. A large flat screen television hung on a wall with a large leather sofa. There was a door to a master bathroom with a jacuzzi hot tub, and a shower, and the master bed itself was obscene in its size.

“You could fit four people on this bed and they wouldn’t even touch each other while sleeping.” She spoke in awe as she stood by it.

“I don’t think I could ever get used to this, but I do think I am going to enjoy it while we're here.” James said as he looked at some of the paintings on the walls.

Josephine undid her jacket and sat down on the bed, it was incredibly comfortable. She was about to undo her pants to relax further when it hit her; Neither of them had any spare clothes.

“Uhm, honey?”

“Yeah?”

“We might need to go shopping.” She said.

“Oh yeah, I guess we will.” James spoke. The state budget of Rhastov could afford to provide an over the top penthouse for two countryside adults who had never considered even stepping into a penthouse, but it could not go shopping for them.

“I have…” James pulled out his wallet and fished through it. Still had a few christcoins, about twenty in Soutwaterian Dollars, and eighty three Stallenbourgian Dollars.
“I guess I left most of my money back with our luggage. What can eighty three even buy us here?”

-

Across the street in a small exchange office, Ranov

02:01 PM




“I'm sorry, how much?” James asked, eyes wide.

“Six thousand two hundred and twenty five Rhastovian Rubles.” The exchange office clerk said before returning to their work. “Have a nice time in Ranov.”

“Well then, I guess we should see what that gets us. One more thing sir.” Josephine asked the clerk, who turned back to the two.

“Would you happen to know of any good clothing stores around here?”

“I’d recommend Unirea. You take the metro from Universitate to Piața Unirii, and you go through the exit Unirii 4. You can’t miss the store.”

“Thank you sir.” The two turn and leave the exchange office, and make their way to the the metro entrance.



Piața Unirii Station, Ranov

02:34 PM




It had taken them a few more minutes to find the right exit, as the layout of the station was much larger but also quite busy. Emerging from the metro, they saw a tall six story concrete and glass structure, a red and blue symbol of a ‘U’ displayed upon its surfaces. It had red-yellow-blue banners rustling in the breeze between the windows. There was a lot of people wandering around, some sitting under umbrellas at tables, others walking in and out of the shopping center, and many more going about their daily life.

“You know all the rumors I heard about communist countries, I didn’t expect to see them be so…” James trailed off.

“Lively?” Josephine asked.

“Yeah. Let's head in.” He grabbed her left hand and they both made their way into the shopping center. Once inside they saw a couple different signs, half of it was in Rhastovian, but there was an English, or really, Markish translation under it.

“So floor one is women and children's clothes, floor two is men's clothes.” James spoke.

“A cake shop on floor five? Luxury on floor six?” Josephine said.

“The basement is the grocery store.”

“Lets go there last.” She nodded.

They first hit the first floor. Exiting the staircase they are met with a large central hallway that opens on both sides to different clothing stores, many advertising the fact they now sell the newest spring-summer collections. The lighting casted warm lights on the floor and the store fronts. Some of the stores were part of larger, more known Rhastovian chains, while others were local vendors selling more exotic imports. The two walked until something caught her eye.

“What do you see?”

“That dress is nice. Looks expensive.” It was a blue and black dress, with a floral underside with roses and other flowers. It came with long silky gloves, it had to be at least a few hundred dollars.

“Well, let's go check it out.” James said as they walked into the store together. They saw the clerk, who was taking care of another young woman before she walked out of the store.

“Hello, how could I help you two?” The clerk answered in English to their surprise, though she probably figured out they were foreigners.

“How much does that dress cost? Does it matter what size or are they all the same?” James asked.

“Oh, that one would be two hundred and fifty rubles.” The clerk said.

James and Josephine turned to each other, shock on their faces.

“We’ll take it.” Josephine said without another moment's hesitation.

-

After going through the first and second floors, they made their way to the basement. Both of them were carrying bags just to hold onto the several pairs of clothes and shoes they bought. Shoes, pants, lingerie, boxer briefs, shirts and jackets, and it had hardly put a dent into their wallet.

There weren’t as many people down here yet, though once five in the afternoon rolled around, they expected there to be many more as people would be getting off work. There were aisles of cooking supplies and food stuff, but they were elaborately stacked and stylised to make it all unique and more interesting to the passing eye.

There were shelves with beers and alcohols, local sodas and juice drinks, candies and sweets, bags of chips and other less healthy but still tasty foods. Sections for vegetables, meats and seafood. Frozen goods, dairy, and even ice cream.

They took a basket and Josephine went through the entire store looking for ingredients to make some of her dishes, and found herself grabbing a cookbook for local dishes, as she couldn’t find enough things for what she would normally make.

“This place is insane James.”

“I know, but it's refreshing to be somewhere a little more normal than Christbol.” He said, and it was a true statement. While Christbol had been interesting, it was a big shake up for their domestic lives. For the first impressions of Rhastov however, they were finding it a little more ‘homey’ feeling.

“Look at this.” It was a green can, with a sturgeon fish on it. It said in proud labeling ‘Caviar, Product of the UKSR, Prosperity Province.’ The can itself barely fit in his hand, and was about three inches deep.

“How much is it?” James asked.

“It says two thousand rubles.” Josephine looked at it, unsure if they should buy it.

“Well, I got more money, so put it in the basket. I’m not gonna say no to you.” He smiled, as they continued walking through the store. He stopped as he looked at a can that was blue and white, and picked it up.

“Sweetened Condensed Milk, Prodlacta Filiași. It's a Rhastovian company I guess.” James quipped.

“I have heard rumors about Sweetened Condensed Milk from the Soviet Union. Maybe it would be the same here. I don’t think I would be able to taste it, but you should try it.” Josephine said.

“I mean it's seventeen rubles, basically nothing.” He grabbed two cans and put them into the basket. “Anything else you might want?”

“Uhm.” She looked around, there was some tinned fish, other cans with imported meats, but nothing looked too interesting-

“What is this?” She reached out and grabbed a bottle with the name ‘Pălincă’ on it. It had an alcohol volume of 50% and was a hundred proof.

“Looks like Brandy.” James said. The two looked at each other, and didn’t even question the hundred ruble price tag before putting it in the basket.

-

Out of curiosity, they found themselves on the sixth floor, just to see what was there and how expensive it could be. Inside the store, they are met with rows of various jackets, coats, hats, footwear, and accessories made from various types of fur and leathers, with some much more exotic ones coming from outside Rhastov such as Southwaterian alligator bags, or Krastovian beaver fur ushankas. The price tags on these items was exponentially higher than the regular clothes the two purchased so far, to the point it made Josephine slightly uncomfortable.

James picked up one of the Krastovian Ushanka’s and felt the fur on it.

“This is super soft. Feel it.” He held it out to her, and she took it in her hands.

“It is but it's just, three thousand? That might as well be all the money you have left, right?” She looked at him, but he didn’t seem to care. He took the ushanka and planted it on her head, nestling it down on her as he pulled out his smart phone and dialed a number.

“Massena. Yes we're fine, don't worry. Do you think you can stop by the hotel with the rest of my money? I left it in my rucksack. Bring Josephines as well please… Ahuh. Yes I’ll be out front in forty minutes give or take, have to take the metro back. Alright see you soon.” He hung up the phone.

“That bonus was two thousand Stallenbourgian Dollars so you know Josephine. We bought all of this-” He lifted his arms up, rustling the bags he was carrying, “with only eighty three dollars.”

It was utterly absurd, but she could hardly argue. She gave a warm smile, her cheeks aflush with the color of roses.

“Besides, you might need a hat like that one day.” He said as he led her on to the register.

-

Hotel Intercontinental, Floor 19, Ranov

07:22 PM



Josephine and James sat beside each other on the giant leather couch. James took another scoop with a chip into the giant tin of caviar and ate it, while Josephine sipped from a tumbler full of brandy. They were watching the TV show “B.D. în acțiune”, a Rhastovian comedy show centered around 3 criminals that got in trouble with the law for often hilarious or stupid reasons. The episode they were watching centered on the three criminals stealing an old icon from a monastery and trying to smuggle it to a buyer, only for them to get caught by one of the unmarked police cars looking for them when they were trying to hitchhike a ride on the side of a dirt road.

“Either we're really lucky, or we won the lottery. Either way I'm enjoying this so far Jo.” James said as he grabbed one of the cans of condensed milk and sipped it. Words and rumors failed to describe just how sweet and tasty it was. Josephine reached over to the bag of chips and took a scoop out of the tin of caviar for herself. She couldn’t enjoy the milk but the caviar was something she could never have dreamed of having. The black Ossetra pearls gave a robust and nutty flavor, with an earthy depth. Neither of them could believe that the entire can in front of them only cost twenty seven Stallenbourgian Dollars.

“I feel like a spoiled kid.” She chuckled.

“I wouldn’t say that. We're just enjoying the best of life.” He laughed.

“Yeah.” She smiled.

There was a long pause between them, but James decided to say something that had been on his mind for a while;

“And they said communism was a bad thing.” He chuckled. Josephine laughed out loud as the absurdity of the situation took over. Here they were, in what was most likely the one of the most expensive hotel penthouse suites in the country, sipping expensive brandy and sweetened condensed milk, eating caviar, and all of it for less than a hundred dollars.

Josephine tried to hold back a tear from laughing but couldn’t, and had to grab a tissue to wipe the crimson streak away.

“Yeah. Like that hat, the Ushanka. It was only what, forty bucks? And then all the clothes, and the bathrobes were wearing right now, the lingerie, which should have cost way more, even you have to agree.” James could barely hold himself together as he spoke.

“Good grief.” She said, bringing the tissue to her eyes. “Ohhh. You know, I wonder what Massena is up to right now.”

“Probably nothing this fun.” He chuckled.

-

90th Air Transport Base, 18 Miles outside of Ranov

07:30 PM

“Come on, put some ass into it!” Massena shouted in encouragement to some Rhastovian conscripts that were struggling to lift a large crate onto one of the Tatra 813 trucks that they brought to help move the unit's cargo.

They should have left by now for Constanța but there were some translation issues, and he was still waiting on a few pieces of documentation. Edwards and Neaman were out getting everyone some local currency, and he was wondering if they were just taking their sweet time or if they found a bar and got hammered, or if they did that already and then drove into a signpost and got arrested. Either way, they hadn’t started operations yet so he wasn’t too bothered. He just wanted to get some sleep tonight. The 90th ATB was offering to house them in some of their barracks for the night, and that was preferable to making the two hundred and fifty kilometer drive at night.

Marcus, the newcomer, was proving to be a good addition so far. He didn’t say much, kept a straight face, and stayed out of others' way. Maybe tomorrow on the drive there he would have a talk with him.

OOC Note: Written in partnership with Stallenbourg.

[Raltirian Denethier]

The night is cold. He feels rain cascading over him, a barrage of icy droplets soaking through his jacket. He hides under an overpass, cowering in a concrete den as cars rush by above him. The night is so cold.

The lettering on nearby signs and storefronts blurs together in ambiguous shapes. Is that German? Dutch? It's hard to tell; the world around him swirls in a haze. A light flashes in blue. Voices shout and sirens blare. The lights blaze brighter, blinding him. A gunshot sounds.

A pain rips through his chest, and the light dims. He's sitting. Padded, sterile walls enclose him under a fluorescent spotlight. He's there again. Blades carve into his chest, but chains bind him to his seat. White figures surround him, muttering. He thrashes; nothing. He cannot move. Blood drips from open incisions. Lights flash again. His chains break. He falls to the floor, and then…

Rain. More rain. More cold, alien streets. More running, mud and puddles slapping underneath his boots. He doesn't stop. He can't stop. He crosses streets, dashes through a park, and then… there, that construction site! He remembers hiding there, cowering in a section of concrete pipe. He remembers shivering in the cold. He remembers the roar of construction vehicles coming to life again as the sun rises on a new day…

They will never let you rest. They will never let you live.

The voice booms, but the world around him hears nothing.

Kill them all.

His eyes open. He lets out a breath. The mattress creaks as he sits up, running a hand through his hair. The room is cool. The fan overhead spins lazily. There are no alarms, no flashing lights. Christ watches him from a crucifix on the wall. He gets up only to take the cross down, stowing it in a drawer before going back to sleep.

---

Monastery of Saint Luke the Evangelist, Weltholm, Christbol
16 April, 0700 hours

Marcus grumbled to himself as he buttoned up the jacket of his uniform over his undershirt. At least it wasn't uncomfortable west–physically, at any rate. It wasn't the first time that he'd worn a uniform, and the Special Air Service had been good to him, but being part of a formal unit, controlled by a superior officer, just never sat right with him. The uniform only ever felt like a collar; unit patches only ever felt like tags of ownership.

The shave, however, he didn't mind. It felt refreshing, in its own way.

He found his way to the kitchens. It wasn't often that Marcus ate on someone else's dime, and he took full advantage of it. He made himself up a large plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, and a plentiful helping of oatmeal. He got some looks from other Belvere personnel, but he didn't pay them any mind. He'd gotten strange and curious looks since he'd walked in with Josephine and James two days before. It was understandable. This was something of a military–or paramilitary, perhaps–operation, and he had only been some ragged civilian brought in from the street, unknown to anyone in the monastery.

He ate by himself, ignoring the looks and ignoring the curious muttering. Of course he heard them, the other Belvere operatives whispering about their new recruit, wondering where he'd come from and where Josephine had found him. Was he some foreign agent attached to their organization? Why was he here? Josephine said he'd fought a vampire by himself! He'd killed a vampire? No, that couldn't be, he must have just fought it and survived.

They went in, chattering among themselves. Marcus paid them no attention. He just cleaned up after himself, then went about his business, curious eyes following him all along.

There were no missions coming, or so he'd been led to understand, so he spent much of his time that day cleaning his weapons, exercising, or reading, almost always keeping to himself. No doubt it was unnerving to some, seeing a quiet, visually unremarkable man join their ranks without much introduction, and then begin constantly, from what could tell, do little other than prepare to kill.

Afternoon came, and Marcus just settled into a quiet spot in the monastery courtyard with a worn copy of a Frankenstein that he'd plainly read several times over, grazing on chips as he read and watched the Belvere operatives going about their business. Occasionally, he would spot someone carrying a heavy crate to a truck, and stepped up to offer to help–he was hardly bothered by the weight, after all–but apart from that, he mostly kept to himself for the rest of the day.

Only later did Massena pass by, noticing that Marcus had unbuttoned his jacket and left his beret somewhere–notably not on his head. Marcus just grumbled that he was still wearing the uniform, more or less, and ignored the way the captain shook his head.

Some things took time.

---

Zeleke-Esra International Airport, Weltholm, Christbol
21 April, 0400 hours

Finally, he was getting out of this damned country. Granted, Christbol wasn't a bad place to live, as such, but if he had to attend one more of those fucking masses…

Marcus was too preoccupied, though, helping Belvere's people load up their aircraft for the flight to Rhastov. Though still the quiet, reserved one, he'd managed to warm to the other operatives over the past five days, and they, in their turn, had started to become slightly less unnerved by the quiet, focused man whose main concern often seemed to be preparing for mass homicide. In truth, despite his unnervingly quiet demeanor, he'd shown himself to be quite willing to help out whenever there was work that needed to be done, and he'd threatened or harmed a notably small figure of zero Belvere personnel.

All of that was to say that he'd been showing himself to be rather calm and helpful rather than someone to be wary of. More and more, the others would strike up brief conversations with him and treat him more and more like a person rather than a curiosity to be observed from a distance.

Marcus wasn't wearing his jacket, this time, but he ignored Massena's looks and just continued helping to stack pallets to be moved onto the C-17. When that work was done, he stepped onto the loading ramp, his own duffel over his shoulder. He took a seat near where James and Josephine sat, but he said nothing through most of the flight. He just slept, falling asleep before the aircraft had even lifted off from the tarmac.