Character Name: Aria Piccolo

Age: 29

Origin: Santa Lucia, Italy (just outside of Rome)

Occupation: Field Hunter for the Atharim

Psychological description: Aria has a hard time getting to know people, she prefers to remain distant for fear of being overwhelmed.  Aria takes pride in everything she does.  Her moral compass does not always point in the direction of the law - she was after all taught how to kill monsters, regardless of their human appearance.  Aria appears to be cold and distant but underneath she crave that human contact and a deep relationship, she just doesn't know how to balance her 'talents' with real life.

Physical description: Aria has dark hair and green-blue eyes.  She is small in stature, barely clearing 5 foot.  Aria always cares two swords on her back and two guns holstered at her waist.  Aria prefers close fitting clothes, jeans and t-shirts are her typical attire.

Powers & Supernatural Powers: Atharim, Sentient (believes she's Furia)

Biography: ** updated 2/3/2014 to explain Furia vs Sentient

Aria knows little about her birth.  What she believes is she was born outside of Rome in the town of Santa Lucia, Aria was the daughter to one of the Vatican Historical Societies field hunters. His mistress gave birth to their daughter in secret. Once he found out he stormed their house and took the days old baby from her and left her alone in her grief until her last dying day. Aria was not given his as he was not proud of her birth but he accepted the role of mentor.

However there is little truth in what Aria believes.  Aria's mother was indeed a field hunter for the Atharim, she was Furia after all.  Aria's birth was controversial to say the least.  Her mother had been assigned to go in under cover to hunt a sentient.  He had been making trouble just outside of Rome itself.  Unfortunately her mother was tricked by the sentient and fell in love with him.  Knowing any future with him was not going to happen easily she decided to flee the Atharim, but he refused to leave with her.  Soon afterwards Aria's mother found out she was pregnant.  Being on the run from the Atharim and pregnant soon lead to complications.  She started back to Rome but never made it past Santa Lucia before she gave birth to a little girl.

It was only days later that the Atharim caught up to Aria's mother.  Her child, Aria, was taken from her and the Atharim shot her in the head for deserting.  They had little feeling for Furia who would not be part of their legions.

The babe was given to the Vatican Historical Society to be trained and raised as Furia.  As is tradition.

Aria was raised by Father Dimitri and was very close to the her as she grew up, but the older she became the distance grew profoundly.

The first time Aria left the Vatican when she was very young, she was overwhelmed with so many emotions Father Dimitri thought she was sick. The onslaught of despair from the global catastrophe and those seeking hope at the Holy City had been the cause, and that was when Aria started her Furia training.

From the days she could first remember Aria had been brought up to be nothing more than a living weapon. She trained day in and day out with weapons, with books. She could recite the bible nearly from memory. Father Dimitri drilled her in anything and everything the Atharim knew.

Aria's favorite past time was practicing with varying weapons. Swords were her favorite. Father Dimitri told her it was anarchic and not enough to kill the monsters she was to hunt when she came of age. Aria practiced with everything but Swords still remained her favorite even as she grew to appreciate modern firearms. Aria carried two swords and two handguns, despite her father's objections.

Aria learned to hone her extraordinary sense of emotion. But not well enough.  Aria and one of the more junior Atharim in training started seeing much of each other, feelings and intimacy grew.  Venturing their first kiss in the depths of the library Aria found herself not only feeling her own passion but his as well.  The intense emotions they both felt were too much for Aria she passed out and fell to the floor.  The boy thinking she was dead fled the scene.  When Father Dimitri found her he realized what she was and that her training had been all wrong.  

It was this mishap that made Father Dimitri realize Aria was not Furia.  She was Sentient.  Father Dimitri had started keeping Aria away from people.  He had also only allowed those who could control their emotions around Aria to train her.  Father Dimitri kept the fact that Aria was Sentient secret, she was a good enough Furia, far more effective in some cases than others of her supposed kind but at a disadvantage when it came to the world at large.

Father Dimitri never told Aria the truth, nor did he reveal his findings to any other.  To be Sentient was to be hunted.  And for whatever it was worth to Aria, he did care a great deal for the child he had come to know and raise as nearly one of his own.

It wasn't a pretty life, nor was it a fun life, but it was all Aria knew until she came of age and was shipped off to Moscow to be a part of their new headquarters.

Back Stories

Final Steps - Part I
The Dracula Inquisition

RP Timeline
Aria's Complete Story

Michael stood in just inside the entrance of the great museum, momentarily oblivious to the rest of the world. He longed to open himself to his power so he could utilize the enhanced senses, but he dare not risk discovery, not now.

It would have cost him a small fortune to even set foot in the famous halls, but he managed to persuade Commander Zelkinosk - cruel bastard that the superior officer was - that it would aid him in his adjustment to CCD life and warfare. After all, to move forward, one had to learn from the past.

It wasn't a total lie, there was much to be gained from history, but Michael doubted he would learn anything useful here. He knew his job well, far better than some of the incompetents they employed.

This visit was purely self-interest.

"Mister Vellas?" A young, red haired woman said hesitantly. She wore a museum uniform, her hair and clothing neat and precise.

"Yes?"


"I have been told that you would be coming. If you would, I shall be your guide."

Michael suppressed a grimace. "Thank you, Miss-?"


"Avanyeka" she supplied with a uneasy smile.

Michael wondered what it was that made her so uneasy, his expression or profession.

He supposed he would be uneasy around himself too, at the moment.

The military unnerved him also. He had never liked the way they instilled obedience into their soldiers, and the CCD was particularly adept at that. If it wasn't for his particular talents, they would have tried it with him, but he had refused.

It would probably get him into serious trouble one day, but he didn't particularly care at the moment. He had more pressing concerns.

"Shall we?" Miss Avanyeka said, waiting with an awkward half-gesture towards the first exhibit.

He gave her a smile that was meant to be reassuring, but it no doubt failed miserably. "Of course."


Michael was shown all of the priceless artefacts - from the crowning glories of Catherine the Great to the dozens of blades and lead-shot rifles. Miss Avanyeka had a story ready for each one.

It all passed him by in a blur. It was unusual, but he could not summon the interest. He tried - he loved the mysterious allure that was the past - but nothing struck him.

He found himself looking for something more. He felt as if his mind would turn a corner and unlock a door to something amazing if he just found what it is he was looking for.

"Mr. Vellas, are you well?" the woman's voice sounded anxious.

Michael realised he had stopped listening and was staring at nothing.
No
"Yes, I am fine thank you."


Miss Avanyeka was about to continue the tour, but was interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

"My apologies,"
he said before answering. "Hello, this is Michael."


"Michael, where the hell are you!?"
the voice cried through the receiver.

Michael scowled. "Tony? Are you drunk? I told you -"


"I'm not bloody drunk you bastard. I am dying."


"What are you talking about? You sound fine."


"I told you I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Unfortunately, not one to fix 'stab wound to the chest'."


Memories flooded through Michael's mind. Days of fear, desperation, pain.

He purged himself of the unbidden thougts; his mind now ice. "I am coming. Is the assailant still there?"


"Yes, but dead. Very interesting fellow. You said someone was looking for you right? Well, I think they found you."


Edited by Michael Vellas, Jul 25 2013, 07:22 AM.

Manix and I posted at the same time!!!! Oh NooOooOES!!

So after i posted mine i read his and then went back in and edited mine to add his coming over at the end. Thats the only thing i could think to do...

Hope that was ok!!!

^_^'

Toodles

Michael hated the cold.

Even under all of the layers of thick clothing, topped with his massive coat of black - he didn't even know what it was, only that it was supposed to be warm - the chill of Moscow was ever present.

Captain Zokoskev had kept him back late, wanting to go over his plans once more before he started the job. Michael did not like how some of the soldiers hired themselves to the highest bidder, but he endured.

"Get in here and sit down," Tony called from the window. Michael had saved up enough to purchase a house a few blocks from the Moscow river in the Zamoskvoreche. Tony was wary, but Michael insisted on repaying his debt.

He had spent almost a year living on the outskirts of Moscow in near poverty. Tony had hidden himself away after awakening to his talent - chased out of home by authorities hunting for those with the "Sickness" and Michael had only been a burden. He owed the man his life.

"Did you actually do anything today?"
Michael asked as he entered, refusing to take his coat off. Tony sat watching the news - something about a robbery or murder, probably both - with a bottle of cheap vodka in his hand.

He shook his golden curls, his red face sheepish, "I vanished a long time ago, Michael. People like us don't belong here - anywhere."

Michael was sick of hearing that. It was likely fear of the unknown. He knew he was afraid.

"Fine. Teach me then. Tell me how to do something about this damn cold."


Tony laughed, "I'm drunk, man. I might burn down your pretty house."

"You're not drunk, you're lazy. Besides, there's nothing much to burn."
Michael knew the man and his solid bulk could take far more than it had.

Tony scowled. "Bah! You are nearly as strong as I am and you're only a pup."

"Stop making excuses. Whatever strength I might have, I can barely do anything with it,"
he replied.

The older man sighed and sat up straight. "All right then, seize the power, and I'll try and show you a thing or two."

Michael did as he was commanded. He calmed his mind and focused, just like the Aboriginals taught him. The power came rushing through him like a waterfall of ice and fire. He wanted to draw more, he should have been able to, but needles of fiery pain prevent him.

"Easy now, Michael. Don't overdo it, it is dangerous." Tony warned, not for the first time. He seized his own power, Michael could feel it, but it did not seem like he was straining himself. He sat calm and composed.

Tony did something with threads of Fire and Air and the room suddenly became warm."This," he said, threading the pattern deliberately again, "is how you would warm the house. The trick is to temper the Fire with Air. You must make the error of believing that Fire is the key to warmth. You only need a trickle, the Air will circulate the heat."

Michael made to copy him, but Tony swatted him with a thread of Air.

"No! You will burn the house down. For now, you must learn control. Go down to the basement, I have some snow there for you."

"Just what I wanted."


"Melt the snow, turn it to water. Do not allow yourself to use enough heat to evaporate it. When you have mastered that, we will continue."

As Michael made his way towards the basement, the chill returned. "Damn it, Tony. Can't you give me a bit of heat, it is freezing!"


He just laughed. "Only to you, my friend." He shook his head. "Perhaps the threat of freezing will teach you better than I can."

When Michael finally crept into bed, he felt the stark cold more than he had since he had come to this forsaken city.




Edited by Michael Vellas, Jul 25 2013, 07:16 AM.

Age: 23.

Born in London, Dominance VII, September 3 2022.

Current Location: Moscow: Zamoskvoreche, Riverfront.

Current Occupation: Junior Strategic Operations Commander, Custody of Defence.

Physical Description:180cm tall, 70kg. Pale Caucasian. Quite good looking, but his severe expression tarnishes his appeal. He has no style, wearing bulky layers of clothing under a coat to fend off the cold.

Psychological Profile: Michael is a man of contradictions. He is kind to a fault to those who he feels deserve kindness, and extremely harsh to those he deems unworthy. He is quick witted and observant but lazy.He is peaceful at heart but struggles with an inner rage and treachery that spans Ages.

Reborn God: The Titan Pallas, God of Warcraft.

Supernatural Abilities: Channeler with intuitive traits from his previous life.

Bio:
Michael Vellas never knew his birthplace. In fact, he never knew life in the CCD. Days after his birth his parents received a visit from an old friend, Daniel Thomspon. He had come to see the new born child, but started a journey that would last two years.

'Betrayal awaits in the CCD' were the words Thomspon uttered in a prophetic trance, the first he had had in almost 30 years.

Thompson's skill was weak, a few words, a sentence, it was all he could manage at the best of times, but it was enough for Peter and Julia Vellas.

Thus their long journey began. They made their way across the CCD controlled empire, often times with little but a case of personal items and the barely enough food to survive.

Finally, in December 2024 the Vellas family arrived on the East Coast of Australia.

The remainder of Michael's childhood passed peacefully. They did not live in luxury or poverty. It was as peaceful a life a child could expect to live in the turbulent times.

The threat of war was a distant but constant concept for Michael, one that he showed little interest in but great aptitude. He was fascinated with the distant past. The only battles that interested him were ones fought with steel blades. In particular he was drawn to the Ancient Greeks and Romans.

Despite his lack of interest in modern warfare, the Government saw his potential and he was enrolled in a military academy at the age of 17.

He learned war, and he hated it. It was not death that he hated - although he was never fond of killing - but the lack of skill and integrity in it. Any fool could kill with the press of a button. But he was good at it.

At 20, three years of resentment ended when he developed the "Sickness". He showed all the signs of the epidemic the WHO described. He tried to hide it, but strange things began to happen. Culminating in the mysterious death of a young, healthy man. The man was harassing friends of Michael's. Officially, he died of a heart attack, but Michael knew better. He knew there was something wrong with him.

Fortunately for him, the symptoms were recognised by a friend, Rachiel Elreeve. She had seen it happen before, and told him it was not a disease, but something more. She told him that the Indigenous Australians who sought solitude in the far reaches of the outback could help.

So Michael left everything behind and sought out the only people that could offer him help. They welcomed him in, they told him about a mysterious "Power" which had made men Gods once, but they did not know how to teach him.

He was forced to endure the "Sickness", starting wildfires and drawing bolts of lightning in a storm, but finally he recovered, developing a strange block. He could not use his new power unless he intended to kill.

He spent a year with the Aboriginal people, who taught him all they knew about the power and returned home, having some measure of control, enough, at least, to prevent any accidents.

However, when he returned, he found himself hunted by a mysterious group of people claiming that he needed to die for the sake of humanity. He was forced to use his powers to kill, but mostly, he ran.

It was then he turned to the CCD, where he had found traces, rumours that there were others like him, people who could teach him. He arrived in Moscow - his hunters temporarily eluded - in 2044.

It was here he found Tony Soloyov, someone who could teach him. For income, Michael used his only other real talent, joining the military and establishing himself as Junior Strategic Operations Commander in the Custody of Defence.

Six weeks ago his block was broken after 2 and a half years, thus he began his training under Tony. He showed promise, but struggled with anything that was not destructive.

Michael is driven by his desire to find out who he was, what his power was and why he was hunted by a group of people he didn't even know.


Edited by Michael Vellas, Jul 22 2013, 06:36 AM.

Tehya watched Moscow pass in a slow crawl beyond the taxi window, tempted to place her forehead against the cool glass and close her eyes. She’d hardly slept on the plane, just drifted in and out of vagueness once her thoughts and worries had run dry, then zoned out listening to the music piping through her earphones until the captain had called the descent. Now, so far from her homeland, she was tired. Her long legs were cramped from all the inactivity, and her shoulders ached dully; she was desperate to stretch out. It should have pleased her to finally be so close, but her thoughts were numbly focussed on the actually getting there, slipping off her shoes, taking a shower, and getting some sleep.

Outside it was early evening. Dusk deepened what little she could see of the sky, a striation of red and pink and orange that bounced blinding amber fingers of light from windows and windshields; the last throes of sun’s death. Before long shadows would pool the sidewalks and the streetlamps would start their vigil, and she dearly hoped that by then she wouldn’t still be stuck in this damn car. The roads had been swift from the airport, but commuter traffic had thickened once they reached the city; she’d grown used to the low grumble of the idling engine, but its gentle lullaby wasn’t helping her stay awake.

A knock at the window jolted her from reverie. She frowned up at the man beyond the glass. Tall and whipcord thin, with well-groomed dark hair and a manicured beard shadowing the line of his jaw. He looked like any number of businessmen on the street, but she did not have to see his arm to know what he was. Tey wasn’t surprised they had found her, even amidst the traffic; either the taxi was marked, or she was. A briefly sobering thought. She was still looking for the button to unwind the window when the guy opened the door.

“Ms. Alisdelisgi.” He gestured that she exit, offering a crooked smile. His suit was tailored, but he wore it slightly dishevelled, and the tie was pulled loose. “A pleasure to finally meet you. Traffic’s a nightmare this time of day; it’ll be quicker to walk.”

She offered him a sedate nod in return as she climbed out of the car, reaching into her jeans pocket to find some cash for the cab driver – who, realising Tehya was getting out early, had nudged open his door in order to retrieve her bags from the boot. “You’re Marcus?” She might have been living out in the sticks, but the net made a small detail of distance. Someone like Tehya, who specialised in studying the creatures the Atharim hunted, made great use of their secured networks for theory and discussion. She’d known Marcus years through those channels, though they’d never met. He was younger than she’d suspected; but then, probably so was she.

“Well guessed. The bill is covered, by the way.” The hand he offered in greeting was warm and strong; it made her feel limp and tired by contrast. She didn’t return his welcoming grin – too weary to bother with the niceties – and gave the driver a tip in exchange for her bags anyway; crumpled U.S bills she had no further need of, and maybe neither did he since the exchange rates were so ridiculously poor, but the guy tucked them in his pocket with a quick smile all the same.

“Do we have far to go?” She waved off Marcus’ offer of help – she only had a rucksack and a laptop bag, hardly beyond her means – and waited for him to set off down the sidewalk. He didn’t, not right away; he seemed to be taking the moment to study the solemnity of her features, and perhaps differentiate the years of faceless correspondence with the physicality of her. When her expression did not flicker, he laughed.

“Couple of blocks. You’re in a good building, great metro links. But, uh, seriously, Tehya, you’ll make me look like a prick if you carry all the stuff.”

“I’m tired, Marcus. It was a long flight. You really want to have a discussion about the retardedness of gender politics now?” Either the crassness of her language or the sheer monotone dryness in her tone made him blink in surprise. Her lips hitched up at one corner as she slipped off the rucksack and held it out. “For the record, I don’t care if you look like a prick, and neither should you. Can we go?”

He filled her in on the way; where she would be working and where she would be staying, the Wallet that would now form her primary contact, and a little on the people she would be working with. It was Friday; she had a weekend reprieve to acclimatise herself to the city and the new time zone. That was good, at least. So was the fact that Marcus was happy to divulge with little input on her part, since she was too exhausted to provide much in the way of conversation beyond the odd nod of acknowledgement. She paid attention, though her head was groggy. It felt good to stretch her legs at least.

-*-

The apartment turned out to be small but comfortable, its furnishings finer than those she had been accustom to back home - which wasn’t necessarily saying much. Some sparse adornments marked an attempt to make it feel homely – some ornaments, a few framed pictures – but it still felt spiritless as a hotel room. And it was very empty now that Marcus had gone; echoey. Lonely. Tehya enjoyed her privacy, but had never lived alone. She felt the singular beat of her heart acutely in the silence, and the sound of her breathing was conspicuously loud. It was strange, and not in a pleasant way.

There wasn’t much to unpack. Afterwards she showered, pulled on shorts and a vest that approximated pyjamas, and then curled on the couch with her beat-up laptop, the palm-sized Wallet plugged into the side. That sparky little bit of tech was going to take some getting used to, and it wasn’t a battle she felt like starting tonight, when the newness of her surroundings had her aching for the comfort of the familiar. She fought a yawn, sliding damp hair over one shoulder as she checked her mail. Most Atharim correspondence came that way, albeit safeguarded and encrypted. Heck, almost all communication came that way. She already had a schedule waiting for Monday, sent from a secure Atharim anon account - the sort favoured by the higher echelons of their society, whose identities were even protected from others within the organisation. Marcus had also mailed her the Wallet’s user manual. He must have seen the look she gave him when he handed it over.

Both messages she left unread for now. Instead she sent a brief note to her father - Here now, safe. Will call when I figure the time zone differences. T - then closed the laptop’s lid; it had already grown hot in her lap, hot enough to burn uncomfortably, though she supposed it didn’t matter now if the thing was on its way out. Its laborious whirr died slowly, then settled into silence as Tey got up and flicked out the light. A few minutes later, she was in bed, asleep.

Hello peoples.

Welcome to The First Age, and more specifically, to the non-obligatory OOC introductions and welcome thread! For members new and old *pokes various people into being social*

I'm one of a bunch of us who came from another Wheel of Time RP site, where I've been writing for... oh my gosh, a long time now. I have a feeling it must be close to ten years! Anyhoo, here I write Thalia and also Teyha. I've been a Wheel of Time fan for a loooong time, but have not yet managed to finish the books (Shhhh! That's a secret!). Too little time and too much to read! I'll get there one day...

The OOC (out of character) boards are a good place to hang out while you're thinking up a character or waiting for approval from the Ascendancy. Most of us use the chat room too - feel free to drop in, no-one bites!

The ship and supplies sent back by his father was astounding. No fishing trolley returned, but his fathers custom built schooner. Many of the the family's craftsman and his fathers own "Chief of House" had come to Manix.

Chief, your presence surprises me, a delightful one I must say, but a surprised none the less.
. Chief looks him up and down and smiles: You have read the note, you father wished me to be here with you to get you settled, and to train your House Chief. I fear time grows short.


Chief, these notes explains what I want done and what has already been done, above and below. No man may leave the compound alone. No man is to give any information to anyone, I dont care who they are. If it is a Local authority then bring them to me, but answer no questions. When the work is done, take em all home, save Jackson, Cargo Chief, take him under your wing, he is who I want as my House Chief. Moscow is dangerous, but the danger is in the game. This game I will play why puzzle out the secrets of the scrimshaw.


Satisfied that his orders will be followed, he decides to go for a walk.

Continued in http://w11.zetaboards.com/TheFirstAge/topic/11679407/
Edited by Manix, Sep 4 2016, 03:55 PM.

Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough availed himself of Dr Adrik Ivanov's desk, his Wallet resting next to where his feet were propped up on the expensive oak's surface. He had case files and police reports displayed, as well as the medical files of a surgery that was recently performed. It wasn't the first time he had read the reports of course, nor was it likely to be the last, but it gave him something to do while waiting for the good doctor to return.

The police reports were all standard stuff. Precinct psychiatrists had already written it off as a bad case of work-related stress. The doctor had worked over 30 hours straight before the incident, and a sudden outburst of anger wasn't unheard of in a over-taxed man. Coupled with other eye-witness reports that the patient had been irate, offensive, and 'down right creepy' according to one male nurse, it was all pretty easy to explain.

The man was a dick, and the good doctor snapped. Open and closed case, really. Unless you payed attention to the fact that the patient went out the window to escape the violent doctor. After having heart surgery. Not to mention the...inconsistencies...in the medical report. Those were all confiscated by the CDPS, and replaced with a far more mundane report. He had a copy of that one as well, naturally.

The incident had been flagged noteworthy enough for him to open a case file, and to shut down the 'regular' police's own investigation. A CDPS mandated order to keep an eye out for the missing patient, marked as a 'person of interest' was to be the limit of their involvement. And all the better, really; they had no idea what they were dealing with.

Soon enough Drayson heard the jingle of keys in the lock, and when the door opened, he had his badge and ID held up for Dr Ivanov to see. The good doctor was young; an expert in his field and well respected by his coworkers. He had the man's own files too, naturally. Psych evaluations, school records, even a police report from when a five year old Adrik was caught shoplifting a Snickers bar.

"Who are..."
Dr Ivanov's anger at finding a stranger sitting at his desk was quickly swallowed when he saw Drayson's badge. He froze for a long moment, then turned to close the door. The man hesitated only a second, toying with the idea of making a break for it, before he just sighed quietly and shut the door. "What can I do for you, Inspector?"


Drayson flipped the classic leather-bound wallet shut and tucked it into a pocket, kicking his feet off the desk to stand up. A few deft flicks of his fingers closed the various displays of his Wallet, and that was returned to his pocket as well. Of course, the way he stood left his jacket open just enough that his pistol was boldly displayed in it's shoulder holster. A little reminder for the good doctor to cooperate.

"Three days ago, you cut a man's chest open. And twelve hours later tried to kill him."
Drayson could read between the lines of even the most mundane-seeming of police reports and witness statements. He'd written more then a few himself, after all, and knew what to look for when folks were trying to hide something.

Dr Ivanov sputtered and held his hands out defensively, "What? No! I never...no! No, I was tired, and he was a horrible, horrible man...no, I didn't want to kill him!"


Drayson snorted in ammusement and walked out from behind the desk to glance out the office's one window. The view left a bit to be desired; the roof of this part of the hospital, and a patient wing filled the view, but at least it let in real light. "Belt up, Doctor. You're a respected doctor. We've pulled plenty of long shifts before. Which, I might add, I've already waved off the board from looking into. Insurance reasons, you know. Not fond of doctors working too many hours straight. Asides from one Snickers bar, you haven't stepped out of line your entire life."


The doctor paled a bit; of course he knew that the CDPS would have checked his file if one of their investigators had come to talk to me, but that had been over thirty years ago...it was a sobering realization that they could learn so much about him. He indicated questioningly towards a chair, and after Drayson gave a nod, Adrik sat down tiredly.

"I don't know what to say really, Investigator. He...he was brought into the emergency ward. I don't know who brought him in, I just did the surgery, you understand?"
Adrik sat forwards in his chair, and rubbed at his bruised knuckles. He had never punched someone before. "He was...he was a terrible person. Vile, mean. He tried to bite one of the nurses, did you know that? We were going to gas him, as well as local anesthetics of course."


This was all in the report, but Drayson let the man talk. He leaned against the wall near the window, staring out at the narrow sliver of sky he could see. The patient ward across the way included one window, some three stories above the that portion of roof, that had a piece of ply-wood instead of glass. The man had dropped three stories before running off. After heart surgery.

"We did the surgery. Had to tie him down, least till the anesthetics took effect. And it was...he...I mean, everything was there, right? Heart, lungs, all the organs were there. But they weren't...weren't right."
Adrik looked up at Drayson, obviously frightened by what he was thinking of. "Not...not human? Couldn't be. Or maybe he was, and something happened? Maybe some kind of...I don't know...it wasn't human though. I checked on him a few hours later. I was excited, you see...going to write an essay on him. Make a name for myself. Get a disease named after me or something. The staples had fallen out, and the incision was already scarring over."


That was in the reports that the CDPS had locked up also. The patient had been brought in because someone had stabbed the man in the chest, and damaged his heart. Hence the emergency room and the surgery. Could this thing heal that fast? And if so, why had the surgery been necessary to begin with? And who the hell had brought the thing in?

"The man woke up while I was checking on him. I thought...thought maybe this was going to be a major breakthrough, you know? New age for medicine...but he started talking. He sounded...hungry? Not desperately so...like a man looking forwards to a run at a buffet? Like, he knew, was certain, he was going to eat right away, and just...gloating about it. He was going to start with Antonnia...one of the nurses, the one that he tried to bite before the surgery."
This was in the report also; he had watched the video on the surgery; these things were always recorded, to help regarding malpractice suits. No one had been wearing name tags, and Antonnia's name had only been spoken aloud after the mystery man had been put under, leading to the suspicion he had been conscious for the entire surgery.

"So the man threatened you, and your staff. And you tried to kill him."


Adrik stood up suddenly, "What? No! ...yes...yes, but you don't understand. That man...I...he scared me. Like a wild animal, a wolf or something...his tone? the certainty of it? I couldn't..."
He dropped back into his seat, face in his hands.

Drayson nodded slightly and stepped away from the wall, "Calm down, Doctor. A few CDPS specialists will visit you later today. Medical specialists. They'll want to get your professional expertise on your missing patient."


Dr Ivanov nodded slowly and glanced up at Drayson as the Inspector moved towards the door. "Oh, and Doctor? Your house is under surveillance. Your missing patient knows your name. But don't worry. The CDPS is on the job."
The Doctor's name had been mentioned during the surgery as well, and anyone with a passing knowledge of the internet could find his address, with a little effort. Drayson offered the now pale doctor an almost sarcastic smile, then took his leave.

Continued in: Doing the leg work


Edited by Drayson, Aug 11 2013, 07:01 PM.

CCD - Central Custody of Dominion

Founded 2025.

ASU - Ascendant Soviet Union

Founded 2023, restructured into the CCD in 2025.

CDPS - Custody Domestic Protection Service

Custody Intelligence;
headquarters: Kremlin

Ascendancy
- Authoratative ruler of the CCD
Nikolai Brandon, Former President of the Russian Federation and Ascendant Soviet Union

Dominances
- political divisions of the CCD.
Current Dominances & their capitals are:
Dominance I - Former Russia aka the "Central Dominance", Moscow.
Dominance II - Former nations of the old USSR, Kiev.
Dominance III - the Indies & southeast Asia, Mumbai.
Dominance IV - the Far East excluding China, Tokyo.
Dominance V - the Middle East, Dubai.
Dominance VI - Eastern Europe, Prague.
Dominance VII - Western Europe, London.

Patron
- Ruler of a Dominance;
directly reports to the Ascendancy;
the CCD equivalent to a regional governor

The Sphere
- the executive and cultural counsel to the Ascendancy

Privilege
- the seven individual members of the Sphere

Custody
- CCD equivalent to a department or agency; eg, Custody of Defense

Atharim
- hunters of gods and creatures from the godwars

Regus
- head of the Atharim

Wilder
- a First Age wielder of the Power

The Sickness
- the symptoms which follow an uncontrolled use of the Power

Ouroboros
- the tattoo of a serpent or dragon eatings its own tail which marks a member of the Atharim