I've already been up for a couple of hours, first taking advantage of the luxury of my very own backyard to go out and do the exercises for my martial arts, and then taking advantage of the luxury of my very own hot shower to heat up again as I curse my excreable enthusiasm.
Since my boss is still in the States, I don't have to go in to work today, so I park down at my computer, log into #void, and then play Shogun: Total War, because there's nothing like using an army of Geisha to conquer all of Japan to take your mind off the fact that yesterday you were saved from being slaughtered by a gibbering tongueless pyrokinetic by a glowing mystical bracelet that you're not even sure why you own.
Bjorn: Snow makes exercising in the backyard somewhat more difficult than normal, but after the attempt, the shower is more than welcome. While Shogun: TW progresses well, there is still the aformentioned lack of quality leftovers.
Or leftovers at all.
Or (on examination) components from which leftovers could be assembled.
Well, that's a problem. Assuming it isn't still snowing heavily, Bjorn is going to bundle up and head off to the nearest Safeway to pick up some groceries, since he still hasn't found a chance to scout for some good non-chain grocery stores.
While packing up, he finds the bracelet lying on top of my satchel, right where it was left after yesterday. After staring at it for a long minute, Bjorn puts it in his satchel, in one of the easy-access pockets, though not entirely sure why.
It is, in fact, snowing. Still.
But, the streets have again been plowed, and it's not snowing nearly as heavily as it was yesterday.
In due course, you find yourself at a grocery store, though it looks like some people are making moves to stock up for potentially being snowed in. No one's panicking, and there's not massive crowds of people, though, so no worries.
Regardless, you manage to build a respectable foundation upon which to build future leftovers, including a number of frozen (ah, irony) incumbent leftovers-to-be.
When you reach the checkout counter, you can see one of those small demo televisions in this SafeWay's video rental section showing a news report about the lakes, and thoughts that with the deepening winter, they may have worries of freezing, since it's fresh water, and not salt water. It comes off as the normal reporters' dry overdramatization, unfortunately.
Regardless. The man in front of you is loading up for bear, but you are in the shortest (looking) line in the store that's open right now. The news-stand (as you watch) has its inventory of magazines replaced, and last week's "Santa Cancels Christmas! Children too Naughty!" edition of the National Enquirer is being replaced with a "President Ewling Sells American Rights to Summer to Ancient Norse God". Though, you have to admit, their cover-artists are doing a better job of photoshopping, it's still got seams and artifacting. Either way, Thor looks pretty pleased to be getting a rolled up piece of paper from President Ewling.
As the man in front of you finally finishes checking out, you move forward, and someone from behind you reaches for your satchel. Or, at least, that's what it looks like initially. In reality, when you turn, you realize that a blonde woman behind has tripped, and goes sprawling into you.
With a start, Bjorn braces himself and tries to catch the woman, or at least prevent her from smacking her head into something. "Are you okay?"
[roll]Bjorn --> "OkibiOhki rolls 3d6 and gets 8."[/roll]
You manage to catch the young woman before she falls to the floor or smacks herself into or against something. She looks both surprised and embarassed. "I'm fine," she mumbles, getting back to her feet. Now that you can see her clearly you can see she's about 5'4", her blonde hair is short, but from this range you can see darker roots. She's wearing a sweater, gloves, and a skirt, which boggles the mind in this weather. Her eyes are blue, and she might be cute.
Might, that is, because you know you've seen her before, in a helicopter.
She doesn't meet your eyes, and kneels to pick up a beret that fell to the floor when she did.
Mumbling something apologetic, Bjorn finds himself at a bit of loss. After all, what does one say? "You're cute, wanna go out on a date" is probably not quite apropos, and it's probably just as incorrect to say, "You know, it's the funniest thing, but you know, I think I saw you yesterday in a hallucination right after I had an unreported accident in which I ran over an insane wild-man who then tried to set me on fire, and was only distracted first by an old bracelet that was sent to me anonymously years ago that suddenly developed mystic powers, and then by the appearance of a black helicopter that he felt he needed to blow out of the sky!"
Wait a minute. While holding out a hand to help the woman back to her feet, Bjorn circumspectly reaches into his satchel to check for aforesaid bracelet.
The bracelet is still there, though it is now emitting a dull glow.
Two heartbeats pause, and then Bjorn makes up his mind, and smiles at the woman. "You sure you're okay? Fall like that, you can really feel it a bit after."
He pauses, as if in thought, and then cocks his head. "You know, if you don't mind me saying, you look awfully familiar. Did we run into each other yesterday? If not quite so literally, of course."
Her eyes flicker to the satchel briefly, then she shrugs her shoulders uncomfortably, and offers a sardonic smile, taking a half step backwards. "Well, you've got sharp eyes, don't you?" she says quietly. "If you caught that ... and then, you weren't alone. Who do you work for?"
The kid behind the counter is now about halfway done scanning your groceries, and is looking at you with almost obvious envy.
Cocking an eyebrow, Bjorn replies, "Well, I'm a recent addition to the empowering family team experience at Audvantech, a duly and wholly owned subsidary of Intertrode, but I get the feeling that's not really what you're asking, is it? Beyond that, the answer is: I don't work for anyone, as far as I know. Whatever part you think I play in this, you're probably wrong."
Turning to the check-out boy, Bjorn adds, "Paper, please."
The woman stares at you coldly, then starts to smile, and turns away. In the meantime, the checkout boy stares at you with mingled fear and respect. "Do you have your club card today?" he asks unsteadily.
Bjorn explains that he doesn't have a club card, and that he doesn't have want a club card, and yes he's aware of all the benefits, and indeed, that does sound like a very good deal, but he really doesn't want a club card, and yes he's quite sure, and if you ask him that just one more time he will club you instead, and here's his credit card, no, he can manage the groceries himself.
After an appropriate amount of time, with a minimum amount of hassle, Bjorn ends up back home again, and starts unloading groceries, enjoying that rare experience of "not having to make room in the fridge because the fridge is literally empty". Once done, he makes himself a bowl of cereal (Cap'n Crunch -- the exercise is good for the teeth), toasts the one bagel he deemed fresh enough to purchase, and sits down at the table, reading part of Pocketful of Daisies (book 13 of The Wheel of Time) as he eats. Once finished, he washes the dishes, and sits down at his computer to log on to #void and check webcomics.
Or at least, that's his plan.
Webcomics are what you would expect, though you don't really know what draws you to read Sluggy (BunbBun 40k story arc aside...).
#void is as normal, save a new user, the unvoiced Cabbit_Fire.
[Move to House of Dracos thread until the IRC session ends]
Bjorn passes some time by chatting on IRC (which happens in the Dracos' House thread).
Hit by a sudden thought while chatting with Dracos, Bjorn turns on the local news (radio or TV) and scans the Internet for any information related to yeterday's escaped mental patient.
Nothing on TV indicates an event that you could see as being related to yesterday, but it could also have veered just off the road and vanished into the snow. This is, however, unlikely.
Being a gamer/techie/geek, of course, your TV is unpacked, even though the majority of your dishes are not.
Bjorn grunts softly, and then turns back to his computer and bends all his information sifting skills (normally reserved for discovering the best wavelet-decomposition model of cochlear response properties) to finding out whatever he can about yesterday's escaped mental patient -- a name, where he escaped from, anything.
You begin to search. 'Escaped mental patient' nets you some very odd websites, among them a site for ameture romance fiction. However, when you throw in the 'Toronto' modifier, you are able to pull up a listing of the bulletins sent out by the radio statio that spread the broadcast last week.
Their bulletin reads thusly:
QuoteBe advised that it is possible that an escaped mental patient is loose near the Western outskirts of Toronto. No desc. availible, but consider him to be dangerous.
Update: The mental patient is described as being caucasian. He has medium-length black hair, and was last seen wearing a torn hospital gown.
A link from there to their primary news site also gives traffic updates, and mentions a car crash and or vehicle fire at about what you believe was the time of the incident in the same area, though.
There is no update suggesting that he isn't still at large, but that is the extent of the information you can gather in about two hours.
Bjorn hesitates for a second, and then dials the number provided in the bulletin, to ask whether there have been any updates on the situation.
<@Brian> Very well. You are at home, looking at the news site for the radio station that had broadcasted the report, and are eyeing the dry and uninvolved dispatch.
* Bjorn picks up the phone and punches in the number.
<@Brian> It rings about three times before a tired masculine voice answers the phone. "Caber here. You have an update?"
<Bjorn> "Um. I think I saw someone matching the description about 11:30 yesterday. Has he not been captured yet?"
<@Brian> "What? You don't--" The voice cuts off, and you hear indistinct mutterings, as though he's placed a hand over the reciever of the phone. After a moment, the man comes back, and says, "Ah, we got word that he hitched a ride west in a car with someone who didn't know better. He's not considered to be a threat in the Toronto region, anyway."
<Bjorn> "Oh. So it couldn't have been him I saw?"
<@Brian> "It might have been -- we got word at closer to noon that he'd headed out."
<Bjorn> "Oh. Okay, well, sorry I couldn't be more help."
<@Brian> "No problem, Mr. Christianson. Thanks for the info."
<@Brian> The line goes dead.
<Bjorn> ...
<Bjorn> O-kay.
<@Brian> It could have been caller ID. Maybe.
After the conversation, Bjorn gets up and starts unpacking his house. As he does so, he makes sure that place unobtrusively in all rooms, within convenient reach of anywhere he might happen to be, is something -- a hammer, a screwdriver, a kitchen knife -- that he can use as a weapon.
Perception check (8- +int/5 + 1sb)
Bjorn --> "OkibiOhki rolls 3d6 and gets 11.
As you unpack, you wonder two things. Firstly, how did you get so much stuff, and secondly, why is all the packing tape for each box already cut open?
O-kay. Right, then. Bjorn short-circuits his unpacking efforts to grab his worn, flashless-yet-functional katana, and spend some time prowling his house. He's not sure what he's looking for -- or rather, he knows exactly what he's looking for (signs of forced entry, bugs or other surveillance equipment, ninja assassins), but with the possible exception of the last, he's sadly aware that he has no idea what they'd actually look like.
You spend some time examining your house for ... something. You find everything apparently in order. None of your unpacked things are out of place.
Nothing is missing.
Nothing in any of your boxes appears to even be disturbed.
No strange electronic devices (or even familiar ones) have been stowed in the heating ducts, or in your shower.
There's no sign that any of the locks or window latches are open.
...but you know you didn't cut that tape.
This is definitely weird. Maybe not time to completely panic, but.... With that, Bjorn looks up the nearest hotel, and makes a reservation for tonight. Just to be on the safe side, and he decides that it's time to get out of the house.
And then, after another few seconds of thought, he makes a reservation for the same night at both the Airport Hilton and the Mariott in Hamilton -- all under his own name, of course, since he has to give them his credit card. What the hell. Signing bonus was generous, and if somebody is spying on me, might as well give 'em something to do...
After that, he goes back to his careful unpacking -- but he keeps his sword tucked through his belt.
You discover that doing chores with a sword stuck through your belt is awkward, but not impossible. You are to unpack for several hours without discovering anything else out of place. At that point, it's dark out (and still snowing, of course), but you see no additional signs of people messing with your stuff, or coming after you.
You are a bit hungry, though.
(It's about 6:00 PM EST)
Bjorn makes himself a frozen pizza, pours some Coke, and then sits down to check up on email and IRC.
Ah, frozen pizza. Advances in technology over the last few years have accelerated it from tomato-paste-on-cardboard flavor to obsceneley-thin-cracker-coated-with-tomato-paste. The cheese and sausage are decent, though.
Unfortunately, the snow is still coming down pretty hard, so by the time you get back to your computer, you find that your internet connection is down. The phone lines are still going, and you have power, however.
"Son of a...."
Bjorn doesn't continue with the swearing, because if there's no one around to be amused and/or offended, what's the point? But it would be good to phone the ISP, except that he would normally look up the number online, and can't. Luckily, he still has the paperwork from signing up (buried in his "filing system" in a desk drawer), so after a little, he makes the call, ready to complain.
Your efforts eventually yeild results. The ISP gives you a convoluted explanation involving a dish uplink, overheating, melted snow, and ice in a transponder. On the bright side, you're not alone, and they expect to have it fixed by morning.
It is now dark outside, and still snowing.
Bjorn consults the book of U-Fu'king and discovers that the appropriate omen is "Screw it." Never being one to disagree with prophecies (at least one's he's made), it's time to head to bed -- leaving the sword nice and convenient to reach, though.
Your sleep is uninterupted until you wake up on Saturday morning to the sound of a ringing phone. By your clock it's just before 6:00 AM.
Well, it probably isn't a telemarketer, right? It hasn't been all that long since move-in and...
Well, it probably is a telemarketer, actually. But that doesn't stop Bjorn from answering the phone.
A synthesized-sounding voice speaks before you can get further than saying, "Hello."
"Mr. Christianson, this is Ceran. I have to warn you to contact Pax Arcana. You are no longer safe where you live."
Then your caller hangs up.
About two seconds later, there's a furious knock on your front door.
Years of living in Los Angeles have allowed Bjorn to perfect his Opening The Door Under Worrying Circumstances routine -- hold a bokuto in right hand (not a sword, because Girl Guides and the police, among others, frown on that), open door slowly, keep weapon concealed behind door. Time to put that plan into action.
If it's a Mormon or a Witness, they're going to get the stick. Not really, of course, but amply in imagination.
It's the blonde from the prior day (and the day before, actually), and she's not actually looking at the door -- she's looking back and forth down the street, like she's expecting someone else to show up. "Come on," she mutters, apparently not realizing that the door is open behind her.
Bjorn briefly contemplates a few witticisms, but decides to go with a standard, "Can I help you?"
'Don't piss off hot secret agents,' is his Motto of the Minute (TM).
She actually jumps into the air when you speak, and spins around to face you, one hand going into a skirt pocket. After a second, she calms down, and looks over her shoulder, down the street. "Christ," she says quietly. "Sorry. Um, look, I'm sorry about this, and I know you don't want to be involved, but there's something going on, and I think you should know about it." She checks her watch while speaking, and frowns. "This place isn't too safe -- if you're willing to come with me and at least listen to what I have to say, I'll let you choose to either work with us, or just try to stick it out here."
"All right. Give me a second."
Leaving the door open so that she can step in if she wants (people seem to be visiting on a regular basis without permission anyways), Bjorn quickly steps into the bedroom (closing that door, however), and dresses. Then he tucks a pen into his pocket -- a long, heavy old-fashioned fountain pen with a razor-sharp nib. After that, he goes back out to meet Miss S. Agent.
She glances over you, but mostly seems to be watching the street through your front window. "We may be too late," she mutters. "If you've got a weapon, or anything really important, you might want to take it with you."
Well, then. This is starting to feel a little silly, but better safe than sorry. Bjorn grabs his equipment bag, and throws in a couple bokuto (they break), a jo, and his sword. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, tucking his passport in his pocket, and stuffing the magic bracelet in the other pocket, he nods at the woman. "Okay, I'm as ready as I get."
Edit: Forgot about the magic bracelet!
The woman nods, and leads you to the driveway, where you can see her car. It's a four-door green GMC SUV, and she motions you to stow your gear in the back.
Bjorn does so with no hesitation, because a) swords aren't of much use in cars, and b) she probably has a gun.
On a thigh-holster, no less. You get a glance at it before she adjusts her skirt after climbing into the driver's seat. Once you're situated, she pulls out of the driveway, and heads down the street. "Where's your partner?" she asks, studying the rear-view mirror.
"As far as I know, I don't have one."
She looks at you oddly, then shrugs, and turns her attention back to the road. "If he wasn't your partner, he was definately there when we took Ashnod back. Ashnod was the PK you were with on the highway. I imagine this is pretty confusing for you, though. Any questions, so far?"
Bjorn smiles briefly. "I'm pretty sure I know who I am. Beyond that, though, there isn't much I don't have questions about. But let's start with who this person you thought was my partner, and with -- Ashnod?"
"If...." She shakes her head. "Ashnod was the PK. He's obviously pretty dangerous, but you get that at ... this level. I can't explain how he does what he does, because we don't really know. But he's pyrokinetic. I imagine that sounds somewhat outlandish, but you saw it, right? It's not like he's the first person to have abilities beyond what you and I would consider normal, but the general public doesn't know about people like him. And they shouldn't have to, all things considered.
"Anyway, I was asking who you worked for, and I suppose I was somewhat confrontational about it. I'm sorry about that, but I got the idea that you might be from an organization that was trying to capture him for your own use."
"All right, then. Who do you work for?"
She says nothing for a long moment, eyes on the road. "Are you sure you want to know too much?" she asks. "You're in pretty deep, regardless of if you want it or not, but the more you know, the harder it's going to be to get out. Knowing that an organization exists is one thing. Knowing what it calls itself, and what they do is another entirely."
Bjorn snorts rather indelicately. "I'm already in, but don't know what I'm in, or why, or how to get out. If knowing some answers is only going to get me in deeper trouble, well, at least I'll have the satisfaction of knowing something first.
"So, yes, I'd like to 'know too much.'" He hurriedly adds, "Sorry if I sound a bit rude. I don't like being confused."
"Most people don't," she replies dryly. "Look, let's get something to eat, and I'll explain it over breakfast. My treat." You're in a relatively unfamiliar section of town, and she pulls into a parking lot, stopping in front of a vietnamese noodle soup resturaunt named "Pho Shizzle".
After stoping the SUV, she opens her door and climbs out, leading the way inside.
Bjorn rolls his eyes heavenwards at the name of the restaurant, and then follows Miss S. Agent in.
He has a sneaking suspicion that starting the day off with Vietnamese soup is not, in fact, going to be the worst thing that happens to him today.
"You know, pho is traditionally a breakfast food," she remarks after the bowls of soup have been served, and the waiter backs away into a quiet corner. "It's also great when it's so freaking cold, like it is here."
She shudders slightly, looking out at the still-falling snow. "Anyway," she says uneasily, lowering her voice and keeping one eye on the waiter. "This place should be safe enough for the moment.
"I work for an organization called the Workshop. We try to isolate meta-humans, and keep them from harming others. Mental instability is tragically typical of paranormal power."
"And the Workshop is... a government agency? How do you go about isolating metahumans?"
"Heavy tranquilizers," she replies dourly. "We also try to teach those who are reachable enough to listen to reason how to contain their own powers.
"We're not affiliated with any government, but you'll notice, what with the US army crossing into the Canadian border, we're probably somewhat more effective."
"So if you're not a government agency, where do you get your money? Do you have any legal authority at all?"
"We get our money by selling technology to companies that wish to utilize it," she said with a shrug. "Given our means, it's easier to come by for us than it is for some people.
"We'd need to be known to have legal authority. But we're not the only people out there. Some people are trying this for destructive purposes ... and it's not like we're doing anything to people against their will, unless they're dangerous to others. Like I said, though, the real authorities can't handle most of these people without killing them."
"Or dying in the attempt," she adds with a frown, pushing her bowl towards the center of the table.
Bjorn blinks thoughtfully. "Okay. Now, if you don't mind me asking... why me? So I happened to be around when you were -- recapturing? -- this Ashnod. Why do people think I'm anything other than a bystander?
"And for that matter, why are you here? Don't get me wrong," he hurriedly adds, "I appreciate this. But... to be honest, you weren't this forthcoming yesterday. Charming as I might be, I don't think that answers: why are you taking the time and risk to help me here?"
"Yesterday I thought you worked for the Forge," she says quietly. "When we found their agents quartering in on your location, we got the idea that you weren't with them.
"As far as why you, it seems that you have friends in high places, so to speak. I guess you're not aware of him ... but there was someone else in that storm with you. I don't know who he is, he hid himself too well for me to know more than that he WAS there.
"Also, there is the fact that while Ashnod is pyrokinetic ... you were able to shield yourself from that blast. The Forge would love to get their hands on someone who could work as a suicide bomber more than once."
"The Forge? As in, 'Blow-Up Australia' Forge? What interest do they have in metahumans, or is it just the obvious human weapon angle?"
"That's most of it," she agrees. "They also need them to oppose the Home Guard, though. That's the biggest key."
"Opposing the Home Guard? What does..." Bjorn visibly checks himself. "Okay. We're going about this the wrong way. Before I ask any more questions, why don't you tell me everything you think I need or really want to know?"
She raises an eyebrow at that, then nods. "The Home Guard and the Forge are like us. They're ... secret organizations. At least, they were. Both the Forge and the Home Guard were originally part of the U.S. government at one point, I believe, but we can't prove that.
"The Forge's designated task was to reforge the then-broken world of post World-War II, and the Home Guard was set to establish defense against any retaliation that the Forge might provoke. Offense and defense, I suppose. All of that is speculation, of course, as we don't really associate with them.
"But it seems reasonable to us given what we do know. Now, the Home Guard of today has goals that escape me, in all honesty. My superiors think that they're trying to unify the world peacefully, given their zeal to solving things with minimal loss of life. Except for the Forge, which you'll notice they slaughtered on the Abul Kalam Aazad. Oh, that was the nuke smuggled in via cargo vessel.
"The Forge, on the other hand, seems to just be out for random destruction, and damn the loss of life that comes of it. The ends justify the means, and they're trying to unify people forcibly.
"Personally, I think they're both groups of fanatics that have lost their grip on reality.
"However, there are some meta-humans in each group. Only one we have a positive fix on, and he's sane, as far as we can tell. In the Home Guard. He ... eats radiation, in some sense. We're not sure of the specifics, but he's the one who neutralized the nukes in Washington and south of L.A.
"We think the Forge has at least one, but ... to know more, we'd have to work with them, and world domination isn't our goal. We just want to get everyone who's different to be able to work together, until eventually we understand what meta-humans are well enough to reveal them to society without fearful backlash.
"I know, a lot of people these days would be accepting of some degree of this ... probably not Ashnod, but there are meta-humans with more constructive abilities, too. I know a little girl who can mold glass like clay, and someone who can accelerate the healing process while rejuvenating the tissue it's being accelerated in.
"The world could benefit from this, but ... a lot of people wouldn't be willing to accept it. From the stereotypical witch-burning Christians of yore, to the scientists who insist that it's simply not possible. We just have to work until people are more accepting.
"I guess that's our goal." She frowns suddenly, and stares at her nails (manicured; pink). "I sound like I'm recruiting. Sorry. That's pretty much the long and short of it, though. There are other groups out there, but most keep to themselves. It's not like everyone has mutually exclusive goals."
Bjorn nods, slowly. "Okay. And if I get this right, the Forge was trying to capture Ashnod, and stumbled across me the same way you did. Now they're trying to 'recruit' me?"
"And, on that subject, why didn't you just deal with me at the same time as you grabbed Ashnod? Not that I don't appreciate it, mind you...."
"I thought you were already working with someone," she says with a shrug. "You weren't alone, remember."
"And I think they're after you ... someone is, anyway. I ... kind of felt I needed to apologize for yesterday, and you are pretty much innocent in all of this, so.... So that's why I'm talking to you.
"Oh, man. Um, my name is Jessica Taylor. I, uh, knew I forgot something. Your name is...?"
"Right. Sorry. My name is Bjorn Christianson." Laughing wryly, he adds, "Sorry, but I was beginning to assume that everyone already knew my name, my shoe size, and all other essentials."
As he says that, though, he's evaluating Jessica -- her body language, how she's acted, how she's looked at him, how she said the things that she's said -- trying to judge whether he trusts her, and how much.
She seems trustworthy to you. Right now she seems more embarassed than anything else, staring at her hands guiltily over not remembering to give her name so far.
"No, I ... we knew where you lived, but all I really knew was where you worked. You told me that in the supermarket." She finally looks up, as the waiter approaches, deciding that you've spent enough time in the resturaunt. She pays him wordlessly, leaving a reasonable check, then rises. "So... I can't guarantee your safety, really, no matter what you do. But now you know enough to decide if you want to just stay where you are, or ... well ... you can always come with us."
"Does the name 'Pax Arcana' mean anything to you?"
She blinks, and considers it for a while, then shakes her head. "The world's a big place, and there's a lot of people in it. I've never heard of them, though."
"Well. Apparently, they're looking for me too. I seem to be popular for all the wrong reasons."
Bjorn rises and looks Jessica in the eyes. "I know that I'm involved in all this by accident, but... if you don't mind, I'd like to go with the Workshop for now. Apparently, I have a lot of questions to answer."
She looks at you and smile slowly. "I'm glad you're with us," she says, offering a hand for a handshake.
"I'm glad somebody's with me," Bjorn replies wryly, returning the handshake.
"So where from here?"
Jessica's pager beeps, and she checks it. "San Fransic ... oh. Oh, no. I'm glad we got your stuff before we left your place. It looks like there's something going on. I'm going to call in some backup to check it out, but first things first, and that's getting you to safety. The skies are getting worse with this weather, so we should probably take a ferry across the lake. With the new storm-front rolling in behind us, any pursuit should get stuck." She looks up from her pager to meet your eyes. "You sure you're ready for this?"
Quote from: "Jessica Taylor""You sure you're ready for this?"
"If the option is being forcibly recruited by a terrorist organization? Yes. I think I am." Bjorn snorts softly to himself in ironic half-amusement.
"Okay, then. Let's go."
Jessica leads you to the car, shivering at the cold, and begins to drive towards the lake, and from there, a ferry. "Any other questions?" she asks while driving.
"In the much-less-important vein, what happened to your partner?"
"He's the one who paged me," she explains. "He's going to stay behind and give intel to the backup coming in."
Bjorn nods. "Would you mind telling me a little bit more about the Workshop? Unless you'd rather wait until things aren't quite so hectic."
It is now about 9:30 AM, EST.
<Brian> Bjorn: Jessica glances at you while driving down the road, and shrugs. "It's got a lot of levels. There's offices, there's labs, there's underground communities for the rehabilitated. What did you want to know about specifically?"
<Bjorn> "The history, in fact. Where did it come from?"
<Brian> "Oh. Well, we were founded in 1948, and were originally part of a government run organization that survived into the sixties testing people for paranormal reactions to things like LSD, sensory deprivation, and the like. Kind of gritty for a past.
<Brian> "Recently, in ... um ... 1992, we were renamed the Workshop, because the Director of Operations liked Drew Barrymore, and the movie Firestarter."
<Bjorn> "... You're joking."
<Brian> "This from a man who just dined at 'Pho Shizzle'?"
<Brian> "But, no, we needed a name better than Paranormal Research Division Section Seventeen. Especially since that establishment was never officially recorded, and was technically disbanded in 1981."
<Bjorn> "I see. And so when did the switch come about?"
<Brian> "That would be ... 1973. That was when the first meta-human was actually observed. His name was Miles Larson, and he was a telepath. He wasn't ... very bright, but he could project his emotions into other people's minds. Couldn't stop doing it, actually. But, he was able to reach another of the patients. This was ... Erica Montague, if memory serves.
<Brian> "She was blind -- clawed her eyes out when she was four years old -- but she kept seeing things. With Miles calming her, we found out that she could actually 'see' through walls, doors, and even back in time a few minutes."
<Bjorn> "Wow." Bjorn pauses thoughtfully a second. "And that led to the goal of metahuman isolation?"
<Brian> "Not quite. Imagine the implications the world was looking at in 1974, when we realized that we had people in our hands that could do things like this. But the director at the time felt that it wasn't right to use people like this as weapons. Someone like Miles could be a potent force against soldiers.
<Brian> "If we depressed him enough, he'd depress everyone around them, and they'd lose their morale. It's ... an awkward question, though, and the director thought it wouldn't be right to manipulate someone in such a manner, so, since their ties with the government were so weak, they covered up their findings until their budget was cut.
<Brian> "Of course, by then we'd managed to use some of their abilities to develop a new polymer, which led, in turn, to us starting up a company as a front. We used that to fund our operations."
<Bjorn> "And nowadays it's a big operation, you said?"
<Brian> "Relatively," Jessica says with a shrug. "We've got over a hundred people working for us in the field, and a good eighty at HQ."
<Bjorn> "Where is HQ? Or is that something I can't know yet?"
<Brian> "San Fransisco," she says. "Where we're headed."
<Bjorn> "Right." Bjorn grunts. "Any idea how long it will take to find out how things are going at my house?"
<Brian> "We should have a report by the time we cross the lake."
Bjorn pauses thoughtfully, and then adds, a bit wistfully, "I hope they don't blow everything up. I liked quite a bit of my art."
<Brian> "Nah, it's counter-productive for any organization that wants to remain secret to blow things up." She pauses. "Well, I guess that doesn't apply to the Forge, but you're not high profile, and they'd want to entice you to them, I think."
<Bjorn> "Makes sense." Bjorn falls silent for a bit, as he tries to absorb all this information.
<Brian> Jessica nods, and you make it to the port without any real comment from her beyond that. When you drive in, she drops your swords to the floor, and throws a blanket over them. "You have your passport, I hope?"
<Bjorn> "Yeah." Bjorn pulls it out of his pocket, where it has become slightly contoured.
<Brian> She nods again, and climbs out of the car to approach the borders guards. The upper section of the Ferry is closed, and has shops and resturaunts in it. More importantly, it's heated.
Bjorn grumbles, and removes his overcoat. Stupid temperature transitions.
<Bjorn> roll 3d6 for perception check
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Bjorn ... : 3d6 --> {9}
<Brian> This entire portion of the ferry is deserted. There's not a soul around as you open the door. Jessica is behind you, fumbling with her purse, but you catch someone pressing themselves to the wall next to the door inside before you enter.
Bjorn hangs back, taps Jessica on the shoulder to get her attention, and then points at where he saw the person.
<Brian> She blinks, then narrows her eyes and nods. She reaches under her skirt and pulls out a pistol -- the design is odd. It looks like it's blockier than a pistol should be, but she also produces a collapsable baton, which she hands to you, then nods her head, mouthing, "On three."
Bjorn shakes out the baton, hefts it a bit to settle the feel into his hands, and nods back.
<Brian> We will enter combat time here. You are a speed 2 and act on phases 6, and 12. It is phase zero (everyone gets an action, unless it is held). You have first action.
<Bjorn> I am going to step wide and fast through the door, wheel around, and come at the guy so his back's to the wall.
<Brian> Will you be using a martial manuever?
<Bjorn> I'm going to prepare for a parry and counterattack, until I can see what's going on.
<Bjorn> So Defensive Strike. >.<
<Brian> You have 2 levels of MA skill, will you apply them to your OCV, your DCV, or one to each?
<Bjorn> Both to DCV, until I know for sure what I'm up against.
<Brian> Your OCV is 4, your DCV is 8.
<Brian> Please roll 3d6 to attack.
<Bjorn> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Bjorn ... : 3d6 --> {14}
<Brian> Your goal is 11, but your OCV lowers this roll by five, so you have 9 (you hit against DCV 3). Your target is at 1/2 DCV (surprised) so you hit.
<Brian> Please roll 5#1d6 for Normal damage.
<Bjorn> roll 5#1d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Bjorn ... : 5#1d6 --> {2}, {6}, {3}, {2}, {4}
<Brian> That is 6 Body and 17 Stun, normal. Your oponent falls to the ground.
<Brian> Jessica moves through the door beside you, and whirls to face someone on your right.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> {10}
<Brian> roll 1d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 1d6 --> {3}
<Brian> roll 1d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 1d6 --> {6}
<Brian> There's a 'thwip' sound, and you hear someone groan before a muffled thump. However, you realize that it was not a pair of men, it was five men. Two more are in front of you, and another is squaring off against Jessica.
<Brian> In combat time, we now proceed to phase 3 (speed 4).
<Brian> One of the men rushes you with a knife. You do not have a held action, but you may abort your next action to dodge.
<Bjorn> Okay. I'm not going to dodge.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=10 ]{10}
<Brian> You sidestep his clumsy attack easily.
<Brian> It's now phase 4, speed 3s act.
<Brian> The other man rushes you with a baseball bat.
<Brian> Are you going to abort to dodge, or stand your ground?
<Bjorn> Stand my ground.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=13 ]{13}
<Brian> His swing is even clumsier than the knife wielder's.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=12 ]{12}
<Brian> roll 7d6 normal damage
<Brian> roll 7#1d6 normal energy damage
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 7#1d6 normal damage --> {6}, {1}, {3}, {5}, {1}, {5}, {3}
<Brian> That's 6 body and 24 stun (energy, normal) to Jessica. She whimpers as the crackle of a tazer sounds, and drops to the floor.
<Brian> It's now phase 6. Speed 2, and 4 act, in dex order.
<Brian> The knife wielder goes first.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=11 ]{11}
<Brian> He misses ... barely.
<Brian> It is now your turn.
Bjorn focuses himself, stops thinking about what's going on, and concentrates everything on... the knife wielder.
<Bjorn> Martial Strike.
<Brian> Please roll 3d6 to attack. You are at 3 OCV (+1 for staves) and +2 DCV.
<Bjorn> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Bjorn ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=12 ]{12}
<Brian> You hit, barely.
<Brian> Please roll 7#1d6 normal damage
<Bjorn> roll 7#1d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Bjorn ... : 7#1d6 --> {6}, {2}, {3}, {1}, {1}, {5}, {1}
<Brian> The knife wielder takes 5 body and 21 stun.
<Brian> He drops.
<Brian> It's now phase 8, speed 3 act.
<Brian> It's the baseball bat wielder's turn.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 -->{10}
<Brian> Luckily, your strike at the knife weilder carried you just past the arc of his swing.
<Brian> The tazer-wielder behind you rushes.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=8 ]{8}
<Brian> roll 7#1d6 normal energy damage
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 7#1d6 normal energy damage --> {4}, {2}, {5}, {5}, {2}, {4}, {1}
<Brian> You will take 6 body, 23 stun. Apply your ED.
<Brian> (Which is 3)
<Brian> So you take 3 body, after defenses, and 20 stun.
<Brian> Er. 3 body.
<Bjorn> Okay.
<Brian> 20 stun is greater than your CON, so you are dazed.
<Brian> Phase 12, everyone but speed 1 gets to act.
<Brian> Dex order....
<Brian> You feel the cold metal of the tazer pressed against the back of your neck as you start to recover your senses ... then everything goes dark.