Department of Supernatural Affairs

[Khallos]

The year is 2018, and the world is a very different place.

It all started back in 2010, in rural America. Tennessee, to be exact, right on the western border. Attempts to expand the nearby town into the forests had met with resistance from environmental groups, protesting that it was the last remaining habitat for some local variaton of deer, as well as protest from a small village that was due to be engulfed by the expansion of the town. Often described by the locals as Amish when they were feeling generous, or "a bunch of backwards tree hugging nutjobs" when they weren't. Still, the nutjobs had their revenge one night - after the construction workers finally got planning permission for the expansion, the village's inhabitants went to town on the construction site, wrecking the machinery and starting to follow the road back to the town itself. Eldrich forces were unleashed on the inhabitants, destroying some where they stood and horrifically mutating others with the power of the magic. Eventually, the army had to be called in to stop them, but not before the entire town was destroyed along with its populace, the magic casters being gunned down to a man.

Examination of the bodies showed something.. not quite human. Without their glamour, the Fae Folk, as they came to be called, had impish features and cruel, long fingers, typically being half a foot taller than the average human. Iron seemed to cause blisters if pressed against them for too long, and, was later found, their presence in large numbers could cause electrical equipment to malfunction.

Obviously alarmed by the incident, a special Fey Taskforce was immediately formed to locate and root out any other enclaves of fey before they could kill again - after several witchunts and another violent encounter with the Fey they chose to act themselves, their leader - Queen Tigris - declaring that she and her people would become public and do as the government demanded in return for amnesty. Across the globe the kings and queens of the Fey in each region made similar offers, which only served to worsen the widespread hysteria about what was once thought to be an isolated incident.

In America, the Fey were forced into reservations with military guards, and were interrogated to make them reveal the locations of any rebel enclaves that might still be in hiding. What the Taskforce heard, however, was not what they were expecting.

The Fey confirmed the existance of werewolves, vampires and other supernatural "Myths", along with the possibility of human sorcerers. The Fey Taskforce was expanded to encompass these new species, too, and was transferred into the DoD under the new name of the Department of Supernatural Affairs. A massive initiative was launched to find and root out the existence of any other supernatural species. Changelings and Necromancers (and by extension Zombies) were forcibly discovered, as well as several other species. Daemons - rare, divine beings with godlike powers - were also discovered, though these are still top secret and reported as “Dangerous Fey” to the public when they cause trouble.

Nowadays, all supernatural beings are monitored by the state and have to carry visible identification as such as all time. Across the world they go from being feared to being worshipped as higher beings, though in the United States they are mostly tolerated, albeit as second class citizens. They have sub-human rights and often get low rates of pay, having to work during the graveyard shift or doing unwanted jobs such as garbage collection or all night gas station attendance. Sorcerers, however, are mostly human and therefore are therefore awarded the same citizen rights as a normal person, and often find employment with the DoSA tracking down other Supernaturals. Also, in some less “accepting” states, highly illegal “Human First” movements go around terrorising and even killing supernatural beings

NOTES AND RULES
•Standard stuff, two character slots and no trenchcoating, though you can ask for another slot later. Maybe.
•The setting is the near future – 2018 – and by now most supernatural creatures have either revealed their presence to the wider world or been forcibly identified by the DoSA. But if you want your species to be less well known, make them rare or declared Top Secret by the DoSA
•Players can either be civilian supernaturals, criminal supernaturals, working for the DoSA or, for a change, regular humans! Remember that the DoSA MOSTLY hires Humans or Sorcerers, occasionally using Supernaturals as redshirts or specialists. Feel free to be from another nation’s Supernatural Control Agency being transferred to help out the DoSA but, please, no international spies, supernatural or otherwise.
•A note on Vampires and Werewolves: These aren't the big, noble, socially powerful beings seen in most movies. These species are infected humans, Lycanthropy and Vampirism working like a parasite. While it grants them enhanced strength, senses, immunity to deseaise and the ability to transform it also clouds their judgement, and gives them a near insatiable hunger for blood, or, in the wolf's case, flesh. Most werewolves and vampires are little better than murderous junkies, seeking weak victims to slate their hunger and living half lives running from state to state. Also, Werewolves and Vampires are not immortal – they age slower but CAN die of old age. Also, silver/sunlight don’t kill them - instead, they have an allergic reaction, which can cause blistering, temporarily retard their regeneration and make them feel weaker.
•The fey are basically a mix of Elves and Faries. They have nature based powers, and while one of them alone might be able to knock someone around in a bar fight, they don't have the same awesome powers as a sorcerer. When you get a whole lot of them working together, however...

OOC: Jeeze, I'm such a nerd xD There you go, guys, go ahead and sign up. Sorry for the giant chunk of text. If I've managed to leave something out of this mighty tome, or if ya have any questions, just go ahead and PM me. I'm sure there's SOMETHING I forgot =p

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Characters:
Khallos: Captain Evissam
Ty: Jacob Parish / Paraste
Oct: Franklin Moris
Scorp: Lucas Garou
Grig: Quinn Wilkins
Roman: Arthur Morrell AKA "Mask"
Hira: Arakune Shippujinlai AKA Aruku
Jax: Baitsu Shippujinla

[Ty]

OOC: I hope this is okay. If not, I'll change it.

Jacob Parish
Race: Human (Infected - Vampirism)
Age: 24
Height: 5'8''
Build: Medium
Hair: Blonde

Evidence has arisen of a new strain of virus, a hybrid of the vampire and zombie strains. As far as scientists can tell, the virus must have evolved from the existing strain somewhere in the inner-city in Washington state.

Jacob is of special interest to the DoSA because he appears to be immune to the new strain. He's been infected with it for months without succumbing, and shows no physical symptoms.

For now, Jacob has entered the DoSA as an agent. They want to keep news of the hybrid strain quiet if possible. Aside from avoiding suspicion about Jacob, they need him in the field because he can help them find the guy who infected him.

Jacob's pretty good with a gun, and obviously has a bit of first-hand experience with vampires, but otherwise is pretty new to most things supernatural. Despite this fact, he's a fast learner, and eager to track down the monster that tried to kill him.

---

"Paraste"
Race: Vampire Hybrid
Age: 32 (looks mid-twenties)
Height: 6'3''
Build: Emaciated
Hair: Brown/Black

Patient Zero of the new hybrid strain. Paraste is a name he chose for himself after turning, a mispronunciation of the word parasite. The 'i' may be subconsciously removed because of Paraste's evident loss of his former identity.

Once a lowly criminal turned vampire blood-slave, this former-man fell victim to a zombie attack in a back alley. Despite escaping with his life, the combined infections in his blood caused him to drop dead later that night. A day later, he arose again, not as a vampire or a zombie, but as an amalgamation thereof.

Physically, he looks much like a normal vampire, but his flesh is more acrid, close to rotting. It's unaffected by silver, and very resilient to sunlight. What's more, he seems to be able to communicate with zombies, at least enough to direct their movements. He uses them as tools to hunt, using the mob to incite panic in his prey so he can pick them off easily. He drinks the blood; the zombies get the flesh.

Having abandoned his vampire masters, he's made himself their enemy. So far, though, the vampire gang has been unable to break a relative stand-off. Although the vampires are smarter and faster, the zombies are more numerous, and their leader's instruction makes them more dangerous.

Despite the apparent cease-fire between the gangs, tensions still run high as both prowl the same area of the city. It won't take much to ignite an all-out war.

[Oct-taku]

Nice. First Character up.

Name: Franklin Moris

Age: 26

Nationality: American/ Grecian (Dual Citizenship)

Height: About 6 feet, give or take.

Weight: Approx. 142 lbs.

Appearance: The first thing that many people notice about Franklin when they first meet him is that his hands and forearms, if visible are heavily-scarred. There is, in fact, a reason to this, described below. His blonde hair is well-combed, and he displays a light 5-O'clock shadow, usually from spending too much time reading occult texts, and neglecting to shave often. His pale blue eyes, housed behind round glasses, display uncanny intellect. Franklin often dresses practically, usually sporting an all-weather longcoat, or, barring that, long sleeves.

Species: Human, Sanguimancer.

Bio: In Greece, there was a secret order of mage, one that existed for as long as anyone in the order knows. For centuries, or perhaps even longer, this order has used ancient rites and spells to perserve a delicate balance which only they seem to know about. It was into this order that Franklin Moris was born, along with his father, and his father's father, and so on. From an early age, Franklin learned at the feet of the order's masters, learning how to draw upon the inherent power that existed in every single drop of blood. After the "exposure" happened, the order revealed itself, and sent Franklin to work with/for the DoSA, where he's been dealing with supernatural threats for the past 5 or so years.

Unfortunatly, during his training, it was revealed that Franklin was the bearer of a supernatural genetic condition that is both the boon and the bane of the order: the Black Blood. Usually surfacing whenever the bearer is severly injured, the Black Blood grants increased strength, speed, and endurance to the person whose veins it courses through, as well as increased Sanguimantical prowess. The downside is that while used, it makes the bearer completely insane, eventually driving them mad permanently.

Personality: Franklin is, usually, rather serious. He's also something of a cynic, but because that, due to his near-obsession with learning as much as he can about the occult, he often has a better idea of what he's likely to deal with. Franklin is also somewhat more motivated than many DoSA agents, seeing his work as not only an obligation to American, but also to the rest of mankind as well.
Weapon(s): Franklin usually carries two weapons, though this may change as the situation demands.

Invoker's Cane- This cane consists of brass, mahogany wood, and a sharpened human femur that serves as the tip. In addition to being strudy (and sharp) enough to serve as a weapon, it also allows Franklin to focus more effectivly on more powerful Sanguimantic rituals.

Ritual Blade- Not only a weapon, but a tool, this knife consists of a brass blade, a human bone handle wrapped in leather, and a small ruby in the pommel. In addition to being able to slice open a criminal's jugular with amazing ease, this dagger is also needed, or at least useful, in many Sanguimantic spells and rituals. Why? Because this blade extracts the cost for such power-drop by drop.

Abilities:
Sanguimancy- Franklin is a highly-trained Sanguimancer, or blood-mage. By calling on the inherent power in blood, he can accomplish a variety of effects.
Close-Quarters- Because the order eschews firearms, and those same firesarms aren't as effective against the supernatural as they are against humans, Franklin is an accomplished close-quarters combatant.
Black Blood- While active, the Black Blood increases Franklin's strength, speed, and Sanguimantical ability. In addition, the blood can harden under his skin, making it nigh-unbreakable.

Weaknesses:/b]
Only Human- Despite the fact that he's a powerful Sanguimancer, Franklin is only human. A knife to the ribs or a bullet to the brain will kill him.
No Gun-Kata For You- Focusing mostly on close-quarters means that Franklin barely knows the back end of a gun from the business end.
Insanity- While the Black Blood is mingling with his normal-colored blood, Franklin is completely frigging nuts, in a dangerously funny kind of way. As in "biting your head to get your brain while you run around screaming because he's latched onto your scalp" kind of dangerously funny. Use the Black Blood too much, and this happens all the time. It's because of this that Franklin doesn't "Ride the Wave" often.

[Scorpio]

Name: Lucas Garou
Race: Human (infected - Wendigo)
Age: 32
Height: 6'4"
Hair: Grey

A DoSA agent having recently returned from hunting a terrorist werewolf group in the Yukon. Lucas has somehow been infected by a spiritual incarnation of the desperate measures that people take when lost in the wilderness, the Wendigo.

Lucas isn't telling what happened to the rest of his team, but given the mythological links between wendigo and cannibalism it hasn't reflected well on his career and he has lost a lot of respect in the agency, finding it hard to get partners too.

Besides basic training and use of the Glock 18. Lucas has also gained animal senses, predatory speed, strength and agility plus the ability to see in extra vision modes, thermal and seeing others by their spiritual aura, which usually takes the form of an animal. His shadow also shows up as a large bear/ jungle cat type image, though this is merely a visual sign of his condition.

He has taken to his pariah status quite well, regularly responding to taunts and insults by giving others readings or claiming to have picked up embarrasing habits of people using his senses.

[Griggs]

Name: Quinn Wilkins
Race: Human
Age: 32
Height: 6'0"
Hair: Black
Occupation: DoSA Operative

Appearance: Quinn is of medium height, with short black hair and a trim beard. When casual or undercover, he wears a simple t-shirt with his old brown leather coat, and blue jeans, and blends in nicely in most places. On duty, he dons his kevlar cover and DoSA vest, as well as a cross-draw holster in addition to his shoulder rig.

Bio: Quinn works for the Department of Supernatural Affairs as a field operative. This means he travels a lot, working both on check-ups, undercover operations, and raids. Originally a street cop in Ann Arbor, Michigan, Quinn first encountered the supernatural in 2012 when he came across a vampire ambushing a couple in an alley near the university. Identifying the thing and acting quickly, he drew his pistol and gunned it down, earning a commendation from his superiors and the attention of the DoSA. He was transferred, and has worked there for several years.

Though it's his job to hunt and control supernatural beings, Quinn holds no contempt for them. He feels to them similarly as he would to a junkie: it's not their fault, and they're probably a victim of circumstance. Of course, there are cases where this isn't the case, and he spares any real criminals no sympathy.

Quinn has shown to be a competent agent for the DoSA. He is trained in basic forms of hand-to-hand combat and firearms, and knows how to identify and bring down most types of supernaturals, lethally or otherwise. He always carries a Kel-Tec .380 Compact on his shoulder, and a Kimber made Colt .45 on his hip. His preferred long gun is a Ruger Mini-14, which he has a mount for on his truck.

[Captain Obvious]

Name: Arthur Morrell AKA "Mask"
Race: Human Sorcerer
Age: 47
Height: 6'1"
Hair: Black
Occupation: Reagent Dealer
Equipment: Hidden pockets in his clothing containing the usual supplies black magicians need. His car, reinforced with kevlar and with an illegal undercover cop light and siren system, for breaking through traffic. A H&K USP in 45. AE in a shoulder holster. A Remington 870 with slugs in the trunk. Mediocre mastery of offensive magic. Novice in healing.

Appearance: A nondescript man. Polite, but not memorable. His hair is cropped short, and he sports a faint 5'o'clock shadow.

Arthur grew up in a family heavily involved in the occult. His mother died after attempting to create a zombie. The ceremony worked. The zombie killed her with a bite to the throat as she screamed ineffective fire spells at it. Arthur ran the mile in record time to get his father, working at a used book store. By the time he got back from the short trip, the ghoul's stomach was bloated with the flesh of the woman who had held him inside her for nine months.

Officially she had died after she was attacked by a pack of wild wolves. This didn't sate the small town Irving grew up in. They found out about how Irving's father had threatened the staff of the hospital to make the report look like something else. They formed a mob, and they burned down the house where the terrible murder had happened.

Arthur was raised on the run with his father, growing up as a sponge. He absorbed any information given and was hard pressed if he was to let anyone know what he held inside him. It isn't a surprise he has forgotten how to smile. To make nearly any expression, really. That didn't stop him and his father from becoming infamous dealers of anything occult. If you needed blood from a virgin goat, they had it. Magically imbued chalk? Check. They made quite the living traveling across the country.

His father was killed in a shootout with DoSA operatives after they tracked the father-son dealing duo. Arthur was only 19 years old. Ten years after he lost his mother he lost his father, both to tragic magic-related deaths. That doesn't stop Arthur. He has spent most of his life running from DoSA. He isn't well spoken, he doesn't spout out one liners like some action hero. He simply kills anyone sent after him. Quickly. Efficently. He usually leaves the bodies outside police stations and DoSA safe houses, as a warning. But still they chase him.

[Khallos]

OOC: Jeeze. I'm running a bit behind schedule, sorry xD Stuff kinda caught up with me, and I've been pretty tired these last few days. Let's get something up, shall we?

IC: "Good morning Washington, this is your breakfast news with lead anchor John Gibbs. Our top stories today, Rap artist K-dawg enters court today facing the recent drug abuse charges leveled against him. The DoSA has increased the threat level for the Washington area to Yellow and released a new set of public alerts - foremost among them is the suspected presence of known terrorist and metahuman Arthur Morrell, we have been warned that he is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous. And the Metahuman Festivals are still scheduled to continue next week despite threats from extremist groups. More on those stories and associated road closures for the festival after the weather report from Sandra Parkinson. Sandra?

Thanks John. Today's UV level is a 3.2, unseasonably low but perfect weather for the festival if they keep up, with a low pressure system coming in from the west that looks set to cause stormy weather later. In the greater Washington state area..."

******************************************************

The DOSA Complex itself is located in a particularly pleasant, suburban area of Washington, real soccermom territory. It was built on green field sites that most real estate developers would give their left leg to get a hold of. The campus was pretty huge, pleasant landscaping and curvy, modernist buildings being mixed in with the guard posts and military training centers. It had it's own police station, hospital, fire station and even sports facilities, all neatly packaged up behind maximum security fences, down by the waterfront so that the facility would have naval access. It was mainly to make the place seem less threatening, with the theory being that if it gave a pleasant appearance people would be more inclined to trust 'em.

Not that it mattered. Most of the facility - the actual working parts, the parts the public never got to see - were below ground, stretching out much farther underground than the facility did above it. It was HUGE. Big enough to house a whole army, in fact. And, speaking of which, in Habitation several sets of pagers went off at a definitely antisocial hour, all reading the same thing:

Franklin Moris
Lucas Garou
Quinn Wilkins
Jacob Parish
Sinep Evissam
Magnus

Report to Briefing Room 5. Priority one.

[Oct-taku]

Franklin Moris' quarters were usually candle-lit and had the smell of dried blood, and tonight was no exception. His mahogany desk was bare, save for a leather-bound book and a lit candle.

Frank was still fully-dressed. He hadn't gone to sleep the previous night, and had been studying the tome this entire time. And now, as he was finsihing up, he rolled up his sleeve.

The brass-bladed knife slid easily out of its sheath. Gripping it firmly in his right hand, Franklin pressed the edge against the palm of his left hand.

"Daenestris autora Sangiunus Fer-" he began to chant, before a loud beeping came from his belt, followed by an explosion of pain. Looking at his left hand, Franklin saw what he had expected.

The blade had sunken into his flesh.
------------------------------

Three minutes later, Franklin emerged from his room, his left hand dripping small, dime-sized splats of blood from the quick bandaging job he'd done.

If this wasn't important, there would be hell to pay.

[Ty]

At the crack of dawn, a small but heavily-armed DoSA assault unit was lying in wait outside a condemned apartment building. Jacob Parish was with them, dressed in matching black combat gear, though he was there more as an advisor. With his limited experience, no one expected him to be of any use if things got dangerous.

"Just keep your head down and out of the line of fire." That's what the team's leader told him. Jacob didn't mind, though. In truth, he was kind of relieved they weren't expecting him to help with the clean-up. Earlier reports indicated at least two dozen zombies inside, maybe more. And if Jacob was right, this was where they'd find this Patient Zero, the hybrid vampire.

The team leader signaled the others to follow. He quickly but quietly raced up the front steps. With the rest of his team right behind him, he kicked down the rotted-out wooden door and charged inside, followed by his team of five other elite operatives, and Jacob.

"Clear left," one operative shouted. Flashlight beams moved systematically across the room as the operatives scanned the area. "Clear right," another said. Jacob nervously looked around the lobby. It was light outside, but the windows were so caked with dirt and dust that the inside of the building was still very dark.

Suddenly, there was a loud creaking above them. Several lights pointed up just as a cloud of dust shook loose from the ancient ceiling. There was another creak, and another. The creaking grew into groaning, and there was a loud crack as the wooden beams started to give way. The team instinctively spread out to the edges of the room as the ceiling slowly gave way and collapsed. A tangled mess of bodies dropped through the ceiling from the floor above and landed in a heap in the center of the lobby. After a moment, several of them started writhing and crawling to their feet. Upon seeing the team, one of them let out a ghastly moan.

"AAAH! Shit!" The cry wasn't in response to the zombies that had fallen through the ceiling. Rather, the operative was reacting to the zombie that had suddenly grabbed him from behind and started biting at his neck (though it was unable to penetrate the riot armor). The others were having similar encounters. The zombies had been lying in wait for them. From behind the old check-in desk and the staircase, out of the broken elevator, and hiding beneath various debris, the creatures descended on the team in an unheard of sneak attack. Were it not for their armor and advanced close-quarters training, the team would've been devoured in seconds.

"The door!" The team leader's command was barely audible over the surprised shouts and groaning undead. "Everyone, get back to the door!"

Jacob, who'd been close to the front door to begin with, immediately turned and dashed back outside. The rest of the team fought their way to the front again, and the team regrouped on the front steps. After a quick headcount, the leader signaled two of them to follow him back inside. Keeping their backs to the door, they began firing on the horde. After a few seconds, the leader signaled the other two to spread out along the wall, then called the others in. Standing in linear formation, the team systematically wiped out the horde, one headshot at a time. Once the bulk of the horde was destroyed, the team advanced and took out the stragglers. In less than thirty seconds, the lobby was quiet once again.

"Shit..." The leader said. He walked over to the windows and carefully smashed them out with the butt end of his gun, shedding light on the room.

"What the hell was that?" another operative asked, kicking a limp body that lay at his feet. "They just popped out of nowhere. It's like they were waiting for us the whole time.

"God damn. Are these things getting smarter?"

"It's the hybrid," Jacob said. "He's organized them somehow."

"Can the chatter, boys," the leader said, and pointed to the two nearest operatives. He signaled to them, You two, follow me upstairs. The rest of you, sweep.

The leader's group started up the stairs. Jacob and the others gave the first floor a final sweep to make sure they hadn't missed anything, then headed outside and around the sides of the building. None of them encountered anything of interest. They regrouped a few minutes later in the lobby.

"Nothing upstairs," the leader said. "Seems like he gave us the slip."

"No wonder," another operative interrupted. "God knows he had plenty of time to get away while his buddies kept us busy here."

"He might have never been here at all," Jacob said. "Look, he knows we've been tracking him. This might have just been a trap to throw us off the trail."

The leader sighed. "I hate a smart vampire. Alright, this mission's a bust. Everyone, back to the SUV."

The team walked down the street to their parked vehicle, still keeping alert in case of another surprise attack. There was no attack, but they did find a surprise.

"What the... Aw, son of a bitch!"

The team's SUV was sitting at an odd angle. Both of the passenger-side tires had been slashed wide open. The leader took off his helmet and shook his head.

"Somebody call a cab," he said, then turned to Jacob. "I'm really starting to hate this guy of yours."

"You and me both," Jacob replied.

"Look, Parish, if you've got some idea of how to catch this freak that you're not telling me..."

"Right now, you know as much as I do. This guy's crafty, even by vampire standards."

"At least now we know he was definitely here," the leader said, indicating the slashed tires. "How far can he travel in sunlight?"

"Not too far. Five or six blocks, maybe more depending on how much shade he can find along the way. But once the sun gets stronger around noon, he'll be stuck inside like a normal vampire."

Jacob was a bit surprised by his own words. Normal vampire? Have we actually gotten to the point around here where vampires can be considered normal?

"Alright, I'll contact HQ. We're going to need more bodies for this job. Hopefully we can get some kind of a perimeter set up and narrow down where he's hiding now."

"We'd better work quickly," Jacob replied. "This hybrid isn't as territorial as most vampires. He'll change hunting grounds on a whim. If we can't find him before nightfall, we might lose him altogether."

[Griggs]

Quinn rubbed his eyes as his beeper beeped and buzzed on the nightstand next to him. It was totally dark in his room, with only the clock and beeper next to it showing any signs of light. It read about three minutes before seven A.M., when his alarm would go off anyways. He turned the clock radio and bedside lamp on.

"Good morning Washington..."

Quinn picked up the pager and looked at the message. Priority one; damn. No time for breakfast. He went to the dorm-like mini-fridge and grabbed a Coke, cracking it open as he pulled on his pants and jacket, tucking his shoulder holster into it's usual spot next to his left armpit. He took a swig of the Coke before turning the radio off and ducking out the door.

Being an agent who lived on-campus, Quinn's apartment was located in an above-ground apartment complex developed for agents just like Quinn. This meant a practice range, safe deposit boxes for sensitive equipment and items, a gym, and a useful elevator system which ran down to the underground complex beneath it all. Briefing Room 5 wasn't all that far from the checkpoint where the elevator exited at. It would be about a 5 minute walk.

5 minutes, 24 seconds later...

Quinn crumpled his empty Coke can and threw it in the bin near the briefing room. The sign on the door said No Food or Drinks; higher-ups didn't like people snacking at the table, even at 7 in the morning. He threw it in the bin located conveniently nearby, straightened himself out, and stepped inside, looking around.

[Scorpio]

Lucas growled at his pager from under his bedcovers whilst pressing his head further under the pillows.

"beep beep yourself ya bast."

Slumping out of the bed he threw on his heavily wrinkled uniform and splashed some water in his eyes to reduce the rings forming under them. Strapping on his gun belt he made his way out of the barracks across the compound. The human members of the department didn't greet him as per usual.

Eventually he found his way to the briefing room and dropped like a sack into one of the chairs. Taking a look around as his senses picked up a gobbling noise.

"Gahd....whoever has the turkey animal spirit shut him up, I just woke up here."

[Ty]

Amidst all the action, Jacob hadn't noticed his pager had been vibrating for the past several minutes. He got out his cell phone and sent a voicemail back to the DoSA headquarters in DC.

"This is Jacob Parish. Sorry, we've run into some trouble out here. The details will all be in the report. It'll still be a good ten or fifteen minutes before we can get back to the airstrip, but the jet's there waiting for us, so just tell me where I need to be. You have my number."

The team leader just finished a phone call of his own.

"Alright, guys, we've got a taxi and a tow truck on the way. Take anything you need out of the SUV and get ready to move out."

[Khallos]

The briefing room itself was pretty much the same as most of the other ones at DoSA - a big, round room with a big, round table in the middle, surrounded by chairs - one of which was a large backed leather one, currently facing away from the door. Lining the room were large screens, all of them currently displaying the DoSA logo: A pyramid, with the All Seeing Eye in the center, an Ankh, Celtic knot and seal of United States placed at one of each of the three corners. Surrounding it was a big collection of mythical symbols from all around the world, intended to send out the sort of "All we're saying/is give peace a chaaance" vibe that the DoSA was in reality nothing about. Practically, though, the screens were supposed to serve as video links to any operatives that couldn't make it. Each of the seats at the table had a little LED scroll bar in front of it, with each invited agents name slowly moving across it - the one with Jacob's name on it suddenly going blank as Lucas and Quinn entered.

"Roger that." said a voice in the room. Jacob's phone picking it up too. "If you can make it to a vidlink we can patch you in. Otherwise I'll send you the dossier before you leave." Whoever was sitting in the leather seat sent a ring of cigar smoke out into the room, still facing the vidscreen directly behind him. "Gentlemen. Take a seat, the rest of the squad will be here shortly, if they know what's good for 'em."

[Captain Obvious]

This man is going to get himself killed. Arthur thought. He had stopped listening to the twenty-somethings babbling quite a while ago. Obviously, this idiot had taken his mom's SUV and headed for the slums, intent on impressing his little friends with some illegal materials. It used to be drugs, now it was more dangerous. If you didn't know what you were doing you could bind the creature you just summoned incorrectly and find it ripping you apart in seconds.

"... So, do you have a menu or something?"

"Are you retarded?"

"What?"

"You are a little boy attempting to play a man's game."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes." Arthur said calmly.

The kid reached into the glovebox and pulled out an object Arthur recognized as a Walther PPK. Apparently this suburbanite had a father who was into collecting antiques.

"Who's the boy now, bitch? I want everything you have." The teen declared.

Arthur didn't answer. He simply raised a hand and snapped his fingers, muttering something under his breath. The slide of the kid's gun slid off, leaving the idiot with nothing to defend himself as Arthur retrieved his USP, aimed, and squeezed the trigger twice. What was left of the kid slumped against the driver's side door. Brain matter, blood, and bits of bone slowly dripped down the window.

Snapping his fingers, Arthur gripped a red stone kept in the cupholder between his seat and the passengers. A flame erupted from Arthur's index finger, and the man opened his palm and pushed his hand towards the corpse of the teen. A stream of flame spewed from Arthur's outstretched hand, flowing through the open window and setting fire to everything inside.

Arthur released the stone, now a shade lighter, put his car into gear, and drove away.

[Griggs]

Quinn mumbles sleepily and walked over to the chair nearest to him, slumping down in a less than professional manner. In a career that did not allow much sleep in the first place, Quinn had gotten very little to speak of. He glanced sideways at Lucas as he made the comment, muttering something like 'damn beastman' under his breath.

[Oct-taku]

Franklin Moris entered the room shortly behind Quinn. He took his seat, letting his cane stand next to him. The walking-stick/ sanguimantic tool stood errect on its point, rather than leaning against the table.

The Sanguimancer nodded briefly at those assembled, cradling his still-bleeding hand. At least the bandages were holding...

[Scorpio]

Lucas shifted in his seat anxiously.

"So, priority one? Real priority one or does the man want us to stand around at another protest and look impressive?"

He grunted at Quinn.

"Bite me Sapien. So what's the deal here? real work or does some politician want a show put on for more votes next election?"

[Khallos]

"What was that, Quinn?" The voice in the chair said, the seat swinging round, to reveal.. apparently, a very small helmet. A few seconds later a pair of little furry hands rested on top of the table, the helmet rising up to reveal a furry head underneath. Put simply, it was a squirrel. In a DoSA uniform. Smoking a cigar, with a captain's emblem on the front of his helmet. Though, anyone who hung around the base for too long wouldn't find it too unusual - most people knew Captain Magnus, if only because of the unusual circumstances surrounding his current form. Signed up for magical testing and training during the early days to help the junior sorcerers learn, and ended up being on the receiving end of an unusually persistent Polymorph spell. Most polymorph curses dispersed after a few hours, maybe a few days when cast by professionals, and this had been 6 years ago. It had hardly helped the cap's temper at all, either, though it hadn't stopped his rank climbing - he'd been a Sargent when he'd been cursed.

"Cut the lip, Garou. 'S what earned you assignment in the first place. It's real, bloody soldiers work all right." He looked around for a moment and then nodded, slumping back in the seat - which rose up a couple of inches so everyone could still see his head. "Right then, I think we're about ready to start, so.." He pressed a button on the console in front of him and there was a hiss from the door as it sealed, one of the screens flickering into life to reveal the shadowy features of the Director of Supernatural Affairs, along with his creepy 'pet' Fey alongside him. "Gentlemen. This information is extremely sensitive, could cause public upset if it got out. So, of course, the Official Secrets Act applies."

"No doubt you've heard about the recent zombie outbreaks on the East coast in the last months. Something of a new strain, stronger, faster and, disturbingly, smarter than previous versions. SCSI Have assured me that it's not magical in nature but rather biological, which means that it's the infectious kind. Normally, this would be dangerous enough, but the Intel we've managed to gather has pointed us at something even worse."

Evissam reached over and activated something on his console, a holographic cube appearing in the center of the table with dossiers, maps and photos streaming across it at appropriate moments. "Gang activity has also increased recently, but that's not really something we'd worry too much about usually, even if it was a bunch of bloodsuckers running around causing trouble. But apparently one of these little basts ended up getting more than he was expecting." He pulled up Parastes photo. "This ugly little fellah is Codename Parasite, patient zero in a nasty new strand of infections. Despite our top scientists being unable to recreate it in laboratory conditions, he's somehow contracted a hybrid strain, a mix of Vampirism and Zombification. All the good stuff, none of the bad. A real nightmare, at least it would be if he had any aspirations. So far, though, it seems he's still content just to be a hoodlum in Washington State."

"That's why, Gentlemen," The Director's shadow said "We need to intercede before he gets any ideas above his station. You're going to go to Hardwood -" The map on the cube zoomed out, showing the distance between the DoSA headquarters and Harwood, a small town across state, further south "And deal with this problem. You'll have Captain Evissam as your Commanding Officer, and access to Spec Ops resources. This is a containment mission, I want this subject alive. For study." Evissam nodded. "Everything else is in your dossiers, so feel free to flick through them on them on the way. You'd better, too, cause I want you knowing this operation better than you know your own eyelids before we touch down. Any questions?"

OOC: Longpost is loooong. Erk. Also, yes Ty, I misspelled it on purpouse =p

[Ty]

Jacob managed to talk one of the other operatives into letting him borrow their laptop, which had a webcam built-in. He grabbed a seat in the airport lounge (the only reasonably private room he could find that still had internet access) and logged on.

After a few seconds, he was connected to the DoSA intranet. He was just waiting on Evissam to access the video feed from the laptop camera.

"Test, test..." he said, trying the mic. "You there, boss?"

[Oct-taku]

Franklin didn't like where this was going. The DoSA wanted the subject alive? Didn't they know what usually happened to people who tried to contain eldritch things beyond their understanding?

Oh well.

Besides, Sanguimancy was classified as a "Combat Magic". It usually left its target in various states of physical injury, ranging from "half-past dead" to "ten years to put together a toenail." The upshot was that undead were generally more...durable than most people, so maybe Frank would get some practice in anyway...

[Griggs]

Quinn raised his hand to ask a question.

"Uh, sir, why would we need so many, er..." Quinn thought about how he was going to word it. "...special assets on this team? I mean, couldn't some standard, normal agents handle the same task?" Not to mention that he was the only damn normie on this team except for maybe Parish... but he didn't ask about that. "I mean, it's not that I don't trust any of these guys..." Well, that was a lie. Still. "...but it seems unorthodox even by our standards."

[Scorpio]

"Well Quinn, you raise a good point." Lucas spoke calmer for the time.

"I mean, of course the regular troops can handle enhanced strength of a vampire, not to mention his speed and love of human blood. That they don't show up on your heat sensors and please...tell me again about how humans have suddenly developed the extra sensory abilities to sniff him out of a larger crowd?"

He took a breath.

"Forget I said anything, by the way boss. Did Quinns new uniform come in? with the red armband with that cute little cross like shape on it?"

ooc: Lets sing the 'I'mma gointa hell' song (I'm so sorry for this kind of dialogue if it goes too far)

[Oct-taku]

"Gentlemen." Franklin said, speaking up for the first time since he sat down. "If you would please keep your personal issues with one another out of DoSA time, I would appreciate it greatly. You both raise valid points: Agent Garou is correct in his statements of a vampire's capabilities when compared to normal humans. However, Agent Wilkins is also correct: this particular squad requires an unusually large concentration of supernaturally-empowered agents. When you consider the nature of this hybridized virus, however, it is not that unusual."

By this point, the Sanguimancer was gripping the edge of the table in mixed anger and exasperation. Why did he always have to be paired with the "trouble agents"?

"And, Garou..." he continued, as a thin line of blood creeped from his injured hand, begining to spread across the table's underside like a red weed. "I would also appreciate if you would keep joke such as that to yourself. The Third Reich seriously upset the Balance. And there is nothing. Funny. About. That.

"Now..." Frank continued, regaining his slightly-lostm composure. "I have an actual question. How will we be inserted into the area?"

[Griggs]

Quinn outright scowled at Lucas.

"Better watch what you say, Rover, cause the fact that you go in a litter box-"

But was cut off by Franklin before he had time to make a threat. He sat, glowering at Lucas for a fully uncomfortable amount of time.

[Khallos]

"Are you done bickering?" The director asked, apparently rather annoyed that he'd been forgotten about while the pair had their little argument. Midway through the argument another viewscreen had flickered for a moment, Jacob's image appearing on it and Evissam looking up to him. "Loud and clear, boyo. I hope you're using your headset there." He didn't want anybody getting overheard, after all. Still, looking back to the boardroom itself he shook his head, sighing. "Do I have to work with this pack of idiots, sir? They look like they'll tear each other apart before we reach the insertion point."

"I'm sure you can keep them on a short leash, Captain. In any case, Moris is showing some initiative, at least. Agents have been selected so we can detect and contain the target without having to bring in electronic tracking equipment and heavy Armour. Moris, I was hoping that you could help with analysis, yourself. It is a blood based infection, after all. Maybe you can find something to work with there."

"In any case..." Evissam piped up "We have a forward command post already established in the area, attached to the local law enforcement, so we'll be bunking with them. We've got a T-Copter standing by to take us there, and she'll be staying with us during the operation, in case we need to get anywhere quickly. Otherwise, you have permission to commandeer vehicles." He looked up at the group. "We have priority on this mission, so the blue boys can't interfere or withhold equipment or evidence, but this is THEIR back yard. So try to remember your manners and play nice, kiddies. Parish, we should be able to hold off leaving long enough for you to rendezvous at the strip, otherwise we'll find somewhere to meet up on the way, but I'm pretty eager to get out there. Otherwise, I wanna get this freak in the fort as quickly as possible." He paused, looking up at the viewscreen, more at the Fey than the director. "No offense. Any more questions?"

[Oct-taku]

Franklin nodded at the Director's statement about this being a blood-based infection. Sanguimancy was proven to be able to remove both of the base viruses in question here, provided that it was caught early enough. Removing any kind of blood-based pathogen with Blood Magic was painful at best, but it was better than waking up with a jonesing for blood or flesh...

[Ty]

Jacob was pretty perplexed by the group he saw on the screen in front of him. He'd already let the hybrid slip away once today, and that was working with a well-disciplined urban assault unit. Working with this crew might not fare much better. Still, he kept his hopes high that someone, either the animal guy or the blood sorcerer, would be able to narrow down where to start looking. In his estimation, if they could just find where he was hiding before dark, the rest should be fairly simple.

"Well, on that note, I'd just like to thank the director for giving a rookie like me the chance to work with some of the Department's... uh, finest. Guys, as we're short on time, I'll just say this: whatever you were expecting on this one, forget it. It's a whole new game, with new rules. We can rendezvous outside on the strip and I'll tell you everything I know. In the meantime, just try to be ready for anything." He gave a respectful nod to the image of the director. "I get the feeling this is gonna be a long day."

With that, he disconnected. Once he got the computer back to the guy he borrowed it from, Jacob needed to do some planning.

[Griggs]

Quinn raised a hand, asking a question, after Jacob was through speaking. He seemed to be the only one.

"Sir, are we finished here? I'd kinda like to get moving on this one." The sooner over, the better, after all. Quinn was not looking forward to this one, but he wanted to go somewhere in this agency. Even if it did mean putting up with a couple of weirdos.

[Khallos]

Evissam nodded, before looking up at the monitors. "Sir?" He asked. "I've got nothing more to add. Good luck out there, boys. We're all counting on you." And with that, the director's screen went blank, indicating a formal end to the meeting. "Right, let's move out immediately, no more time wasting!"

"And, um. Can somebody carry me?"

OOC: Gonna hold off on posting any more till Ty or Roman post, seeing as they're the enemy =p But you guys can do some character development or something if ya want.

Or not. Whatever xP

[Oct-taku]

Franklin rose from his chair, and immediatly headed off to the infirmary. The bleeding had stopped, but he wasn't headed there due to his injured hand.

He needed blood-packs. The DoSA didn't look kindly at most kinds of sacrifices. Especially not when field agents were doing them.