Team 6 (M&M PbP) Issue #1

[Tokiwong]

The Kingdom...

San Francisco, Chinatown

0430 hours, local time, July 1st, 2014

The open-air market was empty as the woman crept through the dark-lit streets, her eyes darting back and forth; she was out of place here. Her long jacket was huddled close for comfort, as the chill wind blew through her hair. She adjusted her glasses, and moved forward with a purpose, knocking on the door of an address scrawled hastily on a small sheet of yellow paper.

The door slid open, as an old stooped gentleman beckoned the woman in, pleasantries though were skipped, and this meeting was all business. The woman took a seat in a crowded kitchen, and looked around at the various Chinese knick-knacks laid out carefully on the counter and the table. The old man returned a dropped a package on the woman’s lap, a small wrapped parcel, which she quickly unwrapped.

Inside she held a small data card capable of holding several terabytes of information, marked on it in a quick printed scrawl was ”Kingdom”…

Oz

1400 hours, local time, July 3rd, 2014

Joseph Patterson, Buddha to those who knew him best, looked over the recent Intel brought in by the field agents across the world. Most of it was pretty normal, all of them except one, the disappearance of a well-known crackpot in San Francisco. Apparently two days ago, she came out with information that she had evidence of actual extra-terrestrial activity, nothing big except that two days later before she was supposed to come out with the information, she disappeared.

That would not seem so big, if she had not been connected to another scientist in the area that recently was found dead in car crash by a drunken driver. Dr. Henry Bradshaw, a scientist for Vanguard Secure Computing (VSC) was a close colleague of hers, and even though his death was attributed to the accident, there was some speculation that perhaps he had been killed deliberately perhaps for sharing information he should not have. Now this, it was just too coincidental.

Buddha scowled, and hit the button his desk bring up the video commlink, “Stacy, get me Team 6, looks like we have a mission…”

OOC: Alright you guys give me a post on where your characters are at, hen you receive the call, approximately 15 minutes from now. After the introductions, I will post a follow-up with a briefing…

 

[Robbert Raets]

"...Yeah, sweetheart, I know! I know he doesn't like me being away, but the deal was, I sign up with these guys, and they get him into one of those UN Mutant Academies when his abilities activate. And it's not like the old corpse is gonna pay for anything, is it?"

Tony Waite sat in front of his quarter's monitor, taking the barrage of anger from his wife over insulting her mother yet again. He couldn't help himself - 'Directrix' Reifenkov had put him through to much, especially after she found out about him and 'Staci.

"Calm down Anastacia! You know your mom hates me as much as I hate her!"
The call came.
"Look, I've gotta go. Give Donny all my love, and take care of yourself. We'll talk again later."

Five minutes later, Graviton was suited up and waiting for instructions in the briefing room.

 

[Radiant]

Jorgi is more lying than sitting in his chair. His feet lie on a on the table. How he manages that with all the stuff lying on it is a wonder in itself. The screen before him constantly changes as the computer seemingly controls itself and he skips between work and some realy cheap adult chat the whole time. Then the call comes he just shrugs, safes the stuff, crabs a coke from the table and heads of to the meeting.

 

[Vardeman]

Assassin willed his breathing to still, his heartbeat to slow as his prey entered the area. Years of planning, ever since that night in Cairo, had gone into the setup. With a gloved hand he stroked the scar that marred his face, a souvenir of their last encounter. He owed this bastard a lot, his wife and kid dead, his own life hanging by a thread.... Slowly his target approached the mark... three more steps... two... one... BBBRRRIIINNNGGG!!!

Jolted out of his concentration, he called out, "Computer, pause simulation. Answer call, voice only...." The scene in his consciousness halted, frozen in time.

"Assassin, this is Control. There's been a general call-up of Team 6. All personal are requested to meet in Briefing Room Sierra in fifteen minutes."

"Damn and bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, and then raised his voice in reply, "Acknowledged, Control. Fifteen minutes."

Sighing heavily he stared at his nemesis, studying him anew. "Soon," he growled, "Very soon. Computer, save simulation at current time, minus five minutes. Exit program."

The scene before him disappeared and reality reappeared as he removed the VR headset and gloves. "Computer," he called again, "Encrypt program, my key, Alpha Sierra niner six niner. Burn to DVD, and shred."

As he changed from his VR sensor suit into his standard mission outfit, he wondered when his leads would pan out. When would he find the man? It was only a matter of time. Quickly he strode out into the corridor, heading for Briefing Room Sierra. He had a mission to tend to.

V

 

[Tokiwong]

Joseph "Buddha" Patterson

*Credit to the DCU Animated Page

 

[Insight]

Nyberg, Little Saigon

The thoughts were back. Couldn't control them. Again.

::and when you're done, I hope you die...::

::Too late! Too late!::

Lt. Commander Andy Nyberg cringed as the last of it was gone -- for now. He had experienced these episodes for some time now, ever since his mental abilities had developed to the point where he could read others' minds. Guys in the white coats called it 'Telepathic Feedback'. Dr. Faizel said these would stop in due time. What did he know?

Nyberg looked at his watch. 5 AM. What the hell am I doing here? He looked around at the crack-whores and boarded-up windows shrouded in sickly yellow light coming from the one streetlight that was allocated to this block. He could barely see, and it would be a good hour before sunrise.

Maybe I could ask them, he considered, seeing a trio of Vietnamese hoods. Nyberg approached, and they stiffened upon spotting the 'foreigner' within their territory.

As he got closer, Nyberg spotted a whore giving her John a good time in an alley nearby. He tried not to look. Just part of the scenery.

The thugs approached and stopped. "Whatchu doin here, huh?" their leader said in barely intelligible English.

"You lost?" another asked, his left hand fingering a butterfly knife.

Nyberg replied in perfect Vietnamese. "No, no. You misunderstand. I'm here on business."

The three thugs were stunned. Apparently, this mysterious stranger did have business here. Or, at the very least, knew what he was doing.

"You a cop?" the leader asked.

Nyberg's head started spinning again. The thoughts...

::this oughta be good...::

::No, it's everywhere!::

He crumpled to the ground, but then got up on one knee. Nyberg looked quickly toward the thugs, who undoubtedly had some questions now.

One of them, the nervous one, pulled out his butterfly knife and click-clacked it into its upright position. "He's a cop!"

"No, I'm..." Nyberg stood under the watchful eye of the three hoods. "I'm here to do some business with Ng Hai."

The leader laughed. "Are you kidding?" he asked. "A white skin like you? You're not getting anywhere near Ng Hai." He drew a pistol. "Especially if you're a cop."

Nyberg slowly opened his jacked, revealing its interior and his armpits, indicating that he was likely unarmed. "Would a cop come in here without a piece?"

The leader latched the safety on his weapon. "Guess not." He holstered the pistol in his pants. "So what do you want with Ng Hai?"

Nyberg had come all the way from SOMA to Little Saigon in an attempt to track down the elusive Ng Hai, a well-known opium dealer and low-level member of the Golden Triangle. But Nyberg wasn't here to bust Ng Hai.

"I need a fix," he finally admitted.

The anxious one shoved Nyberg against the nearest wall, and he did nothing to resist. "You gotta be jokin, man. Ng Hai doesn't sell to fixers on the street."

The thoughts burst through again, at an incredibly inopportune moment, as usual.

::seems I'm a little early::

::take pictures... what about the cops?::

The leader approached as the knife-wielding thug held Nyberg against the wall.

"I know you're an outsider," he began. "That much is obvious. Despite your command of our language, you obviously don't know the lay of the land. You're no freak. Is this your first time down here?"

Nyberg had just cleared his head, and hadn't caught everything they had said. "I'm not from around here," he managed.

The thugs laughed and let him off the wall. "Look," the leader replied, "We're just not going to march you right up to Ng Hai. No way in hell. Not if we want to live."

"But if you're looking to party," the knife-wielder added, "I know a hook-up."

"That's more like it," Nyberg replied.

As the four men walked deeper into the back streets of Little Saigon, Nyberg wondered why he couldn't stop these 'interruptions' of late. It was much easier before he could read minds, but then, other problems arose, like blasting everyone within a 20 foot radius with his thoughts. That was... unpleasant.

One of the lab coats recommended aspirin or the like. Yeah, that worked for about a day. Then, it got worse. Soon, it was entire bottles of aspirin a day. Drinking didn't help for long. His body was developing a tolerance for the cure without doing anything for the cause of his suffering. Harder stuff seemed like the best solution.

They got to a door, and the leader knocked. Shouts came from within.

Nyberg wandered a short distance away from the door, just in case. As he did, he mind numbed.

::that's more like it...::

::you're crazy, man!::

"Get out!" Nyberg shouted in an attempt to repel his demons. The men at the door drew their weapons and looked at one another, then at the 'white skin' who was running from them.

Nyberg heard sirens in the distance and grabbed ahold of a light pole to steady himself as he regained his sanity. He looked back to the three men who had brought him this far, but they had not moved. He could tell that they had not yet heard the sirens.

The stress on his mind continued for a moment as the adrenaline rush subsided.

::gunshots?::

::the cops are here!::

Nyberg's grip on the light pole waned, and he fell to the ground. As he regained his composure, Nyberg felt a slight vibration in his pocket. What the hell? he wondered for about a second as his mind went through the possibilities. My pager, he realized.

He stood and got away from the scene, grabbing his pager and pressing the 'Light' button so that he could read the LED.

Great.

 

[Keia]

Zellers looked up from reading his paper to see a couple more Geo Corps white collars enter the club. Surprised as always that the stiff, white collars could even find an unmarked club on the island. Providing security for the club was Karl's off-time job. The women, screened and certified as best as Geo Corps could (which was damn good) were a mix of locals and exotics. Exotics, Zellers thought grinning, Exotics were blondes and redheads when the club is an island paradise.

Zellers was never quite sure who he was providing security for: the women or the Geo Corps white collars. Probably the white collars since Geo Corps was his full time job. Eighteen years in the corps and here he was today, sitting at the door to a 'gentlemans' club reading newpapers, including what passed for the National Enquirer. Full of information, the 'Enquirer' (printed from on-line because Karl liked to read a 'paper') often had clues on various supers activity, once you got past the she's having his baby stories. So Karl was still 'on the job' while relaxing.

Standing at an even six foot, Karl was dressed as a local, wearing a colorful shirt and cargo shorts. Deeply tanned and wrinkled from years of exposure and entertainment, Karl's hair was thinning but it was difficult to notice as he keep it buzzed short. The X9, his personal weapon of choice was within arm's reach, currently disguised as a walking stick with the new image enhancer currently attached to it.

Karl scanned the room again looking for potential trouble. Seeing a white shirt starting to get out of hand, Karl sighed. Getting up out of the chair and leaning on the 'walking stick for support' Karl was interrupted on his walk over to 'calm' the white collar down when his phone rang. Putting the earpiece to his ear Karl heard, "Zellers, this is Control. There's been a general call-up of Team 6. All personal are requested to meet in Briefing Room Sierra in fifteen minutes." To apparently no one, Karl replied, "Understood, on the way."

A motion to the bartender and some miltary hand signals passed, updated the bartender on his status and the protential trouble. Karl then made his way to the briefing room.

 

[Dvang]

Sarah Grant, aka Silence, sauntered into the firing range. The staccato of weapons fire was calming to her. She could see the range was full today and that made her smile. Her short skirt and loose dipping blouse drew a few males eyes, but she ignored them. She needed a break, and this was the best place Outside that she could find. Sometimes being cooped up with all those other Elites made her feel like she was back with HIM. She flashed her membership card to the jockey at the desk and quietly waved away his offer of a gun rental. She headed for her assigned stall and stood there staring as the target zipped along its line out to the farthest range. A distant black sillouette, vaguely man-shaped with chest and head. Her breathing slowed. She could just image it was HIM out there. She slowly pulled out a sleek black machine pistol. She could feel it in her hand, somehow she could FEEL the pistol along her powers, touching it gently. She smile, standing sideways, raising the pistol to eye level with one hand. She sighted along the weapon, her finger slowly curling around the trigger.

"Bishop" she whispers as her finger tugs the trigger. Silently she felt the bullet expel from the pistol and immediately the lower portion of the target exploded. A second breath, a second name, and the head of the target exploded.

Silence returned to the present and realized the entire firing range was silent. All shooting had stopped as people gawked at the shredded remains of her target. She shrugged, placing the pistol into her purse when her pager sounded, loud in the now quiet firing range. She glanced at it. Team 6. Silence smiled, and left her stall. It looked like it was going to be a good day after all.

 

[Tokiwong]

Interlude

San Francisco, Chinatown

1345, local time, July 3rd, 2014

The old man sat in the corner, he had little choice, his legs were broken, and his right was twisted back at a terrible angle. The pain was nauseating, piercing through his body with the strength of a thousand of knives, but he still did not die. He coughed up blood, and saw it as a sign of relief, perhaps he had bitten off more then he could chew, but at this point in time it didn’t really matter.

Outside the streets were busy with activity, though he was certain many of the locals would have taken notice of the black sedan parked casually out front and the three white agents, two male and one female that had entered his curio shop. They asked questions about the woman, he did not know who she was, his contact wanted it that way, and he just knew how to identify her. Although she was one of the black people, she was attractive, and seemed educated unlike the punks that were on the news all the time.

The woman approached him as he looked up lazily, and she spoke in an even firm tone, from behind her black glasses, “Where is the woman, Mr. Wu?”

The old man was barely coherent, and just spit out blood in response, it was funny to him, as the blood splattered on her black business suit. His laughter, slowly moved to coughs, as the woman stood, and addressed the other two agents, “He is just a go-between. There is nothing here, she was here, but he does not know anything beyond that.”

The taller of the two men spoke, “Kill him, we have other more pressing matters to attend to.”

The shorter male spoke as he walked to the door, “The woman is all that matters.”

Several minutes later the agents left the curio shop, and entered their black sedan, and pulled away from the curb, and into the busy one-way street. Inside the curio shop, Mr. Wu sat against the wall, a gentle smile on his old face, perhaps there was a joke that crossed his mind, a joke that fixed his mouth into a perpetual smile, even as a smoking bullet hole adorned his forehead. Perhaps he had gotten in over his head…

 

[Tokiwong]

Oz, Briefing Room for Team 6

1800 hours, local time, July 3rd, 2014

The large circular briefing room, was lined with monitors, many of them with images of a woman on them, she was slim and of African descent with soft brown skin, and soft almond eyes. Her dark hair was wavy and worn to the shoulders, and a brief blurb of information, about the woman.

Dr. Sarah Caruthers, graduated MIT, with Honors. She has a PhD in Astrophysics, she was at the start of a promising career before she began to dedicate her career to the study of extra-terrestrial phenomenon and even going so far as to link elites with extra-terrestrials, as experiments or perhaps spies. Dr. Caruthers disappeared two days ago, and we want her found. She was last seen in San Francisco…”

*What follows is addresses of her home, workplace, phone numbers, virtual web addresses, and a simple list of day-to-day contacts.

Dr. Sarah Caruthers

Buddha tapped his finger on the table, as Team 6 sat around either in person, or time not permitting via, a virtual secure encrypted video feed. Buddha tapped his finger for a long moment before speaking, “Well this is the target, she is missing, and boys upstairs suspect she is alive, but they also suspect that her disappearance may be tied to a colleague of hers, Dr. Henry Bradshaw. He works for VSC (Vanguard Secure Computing) in their R&D department. I should say worked, because he died two weeks ago in a car crash, involving a drunk driver in the San Francisco area.”

Buddha paused once more, “We want you guys to find her, and bring her to Oz,” he finishes matter of factly.