Arc 1 - Commencement
Rain drizzled down across the city on the night of the first victim.
He was found hanging from a wall with his intestines trailing onto the floor. Despite the particularly gruesome display, the police finding dead drug dealers was a fairly common occurrence. So much so that it didn’t even make the 5 o’clock news. What was out of the ordinary, however, was the message found alongside the corpse. It was written in the victim’s blood and should have washed away long before the body was discovered. The lettering seemed to be stuck to the wall, the blood congealed and crystallised as soon as it had been written.
It simply read “This is the first of many.”
True enough, a spate of murders sprung up across Boston. Each time, the victim was someone known to the authorities as someone who supplied drugs or weapons to gangs, or operated prostitution or smuggling rings. It quickly became clear that not only were these people being actively targeted, but that the person - or people - doing so were highly capable. This led to growing concerns among the underworld that a crusade was being orchestrated against them. People started pointing fingers, and tensions began to soar.
The media painted the murderer as a deliverer of vigilante justice. Some went as far to say that this was exactly what the city had been needing for so long. The authorities did nothing to quash these comments, at first, perhaps thankful for catching a break and being able to relax slightly.
And then, on New Year’s Eve, a warehouse exploded.
A mere few hundred feet from a massive Protectorate-sponsored event, a number of tinker-tech bombs were used to level an entire warehouse in a hurricane of fire and plasma. The attack had been planned to not leave a trace of evidence - not just of the attack itself, but of the entire warehouse. It was reported that the cause was unknown, but within several hours of the attack a video was posted online.
It featured a man, sitting alone in a cosy, dimly-lit room. A softly crackling fire was the only illumination, and he sat between it and the camera, painting him as little more than a silhouette. His mask glinted in the soft light. Resembling the ancient egyptian God Thoth, it covered only half his face and left his mouth visible.
“People of Boston,” he began to speak, “we are told to start the year as we mean to go on. Well, you will be pleased to know this is exactly what we - The Covenant - have done. The explosion tonight was not an isolated incident, but rather, the first step towards this city’s absolution. More people are going to die,” he stated, matter-of-factly, “and let me tell you why.”
“The warehouse tonight was not some storage shed for all those amazon orders you will buy and never use, but a staging ground for drugs and weapons owned by Gladius - the gang operating out of Brookline. Purchasing enormous quantities of both, they made huge profits by placing them in the hands of your brothers, your sisters and your children. Despite knowing for months about this warehouse, the police and Protectorate had yet to act, even though we had given them ample time to. We got tired of waiting.”
“Consider this act a formal declaration of war from The Covenant to the following: Gladius, The Consortium, Wonderland and the so-called Boston ‘Protectorate’. You have been allowed to run free for too long, profiting from the suffering of others. This year brings a new dawn for us all and you can no longer escape your sins.”
“We are coming.”
With that, the feed went dead.
By next morning, martial law had been declared across Boston under the direct order of Praetor himself. The poster’s IP address had been tracked to somewhere in the Allston district, leading to a number of door-to-door raids across the district - all of which turned up nothing. The gangs who had been shoring up resources for months began doubling up their efforts to come out on top, as well as track down members of this illusive Covenant.
A week later, on January 7th, the martial law was forcibly rescinded by the PRT Director, and the city returned to its new ‘normal’. After procuring CCTV evidence of before the attack, a list of the suspects has been released to the public in attempts to locate them. No-one has made a move since that, almost as if they fear doing so will trigger and all-out war for control of the city.
And they may be right.
Gladius Border Territory
Dorchester
21st January, 2011.
5:59 amAs the car bumped along the road, we checked our weapons and prepared to move. A Wonderland drug deal was supposed to be going down just after sun-up, and Whetstone is getting cranky about our lack of progress. Which is why several groups of us have been sent out to claim some territory back from the mass-murdering freaks - armed with little more than a couple of beat-up guns and a baseball bat.
The bitch wanted us to head out, but couldn’t even spare us a parahuman.
Pulling up at the side of the road, we could see the targets just inside the alley up ahead. With a deep breath and a kick of the door, we piled out, and opened fired.
The Consortium Corporate Headquarters: Alverton Building
Downtown Boston
21st January, 2011.
6:37 amWhen the phone rang on my desk, I instinctively reached for it. Just before answering it, though, my eyes caught sight of the caller ID. Taking a moment, I straightened my posture, adjusted my tie and slightly slicked my hair. Lifting the receiver, I held it to my ear. “Maxwell,” I answered. “What can I do for you today?”
“Gladius is finally making a play,” the silvery voice said from the other end of the line. “Yet we have done nothing.” A pause, to allow his displeasure to sink in. “Have you at least tracked down The Covenant?”
“I have not,” I said, trying to keep my own tone measured. “You made it clear to keep a low profile.”
A condescending chuckle drifted from the handset. “That means to act quietly, as you damn well know. Have you at least contacted Happenstance?”
Flicking through the documents on my desk, I found the dossier on our agent. “He’s in California, on vacation.”
“I am not paying him to be on vacation. Get him back to Boston.” The voice on the other end was suddenly muffled, as though a separate conversation was going on in the room. “And call in Anonymous. I’m sending a babysitter to take him to Allston.”
My eyes narrowed. “Very well. May I ask what our plans a-”
A click told me the line had been cut.
The plastic phone groaned under the pressure of my grip. Knowing that little shit had heard every word made the situation that much worse. To calm myself, I wandered to my window, looking down over the bustling city below. Taking a breath, my eyes closed.
“You heard him, Anonymous.” My teeth gritted. “Get up here.”
@ProPro
Protectorate Headquarters: The Zenith
Above Boston
21st January, 2011.
8:52amA tv feed had been directed to my office, and was displaying a number of recent murders around the city. Capes, and Wonderland crooks. The Covenant’s usual MO. Of course, that was entirely without basis, but it doesn’t truly matter. Soon enough, they’d all be dealt with.
My ruminations were disturbed by an urgent message. Some kind of gang battle between Gladius and Wonderland was getting out of hand.
Paging a message out, I called Knight, Anomaly, Septima and Gestalt to my office. A number of new Wards had been sent to us - all the reinforcements we were likely to get to combat the hellspawn in the city - and it would make sense to send the newest Protectorate hero along with them.
@PlatinumSkink@Banana
Wonderland Base
Victory Road
21st January, 2011.
9:13 amWhen Pipeline told me he wanted to talk about something, I thought he was sending me into the meatgrinder downtown.
However, when he asked me if I was still in touch with a friend of mine, it took me by surprise.
“Tony? Sure, why?”
Cracking his knuckles, the tall man turned to me. “He was pretty good at running the gambling rings, and not too bad with his hands. I’m thinking it’s high time we host another Circus. I’m needing someone to hand out a few invites in a rather… direct manner.”
My face must have been a picture. “You aren’t normally that bold when it comes to approaching people. What gives?”
“Honestly? I want to make sure as many gang leaders show up this time as possible.” He began to pace around the room. “The money we can make from gambling will be negligible. Tell Tony he can keep the lot. I want to get intel on who is betting on who. I wanna find out what alliances are forming under the city. I want to find out exactly where to strike to send this beautiful little firecracker off.”
He handed me a bundle of envelopes, with names and address on them. “I leave these in your very capable hands,” he said, before leaving the room.
“Where are you off to now?” I called after him.
A laugh echoed down the decaying hallway. “I have some insolent little Gladius fuckweeds to sort out.”
Well. I’m not going through Dorchester.
@Duoya
PlatinumSkink