Smike

Vigil of the Faithful (Anime-Inspired Exorcist RP)

Yami

Central Intelligence Agency

Special Activities Division, "Majestic-12"

	NAME: Yamileth Sedillo ______________ AGE: 23 ______________ DATE OF BIRTH: February 16, 1949 ______________ FAITH: Folk Catholic, practices a mix of Maronite and Latin teachings as well as the veneration of less official saints and spirits ______________ NATIONALITY: American, of Lebanese and Mexican descent ______________

PERSONALITY
^{______________}

Yamileth has no memory of her father due to his deployment and death in Korea, leaving her to be raised by her young mother and extended family. Growing up near the poverty line, she fell in with local hoodlums and common criminals, earning herself several run-ins with the law in Albuquerque by her early teens. To avoid jail she joined a behavioral adjustment program sponsored by the local Orthodox convent, despite being a Catholic.

People assume that her upbringing left her unwilling to play by societal norms, treating the law with childish mockery as opposed to any sort of reverence. In actuality, she's deeply disturbed by events of your youth and her inability to convince (almost) anybody of the truth. On a trip to Cochiti Lake with friends, she witnessed one of them drown in what was ruled as a tragic accident. In actuality, he was murdered by something lurking beneath the surface, a pallid and long-haired spirit looking for revenge: a rusalka, not that Yami would know its name until later.

After being picked up by Mother Ekaterine and spilling her story after a night of constant prodding Yami was thrown into the life of a novice hunter. She's eager to prove herself but is largely untested, the handful of exorcisms and hunts she's gone on nowhere near the level of the Las Vegas compact's disappearance. And while she wants to protect the world from what dwells in the dark, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't terrified. Still, she's in it for the long haul.

What complicates her already stressful life is her relationship with Ekaterine. While no one would accuse the nun of being a gentle or slow-paced tutor she's always treated Yamileth kindly, taking the time to learn her native tongues and always being sure to compliment as much as she critiques. This kindness has not gone unnoticed, but the problem is that Yamileth has a deep love for her mentor that goes past the familial or platonic. What was once a childish crush had matured into proper infatuation, and Yami hopes that the secret stays just that.

EQUIPMENT

Yamileth's Belongings

M1 Carbine: Lightweight, easy to shoot and useful for putting game on the table when the hunt takes Yami and her mentor into the wilderness. She learned marksmanship shooting cans in the Chihuahuan Desert with Ekaterine but has yet to try her luck with a resisting target.

"Justicia": A beautifully engraved and thoroughly blessed Colt Python, a gift from the Stavrophore shortly before they set out for Las Vegas. Yami doesn't know where Ekaterine got it but appreciates the meaning behind it: she's a hunter now, with all the honor and danger that entails.

Athame: A simple iron knife that's been consecrated for use in rituals. Cuts through herbs, sacred knots, sticks of incense, and the various spirits and demons that menace God's children.

Witch's Kit: Holy water, salt, iron fillings, images of the saints, miniature copies of the Scriptures and Yami's own grimoire, poppets of herself and Ekaterine as well as the other various bits and pieces a journeyman witch/healer might need. Contains the most powerful magic of all: high-strength painkillers.

Gas Masks and Oxygen: When Ekaterine brings out the flamethrower or quarry starts choking the air with foul fumes, it pays to be able to breathe. Yamileth only brings enough to protect herself and her mentor, although the oxygen can be administered to any unfortunate civilians in the area.

Ear Plugs: Ekaterine's strict training taught Yami the importance of protecting her hearing.

Ekaterine's Belongings

Cohort: A big, brutal Cane Corso, and an ally in the fight against corruption. Ekaterine and Yamileth found him when clearing a dog fighting ring run by a minor demon of Wrath, and ever since the Stavrophore has trained him to lash out against creatures like those that enslaved him. Part of Yami's duties is cleaning and feeding the big brute.

Bag of Bombs: Exactly what it sounds like. Ekaterine's time as a combat engineer taught her how to use a wide variety of explosives, and sometimes such overwhelming force is required in the field. She had assured Yami that the detonating cord, primer,s and plastic explosives are all very stable and won't go off unless purposefully set but that doesn't mean Yami likes carrying the duffel bag around.

^{______________}

CAPACITY
^{______________}

Yami is technically a hunter, but she's just barely out of the apprentice stage. The most action she's seen is a handful of exorcisms and a couple of very tightly controlled hunts, and she's been accompanied by at least Ekaterine on every single one. She lacks experience and the hardened psyche of veterans, which can be a problem when confronted with the horrors in the dark.

But she has tricks up her sleeve to compensate. Besides her marksmanship (courtesy of hunting javelinas with Ekaterine) she's a fledging witch and healer, combining the folk practices of her upbringing with proper magic spells and potions. While the Stavrophore might not be fond of magic she does recognize its uses and arranged for Yami to learn from the local white coven. While lacking in offensive hexes (the most she can conjure in a fight is a handful of flame to press into the enemy's face) Yami can knit torn flesh and seal cracked bones, provided she has the components and presence of mind. She can also wish away infections of both the body and the spirit.

In short: she's Ekaterine's personal combat medic.

Smike's Sheets

My Hider

Central Intelligence Agency

Special Activities Division, "Majestic-12"

	NAME: Yamileth Sedillo ______________ AGE: 23 ______________ DATE OF BIRTH: February 16, 1949 ______________ FAITH: Folk Catholic, practices a mix of Maronite and Latin teachings as well as the veneration of less official saints and spirits ______________ NATIONALITY: American, of Lebanese and Mexican descent ______________

PERSONALITY
^{______________}

Yamileth never met her father due to his deployment and death in Korea, leaving her to be raised by her young mother and extended family. Growing up near the poverty line, she fell in with local hoodlums and common criminals, earning herselfseveralf run-ins with the law in Albuquerque by her early teens.Too avoid jail she joined a behavioral adjustment program sponsored by the local Orthodox convent, despite being a Catholic.

People assume that her upbringing left her unwilling to play by societal norms, treating the law with childish mockery as opposed to any sort of reverence. In actuality, she's deeply disturbed by events of your youth and her inability to convince (almost) anybody of the truth. On a trip to Cochiti Lake with friends, she witnessed one of them drown in what was ruled as a tragic accident. In actuality, he was murdered by something lurking beneath the surface, a pallid and long-haired spirit looking for revenge: a rusalka, not that Yami would know its name until later.

After being picked up by Mother Ekaterine and spilling her story after a night of constant prodding Yami was thrown into the life of a novice hunter. She's eager to prove herself but is largely untested, the handful of exorcisms and hunts she's gone on nowhere near the level of the Las Vegas compact's disappearance. And while she wants to protect the world from what dwells in the dark, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't terrified. Still, she's in it for the long haul.

What complicates her already stressful life is her relationship with Ekaterine. While no one would accuse the nun of being a gentle or slow-paced tutor she's always treated Yamileth kindly, taking the time to learn her native tongues and always being sure to compliment as much as she critiques. This kindness has not gone unnoticed, but the problem is that Yamileth has a deep love for her mentor that goes past the familial or platonic. What was once a childish crush had matured into proper infatuation, and Yami hopes that the secret stays just that.

EQUIPMENT

Yamileth's Belongings

M1 Carbine: Lightweight, easy to shoot and useful for putting game on the table when the hunt takes Yami and her mentor into the wilderness. She learned marksmanship shooting cans in the Chihuahuan Desert with Ekaterine but has yet to try her luck with a resisting target.

"Justicia": A beautifully engraved and thoroughly blessed Colt Python, a gift from the Stavrophore shortly before they set out for Las Vegas. Yami doesn't know where Ekaterine got it but appreciates the meaning behind it: she's a hunter now, with all the honor and danger that entails.

Athame: A simple iron knife that's been consecrated for use in rituals. Cuts through herbs, sacred knots, sticks of incense, and the various spirits and demons that menace God's children.

Witch's Kit: Holy water, salt, iron fillings, images of the saints, miniature copies of the Scriptures and Yami's own grimoire, poppets of herself and Ekaterine as well as the other various bits and pieces a journeyman witch/healer might need. Contains the most powerful magic of all: high-strength painkillers.

Gas Masks and Oxygen: When Ekaterine brings out the flamethrower or quarry starts choking the air with foul fumes, it pays to be able to breathe. Yamileth only brings enough to protect herself and her mentor, although the oxygen can be administered to any unfortunate civilians in the area.

Ear Plugs: Ekaterine's strict training taught Yami the importance of protecting her hearing.

Ekaterine's Belongings

Cohort: A big, brutal Cane Corso, and an ally in the fight against corruption. Ekaterine and Yamileth found him when clearing a dog fighting ring run by a minor demon of Wrath, and ever since the Stavrophore has trained him to lash out against creatures like those that enslaved him. Part of Yami's duties is cleaning and feeding the big brute.

Bag of Bombs: Exactly what it sounds like. Ekaterine's time as a combat engineer taught her how to use a wide variety of explosives, and sometimes such overwhelming force is required in the field. She had assured Yami that the detonating cord, primer,s and plastic explosives are all very stable and won't go off unless purposefully set but that doesn't mean Yami likes carrying the duffel bag around.

^{______________}

CAPACITY
^{______________}

Yami is technically a hunter, but she's just barely out of the apprentice stage. The most action she's seen is a handful of exorcisms and a couple of very tightly controlled hunts, and she's been accompanied by at least Ekaterine on every single one. She lacks experience and the hardened psyche of veterans, which can be a problem when confronted with the horrors in the dark.

But she has tricks up her sleeve to compensate. Besides her marksmanship (courtesy of hunting javelinas with Ekaterine) she's a fledging witch and healer, combining the folk practices of her upbringing with proper magic spells and potions. While the Stavrophore might not be fond of magic she does recognize its uses and arranged for Yami to learn from the local white coven. While lacking in offensive hexes (the most she can conjure in a fight is a handful of flame to press into the enemy's face) Yami can knit torn flesh and seal cracked bones, provided she has the components and presence of mind. She can also wish away infections of both the body and the spirit.

In short: she's Ekaterine's personal combat medic.

Vigil of the Faithful (Anime-Inspired Exorcist RP)

Mother Ekaterine

Central Intelligence Agency

Special Activities Division, "Majestic-12"

	NAME: Stavrophore Ekaterine Kapanadze ______________ AGE: 47 ______________ DATE OF BIRTH: January 10, 1925 ______________ FAITH: Eastern Orthodox ______________ NATIONALITY: Naturalized American, From the Georgian SSR ______________

PERSONALITY
^{______________}

Ekaterine is a veteran of war, holy and otherwise. She was a member of the Assault Engineering Brigade during the Patriotic War, seeing service in Stalingrad, Konisberg, Berlin and then later fighting in Manchuria and the Kuril Islands against Imperial Japan. Later she fell into the Orthodox Church and its war against sin. Her days in the Red Army instilled a total lack of fear that bordered on irrational recklessness, later tempered by her time fighting demons across the Soviet Union and the United States. In her mind there is neither room for hesitation nor impatience, she takes in the situation and makes the call before sticking through it until the end. The Lord's work is a calling of the utmost importance and any time wasted on overreactions or inactions is an affront to His name.

Her devotion to Heaven is what keeps Ekaterine going after a life of loss and betrayal. Made bitter by the early loss of her parents and the harsh treatment she received from her aunt and uncle, the senseless violence she witnessed in the war nearly broke her, leaving a rambling wreck who quite literally stumbled into monastery life. Even after being forced to flee to the U.S. during the anti-religious purges of the 60s Mother Ekaterine's faith is what keeps her from spiraling into a dark place. She sees her work hunting the Serpent's minions as her way of giving back to the Lord for saving her life.

Just as she takes pride (in a sense anyway) in her duties mentoring the younger sisters or feeding the poor so too does she feel good during the hunt. While a lust for the blood of man would certainly be cause for troubled self-reflection she once saw no fault in enjoying herself when driving the devils out of the kingdoms of man. But it's obvious that her endurance has limits, even if she pretends otherwise.

Ekaterine is caught in a vicious cycle of sin and attempting to atone for it.

-The earth is tainted with monsters and the evil men SPINELESS, GREEDY COWARDS who kneel to them, just as it was during the war.
-It is her duty to remove the rot CRUSH AND BURN THEM before it endangers God's children, and to do it quickly and efficiently without waste LAUGH AS SHE SENDS THEM WHERE THEY BELONG
-Ekaterine does the job and feels, for at least a moment, pride even as she slips further into trauma and stress weakness, sloth that makes her wish she could stop tempts her from her holy path.
-She allowed the prince of darkness to tempt her into the sins of wrath, pride, and sloth, thus she needs to atone.
-The earth is tainted with monsters and…

Repeat until dead.

EQUIPMENT
^{______________}

The great thing about being a government asset is the ability to get your hands on things that God wants you to use but the Man decrees illegal without good reason. The men in sharp suits and shades make sure Ekaterine can equip herself as she needs.

Carried Or Brought With Her

Ithaca 37:Five shells of twelve gauge absolution, a venerable weapon that serves a blessed purpose. Mother Ekaterine's trench gun and attached bayonet were custom-made and consecrated for the purpose of monster hunting.
Stechkin APS: A personal weapon smuggled over during her flight from the USSR. Most people would be unable to handle the recoil from this blessed machine pistol without its optional stock but Ekaterine's strength of belief (as well as well strength of body) gives her the discipline required to wield it. Her CIA contacts got some work done on it, giving it a threaded barrel and suppressor in an attempt to minimize the clatter it makes.
Holy Oils: A bit of the Oil of Catechumens used in baptisms, some soap, and good old gasoline mixed together in glass bottles to be lit and thrown. The result is a blessed blaze that sticks to demons and melts them where they stand. When asked about the propriety of such a weapon the Stavrophore holds that if the Father above took issue then he would surely show her a better way.
The Armor of God: The Assault Engineers made use of a "steel bib" in the war, an eight-pound cuirass designed to protect the wearer from pistol bullets and shell fragments. Ekaterine took hers home and over the years expanded upon it, adding thinner plates to her arms and legs as well as a pair of studded gloves to protect her knuckles. All of this was personally anointed and blessed by Ekaterine of course, with protective verses carved in by a steady hand.
Duty Bag: A veshmeshok filled with everything a demon hunter on the go might need. A copy of the Scripture, icons of Christ and the Virgin Mary, a change of clothes, money, and snacks as well as spare ammo, oils, salts, consecrated iron filings, and a Makarov pistol that once belonged to her abbess back in the Soviet Union.
Ear Plugs: The Lord protects those who trust him, not those who test him. While not always feasible to wear Ekaterine likes to keep a pair on hand to spare her hearing.

Left In The Car

M9 Flamethrower: Forty-five pounds and capable of firing for six seconds straight, it's an upgrade to the old Soviet weapons systems Ekaterine used in the Red Army, but she dreads using it. For one, any situation that calls for it has gotten far too out of hand, and it brings back very bad memories from the sewers and bunkers she cleared out.

CAPACITY
^{______________}

Ekaterine is trained in exorcism, but she's not an expert in it like some of her colleagues. She's studied demons, spirits, and undead but not to the same extent as the loremasters in the Vatican or the eggheads at Area 51. She's entirely (and proudly) incapable of magic, and while her faith has tangible effects on her safety she can't actively harness it to hinder the enemy.

Some hunters are scalpels, Ekaterine is a sledgehammer. She applies herself to weak points with great speed, her training as an assault engineer and her unshakable belief driving out all who would oppose her and her God. Already a trained soldier before entering the Church's demon hunters Eketerine is a skilled gunslinger, fitting considering that she works in the land of the gangster and cowboy. She excels at meeting the enemy in close quarters and blasting them back to Hell with her shotgun and pistol or simply spilling their infernal guts with a twist of her bayonet. Her work as a farmhand set the ground for building a great physical strength that, while hidden by a nun's outfit, enables her to sprint with her gear and crush the skulls of the damned beneath her boots.

Her spiritual strength on the other hand is what keeps her going. No matter how bad things get, no matter how much misery and sin she has to wallow through, she just keeps going. After going through the killing fields of the Eurasian steppes without God's light, how can she allow herself to break against the mere denizens of Hell with Him guiding her aim? Her belief is quite literally her armor, her absolute devotion to the cause making her even tougher than she already was.

When there's a nest of strigoi menacing a town or an uprising of cultists looking to bring forth one of the infinite demons from Hell, Ekaterine will happily cut them down en masse.

Smike's Sheets

My Hider

Who Are You?

Central Intelligence Agency

Special Activities Division, "Majestic-12"

	NAME: FULL NAME ______________ AGE: 47 ______________ DATE OF BIRTH: January 10, 1925 ______________ FAITH: Eastern Orthodox ______________ NATIONALITY: Naturalized American, From the Georgian SSR ______________

PERSONALITY
^{______________}

Ekaterine is a veteran of war, holy and otherwise. She was a member of the Assault Engineering Brigade during the Patriotic War, seeing service in Stalingrad, Konisberg, and Berlin before falling into the Orthodox Church and its war against sin. Her days in the Red Army instilled a total lack of fear that bordered on irrational recklessness, later tempered by her time fighting demons across the Soviet Union and the United States. In her mind there is neither room for hesitation nor impatience, she takes in the situation and makes the call before sticking through it until the end. The Lord's work is a calling of the utmost importance and any time wasted on overreactions or inactions is an affront to His name.

Her devotion to Heaven is what keeps Ekaterine going after a life of loss and betrayal. Made bitter by the early loss of her parents and the harsh treatment she received from her aunt and uncle, the senseless violence she witnessed in the war nearly broke her, leaving a rambling wreck who quite literally stumbled into monastery life. Even after being forced to flee to the U.S. during the anti-religious purges of the 60s Mother Ekaterine's faith is what keeps her from spiraling into a dark place. She sees her work hunting the Serpent's minions as her way of giving back to the Lord for saving her life.

Just as she takes pride (in a sense anyway) in her duties mentoring the younger sisters or feeding the poor so too does she feel good during the hunt. While a lust for the blood of man would certainly be cause for troubled self-reflection she once saw no fault in enjoying herself when driving the devils out of the kingdoms of man. But it's obvious that her endurance has limits, even if she pretends otherwise.

Ekaterine is caught in a vicious cycle of sin and attempting to atone for it.

-The earth is tainted with monsters and the evil men SPINELESS, GREEDY COWARDS who kneel to them, just as it was during the war.
-It is her duty to remove the rot CRUSH AND BURN THEM before it endangers God's children, and to do it quickly and efficiently without waste LAUGH AS SHE SENDS THEM WHERE THEY BELONG
-Ekaterine does the job and feels, for at least a moment, pride even as she slips further into trauma and stress weakness, sloth that makes her wish she could stop tempts her from her holy path.
-She allowed the prince of darkness to tempt her into the sins of wrath, pride, and sloth, thus she needs to atone.
-The earth is tainted with monsters and…

Repeat until dead.

EQUIPMENT
^{______________}

The great thing about being a government asset is the ability to get your hands on things that God wants you to use but the Man decrees illegal without good reason. The men in sharp suits and shades make sure Ekaterine can equip herself as she needs.

Carried Or Brought With Her

Ithaca 37-Five shells of twelve gauge absolution, a venerable weapon that serves a blessed purpose. Mother Ekaterine's trench gun and attached bayonet were custom-made and consecrated for the purpose of monster hunting.
Stechkin APS: A personal weapon smuggled over during her flight from the USSR. Most people would be unable to handle the recoil from this blessed machine pistol without its optional stock but Ekaterine's strength of belief (as well as well strength of body) gives her the discipline required to wield it.
Holy Oils: A bit of the Oil of Catechumens used in baptisms, some soap, and good old gasoline mixed together in glass bottles to be lit and thrown. The result is a blessed blaze that sticks to demons and melts them where they stand. When asked about the propriety of such a weapon the Stavrophore holds that if the Father above took issue then he would surely show her a better way.
The Armor of God: The Assault Engineers made use of a "steel bib" in the war, an eight-pound cuirass designed to protect the wearer from pistol bullets and shell fragments. Ekaterine took hers home and over the years expanded upon it, adding thinner plates to her arms and legs as well as a pair of studded gloves to protect her knuckles. All of this was personally anointed and blessed by Ekaterine of course, with protective verses carved in by a steady hand.
Duty Bag: A veshmeshok filled with everything a demon hunter on the go might need. A copy of the Scripture, icons of Christ and the Virgin Mary, a change of clothes, money, and snacks as well as spare ammo, oils, salts, consecrated iron filings, and a Makarov pistol that once belonged to her abbess back in the Soviet Union.
Ear Plugs: The Lord protects those who trust him, not those who test him. While not always feasible to wear Ekaterine likes to keep a pair on hand to spare her hearing.

Left In The Car

M9 Flamethrower: Forty-five pounds and capable of firing for six seconds straight, it's an upgrade to the old Soviet weapons systems Ekaterine used in the Red Army, but she dreads using it. For one, any situation that calls for it has gotten far too out of hand, and it brings back very bad memories from the sewers and bunkers she cleared out.

CAPACITY
^{______________}

Ekaterine is trained in exorcism, but she's not an expert in it like some of her colleagues. She's studied demons, spirits, and undead but not to the same extent as the loremasters in the Vatican or the eggheads at Area 51. She's entirely (and proudly) incapable of magic, and while her faith has tangible effects on her safety she can't actively harness it to hinder the enemy.

Some hunters are scalpels, Ekaterine is a sledgehammer. She applies herself to weak points with great speed, her training as an assault engineer and her unshakable belief driving out all who would oppose her and her God. Already a trained soldier before entering the Church's demon hunters Eketerine is a skilled gunslinger, fitting considering that she works in the land of the gangster and cowboy. She excels at meeting the enemy in close quarters and blasting them back to Hell with her shotgun and pistol or simply spilling their infernal guts with a twist of her bayonet. Her work as a farmhand set the ground for building a great physical strength that, while hidden by a nun's outfit, enables her to sprint with her gear and crush the skulls of the damned beneath her boots.

Her spiritual strength on the other hand is what keeps her going. No matter how bad things get, no matter how much misery and sin she has to wallow through, she just keeps going. After going through the killing fields of the Eurasian steppes without God's light, how can she allow herself to break against the mere denizens of Hell with Him guiding her aim?

When there's a nest of strigoi menacing a town or an uprising of cultists looking to bring forth one of the infinite demons from Hell, Ekaterine will happily cut them down en masse.

Vigil of the Faithful (Anime-Inspired Exorcist RP)

Tag for interest, might remake Ekaterine

Smike's Sheets

cop

Name | Jamie Nielsen
Alias | Jay
Age | 27
Gender | Male
Appearance |

[Gear]
Attire | What Jay wears depends on whether or not he plans to be in the office on a given day. When working at his desk he dresses in dark suits and ties, appearing as neat as he can without drawing attention to himself.
Armament/Equipment | Jay's equipment is checked out of the armory or brought from the closet at home as required for his work. Since he performs a variety of duties he has a variety of "loadouts".

-

[Temperament & Lifestyle]
Affiliation | New Haven Police Department
Personality/Habits | Jamie is an extremely bright up-and-coming officer in the NHPD, a two-year veteran of the SWAT force who only recently became a detective of the prestigious Major Crimes Division. Despite his soft-spoken nature and quiet demurring when praised his accomplishments and the relatively young age at which he achieved them have been noticed within the department. All eyes are on Jamie.

This has rendered him a highly stressed perfectionist, with the need to prove himself driving his career. He regularly works overtime and is always willing to assist with a case, even going out on patrols with other officers to provide backup. To cope with such a workload he drinks and smokes heavily, generally fond with a bottle in hand and a cyl in mouth when not on the clock.

In addition to these legal vices Jay also abuses pain medication via a perfectly legal prescription. His body suffers a minor allergic reaction to the relatively high number of cybernetics installed, causing migraines and occasional flare-ups of pain that can be managed fairly easily with prescription drugs. Jay's used to the discomfort, instead saving his pills for when he needs to destress after a long shift.

Part of what makes him such an effective operator is his natural paranoia, Jay is constantly on the lookout for threats. This also makes him something of a digital recluse, owning no social media accounts or even credit cards. Hell, he holds most of his money in physical cash, only leaving enough in the bank for his account to remain active.

Occupation/Trade | NHPD Major Crimes Division Detective and SWAT Officer
Skills/Talents | He's a trained police officer and investigator, quite capable of settling an active crime scene before collecting and analyzing any and all evidence found.
Family |
Background |

Pariah

This was not the sort of situation that required much coordination, not on Breakneck's part anyway. Any value gained by waiting for her fellow Nobles would not be worth the lives lost because she hadn't made it in time. The faster she got inside, the faster she could start getting people outside.

Her body being as hardened as it was meant she didn't have to worry when she busted through the wall, nor when she started getting lungfuls of whatever foul concoction was filling the air. Breakneck was free to consider her situation, retreating into herself to take stock in slow motion.

The mundanes would never understand what it felt like to be so attuned to the world around them. Breakneck could make out individual sparks hovering amidst clouds of smoke, count the specks of burning tile that hung near-frozen in time. The lobby was more like a diorama than it was a live scene, all motion within it sluggish to the extreme.

To work then.

There was a janitor mid-stumble a few feet from her, a nonconcern if not for the fact that his overalls had caught fire. Bn hopped the reception desk and snuffed the flames, bits of charred fabric coming away with her hands as she moved on.

Down the stairs came a security guard of some sort, her cute little cap and pressed shirt all soot-stained and disheveled. Sweat ran down her face, unsurprisingly considering her condition. Whatever skinflint, minimum-wage-plus-tenure paycheck she was getting wasn't worth the vapors she had sucked down by the liter.

Also, she had totally missed a step and was now plummeting to the ground floor. Breakneck snickered to herself, the sound echoing inside her helmet as she turned to take a look at the papers fluttering up in her wake.

Imperial Bioengineering was the header on the roster, a list of names dutifully memorized. She'd have to send them to her Syndicate contacts, have them do a background check on the employees. Hopefully, there'd be some sample or research notes lying around, something that could be snatched up and written off as lost to the inferno. In the meantime, how was the guard doing?

Not great as it turned out. She had missed her chance to recover and was now perpendicular to the stairs, arms dragging through the air to try and stop herself. Breakneck got involved before she broke something, strolling over to scoop up the stranger as if she were nothing more than a cardboard cutout.

The guard didn't even have time to scream, plunked onto the curb outside by the line of cops.

"Easy, you're safe now." the Noble said softly, trying to offset the facelessness of her outfit with gentle words.

"Please, Mitchell's trapped in the elevator! He had just gotten in when the fire started!"

"He'll be out momentarily, just try and stay calm. Paramedics are gonna be here, they'll check you out."

"You have to help him, his heart can handle all this!"

Her slowed perception clicked back in as she turned to go back to work, aware of Flip and Senbonzakura but focused on the job at hand. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance as she saw the same guard from moments ago once again on fire. More sparks must have soaked into his uniform, catching some of the grease smears staining the denim.

This time Bn didn't bother to preserve his clothing, her momentum simply tearing them from his body before a firm push sent him stumbling through the door. A crowd of terrified staff was now clogging the stairwell but they seemed to be more or less unharmed, all in good enough shape to make it to safety on their own.

Elevator.

Back over the desk and towards the lift, ignoring the buttons that were certainly out of order. Come to think of it, so was the fire suppression system. A fancy lab like this had to have a multimillion-dollar HVAC setup, probably with a fancy gas suppression system to snuff out a blaze.

The Scourgies must have killed it.

Fair enough if so, Breakneck would have done the same had she been in their shoes.

Wrenching apart the elevator doors took only a fraction of her strength, stainless steel crumpling under her fingers as she jammed the entrance open. New Haven's hastiest hero stepped into the shaft and looked up at the hoist stuck four floors above, dropping into a low crouch before exploding upwards.

Fingertips breached through the platform, Breakneck tearing a hole large enough for her to wiggle herself up and through. There was in fact someone else inside, a middle-aged gentleman slumped over in the corner. He didn't respond as Bn clambered towards him, the Noble swearing under her breath before slinging Mitchell over her shoulder.

Technically chest compressions needed to begin as soon as possible, but as Breakneck hopped from ledge to ledge towards the ground floor she figured it would be better to do them outside of an oven.

Smike's Sheets

My Hider

This was not the sort of situation that required much coordination, not on Breakneck's part anyway. Any value gained by waiting for her fellow Nobles would not be worth the lives lost because she hadn't made it in time. The faster she got inside, the faster she could start getting people outside.

Her body being as hardened as it was meant she didn't have to worry when she busted through the wall, nor when she started getting lungfuls of whatever foul concoction was filling the air. Breakneck was free to consider her situation, retreating into herself to take stock in slow motion.

The mundanes would never understand what it felt like to be so attuned to the world around them. Breakneck could make out individual sparks hovering amidst clouds of smoke, count the specks of burning tile that hung near-frozen in time. The lobby was more like a diorama than it was a live scene, all motion within it sluggish to the extreme.

To work then.

There was a janitor mid-stumble a few feet from her, a nonconcern if not for the fact that his overalls had caught fire. Bn hopped the reception desk and snuffed the flames, bits of charred fabric coming away with her hands as she moved on.

Down the stairs came a security guard of some sort, her cute little cap and pressed shirt all soot-stained and disheveled. Sweat ran down her face, unsurprisingly considering her condition. Whatever skinflint, minimum-wage-plus-tenure paycheck she was getting wasn't worth the vapors she had sucked down by the liter.

Also, she had totally missed a step and was now plummeting to the ground floor. Breakneck snickered to herself, the sound echoing inside her helmet as she turned to take a look at the papers fluttering up in her wake.

Imperial Bioengineering was the header on the roster, a list of names dutifully memorized. She'd have to send them to her Syndicate contacts, have them do a background check on the employees. Hopefully, there'd be some sample or research notes lying around, something that could be snatched up and written off as lost to the inferno. In the meantime, how was the guard doing?

Not great as it turned out. She had missed her chance to recover and was now perpendicular to the stairs, arms dragging through the air to try and stop herself. Breakneck got involved before she broke something, strolling over to scoop up the stranger as if she were nothing more than a cardboard cutout.

The guard didn't even have time to scream, plunked onto the curb outside by the line of cops.
"Easy, you're safe now." the Noble said softly, trying to offset the facelessness of her outfit with gentle words.

"Please, Mitchell's trapped in the elevator! He had just gotten in when the fire started!"

"He'll be out momentarily, just try and stay calm. Paramedics are gonna be here, they'll check you out."

"You have to help him, his heart can handle all this!"

Her slowed perception clicked back in as she turned to go back to work, aware of Flip and Senbonzakura but focused on the job at hand. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance as she saw the same guard from moments ago once again on fire. More sparks must have soaked into his uniform, catching some of the grease smears staining the denim.

This time Bn didn't bother to preserve his clothing, her momentum simply tearing them from his body before a firm push sent him stumbling through the door. A crowd of terrified staff was now clogging the stairwell but they seemed to be more or less unharmed, all in good enough shape to make it to safety on their own.

Elevator.

Back over the desk and towards the lift, ignoring the buttons that were certainly out of order. Come to think of it, so was the fire suppression system. A fancy lab like this had to have a multimillion-dollar HVAC setup, probably with a fancy gas suppression system to snuff out a blaze.

The Scourgies must have killed it.

Fair enough if so, Breakneck would have done the same had she been in their shoes.

Wrenching apart the elevator doors took only a fraction of her strength, stainless steel crumpling under her fingers as she jammed the entrance open. New Haven's hastiest hero stepped into the shaft and looked up at the hoist stuck four floors above, dropping into a low crouch before exploding upwards.

Fingertips breached through the platform, Breakneck tearing a hole large enough for her to wiggle herself up and through. There was in fact someone else inside, a middle-aged gentleman slumped over in the corner. He didn't respond as Bn clambered towards him, the Noble swearing under her breath before slinging Mitchell over her shoulder.

Technically chest compressions needed to begin as soon as possible, but as Breakneck hopped from ledge to ledge towards the ground floor she figured it would be better to do them outside of an oven.

Pariah

May 15, 2080 - 2:43 PM-Lakeview

"Mom? You doin' alright?"

Eli shook herself back into action, blinking as she turned to face her son.

"Of course I am." She waved off the concern by knocking back what little remained of her beer. She found most alcohol unpleasant and anything weaker than paint thinner wouldn't even get her buzzed, but people cracked open cold ones at family gatherings which meant she did too.

That was the name of the game, blending in. Hanging out with her son's family while pretending to be a normal person, putting aside her status as a disgruntled veteran, cold-blooded mercenary and larger-than-life superhero. There sat Eli Ford, mingling with ex-cousins in the backyard of some nephew's house. She acted like she had put it all behind her and they believed it, most of the Nielsens happy to have her around despite the breakup with one of their own.

"If you say so."

Jamie knew better than to question her, he had long grown used to watching her bottle everything up. He knew his mother was an odd beast and accepted her for it. He was a far better son than she deserved.

"So, when were you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you made detective!" Eli had to stop herself from shouting, pride nearly overcoming her socially-induced unease. "Your dad had to text me, and he found out from your watch commander? Come the fuck on!"

Jamie smiled sheepishly, looking at the grass as he took a sip of his drink. "It wasn't that important-"

"Nope. Nuh-uh. None of that self-deprecation 'oh it was no biggie' stuff right now. Detective Nielsen of the Major Crimes Division, not that important..."

She let the words hang in the air for a moment before pulling Jamie in, trapping him in a properly suffocating bear hug.

"I'm so proud of you. We both are, and we know how hard you've worked. The city's lucky to have you."

She got only a muffled squeak in return, the air in Jaime's lungs having been forced out of him by her death grip. Eli held him juuust a bit longer, finally releasing him with a laugh.

"When are you getting your implants?"

"I've had them for the past six months, or some of them anyway. Apparently, they'd rather spend money upfront to make sure I'm acclimated to all the new bits and pieces instead of letting me figure it out on the job."

"Makes sense."

Eli had more to say, questions to ask or comments to make, all the remarks a proud parent would make flittering about her head. But more distant relations had just arrived, a small group making their way over to intrude on her and her son. As the hellos and how are yous swarmed in Eli did her best to keep up, answering with faint smiles.

Once again Jaime wasn't fooled.

"Oh, Mom you're meeting with your PR people, right? You should get a move on."

The excuse was flimsy but Eli wasn't about to complain. Goodbyes left her mouth without her input, body drifting away on autopilot. Edging through the throng of relatives with gritted teeth she managed to make it just out of view of the party before sprinting off beyond the speed of sound.
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May 15, 2080 - 6:27 PM - Brigitte

When the man opened the door to his garage his eyes took a moment to adjust. The lights weren't on and the windows were dusty and blocked off by boxes, rendering the room twilight-dark. Ignoble was counting on this fact to give them the element of surprise, and it worked. Marcus Miller saw only the vague outline before they lunged, one hand pulling him in by the jacket as the other pushed the door shut behind him.

"Hello, Doctor."

The words came out distorted, the mechanical scramblers in Ignoble's mask rendering their voice a guttural snarl. The sound, low in volume but high in menace, seemed much louder in the little garage.

"I apologize for startling you."

Miller didn't respond, staring slack-jawed at the skull-headed specter before him. A lazy shove sent him sprawling to the ground, Ignoble unhooking a pistol and leveling it at his heart.

"I understand you habitually carry a weapon? Keep it hidden for now, unless you want the missus to find you with two in the head."

From inside the house came peppy instructions, the encouraging voice of a virtual instructor.

"Almost done! Strong finish gang, strong finish!"

"If you cooperate I'll be out of here before she's showered."

Miller swallowed, grimaced, looked back toward the sound of an in-progress exercise routine...and relented.

"How'd you know where-"

"You didn't hide." Ignoble said dismissively. "I found your address, your life story, figured out your household routine, the works. You're a former second lieutenant who got tired of army life after one term, went back to school where you met your wife Margaret and got a job as head of security for the bank she works at. Recently you graduated with a doctorate in Genetics and have begun work on identifying which, if any, gene is responsible for Variance. Margaret goes out with her girlfriends every Wednesday at eight, you take a half-hour walk around the neighborhood each day around six."

They thumbed back the hammer, a mechanically useless gesture since the pistol was double-action but one that signified evil intentions. The click clarified how serious Ignoble was, just in case there was any doubt.

"Which brings us to now. Margaret finishes her workout in about five minutes and after she grabs a snack and a shower she'll be leaving. In the meantime, we're going to negotiate."

Miller didn't respond for a moment, simply staring down the barrel of the suppressed .45 holding him hostage. Ignoble allowed him to run down the timer as much as he wished, an impassive skull hiding the careful calculations they were running. They were taking a risk by being here but it would be worth it if Miller cooperated.

"You want money then?"

"Not yours. I have three demands. The first is quite simple: quit your research and destroy any progress you might have made."

"Fine."

"It goes without saying that I will be doing my due diligence to make sure you don't hand anything off to your colleagues."

"I assumed as much. Not that it matters, I haven't learned anything we didn't already know."

Ignoble had known this already, their Syndicate sources having pulled Miller's portfolio days ago. Still, better to be safe than sorry.

"Second, Ike Murray."

Miller put on a look of confusion, a gambit that didn't fool Ignoble for an instant.

"Isaac Murray? Your advisor in the doctoral program? An older gentleman, mid-sixties?"

Ignoble cocked their head, modulated voice adopting an air of faux confusion.

"It seems I've wasted my time. Margaret might be late to karaoke, she'll have a mess to clean."

Miller swore under his breath, his last-ditch attempt a failure. Ignoble noted that he was far angrier than he was scared, their sharp senses picking up on the subtle flushing of his face and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He felt fear of course, but it was purely for his family.

They were making the right choice.

"Fine, what about him?"

"I need access to his lab. I know you have a current keycard to the facility, and if you're as intelligent as I believe you to be you'll leave it under that birdbath in your backyard tonight."

"I suppose you'll kill me if I refuse."

"And leave your body for Margaret to find, yes."

They could see the conflict raging inside the poor man. His features, already worn from a life of rigorous study, were drawn and haggard, eyes filled with the sort of desperation one felt when presented with two horrible choices. But there was only one real option.

"Fine! Just-just leave us alone."

Ignoble simply nodded. The cheery chanting had died down only to be replaced by running water, the lady of the house now freshening up for her night on the town.

"Provided you heed my second demand: Liam."

The unspoken anger flared into properly verbalized outrage, Miller propping himself up as he spat "How da-!"

The outburst died out as suddenly as it started, the unfortunate doctor shooting a look back towards the door to the house.

"That's right, take it easy Doctor. I'd prefer if we kept this discussion calm, I wouldn't want to...rebuke any outside parties."

"You expect me to turn over my son?" Miller asked, now deathly quiet.

"Quite the opposite. I'd prefer not to deal with him at all but his focus on the Variance makes it difficult for me to ignore. I'd like for you to save him. Murray will be dead in, oh, one-to-three days. You would be wise to take the opportunity to convince Liam his talents are better suited to a different field of genetic biology. Curing Alzheimer's perhaps."

Miller shook his head once more, this time genuinely.

"He's brave, stubborn...not the sorta kid to let himself be bullied out of what he wants by a terrorist thug."

He quite literally spat the words, Ignoble deftly stepping out of phlegm range. They didn't doubt Miller, if Liam was anything like his father he'd be quite stubborn indeed.

"Then be authoritarian. Put your foot down. You pay his tuition, you tell him to change his focus or come home."

"And when he asks why, what am I supposed to tell him?"

Ignoble shrugged, placing their back against the exterior door.

"The truth. Mundanes who try to mold or master the Variance are my enemies, and you don't want him to wake up with a slit throat."

The vigilante paused, a chuckle escaping them.

"Or so I assume."

The pistol remained trained on Miller until the door closed between them, Ignoble disappearing into New Haven East. They had sent a clear message and could now do nothing but hope that it would be heeded. If not things became much simpler.
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May 15, 2080 - 7:04 PM - The Shanty

Redecker Stadium was supposed to have been the nucleus of a great change in the Shanty, the beginning of a revolution in body and soul.

An industrialist by the name of Thomas Redecker had earmarked millions and millions of dollars in his will for the building of gyms, the establishment of little league teams, an overhaul of the local parks, a gift from beyond the grave to the poor people of the Shanty. And at the center of it all was to be his stadium, a place where future Olympians would be cheered on by their peers.

After thirty years there was precious little to show for it, the money siphoned away by greedy contractors and con artists, a flock of vultures all snagging their piece of the carcass before flying away. The only remnant of Redecker's gift was his stadium, unfinished and rotting at the foundational level. There were no crowds, no young athletes racing towards a brighter future. The only people in Redecker Stadium were New Haven's favorite fighter pilot and her staff.

"Point zero nine eight, one thousandth less than your last go."

"Shoot, really? I could've sworn I was going faster than that!"

The young woman holding the timer nodded. Breakneck scowled at the offered tablet from behind a pair of aviators, trying to will the numbers into correcting themselves. But there was no point in arguing with the sensors. They were custom-made for someone of her speed, capable of clocking something moving at Mach 10. Operator error was also out, her people had set the system up dozens of times by now.

"That's still barely above my average."

A lackey materialized as if out of thin air with water bottle in hand, Breakneck taking and draining it in seconds before tossing it back with a nod of thanks.

"Boss, you're moving at around triple the cruising speed of the average jet, I think you're doing fine."

That particular speaker was Emma, Bn's personal assistant. Her duties included arranging interviews, organizing accommodations, sorting through crank calls, paying bills and generally making sure her boss wasn't biting off more than she could chew. She generally failed in that final task but the attempt was appreciated nonetheless.

"Emma I wasn't even twenty-three when I broke the sound barrier. I've been running for nearly a quarter-century, I should be past cruising speed!" The scowl had softened into a look of genuine disappointment. "Well past it."

There had been a time where Bn would have been content to rest on her laurels but breaking her own land speed record just wasn't going to cut it. She needed to go faster, for the sake of her pride! Subsonic was shameful, supersonic was passé. Hypersonic was her new goal, Mach 5 her calling.

The upsetting thing was that it wasn't a question of effort but reality. BN wasn't even winded after her hundred meter dash, she just could not go any faster. Her Variance limited itself to a measly three times the speed of sound and until she figured out how to overclock herself she'd be stuck in the slow lane.

"Ma'am you're gonna wanna check this out!"

Bn caught the helmet tossed her way by another member of staff, shutting out all background chatter by slipping on the familiar bit of headgear. It was already tuned to police frequencies, overlapping streams of information collected and parsed near-instantaneously. There was a serious blaze burning in Midtown with Scourge fleeing the scene, pursued by Sear, Grassbones and the Murder Express.

And of course none of the vigilantes were doing a thing to help those trapped inside the chemical-laced bonfire.

"Apparently it's amateur hour for Pariah Underground. Dispatch this is Breakneck, I'm headed for the lab."

She wasted no time in speaking to her team, trusting them to pack everything away as she geared up. Breakneck wearing her civvies in the middle of stadium one moment and midair the next, coming down in her combat gear. Her running leap had carried her above the tenements of Shantytown and into the maze of creole cottages that made up the Bywater. She weaved her way through the evening crowds and around moving cars, the momentum of objects around so slow as to be functionally non-existent.

She was there before the dispatcher had even relayed her intentions, coming to a dead stop next to the pink-haired stranger. "I'm going straight for the source of the flames, working my way out from there.

The Omni-Lens built into her various flashed all sorts of dire warnings, known carcinogens this and arsenate leak that, the kinds of warnings she'd have been more worried about had she not been immune to poisons.

"I'd stay out of the smoke!"

And then she was gone, disappearing into the furnace in search of the weak and desperate.

@Lewascan2

Smike's Sheets

My Hider

May 15, 2080 - 2:43 PM

"Mom? You doin' alright?"

Eli shook herself back into action, blinking as she turned to face her son.

"Of course I am." She waved off the concern by knocking back what little remained of her beer. She found most alcohol to taste unpleasant and had yet to find anything less than paint thinner that could actually get her drunk but had grabbed a cold one anyway in an attempt to blend in.

That was the name of the game, blending in. Hanging out with her son's family while pretending to be a normal person, putting aside her status as a disgruntled veteran, cold-blooded mercenary and larger-than-life superhero. There sat Eli Ford, mingling with ex-cousins in the backyard of some nephew's house. She acted like she had put it all behind her and they believed it, most of the Nielsens happy to have her around despite the breakup with one of their own.

"If you say so."

Jamie knew better than to question her, he had long grown used to watching her bottle everything up. He knew his mother was an odd beast and accepted her for it. Really he was a far better son than she deserved.

"So, when were you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you made detective!" Eli had to stop herself from shouting, pride nearly overcoming her socially-induced unease. "Your dad had to text me, and he found out from your watch commander? Come the fuck on!"

Jamie smiled sheepishly, looking at the grass as he took a sip of his drink. "It wasn't that important-"

"Nope. Nuh-uh. None of that self-deprecation 'oh it was no biggie' stuff right now. Detective Nielsen of the Major Crimes Division, not that important..."

She let the words hang in the air for a moment before pulling Jamie in, trapping him in a properly suffocating bear hug.

"I'm so proud of you. We both are, and we know how hard you've worked. The city's lucky to have you."

She got only a muffled squeak in return, the air in Jaime's lungs having been forced out of him by her death grip. Eli held him juuust a bit longer, finally releasing him with a laugh.

"When are you getting your implants?"

"I've had them for the past six months, or some of them anyway. Apparently, they'd rather spend money upfront to make sure I'm acclimated to all the new bits and pieces instead of letting me figure it out on the job."

"Makes sense."

Eli had more to say, questions to ask or comments to make, all the remarks a proud parent would make flittering about her head. But more distant relations had just arrived, a small group making their way over to intrude on her and her son. As the hellos and how are yous swarmed in Eli did her best to keep up, answering with faint smiles.

Once again Jaime wasn't fooled.

"Oh, Mom you're meeting with your PR people, right? You should get a move on."

The excuse was flimsy but Eli wasn't about to complain. Goodbyes left her mouth without her input, body drifting away on autopilot. Edging through the throng of relatives with gritted teeth she managed to make it just out of view of the party before sprinting off beyond the speed of sound.
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May 15, 2080 - 6:27 PM

When the man opened the door to his garage his eyes took a moment to adjust. The lights weren't on and the windows were dusty and blocked off by boxes, rendering the room twilight-dark. Ignoble was counting on this fact to give them the element of surprise, and it worked. Marcus Miller saw only the vague outline before she lunged, one hand pulling him in by the jacket as the other pushed the door shut behind him.

"Hello, Doctor."

The words came out distorted, the mechanical scramblers in Ignoble's mask rendering their voice a guttural snarl. The sound, low in volume but high in menace, seemed much louder in the little garage.

"I apologize for startling you."

Miller didn't respond, staring slack-jawed at the skull-headed specter before him. A lazy shove sent him sprawling to the ground, Ignoble unhooking a pistol and leveling it at his heart.

"I understand you habitually carry a weapon? Keep it hidden for now, unless you want the missus to find you with two in the head."

From inside the house came peppy instructions, the encouraging voice of a virtual instructor.

"Almost done! Strong finish gang, strong finish!"

"If you cooperate I'll be out of here before she's showered."

Miller swallowed, grimaced, looked back toward the sound of an in-progress exercise routine...and relented.

"How'd you know where-"

"You didn't hide." Ignoble said dismissively. "I found your address, your life story, figured out your household routine, the works. You're a former second lieutenant who got tired of army life after one term, went back to school where you met your wife Margaret and got a job as head of security for the bank she works at. Recently you graduated with a doctorate in Genetics and have begun work on identifying which, if any, gene is responsible for Variance. Margaret goes out with her girlfriends every Wednesday at eight, you take a half-hour walk around the neighborhood each day around six."

They thumbed back the hammer, a mechanically useless gesture since the pistol was double-action but one that signified evil actions. The click clarified Ignoble's intentions, just in case there was any doubt.

"Which brings us to now. Margaret finishes her workout in about five minutes and after she grabs a snack and a shower she'll be leaving. In the meantime, we're going to negotiate."

Miller didn't respond for a moment, simply staring down the barrel of the suppressed .45 holding him hostage. Ignoble allowed him to run down the timer as much as he wished, an impassive skull hiding the careful calculations they were running. They were taking a risk by being here but it would be worth it if Miller cooperated.

"You want money then?"

"Not yours. I have three demands. The first is quite simple: quit your research and destroy any progress you might have made."

"Fine."

"It goes without saying that I will be doing my due diligence to make sure you don't hand anything off to your colleagues."

"I assumed as much. Not that it matters, I haven't learned anything we didn't already know."

Ignoble had known this already, their Syndicate sources having pulled Miller's portfolio days ago. Still, better to be safe than sorry.

"Second, Ike Murray."

Miller put on a look of confusion, a gambit that didn't fool Ignoble for an instance.

"Isaac Murray? Your advisor in the doctoral program? An older gentleman, mid-sixties?"

Ignoble cocked their head, modulated voice adopting an air of faux confusion.

"It seems I've wasted my time. Margaret might be late to karaoke, she'll have a mess to clean."

Miller swore under his breath, his last-ditch attempt a failure. Ignoble noted that he was far angrier than he was scared, their sharp senses picking up on the subtle flushing of his face and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He felt fear of course, but it was purely for his family.

They were making the right choice.

"Fine, what about him?"

"I need access to his lab. I know you have a current keycard to the facility, and if you're as intelligent as I believe you to be you'll leave it under that birdbath in your backyard tonight."

"I suppose you'll kill me if I refuse."

"And leave your body for Margaret to find, yes."

They could see the conflict raging inside the poor man. His features, already worn from a life of rigorous study, were drawn and haggard, eyes filled with the sort of desperation one felt when presented with two horrible choices. But there was only one real option.

"Fine! Just-just leave us alone."

Ignoble simply nodded. The cheery chanting had died down only to be replaced by running water, the lady of the house now freshening up for her night on the town.

"Provided you heed my second demand: Liam."

The unspoken anger flared into properly verbalized outrage, Miller propping himself up as he spat "How da-!"

The outburst died out as suddenly as it started, the unfortunate doctor shooting a look back towards the door to the house.

"That's right, take it easy Doctor. I'd prefer if we kept this discussion calm, I wouldn't want to...rebuke any outside parties."

"You expect me to turn over my son?" Miller asked, now deathly quiet.

"Quite the opposite. I'd prefer not to deal with him at all but his focus on the Variance makes it difficult for me to ignore. I'd like for you to save him. Murray will be dead in, oh, one-to-three days. You would be wise to take the opportunity to convince Liam his talents are better suited to a different field of genetic biology. Curing Alzheimer's perhaps."

Miller shook his head once more, this time genuinely.

"He's brave, stubborn...not the sorta kid to let himself be bullied out of what he wants by a terrorist thug."

He quite literally spat the words, Ignoble deftly stepping out of phlegm range. They didn't doubt Miller's words, if Liam was anything like his father he'd be quite stubborn indeed.

"Then be authoritarian. Put your foot down. You pay his tuition, you tell him to change his focus or come home."

"And when he asks why, what am I supposed to tell him?"

Ignoble shrugged, placing their back against the exterior door.

"The truth. Mundanes who try to mold or master the Variance are my enemies, and you don't want him to wake up with a slit throat."

The vigilante paused, a chuckle escaping them.

"Or so I assume."

The pistol remained trained on Miller until the door closed between them, Ignoble disappearing into New Haven East. They had sent a clear message and could now do nothing but hope that it would be heeded. If not things became much simpler.
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May 15, 2080 - 7:04 PM
Redecker Stadium was supposed to have been the nucleus of a great change in the Shanty, the beginning of a revolution in body and soul.

An industrialist by the name of Thomas Redecker had earmarked millions and millions of dollars in his feel for the building of gyms, the establishment of little league teams, an overhaul of the local parks, a gift from beyond the grave to the poor people of the Shanty. And at the center of it all was to be his stadium, a place where future Olympians would be cheered on by their peers.

After thirty years there was precious little to show for it, the money siphoned away by greedy contractors and con artists, a flock of vultures all snagging their piece of the carcass before flying away. The only remnant of Redecker's gift was his stadium, unfinished and rotting at the foundational level. There were no crowds, no young athletes racing towards a brighter future. The only people in Redecker Stadium were New Haven's favorite fighter pilot and her staff.

"Point zero nine eight, one thousandth less than your last go."

"Shoot, really? I could've sworn I was going faster than that!"

The young woman holding the timer nodded. Breakneck scowled at the offered tablet from behind a pair of aviators, trying to will the numbers into correcting themselves. But there was no point in arguing with the sensors. They were custom-made for someone of her speed, they could clock something going Mach 10. Operator error was also out, her people had set the system up dozens of times by now.

"That's still barely above my average."

A lackey materialized as if out of thin air with water bottle in hand, Breakneck taking and draining it in seconds before tossing it back with a nod of thanks.

"Boss, you're moving at around triple the cruising speed of the average jet, I think you're doing fine."

That particular speaker was Emma, Bn's personal assistant. Her duties included arranging interveiws, organizing accommodations, sorting through crank calls, paying bills and generally making sure her boss wasn't biting off more than she could chew. She generally failed in that final task but the attempt was apreciated nonetheless.

"Emma I wasn't even twenty-three when I broke the sound barrier. I've been running for nearly a quarter-century, I should be well past cruising speed!"