“Let Us Prey”
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- Deception
Captain Adam Black - Commander (Kurt)
Lt. Commander [Brevet] Edward Frost – Weapons Specialist (Steve)
Dr. Anna Maris - Doctor (Jess)
Quentin Tunney – Specimen X (Gavin)
Zyraia Collins - Technician (Lisa)
*Add Your Character ordered by Rank
- Trojan 4
Lucius Abercrombie - Sleeper (Sascha)
Mark Fletcher – Sleeper (Chris)
*Add Your Character
Location: Napoleon's Tomb, Les Invalides
Date: Day 1, 2015 Hrs.
Hallowed ground.
Very few human religions survived the idealogical purges of the late 20th century. But even humans who possessed no religious beliefs understood the concept of hallowed ground. The concept that a physical location could be imbued with so much symbolism and significance as to take on an intrinsic importance.
The resonance of Napoleon's Tomb was truly impossible to deny. The Corsican's strength of vision and purity of purpose liberated Europe and spread justice to its darkest corners. He took a myriad of squabbling states and unified them into a power few could rival. His empire covered almost all of mainland Europe and extended into the mouths of Asia and the lower Mediterranean, bringing with it peace and economic prosperity.
And in the end all they could do was tear it all down and call him a tyrant.
What a shame. The blindness of the common man to the vision of greater men has held humanity back on countless occasions. Mankind, for all of its power is still haunted by spirits of weakness and hubris euphemistically referred to as 'Human Nature' on this side of the glass. But true human nature is the will to look upon the world not merely as it is, but as it could be; and then, to turn that formidable will into action by reshaping it.
The man whose body sanctified this ground understood that.
Adam Black had stepped inside the rotunda to contemplate all this. He'd crossed the ornate floor, stood under the emperor's blood-red sarcophagus and pressed his hand to its emerald base seeking a connection to that greatness. He told himself that closing his eyes and turning his back on the others was a measure of trust, but knew somewhere deep inside that the real reason was that he was simply overcome with the experience.
He wasn't quite sure how long he'd stood like that, but he felt a stirring behind him that caused him to pull his hand away from the granite leaving a warm handprint in the cold stone. Eyes half-open and cast to corners, his head cocked slightly, Adam turned to the faint sound of approaching feet. The light dust of benign neglect crunched under his soles as he did. He could feel the others coiling around him one by one. Some of them wouldn't respond well at all to being approached from the dark.
The Rotunda wasn't large and a few steps were enough to bring him to its low wall, which he stepped over to face the figures coming out of the gloom.
Anna had watched and waited in silence for hours. She had retreated to a dark and quiet corner as she watched members of their group enter one by one over the hours. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Captain Black's movements. Interestingly the expression on his face when he touched the sarcophagus didn't look forced or fake. Not that that meant anything, but it was still interesting to her.
She drew in a deep breath and moved out of the shadows to join the Captain at the wall. She nodded in greeting when she reached him. "Good evening," she pitched her voice low and quiet to keep from disturbing the stillness around them.
The woman's voice echoed through the chamber - younger than the rest, the team's medical officer - her voice low, indistinct, but cutting through the silence. Ed took note of it as he sat down, unfolding a newspaper. The French people's staunch cultural conservatism meant there were still several of the old 'rags', printed in the old style using recycled stock exclusively. Archaic, but distinctly...human. The rest of the crew was around, of that he was certain, but he continued to scan the paper intently.
The voice startled Zyraia, and she pressed gently into the corner nearest her, with her back against the stone. She watched closely, and slid the padd she held in her hands back into her pocket. She recognized the woman as their doctor, and the man, as their Captain. They were here then...the others. She slipped her hands into her pockets and rested quietly against the wall. How many were here, she wondered idly, and waited with interest.
Quentin stared at the captain and the others from the shadow of his arch in the tomb. Like many of the others he had arrived in silence and joined the silence. To share, even a meaningless conversation, carried with it the risk of liking someone and if you liked someone it made the pain of losing them so much worse. Quentin was not sure if it had been the Klingons who had taught them that, or something they had learned themselves as the they slowly grew into something hateful and evil enough to scare the Klingons away. The Klingons had their honour, what did the Terran Empire have?
His hand felt his top pocket and he undid the button taking out the pills slowly and deliberately before swallowing them dry – it was another reminder of why he was here. The others, Quentin felt his lips sneer at the thought, they were here at their Emperor’s command, loyal misguided soldiers. Not Quentin though. Oh no, not him. He was just their weapon.
He felt the pressure building in his head. He always got it around the Captain. It was hard to concentrate when you couldn't stop thinking that any moment your head could explode – either it in the fires of the agonizers, or the immolation of the explosives lodged in his brain. The ugly red casket seemed to overwhelm the room making him dizzy and for a second a line of a poem came into Quentin's mind. Before he could stop himself he began to recite it, his voice came out softly echoing with a grandeur to match the room.
“‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, The lone and level sands stretch far away’”
Drago had watched as the meagre tourists filtered out of the grand chamber. Something had spooked them, they wouldn’t be sure what it was, but Drago knew. The sense of purpose was palpable, it made the unfocused, the decadent, the weak, flee from it. He had spent the hours since studying the members of the crew. Captain Black had stood with his hand against the tomb of the tyrant. He briefly wondered if he would have the same reverence for the true Emperor. It was part of his job, his reason for being here. His reason for being. This side could turn the most ardent supporter of the cause against them, he was the watchmen, the guardian. The lure of the alien was strong here and so he would be stronger.
The poem recited by the creature broke his train of thought. It was eloquent but no more so than if taught to a child that didn’t understand the words.
“Very good.” His smile was somewhere between mocking and proud, “but the man in there said ‘Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily.’ Perhaps we should all take that idea to heart.”
When Lucius was sure that the forming group where indeed the people from "the other side", he finally detached himself from the shadows he had been hiding in. He wore his expensive greatcoat folded over one arm, his gloves where folded into the hat he carried in the same hand. Although he was extremely anxious about what was going to happen now, his posture was relaxed and he issued an aura of self-confidence as ge stepped closer to the speakers.
"The man in there," he picked up their conversation, "was very powerful. And isn't it said," he looked up at the tomb, adressing no one in particular as he introduced the code phrase "power corrupts?"
"Only the weak," Adam Black replied, with the extended response. "We've been waiting."
Anna had been watching the exchange between her crewmates with mild interest when the new man entered the mix. Her left hand instinctively slipped into her coat pocket and wrapped around the slim knife she'd sewn into a hidden pouch. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him, waiting for any sudden or threatening moves.
This new man caught Zyraia's attention, and she tilted her head just slightly as she observed him. She noted the precision of his clothing, and its obvious high quality. His question, however, she found rather lame...but also intimidating. Was this a test?
Watching the proceedings with detached amusement, Ed flipped the newspaper to the puzzle page. An array of logic and written puzzles, crosswords, were presented. Folding the paper over gently, he produced a small pen and clicked it open. The air was crisp and cool, but was it a match for the group? Time would tell.
Zyraia was the youngest of the group, by a fair margin as far as she knew, and she tried not to realize that she felt somewhat inadequate and intimidated standing in the room with all of these people. The new person who entered, with the neat clothing and the question about power, forced that realization upon her. Still, the feeling remained only briefly. She continued to observe quietly from the corner where she stood, her back pressed against the wall. She had her hands in her coat pockets still, one of them on the small blade hidden in the fabric of the pocket. Her left leg was bent enough that she could rest her left foot flat on the wall. She was not necessarily in the shadows, but not in the direct light either. She tried to stay out of direct line of sight, and she knew from experience that if she remained still, it would help not draw attention to herself.
Mark strolled into the rotunda, giving the imposing tomb a brief glance and a small quirk of the lips, before turning his attention to the less-than-inconspicuous gathering around it. A swift nod went to Lucius. “Well, quite.” He paused for a moment, scanning the disparate collection of individuals, attempting to match them all with their files.
It looked like Command had sent the usual collection of only-mildly-damaged reprobates. How nice.
He smiled gently, and attempted to project an aura of geniality. They weren’t exactly blending in here, and time was rather pressing. Eventually, some tourist was going to wander back in, and someone else was going to say something they shouldn’t, and then there would be problems. Nothing they couldn’t handle, in the normal course of things, but, as usual, the new team looked rather more likely to do murder first and worry about the consequences later. That was, of course, unacceptable.
“Do you think we could move this along please?”
He slid his gaze back over the group, passing over the aspiring poet and his respondent, before settling on the one visible individual with his back to the rest. Now there was a man who either had an unfortunate level of trust, or extremely fast reactions. That sort of bravado was really only common to those in command.
“Charming as you all no doubt are, I’ve had a busy day, and had to cancel a dinner engagement.”
The click of his heels against the floor of the rotunda was a steady drumbeat as he moved forward, into this latest team of operatives, this latest group of refugees. That steady click…click…was in direct contrast to the rhythms of his heart. Of course they didn’t realise the seriousness of the situation. How could they? It seemed only fair to give them a chance.
He stuck his hands into his pockets as he came closer, moved with a deliberate saunter.
“I don’t have anything against monuments, mind you, but they have no…panache. They’re rather…stolid things. Freezing moments in time that were, perhaps, better remembered in fluidity. Freezing people in their moments of greatest triumph, and greatest defeat…rather diminishes the rich pageant of life. Of course, some people rather enjoy the certainty of frozen moments, hardened convictions.”
Mark paused, let his gaze roam the side of the imposing tomb. He was careful not to look around again, and kept his tone carefully pleasant.
“One has to wonder what might be said about those who live their lives in those moments. Unable to see the value of…” he paused, gave a wry chuckle. “Fluidity.”
He turned his head to one side, toward the man who would be making the next few days extremely difficult, one way or another. His quizzical expression, and the shade of the monument, largely hid the cold iron in his eyes.
“Of course, I would value another opinion. What do you say…sir?”
For his part, Adam Black was generally slow to respond to invitations for his opinion. It wasn't that he couldn't make up his mind or that he was reluctant to share it. He merely preferred to measure his response in favor of adaptation. Observation was his default response. Besides, their pompous guest's question was beside the point.
"I say that we'd better 'move this along', as you so elegantly put it. I'd be happy to debate philosophy with you later Lamplighter, but we have far more pressing matters."
He turned and gestured to his team and their perches swathed in varying degrees of shadow, "Deception's Insertion Team One, for your edification."
"'Sandman' - Intel Analyst. All information will now go through him. 'Spartan' - Weapons Specialist. He's going to need access to one of your caches. We need mission... 'fluidity'... and live capture may fail to be an option. 'Minerva' is our doctor. If you have any information about the target's medical history, pass it along to her. 'Celeste' - Technician. We're going to need a base of operations for her to set up. I'm assuming you'll be able to provide computers and comms gear? Good. And last, but certainly not least, 'Cyclops'. He's here to ensure success."
Catching himself, Adam added, "I almost forgot about 'Mule'. Are you familiar with the Specimen-X program?"
< Space for responses from sleepers. >
"Now, if you'll bring us up to speed," Adam said, settling into a comfortable stance with his hands cupped behind his back. Waiting.
< And back to the group :) >