Spoopy Scary

Verthaven: Days of Rain ☔ [COMPLETED]

@Spoopy Scary

We cool.

@DJAtomika

I call dibs on being the Indian kid.

Verthaven: Days of Rain ☔ [COMPLETED]

@Spoopy Scary No you caught me when I was tired and sad.

Unless you actually have a thing against me.

If we're all good, we're all good. I'll be here.

@DJAtomika

We're all good. Give me skin, brother.

Holy fuck, there was literally no real reason to post that.

Please stop this right now, or get out.

@Mr Allen J

fuck off

Verthaven: Days of Rain ☔ [COMPLETED]

@Mr Allen J No no it's not you. I'm kinda okay with you. It's other people. Specifically that one above my earlier post.

Y'know what I'm just going to lurk in the ooc unless I'm needed. That way I won't get fucked with by those that have no sense of restraint in this damn place.

@DJAtomika

If you really were offended by my stupid post, I actually hope that you leave.

Verthaven: Days of Rain ☔ [COMPLETED]

Oh please, Allen's sheets are light reading. He just barely passes the criteria for my standards. :^)

Verthaven: Days of Rain ☔ [COMPLETED]

get recked u dum

Verthaven: Days of Rain ☔ [COMPLETED]

The Dreadnaughts

---

“Here’s your Strawberries and Cream Deluxe Swirl with extra sprinkles, miss.” A man said in his gruff voice. He bore a stocky figure, and a mean face adorned by muttonchops and a goatee. A pink polo shirt was covered by a white apron, and he wore a propeller beanie on top of his head. He leaned out the window of a large white van with a logo emblazoned across it that read, “The Candy Shack”, and it had a large neopolitan ice cream cone model on its roof. The older man handed the pink and white ice cream cone to a girl barely older than ten, and thanked her without so much as a smile. “Thank you for visiting the Candy Shack.”

The girl’s worried mother hastily ushered her away from the man in the ice cream truck as she excitedly began enjoying her new cold treat by the boardwalk

“You could try smiling, you know.” Said a voice from the man’s side. The gruff and stocky one turned to face his compatriot in the passenger seat. A tall man with black, slicked hair, wearing the same ridiculous outfit, and sitting with his chair scooched all the way back so that he could sit down with the brace on his leg. The man by the window glared at him.

“Baron.” He said simply.

“Washe.” Baron replied half-heartedly. He knew where this was going.

“Shut the fuck up.”

A lazy voice called out from the back. “And finally, someone else gets the face of the old man’s ire! Alert the press, because a story worth coverage has, at last, emerged.”

“I swear to God, Grit, I’m—“

“Hey, hey, hey,” Grit interrupted, “don’t you say the Lord’s name in vain! I get that you ain’t a believer, I know, but just entertain me on this one.”

“Hi mister, can I—“

“I ain’t gonna entertain you a God da—“

“Washe.” Baron interjected. He looked out the window past Washe.

The older gentleman immediately turned around and looked down out the window. “Hi, lil lady. This is the Candy Shack. What do you want?”

“Snowball!” The girl cheered.

“Sure thing.” Washe said. ’Fuck coconut snacks.’ He turned around and looked at Grit who was laying down in the back, beside the freezers and coolors, communications, storage trunks, and weapon racks.

“Snowball.” He said to him. Grit rolled his eyes and lazily sat up before opening up one of the coolers and stuck an arm inside without looking, staring instead at his phone. Feeling around for a round shape, he found one, and as barely paying attention as he handed it to Washe.

Washe felt both dumbfounded and furious as he watched their squad’s sniper carelessly attempt to give him a M68 hand grenade.

“Snow. Ball.” Washe repeated. His anger was seeping into his voice. Grit looked up and saw what he was holding in his hand. Mouthing the words, “oh shit”, he deposited the explosive back where he found it (underneath the stock of sweets in the cooler) and came back with an actual Snowball this time. He gave it to Washe, and Washe handed it to the little girl in exchange for two dollars.

Watching the event, Baron could only pinch the bridge of his nose and rub his face in second-hand embarrassment.

“Well, let’s look at the bright side.” Said the psychologist in his attempt to lighten the mood. “This cover job can at least buy us a moderately priced dinner at a local dinery.”

“Di’nt expect you to be the family dining environment type.” Washe said judgmentally.

“Of course I am not,” Baron responded, “but the whole reason for this silliness is to subtly gather information, am I wrong?”

“No, you are not.”

“Of course I’m not.”

And of course he wasn’t. Baron was a very cautious man, he didn’t like to be blind sighted by anything or anyone, and that cautiousness did have consequences, but that was a minor price to pay. For instance, between installing themselves into Verthaven’s daily life, Maria’s eyes, and the information and codes provided by NEST that the Dreadnaught had never returned, they knew a lot about this city and what was happening in it. He knew all about Vuhong’s ordeal and he regretted that he was unable to help her, but that was a huge risk. It was already made clear that NEST has been compromised, so they could not be trusted. If the director had a hand in the conspiracy, so could powerful council members. So for the sake of the Dreadnaught’s presence in Verthaven being kept secret from the enemy, they had orchestrated their departure. For all anyone knows, the mercenaries were gone after removing the Fiends from the city. The only would who would reasonably believe otherwise was of course agent Vuhong, who was present with Baron upon discovering the conspiracy, and who is also aware that the Dreadnaughts already knew that the Fiends weren’t the only problem.

He just had to trust she wouldn’t out them and stir suspicion.

“Anyways…” Washe said, rolling his eyes at Baron’s hauteur, “as for the current events revolving NEST, Big Hoss, and napping, I suggest that’s a fight we stay out of. Clearly, the bitch can’t keep track of her own children – this is the second time it has happened to her. But more than that, we don’t know enough about the enemy, and we don’t want to out ourselves so early in the game. We’ll let them war with whichever organization it was that did it, and we’ll just watch it unfold and siphon all the intel we can get from it. Once we get enough intel from all eligible threats, then we can start the last operation and fuck ‘em all up in one sweep.”

“Sounds reasonable…” Baron muttered. Sounds like Lihua is suffering through hell what with all that has happened in the past month. He was no soldier, so even if Baron was allowed to, there still wouldn’t be anything he could do to help in that fight. So instead, he must have his and Washe’s brain work together and execute the endgame plan that will finally make this big mess go away like it should.

“This is going to be so boring!” Grit complained.

Verthaven: Days of Rain ☔ [COMPLETED]

Baron Moreau

Basic Information

Name:

Baron Moreau

Nickname/Alias/Etc:

Barry, Zombie, Skinwalker, Devil, Lucifer (Lucy).

Gender:

Male

Age:

35

Height:

6'3”

Weight:

144 lbs

Home District:

From out of town.

Appearance

Hair Color:

Black

Eye Color:

Green

Ethnicity:

Canadian; has English, Welsh, and French blood.

Physical Appearance/Attire:

Barry looks rather unorthodox among his crowd, appearing somewhat of an aristocrat. He is tall and slender, specifically standing at 6'3", and weighs in at 144 lbs. This said, he isn't a strong fighter and his body is fairly skinny and not as muscular as much of his other... “associates”, although he does abide by the standard requirement of fitness in his organization that is befitting of him, though this is usually in the form of physical therapy (he has a strong, mechanical brace reinforcing his left leg). His skin is fairly pail and unblemished by anything other than the scars littered over his body. On his back, torso, legs, and so on - the damage on his left leg in particular being rather severe and is bestrewn with scar tissue. His pale skin is in dramatic contrast with his black hair, which comes down at a widow's peak, and is neatly swept backwards with a comb and then kept in place a small dab of hair gel. He appears on missions almost as though he were going out on a date, but forgot the proper attire. He has piercing green eyes that are, at just the right angle, appearing somewhat hollow, if words were to do any justice. It is as if he stared into hell and hell stared back, but even then, they appear no less brilliant, cunning, deceptive, or even deadly. Thick lashes and sharp eyebrows simply sharpen his piercing gaze. His true expressions always seem somewhat hidden, as though his face were hidden by a million and one masks, each with their own different story. Even his walk, it seems, where his apparent full-of-himself strut appears to be well-disguised pacing. This brings along with him an air of mystery. Given his pampered features and esoteric air, along with a charming and clever disposition, he's quite the heart-breaker. His hands are covered in calluses and his fingers usually look a little cut up, but is generally well taken care of.

If he had a choice in his uniform, he'd be dressed nicely and perhaps come in a nice suit with a boutonnière. However, glamor and sophistication has no place in his line of work or among suburbs (unless the objective specifically calls for good appearances). He often visits areas in South America, so the humidity doesn't help much to bolster his preferred fashion. Baron does not often appear anywhere close to the front lines, so heavy equipment is never really necessary - which is a plus, given how it would add unnecessary stress on his brace and left leg. So he usually does his job in waist-high black dress pants that rides up to his naval and are tucked into thick black boots, causing some bagginess around the lower calves. His pants are accessorized with button suspenders crossing over each other on his back and then meeting parallel down his front. These suspenders are usually strapped over a greatly faded light grey t-shirt. The collar has three buttons going down the center, making it able to change from a round neck to a v-neck. He usually leaves them unbuttoned give the hot air or humidity of the environment he often enters, which in turn tends to reveal just a little bit of his chest and collarbone. The subtle fact that there are very faint hints of blood stains on his shirt that looks as though someone had tried to bleach the stains off the shirt - this in conjunction with the lack of any holes - might appear disturbing to anyone who just happens to notice it. Otherwise, his wardobe is dynamic, so describing his outfits during casual or formal ventures would do little to express his appearance, and would do no more justice than stating simply: he dresses very nicely as if he looks to impress. Underneath Barry's right arm is a tattoo in Arabic, a memento from a particular expedition that required him to infiltrate an organization of radicals. It reads "وعاء الله", which means "Allah's vessel", or "God's pot".

Personality

Outward & Innate Personality:

Barry appears as a cheerful fellow, but somehow balancing his grating optimism with stern realism. He wears a smile on his face most of the time, one that appears almost naive, but also inquisitive. His eyes always appear to be trailing somebody, or analyzing something, and very few details escape him. In fact, were it not for his charming demeanor, he might even be marked as the group's creep who watches everybody simultaneously. He assures this as nothing more than simple curiosity of studying human behavior and overseeing group cohesiveness. As such, he is quite adept when it comes to deductive reasoning and breaking down a person's behaviorisms that might tie in to other areas of that person's life as well. In fact, he is quite possibly more aware and knowledgeable of his comrades than they are aware of (but he is also rather fond at looking through personnel files). Otherwise, he may just be an incredibly elaborate liar. But there's little doubt in any one of his seasoned associates' mind that the man is brilliant. It is even said by his comrades: mad, but brilliant. But mad, per se, was of course the perspectives of another individual who was ignorant of Barry's reasoning and his intents. 

He is a mixed bag in terms of morality. He is sympathetic to the wounded and the soldiers that do the fighting, and while he would much rather prefer a calm and relaxing time working with his "clients" to get what he needs, he doesn't flinch at the prospect of turning an interrogation session on its heels to either scare or torture the information out of a target. Jobs such as that, and jobs such as infiltration, allow him to disconnect himself from others to a degree that is almost inhuman. He also is not above manipulating or lying to either foes or allies, provided that the outcome is decisive in his favor. However, he remains an egalitarian at heart and is uncharacteristically loyal to his primary employer. He doesn't quite let on at to his purpose in being there - whether its money or excitement or so on, but he definitely does enjoy the perks out of being in his line of work. He doesn't think about religion and gods a whole lot, but he has forsaken God when he was treated in kind when imprisoned in South America.

Hobbies/Interests:

Cigarettes, chess, prose, cold coffee, cheeses, wines, olives, corned beef, psychology and sociology, vintage, music (classical, jazz, swing, blues), musicals, linguistics, foreign culture, etc. Baron is a man of many interests and enjoys simple indulgences, and prefers the rich taste of life's fruits. He pursues not the things that makes life work but the things that makes life worth living. That's a Robin Williams quote, everybody.

Skills/Talents:

Despite the oddities that he may be accused of, he isn't as emotionally distant as some people who "know" him may think. He can break up a fight between soldiers and other personnel, or at least ease the tension between the two or few. Even though whoever has heard of him among the ranks is well aware of his occupation, not many actually grasp how much Barry is truly a psychological genius. If he so wished it, he could play games with a person's head at a whim. He has knowledge of the correlation between body movements/functions, and between that and undercover experience, a degree of body control that allows him to expertly craft lies, or even see right through the lies of others. Through his years of training, he can work enough of the right charm to work the truth out of a person. Or alternatively, he can work his otherwise charming charisma into more devious matters such as intimidation or interrogation.

True, while his physical form isn't too intimidating, he is cunning and intelligent enough to pick just the right words to get under your skin and play off your worst fears. That is his job in his business – he works with a mercenary group – but he isn't just some simple hired gun. There are plenty of those. When it comes to gathering information on somebody, he can hand you all you need to know just by spending some time with them alone. Having experience inserting himself into different places, he's somewhat of an amateur linguist. He learns enough of a bunch of different languages, but usually forgets how to speak them afterward when they're no longer relevant. He also enjoys chess and poetry in the form of prose. Nobody lets him play card games anymore. He has some cooking ability.

Prized Possession:

He isn't very sentimental with a lot of things. Naturally, he's attached to the tools of his trade. He has a brand of handgun (that he is allowed to carry due to a gun permit) called a Caracal CP. He also possesses an early 1900s French-made Apache revolver, and is his favorite of the two. He has a modern black vehicle that's been outfitted so that the body resembles a 1940s Bentley. He also has a dog back at home. He's a Great Dane named Pavlov.

Quote(s):

“I'm always looking for a theory good and complex enough to stamp my name onto it. The Moreau Theory – that has a nice ring to it, am I right? I've no intention on wasting that!”

"We're victims of circumstance, it is an unfortunate part of life. You and I are limited by the situations provided to us. All great people throughout time earned themselves a place in the history books, and that is because they pushed. They struggled and they suffered through all of their circumstances - and through it all, have gone out and looked, and provided themselves with the situations they needed. Are you ready to do that? Are you ready to make history?"

"I honestly don't understand everyone's obsession with Sigmund Freud. His theories, while laid the groundwork, are mostly wrong and he wasn't even that good of a doctor. Emma Eckstein, anybody?"

History/Bio:

Baron was born into a middle class family in Canada and went to a wonderfully reviewed school. His last name came from his father's line - he was, in fact, only about 10% French. But that was the family line that gave him a French last name. Since his youth, psychology and the inner workings of the brain fascinated him, so he took the electives and courses as they were available to him. It was a bit challenging trying to choose between neuroscience, psychiatry, and psychology, but the idea of understanding people appealed to him more. So he pursued the psychological path. He started at the age of 18, straight out of high-school and enjoyed his classes and found great interest in them. In fact, while he initially wanted to get his Psy.D. in psychology, he continued school for another year or two just so he could say he has a Ph.D. He got out of school in a very busy six years of nearly non-stop study, earning himself an Associate's degree in neuroscience, a Master's in psychiatry, and a Doctorate's degree in psychology, and at 24, was in the workforce as a neuropsychologist after receiving additional specialized training. At first, he worked in counseling, whether it be with children, adults, or even marriages. That sort of thing. It was nice of course - helping people - it was heartwarming, but also a little depressing. He also found it less of understanding people and more of letting his clients talk everything out, and while he asked questions about what he thought that meant, he let them come to their own conclusions. It was primarily about asking them simple questions and, occasionally, a lot of lying.

So he left that job and tried his hand in criminal psychology, which he turned out to be very good at and later opened up other pathways in which he would try his hand in. He worked as a part-time detective, however, still in the psychological field where he helped figure out where the person may go given their circumstances and he was also interrogating during that time via verbal means. He attempted actual detective-work, which was mostly paperwork, and then private investigating when he learned he liked working by his own rules instead. He had many different jobs throughout the psychological and investigative fields, and some of his favorite jobs was in criminal psychology, undercover work, and investigative psychology where he was pitted against the suspect in an interrogation room.

Later, a business called the Dreadnaughts, a mercenary group, found him at the age of 27 and he found the thrill he was looking for. As it turns out, Baron was the only psychologist they found good enough or honest enough to work with them. Good enough where he even survived long enough to last three years, taking part in their hilarious antics (such as the time where he infiltrated a terrorist group holed up in Saudi Arabia, and was payed by the Arabian government itself). He went missing for nearly a year after a mission with them, where was kidnapped by some guerrilla group in South America. 

He was interrogated and tortured, where he tried his hardest to hold himself out through the agony. He was a pretty valuable prisoner to them, as he was held in their custody for ten months. Baron told them next to nothing about the Dreadnaughts during that time, but he did feel his willpower giving out and his constitution would not allow him much more punishment. Fortunately, during a feeding hour, they forgot to secure his manacles. He worked himself out of the cage, and before slipping away, he silently killed almost half of their men with a sharp piece of scrap metal, all the while with a cartilage-worn and broken left leg. He was spared the wrath of the jungle and eventually found a civilization of a small town and secured a trip with the locals to the nearest hospital. At the hospital, he rested for a couple of days and got back in contact with the Dreadnaughts. He was back in the game with some physical rehabilitation, and that experience in South America taught him plenty. While he knew the tricks of keeping yourself from being manipulated, never was that knowledge tested as much as it was during that time. The other thing he learned? No mercy on the battlefield. It was starting then he stopped allowing other members to visit him while he's interrogating. Things may get messy if his "client" is stubborn enough. It's safe to say that his methods has gotten slightly more unorthodox since his escape two years ago.

Altogether, Baron has four years of service under his belt, although he considers himself to be a Dreadnaught for a total five years (counting even his time whilst imprisoned - a lot of time there were questions about them). To avoid another event like that, he has a number of code names which he alternates through depending on the sort of mission he's on and he's built up a reputation with each of them, fooling his enemies into thinking there are three different dangerous people without letting on he could be any of them. "Skinwalker" for infiltration missions, "Devil" for interrogation and diplomacy missions (which was interchangeable with Lucifer and Lucy, which only adds to the complexity), and "Zombie", which was a nickname he earned from the rest of the crew because of how he "came back from the dead" (plus his limp). This came to be another code name that he takes on in every other operation.

Lately, he has been assigned a mission with a small operations team as requested by the organization NEST to help with the situation in Verthaven. With Caesar, tactical mastermind Isaiah Washe, and Grit, the talking cross-hair Danny Grit, he is to gather tactical information to be used by Isaiah Washe and eliminate their targets and maintain stability in the city. As well as gathering information on NEST while he's there. However, Baron is also excited to be there for his own reasons. Looking into the mind of a super-human? Not an easy opportunity to pass up!

Relationships

Family:

Sylvester Moreau, Father (deceased)
Bernadette Moreau, Mother (alive)

Dynamics:

| Isaiah Washe | Colleague | Rivalry | “Calling it a rivalry would be flattering him, but the both of us are both brains in a fraternity of brawns, and that makes our friend here awfully competitive. I entertain him, but I also respect him. He's a very smart man – and a good man, though you wouldn't think so to look at him.” |

| Daniel G.W. | Colleague | Strictly professional | “Grit is an entertaining young man to say the least. Our paths do not coincide very often, but when they do, I, ah, try to maintain some distance, lest he becomes... well, friendlier than usual. Simply not the type of man I care to invite into my home, honestly, but he's a good kid. I know a fair bit more about his situation than anyone, being a counselor. The dramatic irony is intense.” |

| Lihua Vuhong | Client's Head Investigator | Tentative resource | "A charming lady, really. Most importantly, a possible fount of valuable information I could potentially glean from."

Abilities

Power Class:

Power

Power:

Power Immunity (Passive): Superpowers are charged by meta-human energy that can be harnessed and utilized. Baron is unique in that he is more like a faux meta-human,, as his meta-human energy is negatively charged as opposed to a positive charge, opposing everything that anyone knows about meta energy. This negative charge acts like an aura and cannot be traditionally utilized or harnessed and therefore Baron doesn't have any real superpower. However, this energy does interact with the energy of other meta-humans in an intriguing way. It negates it effects and renders it inert. This means that anything imbued with a positively charged meta-human energy has zero effect on Baron's person.

To clarify further, an individual with pyrokinesis ignites an artificial flame. That flame is made by the power and is imbued with some of the essence of its creator. That essence is broken down when it comes into contact with Baron and he receives no harm from it. It doesn't matter if you bathe him in an endless stream of fire, he'll suffer no foul. This goes for even ingesting poisons generated from powers. The toxins are imbued with meta-human energy and are broken down the moment it touches him. Powers that cloak its user, such as invisibility, are negated on contact with Baron allowing him to see the person invisible. Even powers that don't make any form of contact – as long as they're directed at him – are rendered inert, such as telepathy or telekinesis. The negative energy blocks them out like an impenetrable wall.

Limitations:

This energy only negates powers directed at him or powers that come into contact with him. He cannot “turn off” an individual's power at will, for instance. Also, the energy doesn't protect him from the consequences of powers. Someone with super-strength can throw objects at him and he'll still be in severe danger. A pyrokinetic can set the forest on fire – the original flames, he will be immune to, but the other trees that catch fire from the heat generated from the first will be dangerous to him. If a terrakinetic splits the earth, there's still a gaping hole in the ground he can fall down. Invisibility doesn't target Baron, so while contact with an invisible target will render them visible as his energy eats theirs, he can't see them if they're away. Their energy will also soon replenish itself and they can turn invisible again after contact.

Genetic powers – powers that effect the body on a cellular level – are trickier. Titus MacArthur can swing a punch at Baron. Baron won't receive the full force of his wrathful barrage, but that doesn't change the fact that somebody is punching him in the face. The effect received depends on how strong they would be based upon their body type, or what their body type would be if they didn't have their power. People don't have tails either, unlike Henry, so if our lizard friend were to smash his fifth appendage against his chest, it would feel as though he received a blow from one of Henry's limbs back in his original form, at the same muscle density ratio of Henry's tail to his body.

Drawbacks:

This energy cannot be turned off. While this might seem inconsequential, beneficial superpowers do no affect him either. Transferring invisibility or healing him does nothing. So any supernatural means of helping him is out of the question.

Other:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0uCm08fahw

Isaiah Washe

Basic Information

Name:

Isaiah Washe

Nickname/Alias/Etc:

Caesar

Gender:

Male

Age:

54

Height:

5'10”

Weight:

175

Home District:

From out of town.

Appearance

Hair color:

Dyed black

Eye color:

Steel gray

Ethnicity:

What do you mean “Texas” isn't an ethnicity?

Physical Appearance:

A rough and tumble man that was seemingly born out of the brush in a Texas desert, Isaiah is a stocky and intimidating man. He may not be two-hundred pounds of bulging swole or made up of scar tissue, he's 5'10 and weighs nearly 180 lbs, but has the build of a wrestler, which means he packs muscle, but lacks the toning due to the healthy-sized meals he packs on. That said, he's a mean-looking bastard. His face is twisted into what looks to be a permanent scowl and a flushed skin color as though Grit had been talking for an hour straight. He's got a squared face, a cleft chin, pronounced jawline, nose and brow ridge, a pronounced Adam's apple, and the posture of a seasoned military soldier – along with the power to knock you off your feet with his deep, booming voice alone. As his age and stature may suggest, he isn't spectacularly graceful, fast, or agile as he may have been years ago, but his gray eyes suggest that the years has done little to dull his sharpness or clever wit. His experience has left him seasoned and grizzled, and you can see it in him when he looks down at your miserable pit of an existence that is your combat career.

He has short, thick black hair in a comb-over on his head and to pair, a thick but well-trimmed set of mutton-chops on his face, which meets together with a mustache on his upper lip and works in neat symmetry. A soul patch sits on his chin to fill in the empty space. He lacks any sort of piercings and the only tattoo he has is the phrase “Semper Fi” from his youth, where half of the phrase being labeled over each pec (“Semper” “Fi”, to clarify). He's got pearly whites, though you'd never know it, for whenever he opens his mouth, you can only focus on how to best escape his raging wrath and projected voice that follows you around every back-alley nook. His bulky hands and feet are the perfect size for throttling you or shoving up your ass, respectively.

Attire:

He sports a wardrobe that seems to only reassure you that he might be the Boogeyman in disguise, lurking about the modern world. He often wears a black denim jacket over a white muscle shirt, over which is a pair of dog tags. His sleeveless shirt is also often tucked into a pair of fatigues with a belt donning a large buckle. These fatigues are equipped with two holsters and are tucked into black combat boots, which are buckled tightly an has a hidden knife sheath inside. He also wears a pair of black Ray-Ban sunglasses, model RB4115 and a cowboy-looking hat on his head. Usually the first warning sign of your ass being put in risk of being ripped in twain is when Isaiah raises his glasses and stares at your from the side with widened eyes.

On duty, his attire changes with the importance of the mission. On lighter, more insignificant missions, all he'll change is to wear a black kevlar vest over his shirt and under his jacket with a black beret on his head. On big, highly-important and high-priority missions, his gear will change into something resembling that of a marine in the Dreadnaught colors – blacks, greys, whites, et cetera. A very greyscale uniform. Considering how he still doesn't see the front line as much as the infantry, he doesn't necessarily have to wear a helmet. Besides... if Isaiah's on the front line, he's saving the asses of the team that managed to fuck everything up. By that point, he's pissed as hell and is ready to carry the mission by himself.

Personality

Innate & Outward Personality:

He has the personality of nuclear fission: a relatively stable guy, but will fuck up your shit if you mess with him. He's straight-forward, honest, and on the outside, pretty simple. He has an easy-to-understand code of conduct and work ethic. If you play along, do your job right, have a good head on shoulders and aren't an outright dumbass, you'll get along with him pretty well. He has a head where nobody else is and is aware that he often times thinks outside the box – in addition to this, he also prefer to own control, so he would like to have it that nobody argues with his decisions and plans and that nobody tries to cut him off while he is talking, because usually nobody is really aware what his plans are until the final steps come to fruition. As long as you listen to him and his wise words, don't question him, you should never enter a yelling match with him.

If you do, God help you.

Isaiah has a hair-trigger temper and is prone to loud, boisterous bouts of shit-inducing rage. He is a notable, nearly famous icon among the Dreadnaughts for this trait. He will sling to you every slur, insult, and derogatory language ever uttered in American history as drops of spittle comes flying out his mouth, landing on your clothes, as his red face and bulging veins seethes with scorching fire that can only be found in Hell or in Isaiah. Surely, if you get on his bad side, the words he made you swallow will come back as a shat-out diamond of unadulterated fear. He isn't massive like Mr. Olympia, but what Isaiah has over him is that his flesh is made up of pure, condensed hatred for your pitiful existence, you miserable waste of carbon. There is something infinitely more terrifying about someone (who eerily reminds you of your dad) who is eternally angry and hates every fiber of your being than any soldier.

Despite his almost comical temper, he is universally respected among even his peers and those who dislike him. He is a remarkably intelligent man with a love for trivia. His experience in the field as a marine has taught him a lot about warfare, and on top of his previous intellectual pursuits, is a superb tactician and strategist. He takes practical experience and meshes it with his knowledge of history and his problem-solving mind to create complex strategies and commands the tactics to be made to complete that strategy. However, those who are not familiar with him may call into question his decisions. He has outside-the-box methods and often does not reveal the full strategy to those outside the strategist circle (often, he doesn't even let the circle in on his full plan, and when he does, usually informs only Belroth most of his strategy). This has to do with not wanting to waste his time with the infantry, a way to keep himself clean of their stupid suggestions, and of course, allows him to contemplate the plan in full in peace. To work the ins and outs, so that he can perfect it. Perhaps there is a bit of cocky pride in there too, so that he can have an “A-ha!” moment when it works.

Hobbies/Interests:

Coffee, moonshine, dominance, meat n' potatoes, chess, the smell of gunpowder, success, et cetera.

Skills/Talents:

Isaiah is a seasoned veteran and has extensive training in ground combat from the marines, as well as possessing tactical expertise. His years has allowed him to train his marksmanship to prodigal levels, he possessed Olympian athletic abilities after extensive exercise, and one time dragged two downed soldiers to safety under heavy fire. Nowadays, he's a little more out of shape. He has comparatively average strength and constitution, and that little crick in his back keeps him from sprinting across fields. He's a little slower, so it's not like he can take his gun and aim it at your face in a hair of a second anymore. What he makes up for in an aging body, though, is the experience and wisdom from all his years. He can shoot a target in its center simply because he knows how to work his guns, and how to aim. His wisdom in the flesh allows him to extend his experience into what would normally be physical feats and perform them anyway. He has a lot of experience driving and operating vehicles, from his years of positioning units in key locations and leading them from there. It is also lent to him so that he may remain level-headed in even high stress situations.

Most notably, however, is his ability to construct complex strategies and to apply the tactics necessary to meet those ends. These strategies are often worked over and over again in his head before he works it out on paper. The strategies are meticulous and difficult to follow unless you're being led along the way step by step. For his plots, he takes from his experiences and from history itself. He is very well versed in military history and takes the best ideas from it and works to remove their flaws. Easily, one of his most dangerous traits is that he learns from his mistakes. He is adaptive. If you foil him, you just made him stronger. Clearly, this ability extends also to chess, of which he is the undisputed champion.

Prized Possession:

A seasoned old marine soldier from Texas knows his guns, and he knows what he likes. While he is experienced with automatics and handguns, his favorite guns are shotguns and revolvers, and that is what he carries – he doesn't have to be the one at the front lines after all. In fact, he has a custom made shotgun: it is a 12 gauge sawed-off triple-barrel shotgun. It was based off the Chiappa Triple Threat and was modified to become a short-barreled shotgun. There is a strap on the side of his thigh that allows him to sheathe it there for easy access.

In addition, a .45 Colt revolver is holstered on the side of his hip. As you can tell, Isaiah isn't one for subtlety when it comes to his gun use. In fact, deriving from his experience and pessimistic outlook, many people would assume that he hides a lot of knives on his body for those “just in case” scenarios.

He also loves his son very much.

Quote(s):

“I've got two hands, and that's enough to shove you back down whatever filthy pit the devil evicted your dumb ass from.”

“How’s about I wire C4 to your dick and blow it off even harder than your boyfriend does?”

“Why the fuck would I go out there and put a bunch of fucking face paint on like some thousand year old pissant tribal? You tell those fuckers I’m coming, and they will know right where I am when I get there.”

“How does that fuckin’ curb taste?”

“Instead of saying pretty please how about I take these revolvers and teach your dick how to count to twelve, huh?”

History/Bio:

He was born out of Texas to a fairly conservative family, over by Houston. He came from a strict and military-supporting family, with a rather long line of veterans, and, of course, this carried on to Isaiah since it was expected of him. He was disciplined at a young age and was encouraged to engage in sports while he maintained a high grade average in school. By the time he entered college, he enlisted in the Marine Corps and received training at a boot camp, as well as education benefits that'd help carry him through his college education. Given how his education was an investment in his military career, they allowed him to finish his education before he was shipped off overseas. His education turned out remarkably successful. He got out of Virginia Tech with a Master's in History along with an Associate's in Philosophy, an Associate's in Government and International Affairs, and another in Sociology, along with an Army ROTC. His dedication to his studies and his life at boot camp earned him the rank of warrant officer, and after deployment with some practical experience, quickly became the infantry officer of his platoon.

As an infantry officer, he trained his Marines for every variety of ground combat mission, as well as gathering and evaluating intelligence on enemy forces, developing battle plans and commanding his units use of weapons and equipment. He himself often drove the trucks and transport vehicles to get his unit into position, as he was a quick and adaptable thinker, it made him adept at operating transport. Over the years, he made out to be an exceptional soldier. He was fast, strong, clever, and adaptive, and despite his temper, he knew what he was doing. He sought to receive training as a MAGTF officer, and he managed to get it. Halfway through his training, he already had the experience to warrant him a position as a Ground Intelligence Officer where he commanded operating forces and analyzed intelligence and planning, deployment and tactical employment of ground surveillance and reconnaissance units. He was honored for his tactical prowess and his ability to guide missions to completion efficiently.

As he aged and became less reactionary, his superior officers found him new positions where they can capitalize on his abilities. He became Logistics Officer and coordinated every major unit in the operating forces, and planning strategies for them. His position also allowed him to develop long-range projects and managing supply chains and analyzing data and performance. He also coordinated from supply, to transportation, maintenance, general engineering, and to health services. He was a Logistics officer for five years, right up to when he was 40.

However, between deployments in his early years, he did find a woman whom he married and started a family with. He also visited his family between deployments, occasionally not being able to return for as long as two or three years, but he always did. So one day, he came to realize that he was missing out on his son's life. He received training to be a Human Source Intelligence Officer, putting him in counterintelligence billets and duties such as platoon commanding. It only lasted two years. After his first tour, he was primarily given recruiting and instructing duty. It allowed him to spend more time with his family during his son's adolescent years. However, instructing became too much of a burden to Isaiah, and after one bundle of particularly rowdy and stupid recruits, he decided that it was too much and said “fuck it”. He retired from duty and returned home.

He tried to help out his son, who was already a teenager, about 15 or so. He gave him hand-me-downs, old guns and stuff, but also encouraged him to pursue his education and pushed him very hard. Unfortunately, for that year, he wasn't adapting to civilian life very well. The Marine Corp was putting him in a place where he got all of the annoying or boring jobs. He was pretty pissed about how quickly he seems to have aged, and whether it was in a fit of angst or mid-life crisis, he applied to the Dreadnaughts, hearing they weren't pushovers. They found his credentials suitable and immediately put him in a role where he'd be acting as operations officer working on logistics and ground intelligence, and as the acting tactician and strategist.

Needless to say, it was the perfect position for him.

There wasn't any Marine Corp-style bureaucracy for him, he strictly made plans for units and squads and platoons, and occasionally was out in the field if the situation was dire enough to call for it. He has been a part of the Dreadnaughts for a whopping eleven years and has led the charge on multitudes of missions. He's a rather well known face – and not just for his outside of the box strategies and forecasts, he's probably even more known for his temper and loud, angry voice.

He has lately been assigned a wetworks mission with Zombie, spy and neuropsychologist Baron Moreau, and Grit, Danny Grit, the most talkative sniper in the world. The organization NEST has hired the likes of the Dreadnaughts to pacify the tension in Verthaven by dismantling key threats to the city's peace and security. Being a specialist in operations, Washe's role is organize his unit and to establish a strategy best suited for eliminating their targets. In addition, the unit has agreed to obtain as much internal data on NEST as possible, to determine how large of a threat the organization can be and to determine what their goals or motives are.

Relationships

Family:

“And just what exactly the fuck do you plan on doing with that information, son?”

Dynamics:

| Baron Moreau | Colleague | Rival | “If I can tell you one thing about my company, is that we've got too much cannon fodder and not enough heads screwed on the right way. And when we do get one of them, we get the fucking likes of this guy. Reliable, a completely different discipline of education from mine, but the man's fucking clever in all the wrong ways and I just can't get myself to trust a guy like that. Ah've been here years longer and already has he gotten closer to boss-man than anyone else. God damn creep.” |

| Daniel G.W. | Colleague | Bothersome kid | “God DAMN the earth if I can't get one single peaceful night of sleep without wondering if that dumbass broke or fucked something up AGAIN! His old man might'a shown him how to shoot good, but none of that is gonna matter if the kid doesn't use his fucking brain to stop pestering me!” |

| Samuel Clarke | Circumstantial partnership | Tenuous at best | "Agent FALCON has another thing coming if he thinks if he can get away with behaving like a little bitch on a mission I'm in charge of."

Abilities

Power Class:

N/A

Power:

N/A

Limitations:

N/A

Drawbacks:

N/A

Other:

Practically the loudest and angriest person in the world. If tribes threw virgins into volcanoes to appease them, they'd throw Isaiah angels.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQa6Z1xFq4E

Daniel G.W.

Basic Information

Name:

Daniel G.W.

Nickname/Alias/Etc:

Danny or Grit would do nicely. Danny Grit would do superbly. Danny Wonder is just ridiculous though. Don't do that.

Gender:

Male

Age:

23

Height:

5'11”

Weight:

155

Home District:

From out of town.

Appearance

Hair Color:

Brown

Eye Color:

Blue

Ethnicity:

“I'm an American! Proud and tall!”

Physical Appearance:

Grit is a pretty tall young man, though standing and weighing in at 5'11” and 155 lbs respectively, so he doesn't stand heads and shoulders above the rest of his comrades, and his physique is somewhat built. Grit doesn't tote the impressive strength some of the other Dreadnaught men may possess, but he does boast an athletic and cardio-focused build that gives him his willowy stature. Much of this build is focused in the shoulders and legs; as his shoulders must bear the recoil of his guns, and trekking through the wilderness allows him to run and escape from danger quickly. A stringy boy, to say the least. There are few actual scars adorning his body, often being out of the way of immediate danger, and instead has a number of scratches that comes from crawling through the rough brush of the outdoors, or camping out in a dingy little building for a number of hours. He's got a gangly posture, often slouching, which can be quickly whipped into a head-held-high form with the proper “motivation”.

He's got a smile that can light up a room with white, taken-care of teeth. Grit's face is fairly angular and is accentuating by many sharp features. Between a pointed chin, gaunt cheeks, high cheekbones, a bird-like nose, and high-sloping forehead, his face is a long, diamond shape. His sharply curved eyebrows border along his curious blue eyes, blending against his fair skin. His brown hair goes down just an inch or two below his shoulders and is always tied up in a tight ponytail, often slicked back with the assistance of a light dab of hair gel to keep it nice and smooth and out of Grit's face.

Attire:

Grit is the kind of boy that'd put together a wardrobe conjoining both fashionableness and functionality. On account of the Dreadnaught's HQ being based out of Finland, he now tends to wear a gray sweat shirt that has been rolled to his elbows. However, if, say, the heating breaks, he'll roll them back down and don a brown leather jacket that looks to have been worn over a course of years judging from the frayed seams and worn-out elbows. A black leather belt with a steel buckle holders up grey-blue designer jeans. He wears brown punk-esque boots; it lacks any spikes of course, the laces just go from the top of the foot and up the ankles, which is crossed over with two straps and buckles. He also has a hemp, multi-shark tooth necklace that he got on a vacation to Ft. Lauderdale one time.

On the job, he has a pretty light-weight setup. A kevlar vest is layered over a variable textured long-sleeve shirt with hoods, the color and design of which is dependent on the environment he is in. If it is in a very cold area, he would wear a color-matching coat instead, which would also allow him the means of wearing the vest beneath his attire. All these outfits have in common, though, is a ski mask, which is similar in the idea of matching the colors of the environment, and earpieces that attach to the radio on his belt. He packs a backpack full of extra ammunition, but primarily things that allow him to survive, such as MRE's and survival equipment and guides. He also packs IFAKs, because crawling around in backwater areas might lead to cuts and infections and stuff. The bag sports other items, such as spare scopes or other replacement parts for his guns.

Personality

Innate & Outward Personality:

Grit talks too much. He's annoying. He's over-confident. He's one hell of a shot.

That's what it boils down to. Otherwise known as “the crosshair with a mouth”, the world is a platform to Grit, and is an eccentric personality in the Dreadnaughts. Unlike one would expect from a sniper, he is an incredibly talkative guy, is egocentric, and overwhelmingly optimistic. His seemingly limitless energy is appalling, and he always has some clever or snarky quip to say in retaliation. He has a joke or story for everything. He's the sort of guy that doesn't quite know when to stop, and why should he? What right has he to take the greatness that is Danny Grit away from the world? That said, he is very confident in his own abilities, and rightfully so. If he were to take a moment's break from the talking, flirting, joking, and story-telling that might have been tailored and tweaked a bit to satisfy his vision, you can see how he can go from zero to top gear and concentrate all of his focus on that one, perfect shot.

Granted, as soon as the job is done – and it always is (and done fast, he often only needs one bullet) – that appeasing moment of silence is broken, and prepare your ears for the run-on gloating and bragging about how amazing that shot was. His ego is built off acknowledgment of his own ability with a gun, but more so on where he is in life. He sees himself as being part of the best, most dangerous mercenary teams in the world – and he is correct in that judgment. As a result, he does take pride in himself, and also the team, even as little as his pride in the latter is expressed; because even though Grit is very prideful and sees himself as a top-notch shot, he does seek to impress all the members of his team. After all, he is still a young man and seeks the approval of his comrades.

Despite his grating disposition, Grit is genuinely a well-meaning young man. He's an entertainer at heart and is very social. He doesn't discriminate between friends, which may be hard to see since he doesn't refrain from making jokes about stereotypes, and he's a little naïve about the kind of harm it can bring. Although a relentless flirt, it is done for the smile that comes after. He actually has little desire for romantic or sexual relationships, but he finds the smiles that he can bring out in people is heartwarming. His aptitude in marksmanship is unquestionable, but he's still a little green on the battlefield and face-up confrontation can greatly off-set his battle prowess. Even though he is a sniper, he prefers to eliminate his targets either through the heart or the back or sides of their heads. Seeing the enemy's face close-up through the scope can bring on some hesitation and would require him to steel himself for the shot.

Hobbies/Interests:

Girls, Cuban food, music, himself, guns, his image, humor, conversation, rollerblades, cars, races, sports, et cetera. He's a young American man, use your imagination.

Skills/Talents:

Grit is, without argument, an excellent shot. There's a reason why Belroth keeps a young man like him around even with all the incessant talking. He like the prodigal son of William Tell – more likely though, he's just one hell of a shot with one hell of a lucky streak. He's got a reputation for things just going his way, even when things are just looking down for him. He good at making conversation and he'll never struggle to find a topic to have a conversation over, but that doesn't make him adept at diplomacy, since he's pretty arrogant and just likes to hear himself talk. He is decent enough at camouflaging himself, even if it's only minor. He doesn't paint, so that does hamper his ability somewhat. He has decent enough outdoor survival experience, and he can climb a tree as though he were a monkey. He's pretty good at video games, and if the 'Naughts ever decided to hold a contest, Grit would likely come up on top, given how most of the others are a bit older and hasn't quite grown up with video games as much. His ma also taught him how to make country fried chickens and steaks, but that is about the extent of his cooking ability: bread it up and throw that sucker in a pan o' butter.

Prized Possession:

The CheyTac Intervention M200, firing $7 dollar rounds of .408 Chey Tac ammunition. Aside from having one of the longest-ranges of all modern-day sniper rifles? It's totally badass. This anti-personnel war machine is equipped with adjustable scopes and a silencer to mitigate the noise it makes, so that Grit does not give away his position when he turns the heads of his enemies into scarlet confetti bombs.

Howe'er, he does have backup weapons should he ever find himself in the position of being closed in on by the enemy, he has a special gun that was given to him by his father as a gift: the Magnum Research BFR, the Big Frame Revolver, otherwise known as the “Big, Fine Revolver” or the “Big Fucking Revolver”. This beast of a handgun has a 5-round cylinder that has been customized to fire .500 S&W Magnum rounds, ensuring that Grit blows a hole in whatever he's pointing the gun at. The grip is black, and the chamber and barrel have a fine chrome finish. Sure, while it is heavy, he probably only needs to fire it once and send the assailant running – if their head hasn't exploded, that is.

Quote(s):

“Oh yeah! That's awesome! You know what? That reminds me of another story...”

History/Bio:

Let's make this one quick: Grit is the only son of a family in Alabama whose father was often deployed overseas, and therefore was unable to see him very often. So he spent a lot of time at home with his mother, playing with airsoft guns, BB guns, and even paintball guns, playing war in the back yard. Whether this was a projection of his admiration or longing to be with his father is still all up in the air, but being in a veteran's family surely made a large impact on his life. However, without any father figures in the house to help raise the boy, a young man can wear a woman's patience thin. This allowed less time for discipline, which meant that he spent his time in school as a social activity, and didn't pay the education much heed unless he was on the verge of failing – at which event, he'd bust his ass getting himself back up to speed and passing tests, and then the cycle would repeat itself.

When he was 18, he got the BFR as a gift from his father. Which in itself was an odd coincidence when you consider his disappointment in his son, as he wished the boy wouldn't waste his education and go to college. Instead, Grit, who didn't seem to hear or understand his words was eager to impress his father and enlisted in the National Guard. There he received much training and became one of the top shots in the group of recruits they had. He hasn't been deployed once for a year since he was recruited, but during that year, he managed to stuff a lot of practice into shooting and did participate in local rescue operations and disaster relief. He particularly loved doing disaster relief missions, even though they were fairly severe situations, because he got to help out people in their dire times of need.

It wasn't enough hustle though, and Grit never thought it would be. The National Guard was just his training grounds. His true aspirations were the Dreadnaughts. They were the biggest, baddest mercenaries in the world and they were the best of the best. Grit loved the idea of becoming one of them, one of the legends. He had to have sent seven applications or so, and the first six were turned down under the belief he was just some riled child without enough discipline or skill. This was half true. The last time he sent an application, he attached a video recording, a compilation of his marksmanship skills. There had to have been a dozen different instances where the shots he made had the odds akin to that of striking the ball end of a pin needle. They finally accepted him and scheduled him a ride to Finland, where he would then receive further training.

For the four years he's been there, he built up a reputation not with just his marksmanship, but mostly because of his incredible, uncanny luck. While his ability to aim and fire a rifle is nothing to laugh at – he's one of the best – it has just been overshadowed by how many lucky breaks he managed to get away with. In fact, in a ratio of time since he's joined to how many scars he has, his has to be the absolute lowest of anybody's. He also holds the Dreadnaught's record of “most near-death situations survived”. One of his best shots on one of these missions is when he had to assassinate a general in Latin America. It was during El Niño, Grit was soaking wet and on top of a Cuban pine tree, which was swaying back and forth in the wind. Among all that, he had to account for the wind affecting his bullet projectory. Somehow, for some reason (people often supect that God is rooting for the wrong guy), and against all odds, he made that shot. After which, the army the general led was alerted to his location and sprayed the tree with turret fire. Damn near pissing his pants, Grit [strike]fell[/strike] climbed down as fast as he could, hearing and feeling elephant-killing bullets whizzing past his head.

Grit never did stop telling that story. Sometimes he even adds parts to it that didn't actually happen. People still call him out on account of him being lucky, and that he should have died. Their denial feeds his ego.

Now, his latest adventure brings him to the city of Verthaven with his colleagues: the Zombie, Baron Moreau, neuropsychologist and spy! Then the old man, Caesar, or Isaiah Washe, who was in charge of the wetwork operation. Zombie and Caesar made their own plans to look into NEST a little more. Grit, though, is more excited about the mission he has come here to do. Also – superpowers! So cool! He's never seen one of these metas up close before, and wants to check out all that Verthaven has to offer.

Relationships

Family:

“The Dreadnaughts!”

Dynamics:

| Baron Moreau | Colleague | What's up, doc? | "Ol' Barry is my counselor! Well, not MY counselor, he has other clients too. But I'm one of 'em, and let me tell ya: he's kind of a weird man at first, but you'll see he's one of the most interesting guys in the world! Second to me, of course! Ha! He's the only one who seems to listen to my awesome stories. I can't BELIEVE he's one of those meta-people! He says he's isn't, but that isn't what the doctor guy said! I think." |

| Isaiah Washe | Colleague | Obstacle | “Ha! Who doesn't love ol' Caesar? The man's a riot. Ha, yeah. The old man sure is... uh, impressive. I just wish he would listen to me once in a while... but I ain't gonna let that get me down! I'm gonna show him how good I am, and one of these days, I'm finally gonna earn his respect.” |

Abilities

Power Class:

N/A

Power:

N/A

Limits:

N/A

Weaknesses/Drawbacks:

N/A

Other:

Grit must have an angel or something watching over him – and there are a lot of jokes about how God must have him confused for somebody else. His luck is uncanny and unpredictably unpredictable. That is to say that he somehow is placed in absurd situations that nobody should expect him – or any other person – to succeed. This is to say that Belroth may place him in an important position to do an important job, and fate just makes it so that it appears next to impossible to complete, such as the incident where he had to carry out an assassination, and El Niño swooped in at the last second. And yet, at the same time, it is also his luck that allows him to succeed in these missions. Grit's life is always exciting, and you can always expect some sort of fascinating tale from him – though you can never tell if his tales are true or not.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAzp8FXA-FQ

Verthaven: A Bloody Paradise [Completed]

_{by @Spoopy Scary and @Mr Allen J}

---

The Pursuit of Science Arc P2.

---

After a bit of marching, the hallways Lihua was reluctantly exploring were becoming more and more like a lab. She started seeing operating tables lying around, and medical equipment. Which, in turn, worried Lihua more and more. What is going on down here... I hope Meifeng is okay. Lihua thought to herself as she was exploring the rooms of this base. Ready to tear whatever popped up to shred if it so much as looked at her funny. She heard a bit of chatter coming from one of the rooms - except, it was different. It sounded like children talking. She was still hesitant. It could be a trap. She walked up to the door, and opened it ajar slightly so that she may peak inside. She saw a medium sized room with plenty of operating tables, and on the other side were bars that weren't. Behind those bars were the young and tired faces of children. No threats in sight.

Pushing the door open, Lihua stepped inside, and everyone looked at her. They looked terrified of her. Lihua noticed this, and tried to seem as least intimidating as possible. "Don't... be alarmed. I'm with NEST, I'm here to help." She started off, standing straight up at the door to the makeshift prison. "What is going on here? Why have you been locked up?" She asked as she examined the door. Locked with a padlock. She could pop this off in a second.

For a moments, the kids were quiet, whispering among each other. Until one of the girls simply walked up to the bars, and looked up at Lihua. "Hi. I'm... Penny." She said, sounding somewhat guilty. "They kidnapped us... they've been doing these... awful experiments to us."

That's what made Lihua look up at the girl, with her own eyes wide. What...? Kidnapping and experimenting on children? That's beyond cruel and irredeemable. Lihua thought to herself. "Hold on, let me get you all out of here." She raised a hand in the air, and a thick spike of concrete came out of the ceiling. "Take a step back." She said, and they complied, and the concrete spike came down on the padlock. Blood was dripping from Lihua's hands as it split open. It was painful, though a pain she was familiar with.

The padlock hit the ground, and Lihua didn't even have a chance to blink before the kids came out of the cages. The had collars around their neck. Power suppressant collars. Lihua thought to herself. They're produced by, and only for, NEST... which makes me wonder just who's running this show. She continued her line of thought.

"I want to go home..." One of the kids sobbed.

Fingers went to her ears as she pressed her earpiece. Before she could even say anything, one of the kids said something that really interested her.

"She turned us into Metas." One boy, with neat blond hair and a rotund stomach, spoke up where everyone else was silent. Before he pointed at Penny.

Taking her fingers off her earpiece, Lihua looked at the boy, and asked, "What?"

A girl spoke up and said, "Yeah the people in here made her give us powers... then... they..."

"Don't explain it." Lihua said, sympathetic to their situation, talking about it would only make them break down. However, her eyes fell on Penny... if she's a Bestower - the NEST word for Metahumans who give others powers - then NEST will definitely have to handle this. She'll have to handle that later.

For now, she has to report this to NEST. "Control, this is Agent Vuhong." She said with the feeling in her gut that they wouldn't answer. However, they exceeded her expectations, and answered.

"This is control, what do you have to report?" A man said on the other end.

"I have discovered a group of young Metahumans kidnapped, presumably by a ring. Send backup to my location at once."

"Affirmative, Agent Vuhong. We're sending a team to your location."

"Agent Vuhong out." Lihua said ... I don't even know why I called them. Headquarters is in shambles, they won't be able to get a unit out in time. before she turned back to the group of kids. She didn't have good conscience in leaving them in here all alone... and at the same time, she needed to find Meifeng at once. Selfishness, or selflessness, after all. She let out a sigh.

She raised her hand into the air again, and pulled a concrete spike - with the blade part very flat - out from the ceiling, which flew into her hands. "All of you, come here." She said.

They lined up, and Lihua stuck the spike in the crease where the collars meet, and popped them open. She kept doing this until every kid was liberated. "That couldn't have been comfortable..." Lihua mused for a moment, before she gave them orders, "Now, listen up, I am instructing you all to hide, and don't leave for any reason until the coast is clear, and NEST is clearing the base. Got it?"

They all nodded their heads.

"Good."

Meanwhile, Baron of the Dreadnaughts had already made his preparations and made his way to his destination. The manhole he was to enter was already opened, likely due to Lihua's negliegence in her state of panic. He took off his suit coat, and underhand tossed it into the vehicle he had come in. He loosened the tie, with Washe's words of echoing in his ears. "Don't you fucking go in there with that damn noose around your neck." Baron had no intention of doing that, even before Washe's warning - but he appreciated the gesture on Washe's part. It spoke greater volumes than the tactician likely realized. The tie followed his coat en suit through the air. His vest, too, as it would be too binding. All that was left was on his torso was his gray button-up and black suspenders the held up his fitted dress pants. Two guns were holstered on his body. A caracal on his right, and a taser from NEST on his left. The caracal was silenced, though the muffled sounds of exploding gunpowder would do little to hide the fact that he had fired a shot. That was what the taser was for, and it would be the primary weapon on this venture. On his lower back was a fanny pack that zipped open, and in it was hiding an array of injections. Pouches that held a variety of seemingly useless trinkets were along his waist. A knife was present, of course, but Baron hardly had the proficiency to put it to good use.

"Well, back into the pit from whence I came." Baron mused to himself in his effort to lighten the situation for himself. He took one last drag of a cigarette before flicking it onto the open road, and put himself down the manhole, sliding down the ladder to compensate for his leg.

In some ways, perhaps the pit wasn't too far-fetched of an analogy for Baron. If he wanted to get through this, and bring both himself and Lihua out, then he'd have to channel the devil. Paraguay taught him many things. To beat mad men, you must think like mad men. What separated him from the trash was that he has maintained the sanity to focus and concentrate that madness into cold, calculating depravity. That was at least part of the reason why Washe refuses to argue with him for too long. Not that it was entirely it, or that the man would admit it, but only few of those who knew him long enough knows of that dark side. That was at least part of the reason why he unflinchingly delves into whatever hell that awaited him.

His boots hit the ground with a wet smack. There was hardly any light, save for the wispy strands shine through the grating by roads above ground. In one of his pouches, he procured a set of contacts sitting in lubrication. Nearly pitch black, they were effective at absorbing nearly any and all light in the area and focuses them toward the retinas, allowing the wearing to see in the dark without the risk of a flashlight or the encumberance of night vision goggle. The down side, other than your eyes looking like that of a demon to any and all who see you wearing them, were an intense sensitivity to light. He'd have to remove them later.

The walk was long. Not foreboding, or treacherous, just long. He had removed himself from the situation the moment his feet hit the wet ground of the sewers. Perhaps he should feel uneasy about how easily he could emotionally detach himself like a flick of a switch. Perhaps he should feel guilty it. Perhaps he should feel guilty for leading Lihua to believe he felt attracted to her, or that he had no intention of backing her up for the sake of sentimentality. She was necessary. A means to an end - but the feeling was cold.

He came across a gruesome scene. A mutilated cadaver and a mess of manipulated concrete shredding it. He met it head on without a wince, and inspected the mess closely. Warmth radiated off its body, which meant this was a recent killing. Lihua may have stormed ahead with the vigor of a German blitzkrieg, but even she was cautious in treading these grounds. She wasn't far from here. The walls were beginning to look like the actual decor of a building.

"Wh-- who're you?"

Baron turned around to come face to face with an older man with a miniature flashlight. Its light, though weak, shone in Baron's face. The Dreadnaught cringed, and the older man in a lab coat drew back in appallment.

"Y-your eyes!" He cried. "You're like a demon, you're not from the experiments! Don't tell me you're part of that ghastly Changeling crowd, are you? Like that last envoy? God, have mercy..."

"Argh, my eyes..." Baron growled, squinting. He drew the taser and lunged toward the stranger. One hand grabbed the man's hair and pulled up while the taser was fired
point blank under his chin. The sparks of light repeatedly flicked, creating a strobe effect that reflected off the black contacts on his eyes.

"You should be less worried about the monsters that might be, dear doctor."

Baron let him go, dropping the man to the floor, stunned and paralytic. Baron undressed him just enough to loot the white lab coat that he wore and draped it around himself and followed the trail that Lihua had left him. The man had spoken of experiements and Changelings. Truly, it was like a bad James Bond movie. Spy and psychologist walking in on doctorl.s performing experimentation. If it were anything like the cliches, then it'd be human experimentation. But the mention of "Changelings"... if the scientist was a member of an organization pulling the strings behind the Fiends, and he is afraid of a different crowd, then there was a hopelessly entwined entanglement of organizations vying for some kind of power and control over an indeterminable asset of indeterminable value or scope.

If he could find records here, they'd be immeasurably important to the investigation of Verthaven's underbelly.

He had soon met with a room; a room quite unbefitting of a sewer. It was sophisticated in a crass, mundane way. Much like a prison. The light that came from it was bright like a sun-shiny day, though it would've normally been dimly lit. Strewn about it were terrified, immobile children. They were staring at Baron, who wore the coat and contacts as good as any torturous experiementer, and his cold demeanor didn't do him any favors. Baron blinked, and thought that perhaps now would be a good time to fake a smile.

"Oh, hello." He said gently. "Have you seen my friend come through here? Tall, Chinese?"

He was met with a bolt of electricity shot at him. The charge met with him, and static danced and arced around his body, but he himself felt no negative effects of the blast.

"Excuse me, but that is a little rude..."

---

Rushing through the halls of this damn base, Berlioz could hear the battle going on in the distance. He wondered how many have escaped, and how much damage have they caused. It'll be unlikely that they called for help, all they have to do is subdue them (or kill). He saw another scientist pushing a person around on a cart, and he ran around them. He turned to a door, and then immediately various monitors, and chairs. This was the security room, where they monitor everything... And the first thing Berlioz saw was a pool of blood on the floor. There was a man, who Berlioz assigned to watching the monitors, dead with various slashes done to his throat. Berlioz knelt down to take a closer look, and then he said,

"Sloppy." Noticing how wild and imprecise it was. Someone who wasn't used to slashing throats tried this, and wasn't successful the first time, but they managed to sever the main vein. God damn it, Berlioz is not cleaning this up. There wasn't time for this, the first thing that Berlioz did was run over to the monitor, and flick through the cameras. There was the battle with the escapees in the Atrium... looks like only five of them have escaped. They are putting up a fight, but they'll be overwhelmed soon. However, there could be more lurking around, so he kept switching through every camera. Everything looked fine thus far... oh no. One camera, he eyeballed a tall Asian woman wielding a shotgun. One he's never seen before. She was standing before a group of kids... the test subjects. Oh no. This isn't good.

If NEST is here, he has no choice but to blow the base up. Destroy all the evidence.

He didn't warn anyone, he couldn't risk them catching wind and abandoning ship, too. Everyone here was expendable, save for the research. Berlioz grabbed onto his revolver. He charged down the hallways, and kept running until he made it into his office. He put his revolver on the desk next to him, and began typing away on his computer. Opening up files, and submitting them to the Hands of Science. Everything his team had discovered during this operation. Along with a email telling them they've been discovered. Before he could even finish the email, he noticed that his revolver was gone.

That same revolver was being pressed against his head. "Hello, there, Ber-li-oz..." A familiar voice said to him.

"Megan!?" Berlioz said, "What is the meaning of this?!"

"Sssh, ssssh..." Megan pressed the gun against his head much harder against his head. "Sorry for all of this being so... out of the blue, but this is my betrayal."

"What?!" Berlioz said.

"You see... I was never on your side, or the Hands of Science's side, I've been against you the whole time. Who do you think has been breaking the collars, hoping that a big breakout like this would occur? Sorry, but the organization is tapping into things they shouldn't, and they're putting everyone at risk here."

Berlioz didn't say anything.

"Now, here's how things are gonna go...." Megan said, producing a large scalpel from her amorphous form. Using a little tentacle to move it closer and closer to Berlioz's neck. All while she chattered, "The official story is going to look like this: NEST is going to find this terminal full of sensitive files that'll reveal just about everything after you've been caught off guard by one of your escaped test subjects... and killed."

"Hm, what-" Berlioz was barely able to get the words out before the scalpel violently slashed across his throat, spraying blood everywhere. But that wasn't enough, Megan had to make it sloppy. She quickly dropped the revolver, and put the scalpel in her real hand. Before she started violently stabbing at Berlioz's throat, leaving holes in his neck. He stumbled forward, grabbing at his neck, and Megan grabbed his head, and smashed it against the side of his desk. Hard enough to crack his skull immediately, but then she pulled him back again, and slammed his head once more. Killing Berlioz.

A USB drive was pulled out of her body by a tentacle. She put it into Berlioz's computer, and opened some files. Making it look like Berlioz was simply caught off guard while looking at some sensitive data. Something for the good NEST Agent to find. Hopefully. Time for Megan to make sure that Lihua find it, by leaving a nice paper trail straight to it. Megan turned into a small child, a girl with wavy brown hair, and freckles. Wearing dark blue pajamas with cartoony white stars and planets.

She walked out the door.

---

This place was a madhouse, and Lihua was just about ready to kill every one of these sadistic bastards for what they put children through. She kept her shotgun clenched as she walked through the halls - she heard some operating tables being pushed in another hallway, towards her. She figured that's as good of a place as any to start looking. Lihua pushed herself against the wall, and waited for the person to walk by. It was a woman with blonde hair, wearing a lab coat and black jeans, and dress shoes, pushing a operating table with a girl tied to the top of it. Lihua leveled the barrel of the shotgun at her head, and pumped it to get her attention.

"Hands in the air." Lihua ordered, and the woman intelligently complied. She circled around the woman, aiming the shotgun at her. With one hand, she undid the straps holding the child down on the table, and the kid managed to pick himself up. "Get down on the ground, hands behind your head. Do anything funny, and I'm going to make it hurt."

The woman nodded her head before putting her hands behind her head, and got down on the ground.

Lihua pulled another flat-bladed concrete spike out of the ceiling, and pried open the girl's nullification collar. Letting her use her power. She dropped the spike, and put her hand on the girl's shoulder, before saying, "Find a place to hide."

Right when the girl nodded, two men in labcoats came down the hallway behind them. Holding clipboards, but the second they saw Lihua, they dropped them and shouted, "You! Intruder!" Before reaching down to pull out her glocks, and opening fire.

"Dammit." Lihua muttered before she grabbed the girl and they both turned the corner as the men opened fire on them. The scientist that was on the ground quickly got up and ran off.

As Lihua had her back against the wall, the girl nodded at her, and said, "I'm going to help you."

"No, don-" Lihua could barely say before the girl zipped by her at what had to be blinding speeds. She moved far faster than Lihua could even track. She quickly ran around the hail of bullets, and ran around the two scientists, before knocking them both over. She stopped, and gave Lihua a nod, before she disappeared into the hallways. Maybe she should give her a pat on the back after this.

Before they could get back up, Lihua turned the corner, and aimed her Mossberg at them. She fired twice - the first shot ripped clean through one's skull, and the other slug went through the other's back. Causing them brutal wounds. It wasn't long - with all their wounds likely dealt to major blood vessels - before they bled to death. And Lihua didn't give them a second thought. Because, to her, they were combatants, and already forfeited their lives. NEST can easily identify their corpses.

Good grief. This means whoever else is here is about to come arunning. Their gunshots would echo throughout the entire base! Lihua should get a move on. Don't let them just surround her after all. She began walking through the halls, constantly aware. She stuck to the walls in hopes that they wouldn't immediately notice her. Once again, she heard a lot of activity around the corner, and she walked over. And she began hearing things like,

"What happened?"

"Was there a breakout?"

"Should we be alarmed?"

Lihua peered around the corner, and saw a group of people in lab coats, and surgical gear. Some of which had gloves covered in blood. Like they were in the middle of an operation. Lihua thought to herself. This might be her golden opportunity to catch as many of them as possible. She dove out from hiding, and rushed forward. While they were confused, she raised her fist into the air, and slammed it down, stopping her momentum. It caused a hell of an impact in the concrete around them. Cracks formed in a linear path right at the scientists. And concrete walls were erected on both sides, trapping them within the area. They were shouting on the other side, and Lihua found herself panting. More blood was dripping from her sides as fresh wounds were being formed because of her power. She was getting tired... she can't keep fighting like this.

After she caught her breath, she turned around, and didn't even notice that there was a scientist with a gun creeping up on her. A woman, with black hair, and blue eyes, wearing the same lab coats as the rest. "Drop the gun, hands in the air." She ordered.

Good grief. Lihua thought to herself... and at the same time, she had a plan for this. She dropped her mossberg, and put her hands in the air... and several rocks came out of the ground in a line, and started landing in order. Creating a sound similar to footsteps.

"Huh?" The woman turned her body around to look, her gun still aimed at Lihua.

Lihua did two things at once. First thing she did was dive out of the air, the other thing she did was reach back, pull a chunk of concrete out of the ground, and swung her hand and sent it at her at high speeds. By the time she turned back, the rock was already flying at her. It hurt her square in the stomach, and sent her flying backwards. Up until she hit a wall with explosive force. Bones loudly cracked, and the woman screamed. The rock dropped, and a torrent of blood came out of the woman's mouth. She looked down, and clenched her stomach. Barely even noticing Lihua's footsteps coming up, stopping for a moment, and resuming again. She saw the tall woman's shadow over her, and she looked up, and all she saw was the barrel of the gun she was just using.

Lihua pulled the trigger, and blew a nice hole in her head. Gore splattered the wall, and Lihua's suit. Before she dropped the gun, and kept walking as if she never saw her in the first place. The woman should consider that an act of mercy. With her organs crushed, she wouldn't have lasted long.

So far, Lihua has captured a group of scientists, and killed three. Long as there's someone to interrogate, NEST won't mind the excessive force. She let out a sigh. She thought that she had left this all behind - but it seems that some things will never change. ... I'll never stop killing, will I? Lihua asked herself. She didn't think anymore of it, as she began walking. She wasn't making any progress in finding Meifeng. All she was doing was saving other kids... Maybe that'll help her sleep a little better at night. That she at least spared someone else's children from this fate.

"So all I have to do is follow the sound of gunfire and agonized shrieks to find you? I take it that infiltration isn't your strongest suit."

Coming to a stop, Lihua was legitimately surprised that Baron had come all the way down here... especially in a labcoat. If she hadn't recognized him right off the bat, he'd probably be staring down the barrel of her shotgun. Though, she didn't exactly appreciate the gesture.

"What are you doing down here, Baron?" Lihua asked, almost hostile. "I don't recall asking for any help."

"On the contrary..." Baron sighed, shaking his head, "I am armed and had as good a shot as any to land a slug in the middle of your back. Fortunately it was only me and not, well..." Baron gestured at the bodies of the scientists strewn about, and their blood covering the walls. "One of them."

Letting out a sigh, Lihua closed her eyes for a moment as she thought about it. Only to open her eyes as she answered, "I see your point... but, this has nothing to do with the Dreadnaughts, truthfully..." Lihua said as she turned away. Letting out another sigh as she continued, looking back at Baron afterwards, "... Meifeng is my responsibility, and mine alone. I can do this alone. I should do this alone." She wondered what his objective was down here. Help her? Or was there another goal? Either way, her pride was too strong to possibly let her accept help on such a personal matter such as this.

"No, you're right." Baron admitted. "Your daughter isn't my business. I can let you do that all on your own if you'd like. Though if something were to happen to her, that would compromise you, which would compromise the mission, because now the mission is NEST."

Wait... does that mean? Lihua thought to herself as she let Baron's words sink for a little bit. Are the Dreadnaughts after NEST now? Or something else...? Ugh. She knew that there was something a little wrong with the Dreadnaught's. She was now regretting giving away all that information like that. Still... that was a matter for later. She shouldn't be standing here chit-chatting with all the crimes against humanity being caused here. This is definitely something that she'll have to work out later.

She gave him a narrow glare. Before she eased up, and finally asked, "Just tell me what is it that you're after...?"

"It is like I said to you earlier. Caesar and I sought a meeting with you." Baron explained. "It regards NEST, and NEST's future. He gave me a briefing following the failure to capture Khan. The Fiend invasion was flawlessly executed, even with Khan's death. No immediate alarms, access through a hidden entrance, and all seasoned combat personnel out on patrol with minimal guard in the critical access points in headquarters."

"It's too obvious that someone in NEST was giving them a hand." Lihua was quick to reply. She knew exactly what Baron was implying, and caught onto it instantly. "They didn't even bother trying to hide it."

"Yes." Baron confirmed. "How many people in NEST do you know of that has such widespread control?"

"Between the Director, and High Command, zero." Lihua blankly answered. Suspecting the Director more and more.

"What are the odds, do you think, that you can hide anything from the Director, who has unrestricted access to everything within NEST?"

"Hmph. It'd be easy, really. She can't watch everything at once, and far as she can tell, I'm just her obedient little dog." Ugh saying about herself that hurt a little bit.

"Think of this like chess." Baron echoed. "You make your moves based upon whether or not your prediction is true. If you walk straight into their trap..."

"... Yes, I remember that analogy." Lihua said. Baron had a point. He was capable of talking her out of her rash decisions due to her sheer overconfidence. She was wondering how she was going to get to the bottom of this one. All she needs is a little evidence, and submit that evidence to high command... and Miranda Caryl will be exposed for her crimes. And more importantly, Lihua will be on the way to getting a promotion!

"Allowing your subordinates to believe she can't watch everything sure is a powerful and effective strategy, don't you think?" Baron mused. "After all, we're only human."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind while I perform my investigations...." Lihua said, nodding her head in silent agreement. She quickly looked around, and it was completely quiet other than the two of them. She was wondering if there were any Scientists around, or are they just gathering their forces for one large attack (Which will be fun, because she'll enjoy seeing their faces as they realize that she turned it into a bloodbath)?

She wasn't going to let herself get sidetracked any further. She was on a mission here, separate from NEST. Lihua put her hand on her shotgun's pump, before sighing (As a sign she swallowed her pride (Just this once)). "You may come along with me, if you really choose to." She shrugged. Before she continued down the hallway she was going, with Baron right behind her.

During their march, she saw a child with wavy brown hair and freckles peering around the corner with a face oh so frightened. Lihua put her hand up, and tried to put a disarming smile on, but the child shrieked, and ran into a room. Lihua quickly followed behind her, and her eyes opened once she saw the child wide eyed. Staring at the bloody mess that was Berlioz. Shaking, and barely being able to gasp.

"He-he..." She stuttered out the words. "He-he w-was the leader... of these people. I-I-I.... I-" Tears started going down her eyes.

Quickly kneeling down, Lihua put her hands on the girl's shoulder, "Ssh, ssh, it's okay." She said gently. "It's over. They won't hurt you anymore. I made sure of it."

Baron approached Berlioz, inspecting the wounds and trying to determine the cause of his death. Bloody slashes and punctures mutilated his throat. That could've been either blood loss or air deprivation. That'd be an agonizing last few minutes. The crown of his head though, Baron observed as he felt the bloody, swollen tissue with his hands, the skin had broken and was intensely swollen. Pushing down, he felt some give in the cranium. That could've been an instant death.

The girl wiped her own tears. "... Okay."

"Now, I need you to stay quiet. Help is on the way. Can you do that for me?" Lihua asked.

The girl nodded her head. "Mhmm..."

"Good." Lihua said as the girl stood there looking terrified. Which meant she had a room to investigate all by herself. First, the body. Lihua didn't touch it, or get in the blood, she knelt down and examined the wounds from a distance (She wished that she had gloves now). It was sloppy, wild... almost like it was done by someone who had no idea how to slit a throat, or had a bad blade. In the end, they managed to kill this man with sheer slashes. God damn it, by the time NEST arrived, this corpse would have already begun to decompose. If this man was the leader, they needed to get him to the morgue soon as possible so they can identify him. Though, with the trail of blood he left, it's obvious he was caught off guard while doing something else - using the computer. He should have locked the door.

Baron examined the work station. Low velocity blood splatter all over the station, especially on the screen. So the scientist was... facing the screen, viewing important documents when his throat was slashed... there was no falling back except into his cushioned chair. One clean cut across the throat... then several puncture wounds. Medium velocity blood splatter around... the side of the room. Some blank spots. An arm blocked the projectory of part of those splatters. Stumbling forward... then his head hits the desk? Low velocity blood splatter, some pooling. No, no... not that hard... he couldn't have hit the desk that hard...

The "girl" was watching Baron's charades in his attempt to best reenact what had happened from the corner of the room. Still looking terrified - but right now, that was legitimate fear that he'll catch onto something. Of course, he wouldn't suspect a little girl, but maybe they could see how contrived the situation seemed, and disregard the evidence as fake (When it's everything but). Oh no, Megan would just have to hope that Baron isn't all that bright.

If this man was the leader like this girl said, maybe there's something they can get off the computer. Lihua needed to examine this computer for herself, because who knows who will stroll by and destroy this computer full of what had to be valuable information? Holding her shotgun in one hand, she strolled over to the computer terminal, and placed her shotgun down by the side. She hunched over as she began typing into the computer - wiping some of the blood off the screen the second she realized it'd be an inconvenience. It was clear that this man was looking at sensitive files before he was killed. He was typing an email through the deep web... to...

The Hands of... Science? Lihua thought to herself. She never heard of such an organization - and if NEST knew about it, she definitely would.

She had to keep digging. Every file she opened was information on a different experiment (with videos). And it was... cruel. This was the cruelest most depraved filth that she has ever seen in her entire life. Just the idea of experimenting on children was bad enough, now that she sees it in action... it's something that just made her glad that she killed those bastards. She probably should go back and massacre the ones she has contained, too. Lihua sighed, and remembered her training. She kept her thirst for revenge in check (Lest she wants to become a rapid animal).

Baron looked at Berlioz again and drew his Apache. He extended the blade, and pressed it against the corpse's scalp, before shaving the hair near the head wound as close as he could, sometimes even nicking the skin (which was of no concern, since he was already dead). He stopped as soon as he found there were two abrasions and two mounds of swollen tissue.

For a moment, everything seems to be going just dandy. And by that, she meant they didn't seem to be overtly suspicious. The woman was tending to the computer, and the man - who she was far more worried about - was examining the man's skull. If he was bright, he would just suspect that it was done by a grown man - perhaps someone who got out. Despite the fact that they likely have only seen children thus far. However, Megan's form leaves no fingerprints, or any of the sort (And if it did, they would have a hard time tracking her). For now, she just look doe-eyed as she watched Baron... she better have a good escape plan for when NEST comes in and starts asking questions.

"His head was struck twice..." Baron muttered inaudibly. If he was hit in the head once in this state, he still would've been down for the count. The first strike broke the skull. The second likely propelled whatever shards of bone there were and penetrated his brain. They'd need enough strength to lift and swing a limp body. He looked at the freckled little girl that Lihua was consoling before (which should have been his job, honestly, but the last thing she needed were two people hovering over her). There... there was no way this little girl did this to him. It was impossible.

Digging through the files, she found more and more information on the Hands of Science, and all their sick experiments. She kept going through the files, until she found an video file that caught her eyes. She leaned in, and narrowed her eyes as she opened it. It was a conversation between two people obscured in shadows, while sitting in chairs. Lihua had a hard time making out any of their details, it was so dark. Baron, hearing the sudden noise, stood up and watched the file from behind Lihua. He still intended to keep one of his eyes on the girl, though. Megan felt relieved that the man took his attention off the body (after finding nothing of note).

"The Fiends... they have served their purpose well. However, we are close to perfecting the Mutagen, yet we haven't gotten any real combat data from them." A man with a deep voice said.

"Of course not, they're just a bunch of drug addicts. They're probably more likely to use it in some sex act than use it against NEST or the other gangs." A woman replied.

"Hmph... perhaps Khan and her family have forgotten about our deal. They seem to be more interested in using the guns and drugs we gave them rather than fulfilling their deal."

"We should just cut them off. We were only using them to distribute powers, and people are catching onto that."

"We can't just cut them off like that, they know far too much about the Hands of Science. Especially Khan, who is practically one of our agents. We have to eliminate them to cover as many loose ends as possible. Or else something about us will reach NEST."

"REAPER can handle it."

"How about this..." A third voice spoke, that Lihua immediately recognized. A woman walked up to the two, with a white light shining on her, that let Lihua see her in full color. See who this woman was.

"... Director Caryl?!" Lihua said out loud in sheer shock. Wait, that means... No.

"You guys trick the Fiends into attacking the Summer Festival, and causing a huge roar, and let NEST handle it. They take out Khan and the Fiends, and get a huge pay raise, and they get the PR boost from taking out a group of dangerous terrorists... You guys... you get the Fiends out of your hair. Do we have ourselves a deal?"

"Hmmm... I'll allow it. NEST can handle it, but make sure that the lieutenants die. We can't afford to risk a single word about the hands of science get out." The woman said.

"I won't." Miranda said. Nodding her head.

"Then get to it." The man said. "Meeting adjourned."

The video ended there.

"That bitch." Lihua slammed her fist on the desk, and growled.

"Well... I can't say that we didn't see that coming." Baron commented - and of course, by "we", he meant the Dreadnaughts team.

The Director was the cause of all this mayhem and bloodshed? All to make NEST look good... What a fucking whore who'd compromise their duty just for a little extra. Utter scum, if working with these madmen weren't enough. This was everything she needed to bring Caryl down for good... but it felt a bit too good. Suddenly, Lihua was a lot more worried about Meifeng, and what these people did with her. Her heart started racing, but she couldn't break down in anxiety here. She needed to see what else this computer has. She went through the files, and found more information on the Hands of Science, more on their deeds, and other evidence she could use to implicate the Director (Which she is going to do).

Lihua pulled a USB drive out, and stuck it into the computer, and downloaded as much of the files as she could. Before pulling it out, and sticking it in her pocket.

"But, now I have everything I need to expose her for the whore she is." Lihua said.

"In the meantime, I think it would be best if I took this girl with me back to the rest of the children and see about conducting a quick mass-psychological examination for any lasting trauma." Baron added.

... Oh God. Megan thought to herself. It was like he was trying to out her. I'm on your side, pal! Well... sort of. She thought to herself again. Either way, it'd look mighty suspicious if she makes a break for it now. Megan will just have to play along until the moment is just right... because the second they look her up on any official records, it's going to be very clear something's off. In her nubile child form, Megan walked over to Baron, and nodded her head.

A large bang in the distance caught Lihua's attention. She nodded her head, grabbed her shotgun, and got ready. Because, she came here to save Meifeng.

And that's what she's going to do.

Verthaven: A Bloody Paradise [Completed]

The Dreadnaughts

---

Baron barely had the time to explain himself and what he wanted to say to Lihua – not all at once, of course, as the secrecy of this information was top priority – but he did want to relay the information needed in order for them to meet. Before he could, they were once again interrupted. As soon as Lihua answered her phone, the voice of a panicked young girl started rambling on the other end. The NEST agent, normally composed, went into a similar state of panic and emergency. This alone was enough of an indicator that something was very wrong.

“Wait, Meifeng!? What’s going on!? Where are you?! Meifeng!”

Baron looked at her with worry as she whipped around and began running off through the building! “Wait Lihua!” Baron called out after her. “Assess the situation first! Ah, hell!”

He didn’t entirely know what just came up – except that he heard the word kidnapped on the other end – but he did know that Lihua shouldn’t just run in blindly. Sure, maybe someone might be taking kids for a Filipino sex ring or something, but anyone in Verthaven with any kind of local urban savvy would know if a kid belonged to a government agent unless they were deliberately ignorant. That meant if someone who did their studying and took this girl - “Meifeng” was it? If someone took Meifeng, knowing who her family was, that’d be too risky. That meant Meifeng wasn’t their real target.

“Damn it…” Baron muttered. This was starting to remind him of Paraguay. He reached into his pocket and called a speed dial number on a secured line. A moment passed before he heard a gruff “hello” from Washe.

“Caesar, its Zombie. Something dangerous came up.”

“Fuck, what now?” Washe grumbled bitterly. “I already heard from Grit that he lost the fucking trail on that trigger happy ass wipe in the sewer.”

“It’s not that.” Baron replied. “Our… favorite agent got a minatory call. Something’s happening and I’m not entirely sure what it is, but it relates to her daughter, I believe.”

“And?”

“I know I don’t need to explain that to you, Caesar. She rushed out without thinking. Push comes to shove, I know you would do the same.”

“Not the fucking point, you pompous stiff.” Washe retorted. “Why should this bother me? She might give you the butterflies in your crippled limp dick, but I frankly don’t give a fuck. She ain’t my mission.”

Baron sighed. ‘Repulsive as ever.’ “Okay, look.” Baron began. “You might not think she can be of any use, but I do. What’s more, I think she might even be instrumental in the extrapolation of what data our quarry feeds us.”

“You can’t beat around the bush with me anymore, doctor. What else is it you’re offering?”

“That you may not offer any assistance on your end if you do not wish it, but that I may covertly undertake this task of extraction personally.”

“Nonsense!” Washe shouted over the phone. “I think you’d best stay put if you know what’s fucking best for this mission and for you! I am no longer willing to compromise any more of my fucking resources for the sake of playing nice. As far as I’m concerned, we’re taking care of every problem by tomorrow!”

“You flatter me, my friend. Truth be told, I am not a necessity for the contract, which can be easily accomplished by just you and Grit! I appreciate your enthusiasm for your job, Caesar. I think the matter of fact is that we can accomplish much more with her on alive and on our side than without.”

There was a moment of silence on the other – or, half silence, as it was apparent that Washe was ranting to himself with the phone set on the table. When he picked it up, Baron heard a deep breath – his tactician, he concluded, had conceded.

“You’ve been through hell in Paraguay.” Washe started. “Taking that into consideration, I’m sure you might be able to get through whatever nightmare could be going down in whatever shithole you plan on diving in. Eyes, you getting all this? Can you get a location?”

“Hm...” Maria muttered. “A NEST car burned rubber out of the building not too long ago. Let’s see… here it is. Okay. GPS signals are being sent and received, and the signal received is… the Rivera Gentleman’s Club.”

“Oh, yeah, a real fuckin emergency alright.” Washe commented sarcastically. “Did your mind reading science have her figured for a dyke, doc?”

“Not so fast. There’s a manhole near the club. The sewers seem like as good a place as any if you want to orchestrate a baby-napping ring.”

“Thank you, Eyes.” Baron said graciously. “Is there anyone nearby that could give me a ride, Caesar?”

“Eh? No, not one of us. I’m busy up here. I can get one of these NEST idiots to take you there. Got as much clearance as a NEST captain at this point. Hope they know how to drive stick.”

“Fantastic. I’ll prepare myself for insertion then.”

“Just don’t try going all James Bond like some idiot.”

“Is it worry that I’m sensing?” Baron mused slyly.

“It’s about as fucking close as you’re gonna get to it, wise guy. Just hurry with packing your shit so we can save your girlfriend already.”

Verthaven: A Bloody Paradise [Completed]

The Dreadnaughts

---

”Shit!” Washe shouted. “Shit, shit, shit!”

In the detention center which Washe resided, he was seated at a setup of tables and monitors, all with access to various cameras. It became clear too late that a third party was involved in this fight – and that factor would’ve become clear sooner had his resources been more reliable. Standard cameras, difficult to make out faces and colors and outfits. As such, was unable to react in time when the third party executed Khan and the Fiends began their chanting. He looked back at Sulfur, who was hugging her knees fearfully, and averting eye contact with Washe. Khan was so close to meeting Washe here.

He pressed the comm on his headset, “Grit! Don’t you just fucking squat there, follow that fucker! Hurry!”

It was about as long as it took for Grit to realize that Khan wasn’t following as it did for Washe to send out that command. Grit nodded, and sprinted through the halls, jumping over rails of staircases, catching his footing as he made each leap to the story below.

“He’s escaping through utility! After him!” Washe barked.

Try as he may, even as each foot pounded against the tiling and crushing the debris underfoot with the force of his stampede, not even the swiftest of the Dreadnaughts was able to make it to the closet in time before the primed detonators went off, collapsing that whole section of the building and blocking Grit’s entry.

“Fucking hell!” Washe shouted as he threw a porcelain mug across the room. It shattered on impact, hundreds of shards flying about. He hit a button on a keyboard, and yelled into the speaker with spittle flying from his tomato-red face.

“Eyes! Where did this fucker go?! Is he underground?!”

“I think so,” Maria responded, “underground mapping indicates there’s a system of sewers close to NEST headquarters. Connections to NEST’s sewage may likely have been wiped from the maps for security reasons, but it’s reasonable to—“

“Fucking on with it!”

“There are too many connections to your location. If he’s in the sewers, they could be lead to any district in the city. There’s one that is right in the middle of this intersection just outside the HQ.”

Washe let go of the key and pressed his headset. “Grit, go outside immediately. Pry open that fucking manhole in the middle with your fucking teeth if you got to, just don’t let that fucker escape!”

“Caesar, I’m getting something else here.” Maria said, meanwhile Grit heard his order and made his sprint towards the lobby entrance. He pushed open the door with his shoulder, staggering out the entrance and making it into the parking lot. Cop cars and NEST vans were everywhere. Over the manhole was an officer’s motorcycle. Rushing towards it, he front kicked the bike over without a second thought, letting it haphazardly crash to the ground without a second thought. Following the angered shouts of the surrounding police force, Grit stuck the barrel of the AK through the hole in the manhole, and levered the lid open, then grabbing that lid with his hand and rolled it aside. The barrel of the gun, was bent out of shape and rendered unusable.

Grit slid down the ladder toward the sewers, his hand gripping a mini-flashlight on his utility belt.

“What is it, Eyes?” Washe asked.

“I’m seeing someone else.” Maria said. “There’s a woman running through the streets… she’s doing something, let me see if I can zoom in.”

Washe impatiently tapped the table he was seated at as he waited for Maria to get back to him.

“She was on the phone.” She informed. “She’s near one of sewer entrances further in the web.”

“Get a hold of that signal, now!”

“I’m getting right on— oh, no!”

“What? What happened!”

“She destroyed it!” Maria exclaimed. “I’m trying to see where that signal went but it goes nowhere! The receiver has also been…”

“It’s been destroyed too…” Washe said dejectedly. He swung his chair around and reached into his pocket. He looked at his phone solemnly, before unlocking it and hitting a speed dial number.

A few seconds passed.

“Hello.”

“Belroth. This is Caesar speaking.” Washe said. “Our mission has failed. I’m requesting permission to proceed with plan B.”

---

Baron, after struggling to get back on his feet from Lihua’s rough handling of his person, the flashbang, and the previous explosion, took a look at Khan’s corpse. He took two fingers off her neck. There was no doubt about it. The once proud leader of a ruthless organization lie dead before him, and there was no medicine that could bring back the deceased. He closed his eyes for a moment of silence, which was promptly broken by the ringing of his phone. He drew it out, looked at it, and then faced Lihua.

“It’s Caesar.” He said. Baron answered it. He nodded, repeating the typical, “uh huh”, “right”, “okay”, “got it”, then the click. He pocketed the phone and reached into the coat of his suit, withdrawing a syringe. A peculiar sight of course to any strangers. Normal people didn’t carry syringes – and Baron normally didn’t use them for this purpose, but this was important. He set the needle near the bottom of her torso near her intestinal region.

“This is a depressant.” Baron explained to Lihua, already anticipating her questions. “A powerful one at that. There is no longer a heartbeat, so it won’t travel very well. So you inject it close to the organs you want to keep. It’s best to do it soon after death to take advantage of the blood still flowing from before. Then when rigor mortis takes places a couple hours from now, the powerful muscles from the abdomen will contract and consequently increase pressure in the blood vessels. This will also help it travel, though the blood will be thick by then.”

At the earliest chance he could, Baron caught the attention of the first responders and pointed towards a pool of blood. Some were from Khan. What he wanted especially was blood from the man who had fallen earlier. A fall like that will certainly result in gashes. Hair would also suffice. “Sample that, please! Near the crack – yes, right there. Thank you. Bring it to agent Vuhong as soon as the lab gets results.”

He returned to said agent, to continue his explanation.

“The depressant should help preserve the body long enough that we can find clues in Khan’s system. Especially if we find traces of this power drug lining her intestines, we should be able to synthesize a copy. ”

He pointed at the bruising on her face. “She was wearing a mask. She got a thrashing, but we can’t pick up any details about her killer there. Instead, we should look at her arms, throat, and under her fingernails. If she has any scratches, there should be some residue of her killer left on her body. If she scratched him or anything like that, we might find his skin under her nails. If we can find the bullets he has been firing, we might be able to trace the caliber and rifling to their manufacturer and check sales history in the area.”

He sighed as he stood up, reaching into his other pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes – with every intention of fueling his dirty habits. “Whatever happens, we need to find out who was behind Khan’s death.” He said as he began lighting one of the cigarettes in his mouth. He inhaled deeply on the stick and blew smoke out his mouth. “And Lihua Vuhong... meet with Washe and me tonight. We need to talk.”