Spoopy Scary

Academy 218: Why

Don't worry, it wasn't. I'm the type of person that if I want to be rude to someone, I will do it blatantly with high-key shade.

@Heathen

Academy 218: Why

Speaking of extra, typing ;) can insinuate similar condescending depending on context, and I had read it as such. Pardon me if that wasn't the case.

Academy 218: Why

Cool. Though it might be accepted in one, it might not be in another. Maxx just had his input on what he thought might needed work. It's constructive criticism, all you gotta do is say thank you and think about it - because everyone here is a mature adult.

My own two cents: the resistance to psionic powers seems out of place and tacked on. ;)

Verthaven: Days of Rain ☔ [COMPLETED]

@UrbanEvolution If you format it like this:

Is much like the feels,
collabs come and go in waves.
My chins quiver.

it's a haiku.

@BantlingBee

nigga's game is weak.
bitch got much to learn b4,
u haiku hot

get rekt m8e, cum back 2 me 1nce ur skills r HOT n HIP

proleet samureye is out

Nemesis 13- Original Universe Supervillains

Verthaven: Days of Rain ☔ [COMPLETED]

The Dreadnaughts

---

"Without a core fighting force, they have to rely on their resources. If we want to draw them out, we must focus on their center of gravity."

Outside the door, Baron took a careful look around the motel's surroundings. The parking lot was clear, nobody was coming up the stairwell. He could hear nothing except for the rain hitting the asphalt and the distant cars - and of course, Washe's lecture just on the other side of the door. All clear. He took off the jacket of his suit, showing his black vest and white collared shirt. He swung it open and hurried inside.

"Caesar, you're leading a minimally manned team of three. I don't think it was a good idea to draw so much attention to yourselves like this," Maria's voice said. Her face was shown on a monitor on a nearby desk. Washe was seated in front of it with a headset on. The bathroom light was on, where Grit probably was.

"It being a bad idea is the idea."

"I get that you like deviating from the books, but this is ridiculous!"

"If the Hands got even a bit of a clue on how to do their homework, then they'd know the Dreadnaughts. Fucking nations hire us. Three people? Bad idea, and that's exactly the point. They're going to predict platoons, and we take advantage of them overcompensating."

Maria sighed. "You're going to face that with just three men in the operation squad and some nearby supplementary units?"

"Three men can easily slip through the cracks. The reputation of our name alone will apply pressure. As soon we execute our operations, continued applied pressure should force them out of hiding in an act of desperation. Once we do that..."

Baron smiled as he watched the two discussed back and forth over strategy. He finished Washe's explanation, "once we do that, we sneak into their OODA loop."

Washe turned around to see Baron standing there watching them. The man was apparently annoyed that he wasn't the one that got to explain his plan to the last detail. Even more annoyed that Baron was able to see into his plan. Washe turned back around and continued.

"Right... once we do that, we ease up on the pressure. Once we can predict their thought cycles, we give them a golden bridge to keep them predictable. No corners, no acts of desperation, no unpredictability."

"You don't know what they're capable of yet." Maria warned.

"We don't gotta know what they have, we just gotta know what they'd do. We can assume worst possible case scenario and make preparations for them."

"...I'll inform Belroth what we've gone over. Just don't try anything stupid."

The call ended, and Washe made a tired sigh.

"Can't believe I gotta justify myself to that broad."

Baron set his coat on a hangar and set it in the closet. He closed the doors and turned back around to face Washe. "It is her responsibility to oversee recon missions, to advise them and report intel back to command."

"You think I don't know that?" Washe grumbled. "I done her job before. I have decades of military background over most of you guys and last thing I need is someone young enough to be my daughter thinking they know better."

Baron shrugged as he paced across the room and said, "at least she is doing her job to the letter," preferring to not rile him up any further.

Washe rolled his eyes and spun his chair back around, looking intently at the scribblings on printer paper, which were covered in arrows, and x's and o's. Baron looked over his shoulder.

"So, how tactically sound do you feel our temporary cover is?" Baron asked. He was, of course, referring to the motel room they were currently occupying. He had personally talked to the owner of the facility to covertly interview his psyche, and the man seemed fairly reliable. Not the type to easily sacrifice confidentiality.

"What do you think?" Washe asked. For once, it wasn't particularly condescending, though some element of it was certainly present. "You talked to the guy. This place is nestled between NEST's HQ and the academy, and we have a clear vantage point of our assigned hotel on Providence. Any records that exist of us point there. Hands might suspect we'll be somewhere else, and honestly, the only more fuckin' predictable spot would be in the NEST building, but you can't trust anyone that sees us in the other districts to not sell us out."

"So this is the best we've got."

"Yeah. We'll go around a circuit of different places to crash just so that we don't get pin-pointed too quickly, but this is the ideal spot."

"Especially if the incarcerated Changelings receives reinforcements."

"Oh, fucking-- you know what? I don't want to get involved in that messy freak show. Un-fucking-fortunate-fucking-ly, they're the Hands' pitbull. They're not the only thing to worry about either, they still got that weapon."

"PR-1?"

"Both him and some of the Changelings are being held. Bust out the Changelings first, they can easily free the meta-weapon out of spite. Free the meta-weapon, they can easily free the Changelings, wreaking havoc all the way. Considering how PR-fuckwit helped the Changelings out, they're probably on the same side, and they'll try to break him free too."

"Assuming they're the kind of sort who cares about paying off their debts."

"Assuming they're the kind of sort that frees their fuckin' boys. It's not a question of if they'll care about their debts and maybe free PR-1. It's a question of if the Changelings intend on releasing their colleagues at all. All or nothing."

Baron shrugged and nodded, agreeing to Washe's argument.

"You stick to brain diseases or some shit, I'll stick to the tactics, okay?"

"Hey Barry?" A voice called from the bathroom, taking both of their attention. Washe looked back at Baron.

"Your favorite customer."

Baron sighed as walked to the bathroom door and knocked. The door immediately lurched open. Grit was holding his hand.

"Hey doc, got a remedy? I punched Jimmy a bit hard and broke some skin, don't hurt much, but--"

The door was closed.

"Oh come on!" Grit pleaded as he pushed the door back open, walking after Baron.

"I think you need to go out and get some fresh air." Baron said nonchalantly. "There's a bar nearby, I'll give you some money. Make friends, get drunk, just don't say anything about us. Loose lips sink ships."

"Uh... sweet!"

"Leave your BFR here. A gun that big draws attention, and quite frankly, you already threatened a Hands contact with it. Take two glocks with you and only two. Footlocker is under the bed."

As far as Grit was concerned, the old man Washe could say whatever he wanted to about Barry. Because his counselor was his top ace. Real bros lookin' out for each other the real way. After Grit properly equipped himself, he threw a peace sign as he walked out the door and took off. Washe looked at Baron.

"You really think that fool is gonna keep his mouth shut?"

"He's a young man and a notorious private military company showed up on the news." Baron reassured. "I wouldn't be surprised if a good quarter of men his age in this city were suddenly claiming to be 'super cool Dreadnaught agents.' Hands or Changelings don't know his face like they do yours."

"And that's all your fuckin' fault for throwin' me in the spotlight, ain't it?"

"You're a much more intimidating man." Baron mused. "It wouldn't have the... same impact. But anyways, we both know we can't afford to let me be seen. And Daniel, well..." Baron said with a smile.

"Whatever. You do your spook thing and don't get caught. Everything's resting on none of us fucking up."

---

"So here I am, right?" Grit explain, leaning against the counter sitting on a stool. Around him were all sorts of people; bikers, white and blue collared works, busybodies, the ladies - some of them genuinely interested in his story, others, either staring in disbelief or unimpressed with him, all holed up in this dive bar on the Crystal Shore boardwalk. But that didn't shake our fair Danny Grit, nay, he continued right on with his story.

"They fly me right into corrupt Venezuela with this mission, and Colombia is asked us to assassinate a man called General Hugo Armandos Carvajal Barrio. A flipping general. Old guy retired back in '11, which was when I joined, but apparently he's important enough that he's got guys backing him up. So I'm flown in, rest up and stuff, and we begin the operation."

Grit paused for a moment, with his hands held up.

"Freaking El Nino comes in!" Grit exclaimed expasperated, inciting a bout of laughter from the crowd. "At night! And I'm on the top of this pine tree which swinging back and forth, with my sniper rifle, and my eyes are wide like a deer in headlights!"

More laughter.

"I'm thinkin' to myself, who could I have possibly pissed off to deserve this? I'm on the top of this damn tree, the whole thing is bending back and forth, I'm holding on for dear life. Got this beaut called Maria on the other end worryin' about me and asking if I wanna fall back and wait out the storm. And I'm trying to aim with all this wind, and a swinging tree, while not trying to fall off. I'm sayin, 'gimme a sec, gimme a sec, I'll be right there'. Lookin' through my scope and all I see are these blurs."

He took a drink from his glass to dampen his drying mouth.

"I'm lookin' back and forth, through my scope, then my eyes, back in my scope - ain't got a spotter. Just as the tree bends over on one side, y'know, with that pause? It gave me this split second of time that I needed. I saw my general, had wind blowing in one direction, compensating, and I just pull the trigger without a second thought."

"What then, Danny?" One man asked. Button up shirt, slacks - businessman type o' guy.

"I didn't see what happened, just that there was a whole crowd on my ear-piece just carrying on like animals. They're yellin' stuff like, 'what!', 'are you kidding me!', and 'you got 'em, you got 'em!' I made the shot! I made the freaking shot of a life time!"

"Was that it?" A woman asked.

"Nah, nah, nah. Just as I begin celebrating, they shine their spotlights on me, and the next thing I know, they're peppering machine guns and stuff at me! I'm practically falling from branch to branch out of this tree with bullets as long as pencils flying past my head and shredding the tree to bits!"

Grit surely loved this story, it being one of its greatest accomplishments. Telling it brought a smile to his face from ear to ear. He looked back at the bartender and grinned.

"Refill me, buddy, come on!"

Verthaven: Days of Rain ☔ [COMPLETED]

Maybe when they get to the bar, Danny is there lying in wait. Bragging and show-boating of course.

Verthaven: Days of Rain ☔ [COMPLETED]

Dynamics:
[indent]TBD [indent]

There's yer problem. You forgot the closing tag.

Verthaven: Days of Rain ☔ [COMPLETED]

The Dreadnaughts

---

Eyes locked on target: heavy coat wrapped figure shaking his finger at a crew of working men unloading a box truck behind a grocery market in a strip mall under the pouring rain. An uninterested mid-height young man leaned against a fence nearby, lean build, fingered the cigarette in his hand and the hood of a brown rain coat hid his face. The docking manager looked in his direction before leaving his crew with some final words before walking off in a hurry between the buildings.

Grit looked up, watching his target make his escape. With a grin, he eagerly flicked the cigarette away and marched in the direction the coated man had gone, between the alleyways. He shot the workers a curt nod. As the brick-laden walls enclosed him on either side, the young mercenary broke into a sprint, each foot smacking against the pavement. The sounds of footsteps followed him, and then the familiar sounds of clicking metal. Grit snatched a flashbang from inside his coat and threw it at the feet of his pursuers as they began to open fire on him. He ducked down, feeling the bullets whiz past his head.

'God, I nearly shit myself.'

He heard the bomb explode, and the gunfire stopped, and then came the agonized moans of men who've had their senses deadened. Grit focused back to the chase, watching the muddy prints on the ground before they suddenly came to an abrupt halt. He heard footsteps above, and he saw the man working his way up the scaffolding on the side of the building. He had pulled the ladder up behind him, and Grit was unable to follow him the conventional method.

Determined, Grit gave himself a running start and jumped on a dumpster and propelled off the side, clutching onto and climbing up pipes that ran down the backside of the building - he pulled himself up and set a foot on top of one of the vents before hopping over and rolling onto the top of the building, where he came face to face with the man he was pursuing. The man desperately dug through his coat as Grit made his charge toward him, just in time as the man pulled out his 9mm pistol.

Grit slid on the ground beneath his aim and pushed the bottom of the barrel up and off to the side - a gunshot went off - as he pulled the man's arm down. His target cried out in pain as he like suffered and broken or dislocated finger. The man didn't try to fight to take the gun back, Grit just barely dodged in time to have his target's knee brush across the side of his face. Grit grabbed the man's other leg and pulled as hard as he could on it. Already off-balance, the man fell. Grit threw the gun off to the side, grinning like a fool as he cracked his knuckles in the face of his enemy.

The man jumped to his feet and threw himself into a blind punch at Grit. He pushed it to the side and delivered a left hook to the man's face, dazing him. A right uppercut followed immediately after and before the man could fall over, Grit grabbed his head with both arms and held him close, hitting him in the face repeatedly with his knee, before dragging him over and slamming his back against the fencing of the scaffolding. Grit pulled his head up by his hair - his face was puffy, bleeding from his nose, and bruises were swelling around his eyes.

He spat out a glob of gore, and a tooth came with it.

"You... you... thure run pur' fast... for a smoker."

"Aw, yeah? Well, what'd you expect! The name's Danny Grit. Sorry to burst that bubble there, but I ain't actually smoke. Just one of my many qualities, ya know?"

"So... ya know who I am. Who th' fuck are you s'posed to be?"

"Aw, darn it. I was hopin' you'd ask how we know." Grit replied disappointed. "Had a couple good lines in mind, ya know? One goes like, ain't no secret safe from me."

Jim blinked slowly, either confused and didn't know what he was talking about, or taken back by Grit's stellar personality.

"But lets be straight with each other, buddy." Grit said. "You're Hands, ain't no hidin' that. I'm a mercenary. My friends and I got a lot on you - all the way down to your credit cards."

Jim's chest began heaving as he struggled for breath. It was apparent he was entering a panic.

"And we know about your, uh... what do you call it? Your distribution. So what I got is a friend o' mine on my ear thing, y'see?"

Grit pointed to the bluetooth ear piece - a light shone blue.

"And he wants to ask you a few questions, alright? Best work with him, he ain't very, uh... patient. Ya know? I don't wanna hurt you no more, but if he asks..."

Grit handed the man the ear piece, who begrudgingly took it from him and put it on. He spat, "who's this?"

"Your worst fucking nightmare, that's who." Snarled the rough voice on the other end. "This is how it's gonna go: you're gonna spill everything you have or I'm gonna have that fucking chatterbox blow your head up. He's wearin' a handgun that can fit .50 caliber rounds."

Jim glanced at Grit with a look of shock. Grit confirmed the warning, and drew out a massive revolver from his coat, clumsily spinning it once as he did - fumbling and nearly dropping the damn thing as he did so. That's what a .50 caliber handgun looked like. It looked real fucking heavy. Jim hesitated talking back to the man on the other end. "And then?"

"Glad you asked." Washe said with a smirk. He spun around in his chair, throwing his back to an array of lit monitors. He winked at an amused Baron who was sitting across from him with his legs crossed. "When we're done, you're gonna go back, and tell them all about the Dreadnaughts."

---

"Hello people of Verthaven, welcome back from to VN Channel 11 news. With that commercial break out of the way, we'd like to return to a... very interesting interview. We will be doing a recap with reporter Amy Schuler and will then be covering this week in sports."

"Hello Verthaven, this is Amy Schumer reporting live in Bazaar Riviera. Here I am conducting an exclusive live interview with a representative of an actual mercenary organization, where we'll be discussing their reason for being here and their relationship with the meta-specialized law enforcement agency, NEST."

The man that stood next to her was unmistakably Isaiah Washe, more clean-cut than he could ever seem. A flawlessly clean black suit over a white collared shirt. Black tie. His hair was gelled and combed back and parted in the front. No makeup. His eyes penetrated the camera, looking as though he could see the viewers themselves.

"For the folks at home who might have missed it, can you tell us your name again? Which organization was it that you worked for and what do you do for it?"

"Yes ma'am." Washe replied matter-of-factly. "For now, call me Caesar. I work for the elite PMC known as the Dreadnaughts, where I perform as acting chief tactical officer. What I do is construct strategic and tactical routes for the Dreadnaughts to follow, as well as oversee operations and operational activity."

"What are the Dreadnaughts be doing in Verthaven?"

"We have been contracted by NEST to aid in the cleansing of organized crime in the city, and to return peace to Verthaven. We don't insinuate NEST is incapable of handling this matter on its own, but I can not disclose more than that."

"You said you were asked to cleanse Verthaven of organized crime."

"Yes." Washe confirmed. "We have already made numerous stride toward that goal. We've subdued several of the Fiends bosses many weeks back and have uncovered with NEST agents the Miranda Caryl Conspiracy. Now we're turning our eyes to the Hands of Science, and their hired Changeling Unit, to pick off and incarcerate what is left of them and to bring them to justice, by any means necessary."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"The walls have ears, Schuler." Washe responded dryly. "The Dreadnaughts have hidden in this city's shadows for long enough. Now we're confident of our intel and are ready to bring the fight to them.

"In fact..." Washe began to say slyly. "We are already taking action. You can expect to see results by, say... the end of this week."

"Any last words to wrap up this interview? To the viewers at home, or to the Hands of Science?"

"Of course. To Verthaven: soon you all will have nothin' to fear. This nightmare has drawn itself out long enough, and we've come to put it to rest. The danger the Hands poses to your friends, family, and children, will be exterminated. To the Hands of Science..."

Washe paused, letting the silence linger on for a couple delicious moments longer with a smug expression on his face..

"...keep checking your windows, you pissant bastards. You'll know it's us when you see it."

The interview closed, and the two bid their farewells before the news stations turned over to the sports anchorman. But the biggest question in mind was "why are the Dreadnaughts here?" All this time being spent hiding in the shadows, why now, of all times, to come out and make themselves known to all of Verthaven and to their enemies?

What was their rationale in all of this?

Verthaven: Days of Rain ☔ [COMPLETED]

Cities have thousands of people, Ed-boy.