Ezekiel

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5361387 is complete! Minus me finding some art I like for a few of the primary characters, but don't suppose that matters for judging if I'm good to start writing!

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

Still got to write some individual summaries for the members and a sample post, but whacking this here for now

The Brotherhood of Mutants

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

B R O T H E R H O O D O F M U T A N T S

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^{_{T H E R E P U B L I C O F G E N O S H A}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{“Some would be offended at a wolf presenting as a sheep, but I have learned hard lessons from your kind, so I know the truth … you are all wolves.”}

The foundation of the Brotherhood of Mutants formed as a result of great oppression, not initially against mutantkind but under the horrific rule of the Third Reich. Born Max Eisenhardt, the boy who would become Magneto witnessed the death of his family and community first hand, all allegiance his father had shown to the German nation in the First World War forgotten in the racially motivated hatred of the Nazi Regime. A young, broken child, mistakenly buried alongside the dead, would later be recaptured by the SS and subject to the same horror again and again within the walls of Vernichtungslager in Auschwitz. Through lessons learned during his family’s efforts to flee into Poland and beyond, Max survived, narrowly avoiding the worst of the experiments done on populace as the mysteries of mutantkind began to be understood. Equally he was able to aid another young prisoner of the camps, a young girl named Magda. A blight of grave illness delayed the development of Max’s powers, beyond the usual manifestation during adolescence which is common among mutants. Together with Magda he eventually escaped into the Soviet Union, taking on the name Eric Lehnsherr and starting a new life in the Carpathian Mountains.

Eric had not escaped the long arm of oppression, as his powers would eventually manifest while trying to save his young family. For his efforts, Eric was restrained and beaten, prevented from saving his young daughter and terrifying his now-wife Magda in the process. She fled, thankfully not witnessing the destruction Eric brought upon the authorities of their home. Once again a lone survivor, Eric fled into Israel, taking yet another name as Erik Magnus. Here he found perhaps the one peaceful occupation of his life, working as a medical orderly in a psychiatric ward for fellow Holocaust survivors. These years would also result in the defining relationship of Eric’s life, meeting Charles Xavier. The pair had much in common, more than both immediately revealed, and enjoyed each other’s company through the latter’s study of the mind. When Hydra forces later attacked the facility while Xavier was still present as a part of his research, their mutant powers were exposed to each other. While they parted over matters of incompatible philosophy, to think they would end as rivals was yet to cross either mind.

As Eric’s powers grew, he began to work various Western Intelligence agencies, aiding in the hunting down of missing Nazi war criminals and the nascent Hyrda. Eric would often report his targets had died in his pursuit, instead handing over the captured fascists to Mossad, while increasingly viewing the world in a matter of mutants vs humans, he still felt enough connection to his Jewish roots to support their cause of restitution. While the Western agencies were willing to turn a blind eye to this practice when he was primarily focused on ex-Nazis the Soviets were looking to benefit from, eventually the time came when the individual in question had been earmarked for repatriation within the United States in exchange for information on key Soviet projects. As a consequence several Western spy agencies orchestrated a string of attempts to punish, and later kill, Eric. After a particularly brutal string of attacks he resolved to travel to the United States to put an end to those who hunted him at the source, taking on another false name, Magnus Xavier, for this journey.

The choice of name, obviously a reference to the last true friend Eric remembered, proved prophetic as after arriving in New York the use of the surname soon attracted the attention of the true Xavier, recently returned from service in the Korean War. Momentarily distracted from his efforts of vengeance by Charles’ optimism, he assisted in the creation of Cerebro and the first generation of X-men. Ultimately this momentary break from conflict came to an end when the agents who were hunting Eric began to strike at him through personal connections, resulting in yet further tragedy. Driven finally to the conclusion that humanity and mutantkind could not peacefully coexist, and armed with important data from Cerebro, Eric took the name of Magneto and left his work with the nascent X-men to form the Brotherhood.

Using the knowledge gleaned from Cerebro, Magneto was able to recruit powerful and willing mutants to his cause, shortly afterwards creating Asteroid M as their isolated base of operations. Principally among them at first were the Maximoff Twins and Mystique. The membership, even leadership, of the Brotherhood has changed over the years and so has their approach, ranging from supporting partisan mutant factions, championing mutant isolationism and at times, global mutant domination. Their relationship with the X-men has equally shifted over the years, ranging from mistrusted allies to hated foes, several individuals of both teams having even found themselves switching between the two groups of mutants.

Even more pressing to the purpose of the Brotherhood than their ‘cousins’ in the X-men is the changing state of the world and its view of mutants. Regimes have come and gone, the hatred burning on and on. In many ways while the X-men have always shone as the brightness of the world, the Brotherhood have reflected the wrath brought upon mutants and those who support them. They have been the vengeance to Xavier’s justice. In the most extreme of Magneto’s actions he truly threatened the safety of the whole world, although it became apparent that the use of his powers, particularly in the construction and maintenance of Asteroid M, had a powerfully deteriorating effect on his mind and stability. In the greatest of these conflicts, a battle between the X-men and Brotherhood that would eventually destroy much of Asteroid M, the true reality of Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver was revealed to Magneto. On the day he lost his first child, he had unknowingly lost twins of his own blood, carried by Magda as she fled from the destruction wrought by her enraged husband. At the time, this shattered the fractured loyalties of the Brotherhood, as much as the physical structure of Asteroid M. With the strain of the battle shattering the last of Magneto’s sanity, even the most cruel hearted of the Brotherhood scattered from his leadership. In a desperate effort to once again achieve domination, Magneto attempted to create the ultimate mutant, Alpha. While successful, his creation rebelled against him, using its distorting power to revert Magneto to an infant. The effect proved temporary, if only from Erik the Red eventually restoring Magneto to adulthood, if not to his same advanced age, the restorative work on him rectified the mental damage his powers had inflicted upon him and stabilised their use. He would never cease to be Magneto, but without the gradual slide into madness resuming again, he abandoned the worst of his aggressive schemes.

In his absence, the other members of the Brotherhood had not been idle. Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver spent the interim as heroes of humanity, rather than mutant kind, while the rest fractured, many coming to eventually aid their previous rivals in the X-men while others descended into simple self serving anarchism. By the time Magento’s identity and faculties had been restored, he had no wish to immediately call upon them, recognising that perhaps his children would experience only pain from his sudden return to their lives, and having little need of either the soft hearted or the entirely callous in the new task he had set himself.

The isolated but prosperous nation of Genosha had built its great wealth on the back of vast mutant slavery, a situation that even in Magneto’s calmed state he could not allow to persist. Seeking out the one other member of the brotherhood he could still trust to act in Mystique, the pair set about kindling the fires of a mutant uprising. With her guile and the force of his power it was a matter of months before the revolution swept the island nation. A bloody civil war raged for an extended period, but the mutants were eventually successful, placing Magneto as the new head of state. This began a period of reconciliation for both Magneto and the Brotherhood among mutants, particularly of the younger generation. Painted as a revolutionary and hero, word of his return soon spread from the island of Genosha across the world, and the Brotherhood was reformed, no longer dedicated to violent overthrow of the global order, but instead the preservation of the new mutant homeland of Genosha.

They did not sit idle, however, and were instrumental in rescuing both the X-men, and the wider world, from the ravages of Apocalypse, Magneto stepping in to fill the absence of his old friend Xavier and rebuilding his educational efforts on Genosha. This is not to say the idealistic X-Men and hard line Brotherhood do not still clash, although the conflict is often of a more competitive or theoretical nature these days, the latter are certainly still maintained to do what the heroes of Xavier’s dream could not, especially with the return of Charles to Earth.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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Unlike the X-Men, the Brotherhood does not simply seek to ensure the survival of mutantkind, but to ruthlessly protect its prosperity and security. They may hold hopes of a similar future, but they do not have the luxury of compassion, instead playing the zero-sum game of realist politik. They have abandoned their mad dreams of global domination (at least openly) but will never be afraid to risk, and take, human lives to safeguard mutant ones.

Currently while the X-Men and Genosha react to the return of Charles Xavier, the Brotherhood continues to work both at home and abroad to safeguard mutant (Genoshan) interests, in much the same manner as any secret service of the human world. Difficult choices have, will and can be made. Recently, with yet another upswing of anti-mutant sentiment festering across the world, their activities have increased greatly, hunting down rumours of yet another planned desolation of their homeland, one they are desperate to prevent.

TLDR: Super fun mutant black ops

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Magneto

Known in the past as one of the great villains of the post-war era, the revitalised Magneto has undergone not just a physical transformation, but a correct of the maddening effect his powers had upon his mental state. On many occasions assisting, and even leading, his long term rivals in the X-Men. An accidental pop-culture icon of rebellion, this has reached new levels following the successful revolution in Genosha, now acting as leader of the nation as well as the Brotherhood, Magneto seeks to forge a safe haven for mutants across the globe and prevent any chance of the genocide he most fears.

Mystique

Raven Darkholme has fought for the cause that the Brotherhood represents for far longer than it has existed. One of the first documented mutants in the modern era, she seeks to bring about a better, more secure, future of Mutantkind and has no qualms about what may become of humanity in the process. She was an early recruit to Magneto's cause, and later reformed the Brotherhood during Magneto's absence. Despite being mother, both through adoption and biologically, to at least two X-men, she has a cold relationship with the group, in particular holding ill will towards Xavier for turning Rogue against her. Currently, she is one of the most active members of the Brotherhood in the various campaigns of espionage designed to ensure the safety of Genosha, as befits her skills and traits.

Polaris

Years prior, Lorna Dane was manipulated into the belief that her true father was none other than Magneto, an easy explanation for her ability to manipulate magnatism in much the same way. Having lead a lift of forcibly hiding the physical side effect of her mutation by her adoptive parents and other suffering at the hands of humankind, she had little desire to further endanger herself or become mixed up in the myriad battles of the X-Men and Brotherhood. Despite her efforts to lead a normal life, as Polaris, she has often been dragged into the conflicts of Mutantkind. While she has, out of neccesity, fought alongside the X-Men previously, she has grown increasingly disillusioned with the hope that humanity can ever be taught to accept mutants from good deeds alone. Most recently, the thought of a potential family connection with Magneto has spurred her to covertly enter the nation of Genosha, avoiding direct contact with both the X-Men and Brotherhood, seeking some evidence that the old lie may have in fact been a truth of coincidence.

Quicksilver

One half of the troubled Maximoff twins, Pietro has long had a complicated relationship with the Brotherhood, initially a part of the group only due to his sister, he has since become increasingly aligned with their mission, believing in the superiority of Mutantkind. The revelation that Magneto was their true father was taken poorly by Pietro, and during Magneto's absence, both twins left the Brotherhood to live among humanity as superpowered heroes. With Wanda's mind having deteriorated, resulting in several incidents of increasing danger, the pair returned to the Brotherhood as a safe haven where their powers were free to be unleashed. While Magneto and Pietro's relationship remains almost hostile, he now fights aggresively to maintain Genosha as a place he and his sister can be free from the persecution of the outside world.

Scarlet Witch

With the ability to alter probability, often unwillingly, Wanda Maximoff has long been both a blessing and a curse to those around her. Initially a part of the Brotherhood out of olbigation to Magneto for saving her and Pietro's life, Wanda freely left the Brotherhood after the disappearance of Magneto and has had little interaction with the struggles of Mutankind ever since. However, after a mental breakdown caused her to rewrite reality and repeatedly fall into catatonic states, Quicksilver has fled with her, seeking out their father once more.

This would culminate in the disaster of the House of M, and later M-day, with the Scarlet Witch rewriting reality one further time to drastically reduce the mutant population, declaring 'No More Mutants.' The shock of this act continues to echo across the Mutant population, and for a crime so dire, it is unlikely Magneto can shield his daughter from the wrath of those mutants still empowered.

Gambit

Few mutants exemplify the complicated and convoluted nature of the mutant factions than Gambit. Raised as a member of the Thieves' Guild and having worked alongside the X-men, Marauders and most recently the Brotherhood, his past is as chequered as it is varied. Most ironically (or perhaps apt) considering the code name of his long term off and on again paramour, Gambit could most certainly be described as the rogue of the mutant conflict.

First brought to the attention of the X-men while assisting in recovering a de-aged Storm from grave danger, the adventuring criminal had little in common with Xavier or other important members of the X-Men, and those who he might have aligned with were the kind to be most suspicious of him. Despite this, after several further encounters he would ultimately join the team. Whether this was due to a true change of heart from the Ex-Thief, or rather more to do with the Southern charms of a certain member, remains up for debate. He would, over time, become a well liked and valued member of the team. This made the revelation that he had long been a double agent working for Sinister, despite his reasons, all the more painful for the X-Men, in particular for Rogue. In their rage, the team abandoned Gambit in the Antarctic, a situation he was unlikely to survive.

The poles are a great source of magnatic power, however, and so eventually the wandering mutant became known to Magneto. He had little love for the individual who had contributed to spoiling many of his plans, but he was also in the process of building his new union of all mutants, and so Gambit was rescued from the ice, and given a place in the New Brotherhood. Since then, Gambit has worked to further the aims of the Brotherhood, taking part in the Second Genoshan Revolution, and now being sent out into the wider world to assess the existing threats to the island nation.

Exodus

A being out of time, freed from centuries of imprisonment by Magneto during the darkest years of his maddness, Exodus has been an ardent, if unhinged, supporter of the cause ever since. A mutant of frightening ability, he possesses vast superhuman powers, including telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation, and durability.

Much like Mystique, during Magneto's absence Exodus lead a splinter faction of the Brotherhood, known as the Acolytes. While Mystique's brotherhood may have represented the cunning, more reasonable, aspect of Mutant extremists, Exodus took the most aggressive and damaged souls. This compounded the most extreme elements of the Brotherhood, creating a small yet destructive faction that has caused trouble for the X-Men and wider world since their creation.

The return of Magneto and the rebuilding of bridges between the X-men and many of the Brotherhood has been a complicated issue for Exodus, a rare cause of strife between himself and Magneto. To suggest the members of the X-men are uncomfortable with his presence would be a vast understatement, yet he remains a key aspect of Genosha's defence against the hostility of mankind.

Psylocke

The mutant Kwannon has more reason than most to hate the human regimes of the world. Raised to be the perfect killer by The Hand, even before her state as a mutant was discovered she was forcibly outcast from the normal strata of society. Her loyalty was ensured through a combination of coercion and indoctrination, but it wasn't perfect. Even as she was making a name for herself as the deadliest of assassins in the Japanese underworld, she fell in love and fell pregnant. In displeasure, the Hand slew her lover and took her daughter from her, giving them yet more control over the peerless assassin. Eventually, however, she was able to break free and slay her masters, before setting out to locate her daughter.

Sadly, before she could proceed further in her task, a series of events resulted in the mind of Betsy Braddock taking over Kwannon's body. For this time, Betsy continued under the name of Psylocke, despite wearing the skin of a different woman, and carried on fighting as a member of Xavier's X-men. Eventually Kwannon was able to return to her true form. The blooded murderess had little in common with the idealistic X-men, and so while she continued to use the name Psylocke, she drifted away from the team. Eventually, she would join the Brotherhood, a union of mutants with more place for her deadly skills, under the promise of vengeance upon those who had wronged her and assistance in locating her daughter.

Of the active members of the Brotherhood, she has one of the most workable relationships with the membership of the X-Men, having little in the way of direct conflict with them, and benefitting from many of the X-Men not being entirely able to differentiate her from the Psylocke who fought by their side for years.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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"You aren't supposed to be in here, trooper."

"No, but you are." As the man turned from the terminal to face the approaching soldier, the features he confronted began to swim and shift, a flash of blue, before they reformed. For the briefest of moment's, it was like gazing into a mirror. A mirror which immediately punched him straight in the throat. The system shock was immediate, doubling over in a splutter of desperate breathing. He was utterly unable to anticipate the elbow, his elbow for all appearances, which slammed down into the back of his head, his cranium immediately rebounding off the desk he had been sitting at, the pain of both strikes only interrupted by the sudden loss of consciousness. The figure now wearing the officer's face easily slid into the chair, drawing themselves up to the station.

"Identification required, please complete iris scan." The security fell away as the body double lent down to provide the reading. Around the capital of Hammer Bay, similar terminals were being accessed as the Resistance launched their great gambit. This, however, was the nexus, the primary access point that could only be interfaced by the highest ranking of the Magistrates.

That, or someone wearing their faces.

Once she had passed the scans, Mystique allowed the false skin of the Magistrate office to fall away, her own deep blue skin swallowing the light cast by the computer screen in a matter wholly different to baseline humans. Her fingers still worked away, inputting the code she had written herself. Some things you couldn't leave up to others, no matter how many hands you could now command. With a flick of her wrist, she placed a finger to her ear, triggering the comm-bead within.

"All cells reporting green, terminating broadcast." As she spoke, the virus placed within each of the government's broadcasting stations began to work, eating away at the code to leave it an inoperable tangle of scrambled data. Far from simply cutting off communication, the psychic signals influencing the minds of the countless slave-mutates began to fizzle and fade across the capital, the greatest main holdout of the Magistrate government. A momentary lapse, before the Brotherhood's transmission replaced it, forcibly played across screens and radios over the entire Genoshan nation.

"You're live, Eric." Mystique lent back in the comfortable padding of the chair as the very same screen she had used to begin the pirate broadcast had the very same message imposed upon it.

From imposed darkness, the figure of Magneto drifted into view, his iconic helm, a symbol that had been rallied to by free mutants across the state of Genosha, framing the details of his face as piercing, charismatic, eye bore into the camera.

"Brothers and Sisters, Mutants of Genosha, bask now in the freedom we have won for you." The magnetism of metal was not the only form that Magneto commanded, the fiery zeal of his words flooding across the nation to both current freedom fighters and those newly freed by the failing mental controls the Magistrates had reinstated since their return to power. "Now is not the time for reconciliation, the humans were offered peace, and they repaid it with throwing you back in bonds, no, it is time they learn what we already know, that there is no place to hide. Rise up, Children of Atom, and claim the future that is our right." As the simple but direct message came to an end, the seat from which Mystique had instigated the broadcast was already empty, the Magistrate slumped across the floor waking up to a Genosha entirely changed in the scant moments of his unconsciousness.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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TBC

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

Collab with @Ruby

“It’s a little fancier than Joe’s Diner, my turn to look out of place.”

The process of sending the text message over to Rachel chimed even as Henry placed the device back into his pocket, his location shared with the female kindred as he approached the front desk of the Lounge. Despite his words to the Ventrue woman, and indeed, she would no doubt look far more on theme, neither of the receptionist staff offered protest as he moved past them, a card of gold pressed to the electronic sign in as he did so.

He was dressed in the style of what some would consider truly, vastly, wealthy. Smart brown leather shoes tapped across the wooden flooring, but such expenditure was paired with Levi jeans and a white linen shirt against the LA Heat. This was not the attire of the corporate traveler, but the old money that had them on their payroll. It was also a lot more comfortable for him, and so the insinuation suited him fine.

Even at this hour the lounge would usually be open to a relatively high number of red eye travelers, but for now it had been cleared. No doubt a flurry of complaints would have resulted from the minor inconvenience of having to share the One World Alliance lounge instead, but all would soon have impressed on them the importance of not kicking up too much of a fuss. If it had been up to Henry, he’d have closed the place with the excuse of emergency maintenance. The upper echelons of the Germanic Camarilla had a different style altogether. The Masquerade was important, but so too was the principle of hierarchy. All would know the risk of a complaint, even if they didn’t quite understand why.

Henry didn’t pause as he moved through the interior of the lounge. The tables and countertops were even more pristine than normal, the glimmering, minimalistic opulence of the catering areas made all the more needless and beautiful for the lack of the culinary delights that they would usually host. That did give him pause, before the man beckoned over one of the few, oppressively pale and smartly dressed, staff.

“I’ll have the chicken burger, I’ll be outside.” The request took more than a few moments to register on the surprised waiter. Henry wasn’t entirely sure how much these elite servants would know about the nature of their masters, but they knew enough to be surprised at the request for something solid to consume. He savored the reaction for only a heartbeat, before heading out onto the truly outdoor decking, ignoring the secondary internal deck. This area was truly abandoned, although the light of the propane fireplaces already danced in the night air. He drew himself up a chair next to the lit bar top, tapping his fingers on the marble top as he watched a plane scream through the air above. He focused for a few moments, allowing his exceptional eyes to filter through the light pollution to drink in the night. By his calculation, it would still be some time before their favored guest would arrive at the lounge. Might as well enjoy the view.

And his burger.

"The Star Alliance Lounge is closed?"

Rachel blinked at the question. She'd barely had time to get out of the car before the other woman was on her, saying the words in the form of a question. LAX, the airport, wasn't titled such on the management side. It was part of a larger entity; the Los Angeles World Airports. The managing group for more than one of the area's airports. The re-organization had been in place by Rachel's mortal predecessor before she had even met Eva, though it didn't take Eva long to allow Rachel to get her hands on it and work on the efficiency of the operation.

"Yes," was all Rachel said through her blink as she stepped out of the backseat of the Cadillac, though the woman just stared at her with a pained, forced, smile on her painted lips. The woman was Lauren Bradley, red hair, pale skin, mid-thirties, the Chief Airport Operations Officer for LAX, and the Chief of Staff to the LAWA CEO. Where Rachel was dressed in skinny fit style black wool pants, enriched with gold-tone Medusa button closures on either hip, black heels, and a magenta wool blazer with a black silk tank top under it.

For those familiar, it was all part of the latest runway line from Versace, although that line wouldn't be shown to the public for a month in Paris. Lauren Bradley wore something else; some kind of blazer and skirt combo, it looked older, maybe Calvin Klein? Rachel didn't care. Rachel just stared in return, forcing Ms. Bradley to finally get brave, and say something else in the scene that was quickly becoming awkward as they stood just outside one of the VIP entrances to one of the terminals.

"It's just, along with the added security--"

Rachel didn't need the woman to continue, happy to cut her off with a stiff, professional, half-smile. "Ms. Bradley, I assure you we wouldn't be doing either of these measures if they weren't necessary. My goal wasn't to make you apologize to everyone in LAX for us tonight...but at the same time I'm afraid this can't be helped. I'll let you know the moment we can open the lounge back up."

The woman apologized, prattled on about something, but by that point Rachel had to move. What Eva had told her about the Ventrue Inner Council seat holder was that he was something of an act that took himself too seriously, and Rachel didn't figure it would do well to make Henry wait for her long, let alone deal with Hardestadt on his lonesome, making them both wait. Black suited security flanked her, one white, one black, both looking like commandos wearing a suit. She had met both before; they were good gents. Some of Andre's inner circle, highly trained, and impeccably positioned to cover her if it came to it. Yet the short walk to the elevator, and the shorter walk to the front of the longue were both uneventful. She didn't go in through the front door, she went in through the kitchen service, meeting two more armed men that let her and her guards in. The guards peeled off as Rachel found him outside.

"Hey," was all she said as she walked outside to the lounge's Terrace. Something inside her wanted to say more, but her voice wouldn't betray her, and nothing about her appearance suggested anything of the sort. She ditched the magenta blazer and draped it over one of the barstools, before moving closer to him, sneaking a peek at the smart phone the Digital Thaumaturges that they financed and protected had provided her. It felt like years ago her lips and hands were all over his body, not days. Yet so much had happened in between, and they hadn't seen him.

"You talked to her, didn't you?"

Somehow, someway, Rachel just knew.

The sudden charge in the air around him at her arrival wasn’t something he hid, although whether it was purely body language and pheromones or something that spoke of his nature was another matter entirely. The fact she was immediately lost in her phone didn’t dissuade him at all. A slightly more wholesome memory of laughing at the sight of her desperately craning for signal while balanced atop a run down cadillac on a dirt road sprung to mind and he didn’t hide the smile from that either. He didn’t hide the brush of intimacy, his hand tracing her hip for the moment, as he leaned in both in greeting and to reply.

“In a sense. It’s the mages who took her, but they need new tricks if they’re to hide someone from me. She wants to stay with them for now, get them onboard. I think that’s what we need, but I could touch her mind for long enough to get my marching orders.” While he efforts to hide whatever rivaling forces of emotion within her may have been successful, the unspoken question of his presence wasn’t hidden from him, and so he carried on, still not putting space between them. “India. I couldn’t not act.” It wasn’t an apology, but the tone was there. It risked his exposure, but Henry could no more sit back and watch a continent die than he could have submitted to the will of his father when it crashed against his compassion. “And I wasn’t alone, Caine is on the move again, which means I can find him, talk to him. You all have given me hope I might be able to reach him, this time.” His words had nothing to do with the geography and everything to do with his efforts to win the heart of another being cursed to wander.

“But, I still probably need a minder for a meeting with King Ventrue.”

Rachel chuckled, "I almost pity the mages; no one makes an impression like Eva. Grace told us they have her at..." Rachel's brown eyes darted there and here, and back again, a sliver of a shrug rolling her porcelain shoulders and the shoulder length dark hair with the slight wave parted down the middle. Surveillance had her a touch nervous. "Well, you know, I'm sure."

She almost didn't want to speak the next sentence. She remembered what happened the last time Henry saw the creature, and the violence in the man's eyes that day. "We, uh...we saw Nathaniel. He's been stalking us. It sounded like he's been stalking us because he couldn't find Eva anywhere in, or around, the city. You should have seen the stare he gave Yanci. I thought he was going to leap for her throat, then and there. Luckily Andre and Mihail are quite the, uh, dissuasive force."

Rachel ignored the Caine mention. Based on everything she knew, it was better just to keep it to herself.
In the same way he didn’t hide the lingering intimacy, the hand left drifting at her hip or the warmth of his smile for her, he didn’t seek to conceal the sudden tightening of his shoulders, the tautness in his build at the mention of the Nosferatu. The last time he had met Nathaniel he had run him through with the Blade of Eden, and only Eva’s pleas for clemency had prevented him from igniting the divine blade and scattering the kindred’s ash upon the wind.

“Tell me if you encounter him again, please.” The intensity came with his fingers pressing into her slightly, before with an exhalation he relaxed. “I won’t hunt him, but I’ll stop him from taking her.” He didn’t need to add who he meant. His bond was Eva was like nothing else in the cosmos, even he didn’t quite understand what burned, or perhaps had burned, between himself and the woman beside him, but Yanci had been the first of them all for him.

Finally he pulled away from her, just a little breathing room. Perhaps to her relief, certainly a relief for the neatness of her outfit no longer presented with the risk of his grip. The interruption was preemptive, as the glass doors out onto the deck slid open. There was a roar overhead and suddenly the outer deck was engulfed in the dazzling light of a plane’s headlamps, a brightness so intense it momentarily obscured vision. Once the glare faded, he was standing there.

Henry knew that the moment of light had no doubt equally obscured the flash of red sights as unknown marksman dialed in on any perceived threat to the man in the dark suit. Exquisitely tailored from an Italian fashion house no one on the American continent could hope to secure an appointment for, the man was slightly too leonine to be considered truly handsome, no matter the pleasant smile on his face as he approached the pair. He appeared unaccompanied, but that was never the case for a man such as this.

“Miss Fields, it has been some time since your name graced my desk, such a pleasure to see life is treating you well in the interim.” His hand extended to her as he drew closer, palm horizontal to shake, a greeting of respect, rather than expected subservience. The man’s blonde and shortly cropped hair framed a face of powerful edges, atop a form that was equally angular, with just enough substance as to not be lanky despite his near-exceptional height. Hardestadt had made a career of orchestrating the unknowable web of the Ivory Tower, mastering far older elders simply from his ability to master information. It was no surprise someone as promising as Rachel had been an object of interest, even before attaining anything that could be considered greatness by the Camarilla. His cold, grey-blue eyes settled on Henry the moment after, with only a simple nod of greeting. “Mr Locke, a shame to hear about your bar.”

Rachel's physical response to the hand shake was demure, even if the look upon her fine dark features were closer to glacial: he was her blood, she was Ventrue, she would be demure for him. More than anything, Rachel resisted the urge to ask the man about Thaddeous. Mr. Carter hadn't been unkind, and their partnership had provided a huge problem for the Sabbat on the East Coast. She knew they lost every gain they'd had save for D.C.. In a bittersweet moment, she also had an idea that the Camarilla had used some of the analytical information Rachel had composed against Eva and the Anarchs from San Francisco.

Yet she never took it personally, and she had simply never heard another thing from Thaddeous. It wasn't hate Rachel felt for the Camarilla, it was just...indifference. Funny thing when you ran one of the largest money laundering rings the world had ever seen and had a contact spreadsheet that could make even a Ventrue elder blush. Hollywood was the kind of soft power the Camarilla would never achieve, Eva the kind of elder that the Camarilla just simply could not produce for someone like her to serve.

A slight perk of her brow was all the suggestion that she wandered, this close to the man, how Gehenna affected him. The Coterie had Eva's blood to protect them, Hardestadt had nothing of the sort. She hoped it wasn't along the horrible rumors she had heard coming out of Chicago.

"Welcome back to Los Angeles, Mr. Hardestadt. I hope the modern nights have been kind to you."

There was a crackle of amusement in the air at her tone of greeting, Henry's hand passing in a stroke down the indent of her spine, the tone of someone enjoying such a radical change in her nature, even if his gaze towards the opposite kindred remained serious.

"As kind as any have been." The elder Ventrue responded with a smile that lacked any true warmth. "New challenges require new solutions, but that in of itself is a constant." As the male spoke, a waiter arrived with a tray bearing decorated champagne flutes, although the liquid within lacked any sort of sparkle and possessed a deep crimson rather than hints of gold. Hardestadt had collected his own glass before they were offered towards the pair, notably long before Henry's summoned burger had arrived. "I would be most welcome to invite you back to aid in such solutions, those who still speak of you still speak very highly, if with regret." Piercing eyes never left Rachel as the man supped from his drink, the promise of both wrath and opportunity all at once. "But I suppose you will continue to decline the offer, and much as there is always interest I did not come all this way for a hiring prospect." He did not expand on this further for the moment, content to study the pair as he had before.

"No, thank you," Rachel all but beamed at the waiter, dark eyes sparkling with a vibrant warmth that matched the smile she flashed. A brilliance that disappeared within a single beat once the waiter moved on. Instead, confusion riddled her darkly fine features as her head tilted just the barest of angles to the side, her brown eyes fixated on Hardestadt, her voice sprinkled with a cheery amusement atop the sound of confusion, "Why would I downgrade?"

The confusion wiped, her head upright, head and shoulders tall as the real Rachel threw off the facade, her hands with clear polished manicured fingertips coming together in front of her, "Your new challenges pale in comparison to our new challenges. You want to save yourself, we want to save everything and everyone. We are not the same, Mr. Hardestadt. She has never asked for your help, and while we certainly don't believe Matthew Lubbock is your doing, it must be said we do consider this another red mark among a long list of them in our ledgers concerning the debts incurred with our group by your organization. Recompense is of no interest to us, long past is the time for that. I have come simply in the hope your organization wishes to discuss ways in which to collaborate on solutions to the overarching challenges."

Her lips were smiling again by the end of her addressing of the man with such a pleasant and warm tone, the subtle and secure smile of the clear eyed and supremely confident.

Rachel’s words certainly had their sting, and it would be impossible to suggest they were entirely expected, at least in the manner in which they delivered. Nevertheless, as Hardestad paused to sip the offered wine, savoring the unexpected taste of elder blood, if not quite questioning where it had originated, his reaction registered as little more than a twinge across his features.

“A warning then. The past is littered with the unnecessary fallen of those who considered their challenges unique and refused the advice and support of others. I should know, I was there in North Africa when this continent first learned the cost of these Modern Nights, failing to heed the advice of their own allies.”

“That’s entirely why I’ve come from our stronghold, and left the rest of my Coterie, to talk with you, and give you that.” Rachel said, motioning with a nod to the glass in his hand, “it doesn’t long for the effect to kick in. It’s hard to say exactly what it will do to you, you’re the first of your clan and generation to taste it. For certain you’ll notice any lingering Beckoning to be gone, completely. I’ve noticed my mind clears faster and there’s a certain…serenity to it. My Coterie fellow, Andre, has also mentioned he feels a touch more humane after. In that drink is Eva’s blood. We have but a tiny supply of it, yet the effects are good for about a week, give or take, depending on the individual. When she told us her blood could help us remain free of the immediate pull of Gehenna, we didn’t believe her, I’m embarrassed to say. Sounded too good to be true. In either case, a token of our good will and desire to collaborate, should you decide your organization would be best in alignment with our goals.”

Her eyes flicked to Henry, waiting on the man to say…something.

“It’s all true, Hardestadt, not just what Rachel is telling you about Eva, but everything the mad prophecies the Camarilla have worked so long to suppress have warned you. I know you suspect, but I’m telling you, it’s worse than you fear.” Henry finally spoke following the look from Rachel, his focus having not wavered, at least in the line of his eyes, from the man for the length of the conversation. There was a crackle in the air between them, an unspoken something that spoke to an established acquaintance, or at least reputation.

The German Kindred’s attention had, in the meantime, slipped to the drink, tilting his head slightly as he examined both the visual appearance of the glass as well as the sensation Rachel described working through him. It was something of a social and political affront to feed another blood of a potentially dominating elder, but for now the slight would be forgiven. “Some have already been dismissed by the march of time, the millennia came and went, the world still stands.” Hardestadt’s cold gaze fixed Henry Locke for a moment longer, before he spoke. “My father-in-darkness knew you by another name, Mr Locke. Whatever your reasons, you actions in such times were fruitful for the Ivory Tower, for that, we have listened to you both thus far.” Had the elder kindred known the full story of quite how far back the machinations of Henry ran, he would likely act far more decisively, but for now they remained nebulously vast. “There are two agents I trust to be of use to you in this city, I have grown unimpressed with the works of Vannevar, you may dispose of him and I will not act. Genevive Dieudonné and Violetta Kyborowski, I will instruct them to aid your efforts in this city in the interim. What information I have that may be of use to you from the Old World I shall share. Stay out of New York, a great death is building there that I cannot prevent, should it wake no amount of chosen blood will save you from the initial annihilation.” The aid and warning provided, the suited Kindred finished the remainder of his wine in a short gulp. “If that is all?”

Rachel looked unimpressed; or maybe it was just the Ventrue blood in her. “Bye.” She didn’t wait, just flashed a look of rare irritation to Henry and left, only scooping her own blazer on her way out, her last word a word to the security team, “you’re done the moment they leave this airport. Start the hunt for Lubbock. Intel and logistics go through Andre, and we don’t care how much it costs, or who you have to intimidate or hurt to make it happen.”

There was a surge to the loudness of her steps, as she all but buzzed with the fact that she had just unleashed hundreds of their own trained people equipped with an overwhelming surveillance capability, the largest kine and Kindred intelligence and influence network in the state. The only reason she stopped at the door? To turn around, look at the security detail, and add, “Vannevar is dead before midnight tomorrow, and anyone who would try to harbour or protect him, no matter their affiliation or status.”

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

Writing my sheet was delayed a fair bit due to irl issues but I am still working on it! Should be up later today or failing that tommorow.

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

In conjunction with Ruby looking to play the Xmen I'd like to express an interest to play the brotherhood of mutants focused around Magneto!

Mutant pride and all that jazz.

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

Collab with @Ruby

When the sensation first shuddered through him, he could not place the change. The warmth seemed to drain out of his world, the burning light of stars a million, million, miles away winking out as he beheld the gemstone carpet of the night sky, rivaled only by the glittering sea of the billion lights of LA.

It took him but a moment to wallow in the sense of emptiness before he knew what it was. She was gone, blinded from his senses in a manner he hadn't felt before even meeting her. The bond with her ancestors, far older than his current mortal lifetime, severed for the first time.

She wasn't dead, he knew he would know. That was the only think keeping him rooted in place, the scattered ashes of the Hollywood Hills about him as he tried to call to her.

"Eva." It lacked nuance, or any such detail, simply a pulse of his mind as Henry Locke cast his mind out. He had returned only recently from the badlands, hunting and questions the werewolf packs of the region and finding only murder on their minds. There hadn't been time to pause and refocus, Henry returning to the scene of the blood magic surge which had started the chain of events leading to the Lupine attack, and Rachel leaving to meet again with the Coterie. This shuddering, awful emptiness had been the first thing that had finally driven the sound of her gasps from his mind, and tingling pinprick of her fangs from his skin. Everything cast away in his search.

"Eva!"

More insistent now, but no more developed, the physical form of the man rooted in place even as he mind cast out. The possible threat to her tore at him, threatening to unleash the starlight within for the second time in too short a period. Could Henry Locke survive if his true self surfaced once again so soon? He did not know, but the thought of losing her was worse.

Instead of calling for Heaven's Light, instead his lips moved into a strange rhythm of syllables. Words not spoken since the angels had shattered Babel rushed into the air. The foundation of all human spell work launched into the night, twisting and turning reality into the desires of the speaker. The world shimmered around him, creation distorting and shuddering under the strain, the force of his mind bushing through the barriers, for that's what they were, calling to her, ever onwards, no matter what was arrayed before him. Another recent second, now once again the Hollywood Hills shuddered with the supernatural forces playing across them, as concern drew into desperation.

"Eva!"

The response was endless, and bright without being blinding. There he stood, Henry Locke, in a vast white infinite, the only dimension of which witnessed was that his feet was set upon something; some floor, even if white and without dimensional boundary...but a floor none-the-less. A floor shared by a blonde, crystal blue eyed angel of a boy child, seated Indian-style before him. His voice smooth and undeepened by puberty or manhood, yet perfect white teeth held the undeniable feature of fangs. Henry Locke had met the boy once before; when he assisted Eva and her Coterie in ending the child's madness and paranoid-fueled reign of chaos and destruction on Los Angeles.

Now Christopher Houghton just smiled up at the man. "Oh, hey, Henry. Remember me? Well I'm still here. Eva and I made-up. Turns out I was kind of jerk...heh, sorry about all that. Are you looking for her? She's here, somewhere. 'Void Engineers' she calls them. Or do they tell her to call them that? Mages, I say, proper magic and all that."

Covered in a pool of red, the body of Eva was there, beside Houghton, on the same 'floor' of infinite white nothingness in which the child sat, and the man stood just feet away. The red seemed to shift and shimmer in a light that came from no true direction, no real source; it was just was. Like the child, the man, and the woman. It shimmered when her body shifted, barely a fidget, but enough to send the red rippling in a line between shadow and shine, her dark hair long and spread out on the white nothingness around her head, eyes closed.

The boy smiled, pure boyish charm and the warmth of youth, "I think it's velvet, or silk," he said, meaning the red that covered her. What it actually was, rather than what it appeared as now, was lesser known. The boy didn't seem to care. "She talks a lot to the oldest ones left. Well, of my line, I guess. Her's, too, come to think of it..."

"Henry." Eva existed between awake and asleep, her voice a delicate thing, weakened by weariness and barely awake. "You came. Are you alright?"

The Henry Locke the outside world knew would no doubt be surprised at the clemency this version of him within the spellwork provided the young child, the apparition of Houghton receiving and understanding smile from the man as he approached the vision of Eva, kneeling beside her, one hand brushing through the fabric.

“Mages that don’t believe they’re mages. Another failure of mine.” He breathed softly, ignoring the question posed his way for the moment as he instead grounded himself with the not quite real touch of his fingers on her. “I am fine, you were gone, in a way your bloodline hasn’t been ‘gone’ since it begun. Sadly for them, I wrote the magic they tried to hide you with.” There was the tiniest teasing infliction to his words, but not enough to suggest it was a joke. “Are they hurting you?”

“Only with tedium and the long, slow, death of procedural adherence.”

Her sigh was dramatic, and the kind of thing that made the red sheet over her body lift and deflate noticeably…much slower was the creeping of the wicked little smirk over her pink lips and sleepy features. Her voice was deeper than normal, just a degree or two, as the weariness became something she just wasn’t going to snap out of. A single bright brown eyes peeking half-open, head tilting just enough to take a look at Henry. His image kept the little smirk right there on her lips. “I’d be more worried about their health and safety; with sticks THAT big up their individual and collective asses…”

Christopher erupted in the laughter of a child; just as much at the mental imagery as the fact that Eva had said the word ‘ass.’ With both her eyes once again closed, she stifled a half-yawn and gave the barest hint of a shrug, “They’re scared. On some level they think I’m insane, but they believe me. Maybe not believe IN me…but I’ll take what I can get from these people. It goes well enough, though.”

His arms pulled around her near-sleeping for as the silk danced, her smirk and Christopher's laugh bringing a smile to his own, as he hauled her to him, her thought-form draped into his lap that was not truly there.

"Well that's alright then, I'll take boring and listening over enraged and fighting." He answered, one finger stroking her cheek, before adding; "Or perhaps I'm only saying that because it's not me doing the talking, I have been known to hunt down the odd scrap." Perhaps an understatement given the nature of their meeting. In many other turns of the timepiece Henry Locke had never bothered to fight for the Sunset Lounge, had rode on out of Los Angeles and never looked back, leaving Christopher to his games. His stubbornness this time around had lead them together, the burning hope of the world pinned on the spark of his grim determination to show an immortal child he didn't give a fuck. Said child received a glance at that. The stubborn nature of their dispute flowed both ways, without either it would have fizzled out before it begun. Perhaps a second thing to thank the Kid for, beyond her.

"I'm here, love. I'll help the others, they need me, but know I'm always here." His accent twisted around the word in such a way that has always thrilled Americans, but when he spoke it to her there was a truth beyond the old colloquialisms. "Plus, can't let you be bored for long, you'll never let me live it down."

“Please,” she said, her eyes wide open and fully alert, staring into his, for the first time. “They need the help. Especially the newest one, I don’t think he even realizes he’s one of us yet. I’m told all eyes are on them, and you. All eyes. Be safe until I get back–then we can do the crazy shit.”

"I think whatever ancestor he has spurring him on to seek the Lord's purpose would probably protest being chummy with this particular angel." The words were teasing, despite the cosmic surroundings they inhabited and the force of will, on both ends, necessary for the conversation. "I'll do my best, try not to make the mages feel too stupid." With a parting glance and a smile, the unreality bled away into nothing, and Henry stood alone once more.

The Grim Crusade - Warhammer 30000 Interest Check

Poke!

A bunch of collabs about to get posted, and we newly have plenty of spots to fill!

Anyone interested feel free to hop in the discord and we can help with concepts!

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

-Placeholder-

Cyberpunk2077: 5th Corporate War

Collab with @Ruby

The Afterlife

She hadn’t supposed it was too common to pregame for the Afterlife. Even though the music pounded as it would any other rock club and drunken bodies swung about to the crashing rhythm, it was a place of business. Its inhabitants had slaughtered their way to a right to be present, or at the least, fucked one of those who had.

Shimada had owed Kelly a night out, however. Too many weeks of blowing her off for the less than honest pursuits of her work hadn’t been fair on one of the few normal and stable aspects of her life since the deaths of her family. Kelly didn’t know anything about what her life had been, but she was bright enough to know what her current life was even if she’d taken much effort to hide it from her. When she’d offhand mentioned she had business at the famous Merc club that evening, the young American blonde had made it something of a mission to attend as well. Not that she had any reason beyond the cool factor of a night at the bar, but it was also a general excuse for them to spend some time together and catch up.

The cultural classes she had attended for years in Japan had attempted to invest in her a condescending dislike for the Western practice of relying on locations where the music was too loud to hear yourself think, as a place of social gathering. Her upbringing in Night City had done its best to prevent that particular lesson sinking in. She’d danced and drunk with Kelly through a series of bars and clubs, not one they’d waited to paid to get into. Shimada didn’t like wearing black, it reminder her too much of the Arasaka uniform she’d donned many times before. Her bodyglove for work was an unfortunate exception, it wasn’t much like she could find a replacement in a new shade right off the street. So, despite all warnings about spilt drinks and general city grime, she’d worn white. Black was, of course, slimming, and white did the opposite, the halter top bodycon dress highlighting the flaring of her hips in a way that was certainly appreciated by the door staff of the city. Not that her friend was a hindrance in the charm department.

Time passed, as it had want to do, and the appointed hour had drawn near. Despite Kelly’s assertions she would ‘be good’ and just wanted a look around the famous bar, Shimada packed her off into a taxi. She’d slowed down her own drinking some time before, and the stimms flooding her system were already most of the way to sobering her up, and she didn’t much feel like keeping one eye on the bar while also meeting with a new contact. She didn’t change outfit, just threw on her leather Tyger Claw branded jacket over the top of her dress as she walked the remaining distance to the bar. One underappreciated advantage of her augmented palms and soles was a complete lack of pain from extended time in high heels. Another little hack of life.

She hadn’t spent much time in the Afterlife, but she was a striking enough figure from her few brief visits that Bronson greeted her with only the tepid hostility offered to those expected to get in, as opposed to the outright dismissive contempt for those on their first try. She gave him a flick of a demure smile, not showing her teeth as she had been taught, in thanks. He hardly reacted, but it never hurt to keep on the good side of a walking slab of muscle. As she moved towards the bar, the sway of her gait entirely deliberate as opposed to the influence of the now fully countered night of drinking, she pondered the question of whether she could ‘take’ the infamous Animal gang member. She was still undecided as she perched on the first free barstool.

“A Jackie Welles, please.” A pretty generic choice she was sure in recent months, but it wasn’t her fault that the recently deceased had made a good choice of a drink. The first sip hit her with just enough kick of both vodka and ginger to send a shiver through her. If she ever shut off the rather fancy set of biological augments her old life had bought her she was something of a lightweight. She didn’t mind that, made each drink worth it. Just the one, to steady the nerves she pretended not to feel. The drink didn't last long, before her eyes flickered back up to the bartender.

"One more, thanks." She took the drink in hand before standing. Shimada had already located the Fixer she was after, caught in her periphery, Wakako had informed her enough. A Fixer looking for a crew for a job that aligned with what she wanted, and would need the information she had. Wakako had also added some descriptives about being mad enough to try, but then the kind of change Shimada was after wasn't the kind the entirely sane ever achieved.

She encountered the hired muscle before the Fixer herself, that was to be expected, even those who tended to operate from the main floor still needed something to keep their boothes private. Shimada took a long sip of her new drink as she simply looked up into the meat's eyes for the duration of the gulp, sparkling hazel eyes meeting the grim, impatient visage without pause. Another brief smile, before she spoke 'around' the man.

"Hi there Eddie, Wakako sent me." It wasn't exactly the most badass of greetings, but as she took another sip from her drink, her other hand in the bubblegum turquoise of her tyger claw jacket, it was about as much as she could think to offer without screaming "Hello there, let's burn down a megacorp together."

"It's okay, Squama, this is the one who wants to burn down a megacorporation with us."

Eddie wasn't even looking up from the datapad that had her attention when she rose her voice to tell Crispin to let the woman through, and the humor in her words was left to the imagination as her tone remained dry, the humor deadpan. Only when the woman sat and settled did Eddie hand off the datapad across the table to Crispin, "Yeah, this will work. Get the equipment delivered and I'll see about essentials; bedding, provisions, the like. I'll bug Nix about local network security and the special server I'll have to move and setup myself. Thank you, sir."

There was a little 'twang' at the end of her words, a little verbal twist on the word 'sir' that Crispin didn't seem to notice, or care about. The large man just nodded and left the booth, understanding what Eddie meant when she thanked him so formally: You can go, I got this.

"Let's be inclusive, Ms. Masako, call that friend of yours over. I promise to be gentle with her."

Eddie's grin was reflective of the same deadpan humor as her indication of who Shimada was to the solo and bodyguard, Crispin, even if it was an impossibility to tell if Eddie was actually even slightly kidding about any of it, all of it, or absolutely none of it.

Shimada smiled politely once again to the muscle as she was allowed through, never quite showing her teeth. She paused before sitting, however, at the request to bring Kelly over, who was currently pestering the bar staff for any fun stories. As was her nature, that was for their own fun stories, she didn’t much care for the big ego mercs everyone else drooled over.

“I’m sure she can manage either way,” She didn’t need to add that her roommate was a Night City native, the kind to watch five people eat chrome on the way to work and call it a quiet day. She flicked her phone to her ear as she moved to sit, sparing the effort to yell across the bar. “Hey Kells, come grab a drink, lady’s buying.” It hadn’t taken long for her to unlearn the formulaic speech, even in English, her education in Japan had provided her. It was a matter of survival really, even the most diehard faker from Japantown would struggle to maintain the formality that had been second nature to her. Of course, she could turn it back on at a pinch, but there was rarely a need for that.

The American blonde arrived in but a moment, a little more sway to her walk than Shimada’s had been thanks to lacking her biomods, but she was still put together enough, offering a hand out to Eddie with a bright smile, “Hey, nice to meet you.”

Eddie took the hand gently between her forefingers and thumb of her right hand, holding it as the woman leaned across the table, Eddie scooting forward in the booth's seating and leaning towards her, the monowire sharp smile on her unpainted and unglossed lips, the black of her jacket and top and pants and boots making the smile stand out all the more, and not always in the best of ways, her tone kind but the sound of her voice coming close to sharp. Eddie got close to make sure the woman heard her, and her blues eyes stared deep into the very soul of the girl's eyes so that there was no mistaking Eddie's intent, "You need to be very careful in this bar, Ms. Kelly. There are people in this bar who could end every life on a city block before anyone could do anything to stop them, and I mean like that," 'that', the word heavy with emphasis as her left hand appeared out of the nowhere of shadow and snapped loudly alongside the word just an inch from Kelly's face.

Eddie let go, and motioned to the girl to sit. Claire stared from the opening of the booth, the gravity of the moment not lost on Claire; this was the inner circle of Hell, and Claire had gained and lost more than she would like to admit to the demons that inhabited it. If anything, it was hard for Claire to hide the shadow of a smirk that inhabited her lips as she waited for Eddie's attention.

"Tequila, Reyes liquor, firewater, agave nectar, a squeeze of lemon juice, shaken over ice and double strained. Tajín Clásic garnish, topped with cerveza and mixed."

The Mexican-Spanish flair came easily to Eddie's decidedly not Mexican-Spanish voice, like an old friend she just hadn't spoken to in a while. Claire nodded, with a small chuckle, "Am I naming this one after you one day?"

Eddie let the smile be her real answer, even as she allowed another, "No, I'm a simple beer kind of girl." Kelly was unlikely to have had an old Cartel classic cocktail common in the tejano haunts of Texas, to say nothing of Shimada, from a country where such a cocktail was, as Eddie well knew, all but unheard of even if they went chasing something truly tejano or Texas, let alone Mexican. Claire disappeared, and Eddie was left to sink back into her seat, and give Shimada a look that was either apologetic, or completely lacking in apology, depending on point of view.

"Since we'll be working together for a time, might as well start off one step below Blue Glass, as I've already had my fill of that for the week." It was a miracle Conrad wasn't still sunk into a booth somewhere, lost in memory and lights and illusionary spectacle. "I'm told the code was secured, I've got a BD artiste modifying the BD, we'll check to make sure it would pass corpo eyes but...I've got faith. You'll be helping more in the background, closer to working more directly with me than the team. In fact, to be honest, I'd prefer the team never know you're involved at all. More security for you, and less potential for something to go wrong, if something were to go wrong."

“Something will go wrong.” When the words slipped from her lips they were without needless dread or a sense of correction. She had no illusions as to the nature of the task set before them, and those to whom they would shortly be directly set against. One could plan for every eventuality, and still never account for the whims of fate. “I don’t need, or want, to be present at every stage, but I will be involved when the blade drops, those are my terms, if we are to work together.” She was well aware that Eddie had already received most of what she already needed, but that wasn’t to say matters would be more complicated without her. Fixers tended to hate complication, especially when it didn’t even result in a bigger payout. “If they find out who I am, then it will function as enough of a smokescreen anyway.” As far as she was aware, no one beyond the old woman knew who she had been, but she hadn’t altered her face, recognition was always possible. Shimada allowed herself a sip of the drink, savouring the unusual taste, definitely speaking more to the strands of her taste buds that favoured her upbringing in Night City over her adolescence and genealogy in Japan. Kelly wasn’t as reserved, taking a more direct, more American, gulp of the cocktail, offering a celebratory clink of glasses to both other women present.

“Who have you brought together?” Shimada carried on speaking once the second sip was down her, one leg crossed over the other, not leaning back, as she spoke. Some lessons of proprietary didn’t quite slip without concerted effort, and she didn’t mind the contrast between herself and the two true-American women, not for the moment anyway.

Eddie smiled at the ‘cheers’, despite herself, and hoped the girl wouldn’t be dead by the turn of the new year. It was too early to celebrate, and for no one was that truer than herself. It was an unusual balance to the grim seriousness that was her companion of the hour. “No battle plan withstands getting punched in the mouth,” Eddie echoed an old friend from College Station, from a past life, in agreement with the general sentiment. She had quite a lot of experience at contingencies, it gave her a soothed over, quiet, confidence at such a fact.

“Nix has the bios. Tell him I sent you, he’ll let you see them.” The unmistakable sound of the base of an empty glass hitting a table sounded as Eddie finished her cocktail with a thirst, “I’ll be in touch, there’s more than enough work to do. Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

The sheer fire of the cocktail sending heat through her body and her brain let the smirk slip at the comment, given her history, it wasn’t a terribly limiting farewell.

Cyberpunk2077: 5th Corporate War

S H I M A D A
S H I M A D A

Obligation
Obligation

There are such things as duty and obligation

Her duty had been to the Clan, to the Corporation.

Her obligation was to the murdered ghosts of her family.

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

“You’ve outdone yourself, Marshall.” The grin of approval dripped with grim promise, not for the initial target of the expression, but for the bounty provided on the evening, yet another in the long run of endless evenings in Night City.

“What can I say? Militech looks after allies and employees alike.” The grin was met with a rather more respectful nod. Around the pair bright lights shone and music blared, a sensory overload designed to entice and overwhelm. The Bodukkan Centre was the most prestigious performing arts centre on the West Coast, but those currently present weren’t so interested in the world famous Kabuki performances as they were simply revelling in one of the most exclusive settings in Night City.

The Kabuki performers were so committed to their art that each had undergone cosmetic and cybernetic work to allow them to appear as their time honoured roles at all times, the great princes, princesses and demons of Japanese mythology. People paid a fortune to watch them before. They paid more for their private attention. Until recently such a boon was something only the Kansaki family could bestow, usually for the sort of price which dealt in favours rather than eddies. The unspoken bond between the Kansaki Clan and Arasaka had been so widely known that it would be inaccurate to refer to it as secret, a bond that had been shattered both by the extermination of the Clan’s members and dealings in Night City and the collapse of much of Arasaka’s waning influence. Now the Bodukkan had changed from exclusive to simply ludicrously expensive.

The multi-tiered lobby and its various bars had been converted into a riotous display of colour and sound, for the limited time of the evening becoming the most desired night club in a city renowned for its many nightly escapes. Banners of silk descended from the ceiling through the central stairwell, performers turning and spinning across them in displays of grace and athleticism. While impressive, they were not performers from the centre itself, they were here to revel alongside the few outsiders permitted to join the end of show party. Each of the Kabuki were a work of art, graceful slender bodies in a crescendo of augmented colour, each securing yet further funding for their performance with the press of their forms against those willing to spend the eddies to be here.

“Never in doubt, but it’s always nice to see what you have to offer when you’re trying to impress.” Henry Renham had been a dedicated member of Yorinobu’s faction within Arasaka. He’d not cared much for the principles of the man, he’d simply been in it to make the most money in the least time. He’d certainly achieved that, helping to orchestrate the violence which had consumed the company, before jumping ship and avoiding the economic downturn most of ‘Saka were feeling right now. Militech needed someone to help orchestrate their takeover of the excess weight Arasaka was being forced to shed, to know what was dead weight and what was worth seizing. Renham was one of those men, vultures picking at the bones of a slaughtered whale. For the moment, he sat with a rather more long term employee of the company, Curt Tyfield, nominally Militech’s Night City Head of Onboarding. In reality, he was their bribe guy, and he was doing a good job of it. The pair sat in a booth beside one of the circle bars, watching the party like sharks over a shoal. The sparkling wine they shared carried a value above the city’s median salary and they barely took a sip.

Through the cascade of noise, colour and motion, Renham’s eyes finally honed in on something of interest. Slowly climbing the circular stairway blazed a note of red and gold among the sea of cooler colours. The woman was dressed as Amaterasu, the goddess of the Sun and most sacred role among the Kabuki. As with many of the performers the outfit was a blend of their traditional costumes and clubwear. This woman’s lent towards the former, a fan of gold extending from her collar portrayed the rising sun, the long sweeping gown she wore alike to the ceremonial version of the outfit save for a few details, the most noteworthy of which for the man watching her being the plunging face of the dress, a display of decolletage that spoke far more of Night City then it did traditional Japan.

“Plump for a dancer.” The voice of the other man in the booth pulled Renham from his leering, shrugging only slightly in recognition. It was true enough, the rigorous Kabbuki performances forged slim athletic builds, what Renham could see of the woman’s form could certainly be considered athletic, but not alike with the petite forms around her.

“Probably self conscious then, perfect.” His grin returned, pushing to a sneer as he stood, adjusting his cufflinks as he did so. “See you on the other side.”

“Happy fucking.”

—-------------------------------

They had danced for longer than he had liked, the teasing obscuring silk of her gown rustling against him as they moved together. That had thrilled him though, the hunt was almost more important than the prize to him, and she seemed to have sussed that out soon enough. He’d have commended her intelligence had he no intention of becoming a long term supporter of the Kabukki. Clearly she was looking to secure her position in the troupe, a wealthy backer might be enough to fend off any criticism she might receive for having the ‘wrong physique.’ He’d happily take advantage and forget about her the next morning.

All that teasing ended how he knew it would, however, with a slamming door as she pulled him into the rest room, delicate hands dancing across his form as she spurred him onwards. She thudded back against the sink, hopping herself up to sit on the shelf of marble as her legs wrapped around him. The feel of her thighs was taught and firm, giving further clues as to the physique she concealed within the flowing gowns of silk, already his head lowering to where her gown resolutely failed to conceal the curves of her form.

She murmured something to him as his ear passed the plump press of her lips. He anticipated some sweet nothing in her mother tongue, he knew some Japanese after all, but the word was unfamiliar and her frowned, mumbling for her to repeat herself, like he cared what she had to say, as he continued his descent.

“Shin Kanzaki.”

“What?”

“My father’s name.”

Realisation didn’t dawn through the lust obscured mind of the man even as her legs tightened further, he remained dumbfounded as he felt something sharp dig around the shard port beside his ear. Confusion had barely turned to concern before his vision blurred and his world became pain.

Shimada twisted with her legs, sending them crashing to the ground. With the pull of a strap at her back the gown fell away from her, revealing the bodyglove beneath. Black with red accents, pulled down at the front to be invisible despite the gown she had worn. It was Arasaka made, the synthweave suit providing great connectivity between her, her implants, and weapons. In this case, with the shard-spike in her hands currently plunged into the writhing male’s skull, pulling every Militech code from him with little care for preserving the mind it was ripped from.

Between the convulses of his form he swore at her, calling her a thousand names she had no doubt heard before, mixed in were of course a deluge of threats, about the mistake she was making, how he was going to end her, how Militech were about to burn this place to the ground.

She didn’t need to explain to him, but she did anyway. His dear friend Curt was likely already dead. Militech was not welcome in Japantown, it had been their error to ever think otherwise. It would be months before Militech even knew they were dead. The centre hadn’t been funded by Arasaka for years without them having access to some of the best dataclones in the business. Everything they were was being copied and faked, just like what was happening to him now.

With a delicate touch, she eased the contact of the spike with his skull, allowing him just enough consciousness to behold her features smiling down above him from behind the mask of makeup, the vengeful smile of a Sun goddess.

“When the howling ghosts pull apart your soul, know that Shin’s daughter did her duty.” He didn’t manage another word, the chime in her ear denoting that the access codes had been successfully copied, with a push of augmented force, her palm drove the dataspike through the port and into his skull. It broke the instrument, but it also drove a short circuiting metal implement into the man’s brain. She wasn’t sure if it was the shock or the blow killing him, but when she left him, writing in dying spasms tangled in the silk of what had been her gown, she didn’t much care.

Duty and Obligation.

The Kabbuki had an obligation to her from the long years of her family’s support. She had a duty to protect them in turn, as the last of her family upon the continent. By the time Militech knew two of their own had perished, a fake data trail would lead back to a mugging not far from here. It was pretty impressive what you could do these days, with modified braindances.

She zipped up the front of her suit as she moved, sending an electrified shiver through her as the neural interface registered the greater connection, no longer interrupted by the span of bare cleavage. With a blink-command, a hood extended from the back of the body glove, concealing her features, as she pushed through a fire escape, out onto the exposed runways which allowed emergency descent from the higher levels of the performance centre. It had been raining, the metal gril of the walkway slick with the industrially tainted precipitation falling on the city. Her dexterity could account for it, but it didn’t have to, the texture of her bodyglove modifying on contact with the slick surface as she took hold of the rail, before swinging down to the next level, and the next. It was unnecessarily showy, but the kill had been easy and she needed some activity to burn away the feeling of an hour spent with the man’s hands on her. Her father’s killer.

Her victim.

With only a slight splash she landed in an alleyway, avoiding anything too foul smelling as a landing site, before carrying on, pressing a finger to her ear piece to begin a call.

“Wakako, this is Shimada, you can pass on to this ‘Eddie’ that I have the codes. The trail is cold for now, but the longer we wait it’s going to get hot pretty fast.” A voicemail, but she had no doubt the elderly woman would act on it. Normally a fixer wouldn’t pass on work to another fixer, but the Tyger Claws were another group with a duty to Kanzaki, and an obligation to her.

The second call she made picked up on the second ring.

“Hey Shim, how was the show?” The cheery voice of her housemate, Kelly, picked up.

“Oh, not bad, not quite as good as I expected though.”

“Shame, I knew you were looking forward to that for a while.”

“Oh well, I’m going to pick up dinner on the way home, want something? I’m feeling something greasy and terribly American.”