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PostPosted: Thu Dec 28, 2017 2:10 pm 

If I die...Make sure you don't burry me in a damn pet cemetary.

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It was all hollows eve when a group of friends decided to trespass on the Roanoke Colony Museum. Their goal, to stay the night after the museum closed. Of course they had nothing to fear. After all there were only rumors that circulated through out the area that the museum grounds were haunted by the spirits of the lost colonist. Strange disappearances, and even the sounds of screams were said to be a common occurrence around the island. Of course this is all simply here say, and not at all truth..or is it?

"Guys are you sure we aren't going to get caught?"

Called out Julie as she and her friends watched the last car cross over the bridge connecting the island to the main land.

" Hell yeah! That was the security guard's car! We are here all alone.."

Commented Thomas, who had been carrying his bag filled with "supplies" for the night.

Matthew, the one and only black friend of the group had brought with him his own assortment of "supplies" for the camp out.

"That's whats up nigga, just the 5 of us here all alone...waiting out the night with some "inspiration" for some good times ahead."

The other two friends, Angela and Marcus, a heavenly endowed bimbo and a overly drugged stoner weren't far behind.

"I swear if this turns out to be some crappy, bug infested lame **** party like last time. I am totally out!" Angela complained as she hurried up towards the group with her own bag in hand.

Marcus was already high on some strong drugs as he responded in an laxed tone. "Calm down dude, this place is legit. I have heard there has been some freaky parties here.."

"CUT!!"

Screamed out the Director as they stood up from their chair.

"Damn it Emma! Your not showing enough cleavage in that damn shirt! Your suppose to be playing the role of the slutty "hot chick" Not the damn conservative heroine!"

Emma turned around and gave the Director a middle finger. " ***** YOU Marty! If I show anymore cleavege, this would be consider a porno!"

Marty smirked and gave her an condescending glare. "Yeah, well you should know! You are then queen of those!"

This was the common attitude on set. For weeks now the constant cut takes, and emotional backlash of actors with the crew had caused this "easy b horror film". To become a flesh and blood nightmare for all involved. If it wasn't Director Marty Roberts taking out his frustration on the actors. It was the actors acting like spoilied children as they complained about their parts.

"It's supposed to be called The Witching Hour 3. Not night of the living stuck up actor!"

It didn't help that behind the scenes a real thriller had been a constant threat to production.

Crew members were coming up missing in the weeks before. Some were never found, those that were.

There wasn't much left to identify.

The studio though couldn't cancel production. They had already sunk in too much money.

The only option was to hire some "trustworthy" folks to handle the situation in a professional manner.

Those "professionals" was a small detachment of Templar, and a Agent who could handle the case.

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“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown”

H.P. Lovecraft

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PostPosted: Fri Dec 29, 2017 11:18 pm 

I'm the unexpected item in your baggage area

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Narratives were important to them, or so she'd been told.

It was one thing that, between considering the basis of their bickering, she had been reminded of. Something about storytelling playing a roll in revealing their identities to them through tales of their cultural. A form of oral storytelling, perhaps? A bit more advanced than gathering elders around a fire, but the premise was still the same.


She'd been observing them for hours, watching the small humans reenact the same set of motions again and again through her scope while such sparse questions echoed in her head. Leaning back, she gave a noisy flex of her gloves. New black leather, she had been working the squeak out of them since they'd been given to her. They were warmer, she conceded, but she preferred her old broken in set the best. Having been told once it was rude to refuse a gift, she'd found herself impractically bringing them along. A minor annoyance, but an annoyance none the less.

As a tendril of fogged breath snaked past parted lips, she leaned back and looked content enough reclined against one waterlogged tree. Even if a ship scouting the shore went past and somehow managed to spy here there despite the all-black nature of her attire, there wouldn't be much of a question than perhaps 'some strange lady is sitting by herself out there. People are such weirdos these days.'

Despite all internal devices and genetic testing point to the contrary, Issa was at least physically passably human. Enough at least for quick meetings and cleverly guided interrogations. Though the buck stopped there, unfortunately. Given enough time, even a flickering candlelight's worth of observation shone right through it and brought light to the workings within. It wasn't as if Issa's skills in espionage were lacking. No. She'd been more than a dutiful student (and even better, some had said, since she had very little emotional basis to counteract instructions), but there was something that just wasn't...there.

With eyes and an expression like still waters that you knew to be deep, there came even to the most inept of empaths the sensation that Issa was best avoided. Even those who had tried desperately hard to like her found there will hadn't stood the test in the wake of her silence and stillness. Best in small doses was the advice that those had to work with her gave to new hires.

Another set of squeaks, and she brought her gaze back across the bay. While the single mounted scope worked to focus back in, she eyed the hour in the lower right hand corner. She had no qualms with waiting. On the contrary, there was something almost natural about holding the rendezvous point across the Shallowbag Bay. One might venture, borrowing on their own terms and in no way hers, that Issa might have enjoyed it. It was familiar, yes. Perhaps that's what it was. It allowed her to settle in and, as a productive way to spend her time, watch the little production going on across the way. She rarely had an opportunity to study them so openly. Normal people, that was.

To say she favored people-watching was to imply that she had some sort of preference. Issa was, at best, equal parts indifferent and obedient. All of the agent's actions had been directed under the strictest sense of duty and her current observation was no less meaningful. There was to be a mission here and, despite her finding the unfamiliar sensation of lagging under the time and tide of another team, she carried out her observation just as meticulously as if the mission had been all her own. Beneath the thick lined sleeves of her right arm, she felt a familiar writhing under her skin.

"Templar," came the word that tumbled past her lips without thought to it. It was unfamiliar and heavy. She'd read only what had been provided in the file to her. Their short summary had been illustrative enough- they were a successful unit. She could only think that more operatives meant more hands, a quicker resolution. Effectiveness. Yes. That she had a particular approval of and yet...

Issa had always been unaccompanied on her assignments, and they'd always been resolved quick and efficiently. She knew for a fact that she was 87% more cost effective to the organization and at least two times less likely than another agent to return with injuries. She would have thought, based on nothing but pure and simple logic, that it would have been seen a waste to double up on agents like this.

There was a further set of writhing, and Issa gave a soft huff and a click between her teeth to silence it.

Again to imply that she either liked or disliked something was hinting at some greater emotional motivation, but the very idea of having been tasked to work with another team member, but an entire unit? Well, that...she was curious of at the very least.

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PostPosted: Thu Jan 04, 2018 7:08 pm 

If I die...Make sure you don't burry me in a damn pet cemetary.

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2 days ago.

Location: C.U.L.T HQ

"Kelly, is the director busy?" Inquired Captain Joseph G. Cross of Strike Team Detachment Echo. Better known to the rest of the agency as Templar. The secretary, whom sat behind a large desk, peered up from her computer. "Sorry Joe, but the Director is currently in a conference call with some higher ups. You will need to come back later." Joe sighed, but knew better then to argue. "Fair enough. Do you know when they will be finished?" The secretary shrugged and peered back down at her screen. Joe sighed once more with a slow nod, and shuffled off down the hall. A couple hours later he returned, and once more asked if the Director was seeing anyone.

"They just finished up Joe. You can enter on through." Joe smiled, and watched as the secretary buzzed him in. The way into the Director's office was a always a strange one. For you see if was no secret that the Director of the agency was a bit of a eccentric. A eccentric who collected and put on display various mementos of their past careers. Some of those mementos still had bits of flesh on them. It was for this reason why many agents and strike team leads alike were always a bit cautious when bothering the Director. Though Joe knew he needed to converse with the Director about the parameters of his upcoming operation.

"Director, sir. I have a questions about this new field assignment." Explained the strike team lead as he stood at attention before the Director's desk. The Director sat behind their desk, the back of their chair facing the Captain. "At ease captain. How may I help you?" The Captain relaxed his shoulders and took a seat. "I am not a man who questions orders. Yet..." The Director raised their hand, and interrupted the captain. "Yet you feel as that this operation you are about to take on is too much to handle." Joe shook his head and leaned foreword. "It's not that sir. It just this..Agent who in charge of the operation. What are they" The Director chuckled from behind their chair. "They are a lovely being. Who possess a certain set of skills needed to handle possible stage 4 anomalies in a way that a lone strike team can not."

Present day.

"Alright people, we're here!" Declared Captain Cross as he turned off the engine of the black rent a car. "Damn it Joe! I was dreaming of Kate's butt in a tight bikini!" Exclaimed the loudmouth of a marksmen named Matt. "Better keep dreaming Matt. It's the only way you will ever get to see this butt in anything." Remarked their auto-riflemen Kate as she opened up the backseat passenger-side door. "Be nice Kate, remember even men with small cojones should still need love." Joked their demo-tech Ella. "Ohh, low blow Ella, low blow. Mikhail, buddy back me up here!?" He mentioned towards their final member, their lovely team medic, Mikhail. "He isn't even paying attention Mike. He has his earphones in."

"Capt! Make the mean girls stop hurting my feelings!" Yelled Mike as he move towards the back of the car. "Quiet down you wild animals before I put a muzzle on all of ya." Ordered Mike with a smirk as he walked across the front of the car. "Anyone have a sight on our friend yet?" He inquired as he reached for a set of binoculars which hung from his waist. "Nope, but then again they may not even be here yet." Commented Kate as she glared out towards the island. "Maybe, but something tells me otherwise." Commented Joe as he zoomed in on the island. "looks like the film crew is still there." Matt flung some of the bags over his shoulders and glared up from the trunk. "Yay, spoiled children with mommy and daddy issues ahoy." Ella laughed. "Someone sounds jealous." Matt threw a bag down at her feet. "Nope sweetheart, not one bit."

Once the team had gathered their equipment. They made their approach across the bridge, and hopefully to link up with the Agent.

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“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown”

H.P. Lovecraft

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PostPosted: Sat Jan 06, 2018 3:52 pm 

I'm the unexpected item in your baggage area

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A turn of her head, and the scope focused on the arriving vehicle. For a moment, she stood listening to her thoughts. There was a distant downward tug on the corner of her lips, a twitch of emotion on an otherwise neutral expression. Then, not being one to waste time being idle, she was on her way to intercept them.



There was a soft rustle, and a deliberate snap of a twig under her boot. Careful to step out from cover and walk in the clear, the approaching agent wearing the single NVG head mount lifted her hands to show open palms. While she didn't work with others, she knew that any agent didn't like being surprised and less so when it was someone in tactical gear. The rest of her approach was silent until she stood at what she deemed an acceptable range from them. Only then did she raise the scope. Issa's gaze stalked from person to person. The second her eyes fell on them, she gave a nod of her head and their name.

"Santiago. Johnson. Martinez. Belyakov." The only pause came for the last member and, thought only a brief second flashed by, it was enough to warrant notice. "Captain Cross." There, pleasantries and introductions. Enough of that. Her gaze stayed on their leader.

"I've been monitoring the situation. Tensions are high," she began, "leaving anyone worth questioning susceptible to being emotionally driven to direct questioning. That, combined with the reluctance of invested groups to keep any news of the encounters quiet," her had stayed level with him the entire time," means that approaching from any position of authority would be...unwise. Most likely ineffective and a waste of resources. The best course of action in this given situation, would be infiltration and adapting to the cover." She paused, mind echoing that those words had gone misconstrued before. "Integrating ourselves into the crew first and then working to find the best emotional angle in order to elicit valid information."

With a slight turn of her head, and another moment's pause, she added, "I need a ranking of your crew from most effective in assuming cover to least. While risk of exposure will be low- and while I will be looking for a means to mitigate any suspicion of our arrival- it is best not to jeopardize the mission. Competent members will be used for infiltration and those who lack the skills required will be best assigned to surveillance. I also suggest your evaluation and selection includes those who require traditional means of protection, as standard issue weapons will not be available immediately."

Issa fell silent and let her weight rest on her back foot as she stood expectantly before him- she meant for Cross to make the decision quickly. A person in charge of others had to know their strengths and their weaknesses, enough to assess and rank them at the very least.

It had only been a few moments, but already there were delicate differences- the directness, the stillness. The way she held a singular and level gaze with the leader. Chain of commands had always been important to her, able to understand and react to the structure in an often unstructured and chaotic world. They made sense, and the agent seemed comfortable with directly following them, which left Cross to take the brunt of her rather blunt handling of their first meeting. There was just the faint unsettling nature of her gaze. It didn’t help she seemed to blink at half the rate of normal individuals. Something so small was surprisingly noticeable. Enough to add to the slowly mounting number of subtle differences about her.

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PostPosted: Tue Jan 09, 2018 1:48 pm 

If I die...Make sure you don't burry me in a damn pet cemetary.

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The team were speechless as they were adressed by this clearly over qualified agent. Mike raised his had, like a child asking a teacher a question, and said in a timid voice. "Umm...Ma'am, what are you on, and can I have some?" Cross turned towards Mike and shook his head. He turned back towards the Agent. "Ma'am, I am not sure exactly what you have been informed about the operation, but it's something standard." Joseph continued as he tried to explain the nature of this certain operation. "The people here on this movie set are very well aware that there will be added security for their film." He felt like he was trying to explain shapes and colors to a child. "In fact my team and I are not dressed in our tactical gear for that reason." Mike interrupted with a quick quip. "Kate is only wearing a pink thong under her skin tight blue jeans! Not at all combat oriented!"

Joe face palmed and turned towards Mike with "shut the hell up look." He glared back towards the Agent. "Forgive my team, their a bit jet-lagged from the flight over. " He peered over past her shoulder at the movie set ahead of them. "Would you like to proceed with us to the director and his crew? We need to inform him that we have arrived." Joe wasn't sure if this Agent was going to be a hurdle for them to eventually jump over, or someone that they will work well alongside. After all, it wasn't a secret in the agency that strike teams and Agents butted heads alot on operations. It wasn't that they hated each other. It was more like that Strike Team leaders were given the freedom that most Teir One operators wished they had. No upper brass to wait for orders. No politics to stop them in the way they approached a situation. Not even a single ethical thought or complaint about the choices and hard decisions. The ones that those who work in the field know all to well.

Agents shared in this mindset, but also were a bit high on their horses. Strike teams had simple R.O.E's. Capture it if it needs to be captured, secure it if it needs to be secured, kill it if it needs to die. Agents though, they required a more subtle approach. They investigated the unknown, and discovered secrets that strike teams couldn't. Their skills required a open mind, and ability to see past normal comprehension. It was people like this agent who represented this type of thinking. So as much as Joe would of loved to just go in and do a simple security job. If there was indeed something sinister hiding here. This Agent would discover it, and his team would be required to probably put it down. Which meant..this team was now under command of an Agent, and something simple would now become complicated.

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“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown”

H.P. Lovecraft

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