Prologue


My mother was a waitress. She worked a high-stakes card-room at one of the Grand Palace Hotels in Monte Carlo, Monaco. Despite the western notion of a blue-collar job, she was quite successful and found herself in the company of incredibly important people. Yet at the last minute, she made plans to holiday over the Christmas of 2002, and so she journeyed east to visit family. As the story goes, she met my father on the train. They shared a table in the dining car...


Biography


Childhood

Born in Oct. 2003, Enzo was raised by his single-mother in La Turbie, a small township located a few minutes inland from the French Riviera. Theirs was a quaint life and his was an otherwise happy childhood, but questions rose none the less regarding his parentage. From Enzo's bedroom window he could see the ancient pillars of the Trophée d'Auguste, the ruins of an ancient Roman monument standing guard at the top of the hill. Such imagery of history always inspired questions in young Enzo about where he came from.

Enzo was nine years old the last time he asked about his father. His mother was smoking a cigarette at the kitchen table at the time, and her gaze was settled on the distant mountain tops beyond the window.

For his question, such a look of anguish and fear crossed her face that Enzo's heart broke for her. She pleaded with him to broach the subject no more, and he reluctantly did as asked. He stifled his own questions and crossed the kitchen to circle his arms around her tiny shoulders. The embrace caused her chin to sink to her chest. Tears dripped from her cheeks and soaked the starched collar of her uniform shirt.. Her normally porcelain face seemed to crack with resurrected emotion.

She pat his arm and whispered warmly, "Mon petit chou". Enzo laid his cheek against the back of her neck and let her cry. He didn't know what to say, but he promised himself he’d cause her no further hurt. I'm sorry mom. I won't ask anymore.


Adolescence

2020, age 17.

To this day, Enzo can recall the moment he heard about the first global disaster. At the time, nobody knew that one event would be the first in a horrific string of carnage. Soon, earthquakes, eruptions, mudslides and other terrors ripped apart the status quo while the coastlines of every continent seemed intent to fall into the sea. He worried for his mother who every day took the bus to work. By then, she was an assistant manager at a hotel in Monte Carlo: a city perched on the sea. But those disasters were distant ground zeroes and far from their lives on the French Riviera. Nobody thought their small corner of the world would be a target. Yet times were tense and every little thing was kindling for panic.

Such as during his eighteenth birthday when he and his friends shared a cabin at Enzo’s favorite ski resort in the Alps. Their second day into the trip, an unseasonal avalanche collapsed the side of a mountain and Enzo was lucky to not be one of the visitors swept asunder. Their resort, and all the surrounding ones were closed and his group was banished toward home. Their lifestyles deteriorated quickly after.

The next few years saw unspeakable change while the economy was ripped to shreds. Wealth drained from Monaco as a result. His mother's employer cut budgets and the former waitress was let go along with thousands of other employees dependent on the yachting, hospitality and tourism industries. Young and without work himself, Enzo contemplated joining the Marine Nationale, but again he wilted beneath the pleading gaze of his mother.

"I cannot bear to see mon coeur sail away on the horizon." Her liquid green eyes glistened with tears.

He had to harden himself to her pleading love if he was to face reality. "With all the unemployed, there is little other work but government-work to be found."

His mother crossed to the window and lit a fresh cigarette. "I heard things at the hotel, mon chéri. I fear such government-work will not last for long." She closed the kitchen window as though worried about eavesdroppers hiding in the garden. When she turned back to finish her thought, her sultry voice was barely audible. "Italien á Turin and Monegasque politicians say we will all soon be Soviets." The snarl on her lip was skeptical, like an indecisive cat. Enzo heard the same rumors himself, but he was torn over loyalty to his heritage and the prospects for stability to return.

Enzo spent the next few years working odd jobs. Most were for cash but many increasingly became about bartering for the basics: eggs, flour, milk. Even in the darkest of times, his mother's bread was delicious. Without a father, Enzo was driven to provide for the household as her only son. Together they consolidated their earnings and supported one another. Despite being a natural French beauty, graceful and charming, and never lacking in suitors, his mother never married. To do her share, she sold her jewels, gifts from those generous suitors or guests of the hotel, for a tenth their valued price. It crushed Enzo every time she returned from the pawn-broker with another stack of Euros. He silently swore to replace them someday.

Within five years, the rumours came to pass, but they were not Soviets after all - not technically. They, like all of Europe, elected incorporation into the Central Custody of Dominion. At first he felt like an Iscariot, as though his proud heritage was purchased for the sake of baubles, but in time he came to trust the promises dealt by Nikolai Brandon. With the CCD returned infrastructure, development, and most importantly, tourism. That meant jobs and prosperity returned as well, and Enzo was secure enough in his own future to gladly start his own family.


Adulthood

2028, age 25.

Enzo married at the age of twenty-five. His bride was Mireille Ferré, a blonde haired, blue eyed flower of a woman. 'Ma étoile,' he called her.

They were married outdoors overlooking the afternoon sea and began their lives in une chambre, a one roomed apartment with the view of only a garden wall. Enzo was slightly ashamed that he could not provide a better home for Mireille, but she made due with their modest lifestyle and turned the space into a real home. He looked back on those days fondly.

Their first daughter was Soraphine, a clever, bubbly child as adorable and bouncy as her beautiful ringlet hair suggested. Six years later, their second child was born: a boy, Alberto. He had his father's dark hair and watery-blue eyes while Soraphine took after their mother and shared both her parents' sapphire-sharp gaze. Enzo had permanent work in a local granite company that he enjoyed despite the inherent dangers. The nature of the work was treacherous at times, taking him up steep cliff-faces or sending him into deep caverns. But he was strong and tough, with weathered, calloused hands and sure instincts for perilous situations.

2043, age 40.

Soraphine was fourteen years old. And... on a date.

Enzo sat on the front porch of their country-home with a glass of wine in one hand and his favorite flavor vapocig in the other. Alberto was inside with his mother. They were going head to head on the most recently acquired racing game: a circuit following the Grand Prix in Monaco, of course.

Alberto's squeals of glee made Enzo smile into the dark summer air as he pictured Mireille’s car swerving off the virtual road. She was a fan of the races, but to her shame, not as good a driver as their son. Alberto, meanwhile, was intent on becoming a professional Formula One driver someday, and Enzo happily indulged fantasies. All little boys aspired to become something adventurous and heroic at that age. Enzo himself dreamed of conquering le 24 Heures du Mans as a boy, the oldest sport car endurance race in the world. What a great distance he and Mireille had come in fifteen years of marriage. Their one roomed apartment in the city was now a comfortable home on the mountain slope. His children were the stars of his universe, and Mireille was his guiding light; his north star.

Despite pleasant thoughts for his family, it was the child not at home that spurred Enzo to check the time again. There were yet five minutes until Soraphine's curfew. She was out with a sixteen year old boy named Drake - a terribly outlandish name - who was pushing his luck cutting it so close. And sixteen is far too old for her.

He took another sip of wine when his phone beeped. Enzo snatched it up in case it was his daughter. His heart relaxed. It was his mom.

"How is my son?" she messaged.

Enzo sent a reply: "I am fine. It is Soraphine's date who will not be if they are not here in the next three minutes."

His mother returned scents of baked bread that mingled with those of the garden flowers and made Enzo's stomach grumble. He'd been too worked up to eat a good dinner ever since meeting the young man that picked up his daughter. This Drake fellow pricked his instincts in all the wrong ways, but Mireille and his mother overruled him. Sophie was old enough to date, they claimed, and Enzo had done no better at the same age. Which is exactly why I do not trust him. He sat forward as beams of headlights climbed the steep hill to their home.

Sophie emerged from a car far too expensive than any teenager should be able to afford. She met the young man in Monte Carlo and said that he came from wealth, but the effect did little to ease Enzo's wariness. His mother witnessed the behaviors of such people of power from her days in the Grand Palace Hotel and Enzo recalled the stories of their questionable lifestyles. This Drake boy was one of them, and the thought of him responsible for his daughter made his hair curl.

Enzo stood on the porch while they came up the path. The young man was short of stature but high on presence. He wore a red button-down shirt and a black leather coat. Both appeared to be designer made. To Enzo's great disapproval the young man was also wearing sunglasses. At night. While driving his daughter around the hills of the Riviera Française.

Sophie and Drake were speaking softly to one another, but his daughter gave a sudden start when she realized who waited for her on the porch.

"Daddy!" She gasped and jerked her arm free of Drake's. Enzo suppressed a satisfied smile. Drake did not seem to react.

"You were almost late," Enzo replied. Soraphine sniffed, both annoyed and embarrassed at the same time. She frantically waved that he leave as she turned to say goodnight. Enzo frowned and decided to gave them a moment alone. Not only did he not wish to witness their good nights, but he supposed there was nothing too terrible that could happen on his front lawn now that she was home. Alberto was cheering a win inside, and he could hear Mireille moving around.

He grabbed his wine glass and phone and closed the door behind him. He waited just inside.

Mireille looked over as he entered and shook her head in that way wives knew their husbands were being stubborn.
"Let her be, Enzo. First dates are important." Her smile was glitteringly beautiful. It conjured warm images of their first date together.

Enzo nodded. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered words of affection in his ear that soothed his pounding heart. He relaxed and she returned to Alberto's game. The roar of the game’s engines drowned any chance of hearing what was happening outside, but he remained near the door while fondly watching them go head to head. But as the minutes went by, an ill feeling crept up his chest.

"I am sorry my darling,” he called to Mireille, “but this has gone on long enough. It is time she was safe and sound inside."

He opened the door and found his daughter laid at his feet.

Shock rippled like lightning across his body. Enzo crumpled to his knees as though struck by it, yelling and clasping at his baby girl. Her face was smeared with blood: the eye-sockets empty. Her beautiful, beautiful face. Claw marks raced up and down her arms. Her whimsical sundress was ripped in bloody tatters. The stomach and chest beneath were exposed in the slashes. Her tender flesh had been gouged and scooped out.

Enzo screamed such an ache of sorrow, he could not move but to gather his baby to his arms and rock her as he had the day she was born. Mireille was behind him, screaming and grasping for Soraphine. Alberto hung back, white as a ghost and crying silently. After a moment, he ran to call the police.

He let his wife take their daughter's body while Enzo stumbled into the front garden to face whomever was out there. His shock and horror gave speed to his legs, and he ran toward the edge of the hillside to peer down the drive. Drake must have been the murderer, but he was gone. The expensive car was gone... The tire marks were still printed into the gravel. He hadn't heard the engine start... How could someone do this??

Bleary eyes went back to the shape of his wife and daughter in the doorway. He was helpless and Soraphine was dead... How to fix this? How to ...?

Then there was a third shape looming behind his wife. It was too large to be his son and too dark to be... His heart leaped into his throat.

"Mireille!!" He yelled a warning and ran toward her. He'd left her alone! Dumb fool!!

To his horror, a clawed hand grabbed her shoulder and dragged her inside, kicking and screaming. The front door was slammed shut before he reached it.

He leaped the stairs but inches from the door a wrecking ball hit him from the side. He was wrestled to the deck with a pained grunt and sickening snap of bone that swarmed his head dizzy. Hands clamped onto his throat and choked the breath out until he could not even scream for help. He was dragged away by Drake, a boy of half his size, who seemed to barely strain to move him.

....Bound at the hands and feet, Enzo's face and throat ached when he was tossed in his front living room. His wife's body now matched the body of his daughter and the big man that grabbed her was licking black, claw-like fingernails glistening with her blood.

Enzo howled in pain indescribable and begged for mercy on behalf of his son. Of the two men, Drake, his daughter's date, sunglasses and all, was knelt behind Alberto. For the moment, his son was on his knees but still alive and unharmed. Drake’'s clawed hand gripped his son’s shoulders to keep him still, the tips of the claws curled around his small collarbones as though testing the softness of the flesh beneath.

Enzo could not look away from the claws. They were more hideous than any animal's, wicked and strong. From their tips, Soraphine's blood stained Alberto's shirt. The second, larger man who was in similarly styled clothing and sunglasses as Drake, stood, mirroring the same positioning, behind Enzo. He intoned commands to his younger partner.

"We have planned too long for this moment for you to fail now. Do itttttt..."

Enzo's useless arm hung limp at his side but he scrambled at the man holding him anyway. Stabs, sharp as unpolished granite, dug into his collar. There was nothing he could do but watch Dreyken crush his son's throat in one hand and slam the child onto his back. Alberto was overpowered as much as Enzo, but he kicked anyway. Good boy! The monster hissed and slashed at his thighs. Red welts appeared and Alberto's grimace screamed pain, eyes thrown wide and leaking hot tears. Enzo struggled but a vice-like grip held him down. The man barely seemed to struggle to control him.

Now that Alberto was down, the older man's commands continued, "Remember to scoop the socket with the fifth finger this time, and do not puncture the globe again or that sweet, sweet fluid will drain away. A delicacyyyyy....." Enzo's mind raced to put together the meaning. It seemed as though the older man was teaching the younger! To do what?

Understanding sickened Enzo green. With all his might, he fought back, but to no avail. Alberto twisted back and forth, writhing like a snake, eyes scrunched shut. Drake curled close to his son's face and Enzo could not see what happened next, but soon his son stopped kicking.

Enzo was sobbing when the door was kicked in and men with guns barreled inside. The two murderers released both of them and moved with such incredible speed, Enzo thought they were dodging the bullets themselves, but the spray of gunfire was too much. They each dropped dead to the ground.

Enzo inched to the body of his son, but it was too late. Alberto's throat was crushed into a bloody pulp, and one eye dangled loose from the socket. The other was missing altogether. Enzo crumpled, grief-stricken and disbelieving, and laid his body across his son's chest: covering him and protecting him. The view of his mangled family filled his horizon.


Epilogue


That night, a pair of Dreyken, the name for a monster not a man, ambushed and killed my family. The men that killed these monsters are called Atharim. Although I survived, I am actually dead inside.

Two weeks after Mireille, Soraphine, and Alberto were laid to rest, I stood facing my mother on a train platform. I kissed her on the forehead and bid her farewell.

"Why are you leaving, mon petit chou?" She asked behind her black veil.

I felt my face harden. "I want revenge.” My voice was cold.

Mother cupped my face. "My son, the men who did this are dead," she said, but I shook my head.

"There are more of them out there, and I want to make sure what happened to my family never happens to anyone else's," I replied. Sorrowful understanding crossed her wearied face.

She looked away as though her gaze was drawn elsewhere. What she whispered shocked me speechless: "Your father would be proud of you."

I blinked. Neither of us had spoken of my father in thirty-one years. My heart raced, but my tongue would not form the words. I'd always wondered if my father was Italian given their meeting on a train as it passed through Italy. My own name, Vincenzo, was Italian. Was he Italian? Did she bring him up because I was going to Vatican City? Was he in Vatican City?

Mother did not elaborate.

The call to board broke the spell, and I checked my ticket one last time. There were no more moments to think on my family, nor my mother and father. I boarded the train and waved goodbye to my life along the beautiful Côte d'Azur.

The men I joined with are members of a great society dedicated to hunting the monsters that hide among humanity. They welcomed me with grace and pity, but they did not treat me pitifully. They trained me. They gave me knowledge, weapons and a purpose to get up in the morning.

After my formal initiation, I joined my brother hunters in pursuit of creatures of darkness. I protected those that could not protect themselves, and derived satisfaction in life only when I ended the life of another monster.

For 'a man is not finished when he is defeated. He is finished when he quits.'

<small>((Continued from You know how we do it))</small>


Marcus awoke at his usual hour. It was a Saturday morning and he had the whole day to himself. As he stretched he felt the delicious soreness in his chest and back from the previous day at the gym. His evening afterward with Elouera had been much more enjoyable than he'd expected. It had surprised him, to be relaxed in the company of an intelligent woman, to actually let himself step back for a moment and let things happen. In truth, he found himself far more taken with her than he expected.

But now, in the cold light of day, Malik didn't like it. Relationships were a weakness he could not afford. And yet...he was going to be here for at least the next three years as a Sigma, rotating out of one Consulate and into another- longer if his plans regarding his apprenticeship to Ascendancy came to fruition. He felt confident that that would work out though. What was happening was the his destiny. But throughout all of that time, he was going to have to build connections and relationships with people as a matter of course. He couldn't keep everyone at arms length or it would be noticed. They could not all be simple pawns like Pyotr was. Nor could they be superiors and officials for him simply to gain favor with.

Marcus smiled at the acceptance of the risk. For some reason, he felt glad that doing so fit in to his plans. It's not rationalization, he told himself. It really is necessary. But any relationships that did form would be on his terms. That was a requirement..

Elouera had teased him a bit about his simple suits. They were well made, to be sure. The clothing allowance the EoA had provided him- not to mention a surprising and sizable annual cash allowance to be used as he needed- ensured that all it was well made. In truth, he favored simplicity and stark solid colors- black, cream, browns, greys and dark purples.. There was something timeless about them. In the years to come, his images in pictures and video would always be dignified.

But still, it wouldn't hurt to get a few suits and other items that he could wear in a more casual setting. A trip to the Imperial Tailors and Clothiers at the GUM would be a good way to spend his Saturday.

He rose and got himself ready. He wore a dark grey wool suit with a black shirt and lavender tie, his Sigma pin brightly prominent on his lapel. Except for at the beginning, he didn't think about using the Force. He'd chosen to obey Ascendancy's request, just as he chose whether he'd obey the protocols at the Consulate. He believed in them. And they would further his aims. And he'd show Ascendancy that he could be trusted.

In a way, he felt curiously free, as if he was at the mercy of the fate. He usually was not one to submit. Sith philosophy demanded that submission was to be rare, that it was their will that shaped the world. And that was something he'd certainly done in his life. He was 23 years old and had reached the Kremlin. Goals and aspirations he'd set from the time he was 15 had repeatedly come to fruition until finally a few days ago, when he had revealed his power to Ascendancy himself, as a man unafraid and ready to learn. Submission had not done that. His own will had brought it about.

And yet he felt free all the same. He was curious as to what fate had in store for him, for the new challenges now that he'd decided to step back and allow things to happen to him.

He made his way out of his apartments and ate breakfast alone before finding an exit onto Red Square. Saint Basil's colorful onion shaped domes dominated, along with the imposing bulk of the CCD Historical Museum. At this early hour, the streets were filled with hundreds of people milling about- tourists, hawkers and vendors, business people, shoppers. police and political officials. The loud cacophony of voices and conveyances filled the air as Marcus walked across the square. Usually he only watched the people to gauge their mood or to think about trends and ways to manipulate them.

Today, though, things were different. He noticed individual faces and found himself wondering at what was going on behind them. A father holding his little son's hand, the child pointing excitedly behind him at a man selling balloons. He watched closely for the tell-tale sign of irritation on the father's face, the sharp looks, the fear in the child's face, the threat of pain at the earliest opportunity. He watched for it. Nothing. He found himself looking wistfully at the pair as they kept walking. Something stirred inside him. Anger. Rage. Jealousy.

Malik felt them slither and feed on each other and they grew. He embraced the storm, letting it pass through him. I will not hide from my emotions. I embrace them. The fire of them burns away weakness, making me stronger. The mantra beat in time with his heart and he saw nothing as he walked until he stood in front of the GUM building. The storm had subsided, leaving the cold empty peace of acceptance. I have been molded by my past to be what I am today. His breath was deep, the chill seeping into his lungs, and he relished it, feathery breath wreathing his face.

He walked inside the building towards the Imperial Tailors, heedless of the immense walls and windowed corridor of ceiling above him. The cold sterility of the architecture held no interest to him today, it's mathematical precision and symmetry not stirring the usual sense of awe. It was subtle beauty he sought today. Buying new clothes would satiate him he hoped.


Edited by Marcus DuBois, Jul 21 2014, 05:17 PM.

Continued from In the Heat of the...Tunnel?

Giovanni awoke, unaware of where he was until the smell of a hospital entered his nostrils. The scent itself bringing back memories of better times. The last time he had really been in a hospital was when he had acquired the Sickness, yet it was still before he had endured the emotional trauma of murder and being hunted.

Murder. He was unsure of the word. Had he really murdered his brother, or was it self-defense? What about when he killed the Atharim man at Michael's place? Giovanni thought on these things as the silence in the dark room lingered.

Silence. A sense that hadn't been around since the ordeal in the tunnels. Ordine and Caos had been his constant companions since he met the bloodsucker, but had not stirred since he awoke, leaveing Giovanni time to think without being interrupted. Giovanni checked the clock - it was 6:00 AM, and the sun had not yet risen.

Ordine caught up with him first, causing Caos to begin his muttering as well. "Help..."


Giovanni groaned and sat up, moving his arm carefully. His shoulder was stiff, but there was little pain. The shoulder had been wrapped in bandages and another shirt had been place on the chair next to his hospital bed - maybe some Red Cross donation or something. A glass of water sat next to the bed and suddenly Giovanni's thirst flared. He picked it up, drained it in seconds and slowly stood.

Surprisingly, the room remained level and Giovanni sighed before putting on the shirt and venturing into the hallway. A young nurse approached him, holding a chart and looking concerned.

"Sir, you've lost a lot of blood, you should lay back down,"
the young man's tenor voice said.

"Please, I just want to go to the chapel to pray. It's Christmas season,"
Giovanni said softly, feeling surprised that he actually meant the words.

"Help..."


Apparently the young nurse was new or actually felt moved by Giovanni's plea. He helped him walk down to the chapel. Giovanni refused the wheel chair, but the young man stayed with him, ready to assist Giovanni at a moments notice.

They arrived at the Chapel. The place was clean and well lit. Several candles stood in front of an icon of Mary - Giovanni assumed they were votive candles for the sick. A statue of Jesus on the cross sat at the front with an altar before it. Several pews adorned the room. All in all, the room was plain, but functional.

Giovanni sat in the second row and pulled a bible out of the pew in front of him. The nurse stayed outside the room, allowing Giovanni to have some privacy. He had never read the book, so he opened to the first page, and began to read silently.

"In the beginning, God..."


Giovanni closed the book and put it back in its place. God was one of the last words he wanted to see right now. Giovanni thought of all the bad things he had done in the last three years, beginning with the incident with his brother. Surely God wouldn't forgive that.

Giovanni put his face in his hands, feeling completely lost. Even as a vagabond, he had never felt this deep sense of isolation and confusion. Giovanni wondered what direction he would take, feeling uncertain of which one was truly the right one.

"Priest..."


Ordine's voice had caused him to jump, and Giovanni spotted the man who had sat down in the pew in front of him. He wore all black with the exception of the collar at his neck. A crucifix hung from his next. He was relatively young for a priest, his hair only showing a little gray, but the concern in his eyes was clear.

"I did not mean to scare you, son, but you look troubled,"
the priest's voice was soft and soothing.

Giovanni frowned and said, "I'm fine, Father, just a little tired, that's all."


The priest's brow furrowed, catching the lie, but the priest didn't call attention to it. "If you need anything, son, just ask. I'll leave you to pray for now, and will pray for you."


The priest stood to head back to his office and Giovanni thought on the man's words.

"Forgiveness..."


Ordine's words didn't catch Giovanni off guard. His own thoughts had been on forgiveness since he had woken up. The priest was a catalyst for Ordine's reaction. Giovanni turned to face the priest, his back facing Giovanni.

"Father,"
Giovanni said and the priest turned around, a hopeful peace in priest's eyes. "Does...God really forgive sins?"


The priest looked Giovanni in the eyes, pure compassion emanating from him. "We serve a merciful God, son. He always forgives those who ask. Would you like me to hear your confession?"


Giovanni turned his eyes from the priest's gaze, feeling as if his whole life were laid bare before the priest. The priest cared - truly cared -and Giovanni felt a strong urge to confess. He wasn't sure he could though.

Giovanni looked back up at the priest and shook his head in a silent no. The compassion in the priests eyes remained, but it was laced with sadness. The priest nodded to Giovanni, and although it was clear that he thought it be best for Giovanni to confess, he didn't push Giovanni. Perhaps he realized that Giovanni had to come on his own.

"I will continue to pray for you,"
the priest said as he turned back to kneel before the icon of Mary. The priest lit one of the candles, crossed himself, and began to pray silently.

Giovanni stood and began to walk out of the chapel. He hesitated a moment behind the praying priest, wanting to confess everything, yet not ready to. He kept moving and approached the nurse saying he was ready to go back to his room.

"Forgiveness...?"
Ordine's usual statement was a question laced with sadness.

The nurse escorted him back and informed Giovanni that the doctor wanted one last look before releasing him. They arrived at his room and Giovanni sat back down on his bed and waited. He suddenly just wanted to leave. Choices lay before him, and he had no idea which one he should make.


Edited by Giovanni Cavelli, Jul 21 2014, 09:06 AM.

Greetings and salutations! I look forward to jumping into the action around here. I hope to get started soon.

The Chinese were being evacuated from Sierra Leone.

Their Embassy was all but shut down but only for the highest of priorities for official government business. Their deal with Legion Premiere had lapsed once additional forces for the latter armed force had arrived. They stood down and protected their own and left the Morroccan embassy to their own fate.

Reed had acquired more reasonable clothing suited to the weather. She had not seen Jacques since they parted ways at the embassy gate, but people were all a twitterpated over his presence. He was like a fucking good luck charm, and maybe he was. There had been a shocking lack of violence in Freetown since he set foot there.

An unrelieving breeze ruffled a loose linen blouse around her body. She wore denim jeans and serviceable shoes built for running and walking alike. She also wore a white hat and sunglasses. Her hair was tied out of her face, but sweat dripped down the back of her neck anyway. The sun blazed down upon where she squat on a flat rooftop.

Her Wallet beeped an alert and she lifted a pair of binoculars to her eyes to study the wall-line of the Chinese embassy.

Rumors coming out of Liberia were addressed today as the government officially addressed a growing military presence on the border with Sierra Leone. To better deal with the thousands of displaced Sierra Leoneans trying to flee the ongoing conflict, Liberia's government has authorized the deployment of troops to bolster their border security. Liberian naval vessels are now patrolling off the Sierra Leonean cost, intercepting and returning vessels of refugees trying to flee to Liberian ports. Liberia strictly denies any allegations that Liberian troops have crossed the now unguarded border with Sierra Leone.

-----

Soldiers in Sierra Leonean military uniforms, with the flags and accouterments still worn by those forces loyal to General Wallace-Johnson and the government, reported to be involved in attacks on hastily formed refugee camps in south-eastern Sierra Leone, near the Liberian border. General Wallace-Johnson sternly denies any involvement by those forces loyal to the government, and accuses 'the foul traitors' that have sided with the Temne movement. General Katlego, leader of the Temne-aligned forces, accuses General Wallace-Johnson, or of those forces that have not openly aligned with either side in the conflict.

-----

There continues to be unconfirmed reports of rebels based out of the failed-state of Guinea. Contact was recently lost with the beleaguered Park Rangers in Outamba Kilimi National Park, where they had formerly been assisted by the Sierra Leonean military to protect what is believed to be the last herd of African Bush Elephants and one of the few stable populations of the Western Lowland Gorilla, who are commonly poached for their ivory and for the importance of their hearts in traditional tribal medicines, respectively.

Raiding by the Guinean warlords raises fears of a possible spread of the Ebola Virus, which has continued to plague the failed-state for the past three decades, into Sierra Leone, where higher population density and more reliable roads and infrastructure could lead to an epidemic spread of the virus in light of the current conflict.

-----

General Wallace-Johnson continues to publicly pressure the government that Martial Law should be declared, and control should be given over to himself, until such time as the Temne threat to the people of Sierra Leone is dealt with.

The remnants of the Sierra Leonean government, most of whom owe their lives either to General Wallace-Johnson or to the quick actions of Legion Premiere, are currently housed in the Parliament building under the protection of the military forces brought into the city by the General.

Opinions seem to lean towards one of two extremes regarding the General's demands for martial law, with some singing his praises and others chastising him for his apparent lack of control over his forces outside of Freetown.

-----

Legion Premiere public relations representatives still based in their company headquarters in Casablanca, Morocco, announced this morning the formation of temporary refugee camps at six locations throughout the country, with promises of the hasty delivery of shelters, food, water, and medical supplies as soon as possible.

-----

Chinese merchant marine vessels arrive in Freetown to begin the evacuation of Chinese nationals from Sierra Leone. Helicopters were dispatched throughout the country, ferrying in supplies to some of the Legion Premiere camps before extracting Chinese citizens. Due to the ongoing conflict in DV, evacuation by air from Sierra Leone to China has been deemed ill advised, and civilians will be moved by ship to South Africa, then by plane to Australia and into China.

-----

Australia announces the intent to provide $10 million in aid to Sierra Leone.

China announces the intent to provide $35 million in aid to Sierra Leone.

Most African countries as yet refuse any formal declarations of aid for Sierra Leone, although Liberia has begun forming a large camp to house refugees fleeing the territory of their beleaguered neighbor.

Morocco announces the 'donation' of their embassy in Freetown to serve as a headquarters for Legion Premiere and as a refugee camp and hospital, and the donation of $4 million in aid.

In a speech made the day after the attack on the US Embassy in Mexico City, President Manuel Moreno has issued an official statement condemning the attack.

Moreno said that while proper investigation was still on-going, and further evidence was needed, the Cartels are at the top of the list of suspects. "The government has begun to take steps to remove the corruption from Mexico," Moreno's statement ran. "While no hard evidence has yet to be found, the timing is fortuitous and looks like an act of desperation."

The President has taken swift and decisive action, stating that he would go to whatever lengths necessary to ensure the safety of both the Mexican people and Mexico's allies. The military had issued an indefinite lockdown on the Mexico City subject to a 8pm curfew. All entries and exits from the city have been installed with military checkpoints and currently no-one is being allowed in or out of the city.

President Moreno was open about his high profile guest, dismissing Mr. Oakland's possible involvement in the attack. "Mr. Oakland is working with the support of the Mexican government and people. Inspectors have questioned him and it can be confirmed that he has a solid alibi. We will of course investigate Mr. Oakland further, but we are confident Mr. Oakland has no involvement in these attacks."

Contrary to President Moreno's claims, Mr. Oakland has issued a formal apology made by Gamez Estande on his behalf. In the apology Mr. Oakland expresses his deepest regret that someone had used his past in an attempt to incite further violence. He has also stated that he would compensate the families of those who were caught in the attack himself.

It has been revealed that Mr. Oakland is suspected to be a former inmate at San Quentin Penitentiary sentenced to death for the murder of a Senator.

The US have yet to make a formal statement but President Moreno has stated he would be talking to US dignitaries as soon as possible and hoped the matter would be swiftly resolved and peace restored to Mexico.
Edited by Damien, Jul 18 2014, 08:51 PM.

The events at the US embassy were plastered all over the news. He couldn’t flip through any channel that wasn’t covering the mess. People were showed crying while emergency personnel reacted to the bombing. Likely, many people glued to their screens were equally saddened and confused by the whole ordeal. For his part, Gustavo felt nothing.

Well, he was annoyed. This debacle could go one of two ways. Either it would distract that fool American, or it might drive him even more incessantly into this little hunt of his. Gustavo wasn’t scared of the man, despite all the unbelievable things he was said to be able to do. He did, however, see him as a disruption.

“Jefe,”
one of his men walked into the living room, distracting Perez out of his thoughts. “I see you’ve heard the news. What should we do?”


What could they do? He had nothing to do with the Embassy, but he could not say the same for Delgado or Solis even though this wasn’t their style, a blind fool could see that, but with the pressure this Oakland was putting on them, either of those two was likely to snap. Had Gustavo meant to do something concerning anyone in the Embassy, matters would have been held more quietly. With his business interest in the U.S. something of this nature wouldn’t have been of any use to him.

“Nothing, Julio. The more we distance ourselves with this the better. Make sure security is alert. If the policía comes asking questions, let them in. No one else. Until some of this blows over you’ll meet Delgado and Solis in my place. Call and make sure to tighten security around my family.”


“Señor , you should go. What if the Gringo decides to come for you?”


“If he comes, we’ll handle it. If I go to Monterrey now, it’ll be too conveniently suspicious. Go, and send me one of the girls. I need a distraction.”


Gustavo watched as Julio nodded and turned back to leave. He was less than pleased with having to alter his plans yet again. But, that was the nature of the business. You adapted or died, though sometimes adapting was simply striking down all that became an inconvenience. Unfortunately, of late, inconveniences were mounting and he needed to play his cards rights in order to come up with the upper hand.

Pyotr entered the large Cathedral and the whole place was packed. It was typical of a Christmas Mass. Many didn't attend Mass for the whole year, but elected to go on Easter and Christmas; Pyotr was one of those. He had grown up in the Catholic Church, but as he got older, going to Mass was something he just didn't do much anymore.

Pyotr dipped his finger in the basin of holy water at the door and made the sign of the cross; even years of non-attendance hadn't taken the familiar movements from his memory. The Cathedral was full and Pyotr found it difficult to find a seat, even for one. He finally found one, and thankfully it was close to the aisle. Pyotr genuflected, and then moved into the pew. He greeted lean man with the brown hair and patchy beard that was sitting down next to him with a nod before kneeling to say his prayer.

Pyotr kept the prayer short and allowed his thoughts to drift. The past few days had been phenomenal. The Annual Christmas Dinner had gone well with the exception of Anthony spilling water on Marcus. The manager had fired Anthony for that. He had a feeling that he had made a decent impression on the Ascendancy as well. All in all, it was a good night and another boost to Pyotr's confidence.

Marcus had been unable to meet with him lately as he was busy with the life of a sigma, so Pyotr's lessons were on hold. With his confidence boosted, it wasn't as big of a deal, however. He hadn't used his Luck at all and the sickness had been kept at bay as a result.

Everyone in the Cathedral stood, and Pyotr, so wrapped on his thoughts, hadn't noticed that Mass was about to begin. He stood with the crowd, opening the hymnal to sing the opening hymn. The Mass was pretty normal even though it was a holiday. The opening rites concluded, lay ministers began reading scripture references from Isaiah 52, Hebrews 1, and the Gospel reading was from John 1. The service continued into the different Liturgies finally arriving at the sign of peace.

"The Peace of the Lord be with you always."
The priest said opening his hands.

"And with your Spirit."
Pyotr and most of those gathered responded.

"Let us offer to each other the sign of peace."


Pyotr turned the the man who he was now standing next to and offered his hand. "Peace be with you."

<small>[[continued from Connections]]
</small>

The super let Connor into the Ms. Chadova's apartment. The building was a run-down affair. He'd taken the stairs with the super because the elevator looked dicey. He wasn't even sure it worked. There was a musty smell to everything, including the apartment.

He thought about the girl, Katya. He'd seen her face in the news. Dead of "the sickness." He grimaced. Another one. Mr. Zhirov was a fat man, mostly bald with a very pathetic comb-over. His shirt had stains on it and from the look of everything, only did enough to keep the building from falling apart and nothing more. He was surprised that any of Katya's things were still there, especially the powerful workstation he had been sent to retrieve. As if reading his mind, Zhirov said, "I'm not going in there. I'm not gonna get sick for a bunch of junk!"
He chewed on a cigar and looked him up and down through watery brown eyes. "If you ask me, this is a foolish. Her parents didn't even want her things, they were so afraid."
He looked around irritably. "Now they don't even answer my calls. They need to come and do something about this mess."
He hocked as if to spit and then looked at Connor and refrained. He muttered, "Not my job."


Connor looked down at him frankly. "I'll get Paragon's property."
He worked for them too and had volunteered when this assignment came up. His mouth turned down. He knew what the sickness was. Hayden's face flashed across his mind. "You don't need to come in if you are afraid."
He walked into the room carrying a couple boxes and started looking around. The workstation dominated the room. Course anything would, really. Not much to the small single room. Small kitchenette, bed, small bathroom. The computer sat on a desk by the bed. Connor heard the door close behind him. The room was quietl. He just stood still, imagining the young girl. It made him sad, to think this was her home. It was an ugly place.

Even worse, there really didn't seem to be any personality to the room. No pictures adorned the wall, no photos of family or friends, nothing to say who this girl was. It made him sad. Such a lonely life. She'd died on the subway surrounded by strangers. He looked down, once again struck by how lucky he'd been to be with Hayden at the end.

Magic is everywhere. My son had it. Ayden has it. Jensen. Giovanni. Now this girl had it. He'd seen the news reports regarding the events in the DV. And some of the guys at work who frequented conspiracy sites were talking about strange events that were rumored to have happened there too. He'd even been shown grainy video of a man supposedly using magic to lay waste to one of the armies. Others in the office made fun of them of course. You could do anything with video editing and effects these days. But Connor knew all too well that magic was very real. He'd seen Giovanni use fire to burn that Ijiraq. He'd seen Jensen freeze it, just before Aria cut its head off. He pushed away the twinge of guilt at thinking of her name. The video was real. He knew it. He could vaguely make out the face. There was nothing really familiar about it, though that didn't surprise him. The world had changed. Soon the facts would be undeniable.

A part of him smiled at that thought. Once this gets out, those bastard Atharim won't be able to just put down people like they used to! Then, maybe, people like Ayden or Jensen could use their experience to teach, so that kids like Hayden and Katya didn't have to die. That would be good thing. A great thing.

He went to the workstation and when he jostled it, it woke up and he saw the images he'd expected on the wall instead floating across her display. Of course. She lived in a virtual world. That's where she displayed her loved ones. This was her true home. He felt some sense of reverence as he shut it down and boxed it all up.

He let himself out- the super was gone. Not a very good one at all, he thought, To let a stranger take whatever he wanted. He'd said he was having trouble reaching the parents. Maybe he hoped the place would get robbed and remove some of the stuff he'd have to dispose of.

It was odd though, her parents. Connor really couldn't imagine them just leaving their daughter's stuff, sickness or no. A dark thought occurred to him. The Atharim. The article had been in the news. They would have seen it. Jamie had said that families had also disappeared. Anger welled up inside him. Is that what had happened? Now that Katya was dead, her family also needed to be killed as well? He was angry. Because of them, Hayden had died. And countless others. Even though he vehemently disagreed, he could see their rationalizing it. But to also kill the family? He was shaking his had in rage. It was not right. He hated the Atharim, hated their setting themselves up as judge, jury and executioner for society.

By the time he got back to his office, his rage had given way to frustration. He'd warned Tehya and Ayden. He really didn't know what else he could do. He set the computer up in the lab and booted it up. He used the administrator login that was built into every computer. Course, everyone here was an expert, so he expected layers of home-grown security before he'd be able to get into the machine and retrieve any of Paragon's files Katya had been working on. It took hours. He ate lunch and texted Ayden. She was going to be getting off soon and said she wanted to take a nap and that she'd see him later that night. He smiled thinking of her, then frowned. She was someone who needed protection from those Atharim. Shaking his head, he got back to work.

At around 4 he finally made it through the last layer and had full access. He started pulling the last files Katya ahd been working on. One of them was a large database that she had been decrypting. That wasn't on the list given to me of projects she'd been assigned. Then again, it wasn't uncommon for people like her to do side work. He thought about her apartment. If she did do side work, it sure didn't pay well. He was curious so he opened up the file.

What he saw was strange at first. Lots of names and locations and dates, along with other names tagged as "handlers". Next of kin. Status. And pictures. Many pictures. One of the pictures made him stop, scalp prickling. He looked around to make sure he was alone in the lab, and then clicked on the image. A larger version came up, along with more detailed information. Family, a bio, summary of evidence, danger assessment, last known location.

The face was unmistakable. It was Giovanni. But the name given was "Francesco Moretti". And there was also a "reborn god" confirmation and date. And a kill-order. He knew what this was. He shut the computer down immediately, his heart racing. If they knew he had it...He wondered at how Katya had gotten this. But it didn't matter. If someone knew he had it then he would be in danger. He thought about destroying the drive. But he just couldn't do it. He had proof in his hand. Evidence of the Atharim and their murders. Many of the entries had said "terminated" under status. He'd be willing to bet searches of those people would bring up suspicious deaths. He had a powerful weapon if he could just figure out how to use it. A voice nagged at the back of his head. He also needed to let Giovanni- Francesco, really- that he was in danger. Had Giovanni known what Aria was, how dangerous she was to him?

As he thought, he got out an old drive that was exactly the same as Katya's. He then zeroed out the drive, so that it would be irretrievable. He'd tell them that Katya had booby trapped her drive with a secret security program that he'd missed. She had been low level, so what she'd been working on would not really be too important. It's why they'd sent a relatively new guy like himself to get the system and retrieve the files in the first place.

Then he slipped her drive into his bag and walked to his desk and wrote up his report. At the end of the day, he headed out, bag in hand. He was very careful to be aware of his surroundings. It didn't appear anyone was following him. But his heartbeat raced anyway.


Edited by Connor Kent, Aug 27 2014, 03:55 PM.