In an unprecedented public appearance, the mysterious figure at the heart of the battle between the Government forces and Cartel mobsters Mr. Oakland has spoken about the recent terrorist attacks that have hit Mexico City that began with the bombing of the United States Embassy.

Despite the controversy surrounding Mr. Oakland’s past, he has been quite candid about his involvement in the ongoing battle, professing he was unconcerned about the appearance of the notorious ‘Mockingbird’ call-sign.

Mr. Oakland has expressed his sympathies to towards the victims and their families of these attacks but is confident in a swift resolution and dismissed fears that Mexico City was the target of the famous Custody serial killer, the self-proclaimed ‘Mockingbird’.

“After a thorough investigation into the Mockingbird cases, the police have found that these attacks are the work of copy-cats riding on the coattails of a notorious killer’
Mr. Oakland addressed the media outside the Estande manse. “These attacks have been clumsy and amateur in execution far more befitting Cartel thugs than a meticulous killer.”


When asked about the lack of suspects Mr. Oakland sent a grave message.

“Mexico City is in a state of chaos. A child could commit these crimes. Until peace is restored, these barbaric acts will continue.”


When asked about the fact that Cartel members were involved in one of the blasts, Mr. Oakland said it was not unusual.

“We must not think of the gang members as a cohesive group. There are many different factions with conflicting goals. They would not only tear Mexico apart, but kill each other in the process.”


Written by Anna Merces,

Reuters.

The massive shipwreck excavation in the Gulf Of Mexico has yielded numerous artifacts of dubious origin and age. The real oddity here is that the artifacts all come from a wide variety of cultures.

This leads us to believe that many of these items were stolen and therefore calls into question the legitimacy of salvage rights in this case. After all, how else could Greek, Hebrew, Egyptian, AND Sumerian artifacts be located on the same vessel? Especially considering that there are no known records of any ships carrying such a valuable cargo. Then recall how all four of these cultures existed at different times in history with minimal overlap and contact.

We can only surmise that the head of the Smith Foundation, John Smith, is aware of the inconsistent and questionable reports that are being handed to the press. Why else would the Smith Foundation donate so many priceless artifacts to the Vatican Historical Society? It isn't like he is Catholic. Let's not forget the enormous expense of such an undertaking. What is really going on here?

It appears to the press that Mr. Smith has ties to Texas (The Smith Foundation), Moscow (teaching at the MSU), and now the Vatican? So what is really going on?

Medina-Dula, the failed state of Guinea, Shakespear Fabron's compound

The original town of Medina-Dula, some thirty years ago, sat square against the border between Guinea and Sierra Leone. That town had been burned to the ground during the Ebola outbreak of the early 21st century. The Medina-Dula of 2045 had been rebuilt a kilometer back from the border on the other side of the hills and out of sight of the Sierra Leonean military checkpoint that guarded the highway crossing.

The town was owned in all senses of the word by one of dozens of warlords that claimed to control various bits and pieces of the country that had once been Guinea. Shakespear Fabron was one such warlord, and certainly far from the most powerful in the region, but he was young, and youth often came with a dangerous lack of caution.

Hardly into his seventeenth year of life, Shakespear sat with his feet propped up on an old shipping crate stenciled in faded Russian and still sporting a half dozen AK-74s. Weapons so damnably common in the region these six had never even been fired, but served well as a foot rest.

Three girls, triplets, hardly into their teens, sat at his side. Two were giggling in a drugged daze as they played with dolls, but the third lay behind the other two, sickly and breathing shallowly, the faint smell of infection and rot hanging about her; her sisters had weathered the storm, but she was likely going to die of female circumcision. All three wore ill-fitting clothes and their bare arms showed the scars of routine heroin use.

"So the soldiers have left?"
Shakespear sat forward on his chair, a stained and moldering old La-Z-Boy, and fixed his men with an eager expression, a moment of clarity that burned through the drug-fueled haze that usually tainted his expression.

"Fled to their homes, I think. The checkpoint is empty, and the gate ain't even locked boss."
A fourteen year old boy clearly labouring under the weight of the AK with grenade launcher he held in his arms, a rusted metal helmet sitting askew on his head.

Shakespear slapped his hands on his knees and stood, the sudden gesture causing both the girls beside his chair to flinch and shrink in on themselves for a moment before realizing that he wasn't even looking at them, and then both started clapping their hands eagerly; whatever made Shakespear happy made them happy, after all.

"Excellent! Get the trucks."
Shakespear grabbed a silver rod from where it was stabbed into the arm of his chair, wrenching it free to reveal that it was indeed a small spear, and shook it over his head. His name was less inspired by the long-dead British author and more just a stupid play on words. "We're goin' to war boys!"


-----

There were dozens of tiny villages in the north-east regions of Sierra Leone. Predominantly Temne, and so far withdrawn from the larger population centers that the conflict raging across the country was a distant thing. Women, children, and the elderly remained, the men and older boys having left already to join the fighting against their Mende oppressors.

The distant sound of trucks on the road was met with interested, and the villagers quickly started to gather in the streets, eager to see their husbands and brothers and sons returning home for a visit.

The vehicles drew closer, but they realized too late who they carried. The sounds of weapons fire and screams filled the jungle air. Shakespear's 'soldiers' killed indiscriminately. Women and children ran for their homes, to their fields or the tree line. Some escaped, many didn't.

Those that didn't escape or die were raped. Children were taken, homes burned, the elderly mutilated. The town was pillaged, and what couldn't be carried away was burned. Bodies wrapped in garbage bags were pulled from one of the trucks, the men carrying them wearing painters masks and rubber gloves. The bodies were dumped into the town well, rocks tied to them that they would sink into the deep waters and go unseen. Ebola was still a problem in Guinea, and would soon be one again in Sierra Leone.

All along the borders with what was once the country of Guinea, similar stories were beginning to become common place; the Sierra Leonian military had been charged with the duty of securing the country's borders, and had done so through stiffly manned checkpoints and roaming patrols. With the coup, those outposts sat empty, leaving the roads to Guinea wide open.

It was a Saturday afternoon and the typical Saturday night crowd hadn't arrived yet. There were a few patrons around Enrique's bar, called "Las Rompecabezas", and Enrique spent his time cleaning glasses and tables. Occasionally one of the patrons would ask for another drink and he'd comply, and then take some time to chat with those at the bar.

The big news around the city was the bombings and killings that had been happening around the city as well as Damien Oakland. There were rumors that he had "special powers" and it made Enrique wary to check the Atharim hit lists. The guy was doing good around here. The drug cartels were shaking in their boots. Enrique would do what he had always done - focus on the monsters.

He had a tip off about a rougarou nest outside of the city that he was going to check out, but it would be a good idea to go with back up. He had no idea how many he would run into. He had tried getting a hold of Eduardo, but had been unable to for quite some time. Enrique was beginning to worry.

The conversation in the bar shifted to football - real football, not that United States stuff - and who they thought was looking good this year. Enrique and the other patrons all pretty much agreed that Argentina had a great line up this year.

Enrique checked his stock and all was set up for the Saturday evening crowd. He hoped it would be a busy night. He was feeling in a social mood.

Age: 45
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 150 pounds
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Blonde
Build: Athletic

Jacinda was born Jacinda Nolan to Dorothy and Jack Nolan. They were normal parents though they did try to live off the grid mostly. America was in decline by this time, and it just seemed safer that way. While living in southern Colorado outside of South Fork, they were met by an Atharim hunter, Regan Cross. Regan was a pretty good hunter and spent most of his time in the south west, with rougarou and chupacabra being his primary prey. He also hunted wolfkin where he could.

He was an outdoors' man who, when not hunting Atharim prey, went after animals. He relished the hunt, the slow process of stalking and closing in on prey, and then, finally, trapping and killing it. He preferred trapping and the slow death by hand, feeling the life leave the body as it twitched and fought. Wolfkin were a particular challenge, given their abilities. But he relished that part, pitting himself against them. The contest and survival. Life and death.

And sometimes, occasionally, a girl hiking with her boyfriend would go missing. The boyfriend would be killed quickly and the girl would disappear for days and weeks. A body might sometimes be found in a snowdrift that melted early, or when something disturbed the land, revealing a shallow grave, always in much worse shape. They weren't as challenging prey as the men might be, but the payoff was so much more fun.

Regan cozied up to Jack and Dorothy, went with Jack and Jacinda on hunts, helped around the place, and seemed to be a good ally. Life off the grid took work and Jack seemed happy to have another man about.

Regan, though, had a thing for Jacinda. Already a loner with a touch of anti-social tendencies, he found himself drawn to her even though she was only 12. While out hunting with Jacinda and her father, he saw his opportunity and killed Jack, making it look like he had been killed by a rougarou. Not his usual style, but he had a goal- Jacinda.

Coming home with her, he stayed to help Dorothy around the place and pick up the pieces. He also spent more and more time with Jacinda. He wanted her but she couldn't know what he'd done. He began taking Jacinda hunting with him. They would sometimes split up while stalking. On one such hunt, he left her alone and went back to Dorothy's cabin. He raped and brutally murdered her.

In order to tie Jacinda to him completely, he mutilated the body in the way a feeding rougarou might. When he and Jacinda returned, they discovered the horror he'd planted. Jacinda, overwhelmed with loss and anger and hatred and grief, accepted his explanation of what had killed her mother. He revealed what he was- an Atharim hunter- and that they could track the creature together.

With a desire for revenge and feelings of rage and powerlessness, Jacinda went with him until they came to a lone man living in the woods. The man was not a rougarou, but Regan lied to her. Together they stalked, tortured, and killed the man. Jacinda relished the feeling of revenge and power she felt in that moment, mingled with the horror and fear and sorrow and loss.

That night, in an emotional rush and turmoil from the day's activities, Regan raped her, though she didn't see it that way. She was only 12 years old. Consent was not something she'd even heard of. Nor did she realize how he'd manipulated her. In her loss and rage and power and satisfaction, it felt like love to her.

It was the beginning of a strange sort of relationship. Regan viewed her as his daughter and wife. He treated her as his partner, though he manipulated her, limiting how much she interacted with people, what she saw and read- everything in her entire life. She depended on him as the only family she had. He was her god and world and her life. That was when she took his last name.

They hunted other creatures over the years. Despite any appearance of humanity they might have- especially in the case of wolfkin and (later when they started cropping up) channelers and their families, she had no compassion. The truth was, the gaping sucking hole in her heart was only filled when she was hunting and killing. It was the only power she felt she had.

She never knew of, nor would she understand, Regan's occasional hungers for more. She needed a reason for her hunts. She was a soldier in a war, protecting humanity from darkness and enslavement. And usually, she was so aroused by it all that she and Regan had frenzied sex afterwards.

Regan was killed after he'd been caught by a nest of rougarou. Jacinda was only 20, but in many ways, was still only a child. And with his death, she was completely and totally alone. It was a terrifying time for her, but eventually she found her way.

By then, Regan's reputation as an Atharim hunter was pretty well established and she had been known as his 'neice', a fierce hunter on her own. She continued the work and discovered her own skills.

She was able to ferret out the smallest details, to latch on to rumor and whispers and hints, and then piece the clues together to paint a complete picture of her prey and where they had gone. She stayed at a crime scene for hours, developing a sense of what the creatures had felt and seen. She got in their head. And she was very good.

Unlike some Atharim, she had no problem making sure the kin of those who died of 'the sickness' were also put down. They weren't her favorite kills. The creatures, chupecabras and rougs, wefuke and queztals, she had more fun with and took her time. If the Atharim wanted them alive for study, she was able to get them, though the takes weren't always clean.

As the years went by, her reputation grew throughout the country among the American Atharim.

She was the person who always got the job done.

JACINDA STORIES

2021- Part of Me- posts 3-9
2013- The Search- posts 10+

Character Name: Enrique Antonio Lopez Salguero

Age: 27

Origins: El Paso, Texas, Currently Mexico City

Occupation: Trick Gunslinger/Bartender

Psychological Description: Enrique is usually friendly. He tends to get to know people before he judges them. At the same time, he doesn’t push suspicions aside. He is a show off, particularly when it comes to marksmanship. He often does trick shots just because he can. He likes to flirt and overall is a social individual.

Physical Description: Enrique is 5’7”. He is built strongly. His hair is short and black and his eyes dark.

Biography:

Growing up, Enrique had a normal childhood. His father was into guns and taught Enrique how to shoot from a young age. Enrique enjoyed it quite a bit, and practiced often. He became very good at marksmanship and eventually joined a traveling performing group where he was a trick gunslinger – doing quick draws, spinning guns around before shooting – that kind of stuff.

He made a good living doing shows, but after a show in Mexico City, he decided to stay there. He used the money he made to open a bar and through that, he gets to meet a lot of people. Being a social person, he felt fulfilled with his job.

At twenty-one, Enrique had just closed the bar when he heard some scratching noises coming from the alley behind his establishment. He grabbed his Colts (4 total – two at his hips and two on shoulder holsters) and went to check it out. It sounded different than a dog. What he saw was hideous. It looked canine, but was hairless and its body seemed shriveled. Enrique didn’t like it whatever it was. It held within its teeth the remains of some animal and as Enrique entered the alley it turned to face him, giving a horrendous shriek. Enrique acted without thinking, pulling his two hip revolvers out with a flourish and firing at the creature as it began to run at him. He emptied the guns into the beast and it fell dead as Enrique reholstered his weapons.

Enrique’s ears picked up on more scratching behind him, and he pulled out the other two guns as he turned and saw another of the beasts coming for him. Just then a man came out of the shadows with a sword. The man attacked the beast and it fell.

This man, Eduardo, was impressed with Enrique’s ability to keep cool while under attack not to mention his marksmanship and quick draw skills. Eduardo introduced Enrique to the Atharim and Enrique joined up. Through his training, he learned that the creatures were called chupakabras and that other monsters existed in the world. He also learned of channelers and gods. Enrique focused on learning how to hunt monsters. Although he recognizes the dangers of channelers, he doesn’t necessarily feel they should all be killed – a thought which he hides from his brethren. He also trained in blades, but prefers his firearms. They feel more comfortable in his hands.

Even though Enrique has access to newer and more high tech weapons, he prefers to use his Colt Single Action Armies. The weight of them is familiar to him and as a result, he feels more comfortable with them. He also will use rifles. He has a sword, but doesn’t often have it with him. He carries several knives though. His bar is also his residence and he has converted his basement into an Atharim safe house for any that are in the area.

It was a strange feeling, to have a place to call home again. Despite 6 people living under the same roof and all the trouble that came with it, Tony found it was home.

In the days after their fruitless expedition, Tony told the boys to relax for a while so he could think. He doubted Elias was happy about it, but it would have to do. In truth, Tony was the one who needed it most.

That was how he found himself spread out on his couch, bones aching as they did when he strained himself too much these days. Hans had taken the others three men out to one of his favourite haunts. When Yuri asked why they did not invite Claire along, Hans grinned and said it was a 'boys night out'.

That was a relationship that Tony found amusing. Claire had proved herself more interesting as the days went by. Whatever she thought of their living arrangements, she dealt with it well. Not that they caused her much trouble. Apart from Hans' regular flirtation, they all treated her as part of the 'team'. She had a similar power. She was one of them.

Tony could have wished they were a bit less 'respectful'. She had taken up his bed at their insistence, leaving Tony on the couch. That did his aching no good, and she was young. Never mind he was at most a decade older, his body had aged twice as fast.

However, such things were trivial. He would not change it for the world. He had found his place, and was content. The only thing that concerned him now was Michael's lack of communication.

With a groan, he heaved himself upright. "Claire? Are you still here?"
he called. He might just get his bed back for one night at least. "Are you out again tonight?"

Enzo threw the hood of his sweat up around his ears and his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. The cold air instantly evaporated the beads of sweat from his face the moment he found himself in the alley behind le Baccarat Maison. After that, he'd turned right down the alley, then took another right at the first street. He walked aimlessly since, too lost in the blizzard of his own thoughts to care where he was going.

Once in a while the spires of the Kremlin would peek between the buildings that loomed overhead. Whenever such a glimpse was caught, Enzo would gasp and quickly turn the other direction as though the Ascendancy would see his thoughts like a beacon blazing in the city.

Such was how he found himself swallowed by the halogen glow of a this neighborhood. All the city seemed the same to him, and as such, Enzo largely ignored the details of his surroundings. Until he paused at an intersection and noticed about thirty flyers stapled to a pole. He blinked like he used to when English was still incomprehensible, but his eyes knew before his mind what it was the advertisements portrayed. Prostitution and stripping were legal in the CCD, a policy that made him uncomfortable, and the realization gave him cause to further investigate the area.

[[OPEN]]
Bas shut the engine off and the deep rumble of his Camero came to a stop. He looked in his mirror one last time, checking his collars, and then opened the door and got out. He was wearing a flashy silver jacket and loose knotted tie, a silver-blue button down shirt underneath. He work thick soft-wool midnight black pants and charcoal grey boots. He never went anywhere without his boots- whether black or grey or brown or blue. You just never knew when you needed your heavy soles and steel toes. Like tonight.

He prayed and the power flooded into him, suddenly making the night come to life. The air around him felt moist with the cold, and he could almost see crystals form from his breath. The thrum from Kallistis could be felt through the cold air and the ground and walls. The sky seemed a roof of clouds, fringed silver-blue by the light of the full moon. His own jacket and tie also seemed to glow. By the door two bouncers stood, mostly watch those who walked by. He took one more breath and let the power go. He could call on it a moment's notice if he needed. Just knowing it was here was enough.

He was alone. Which reminded him and he checked his wallet to see if Nox had texted. It wasn't a big deal, really. It woulda been cool if he made it. It had been a few weeks ago since they'd first gotten together. And that thing in the tunnel was fucking awesome! Ninja girl and her sword, Nox and his fire whip and him and his explosives. Those zombie-things had never stood a chance. He wanted to practice with the man again. He had a feeling that he was going to be needing to use his power more and more. Ayden had healed his hand. It seemed there was a lot more to using it than just blowing things up. It needed finesse and delicacy. Like with a woman.

And if he had Nox there as a bit of back up that no one knew about, so much the better. Nox wouldn't care. And it wasn't like there was any real danger, not to the two of them.

He went to the door and the man eyed him for a moment- his gopnik tattoo on his neck just peeking out- but then let him in. Was a time when they wouldn't have let him in. Indeed, they might have tried to rough him up. Course that just woulda made him try harder to prove he could get in. But over the last 5 years things had changed. His clothes and demeanor said he belonged there. Plus, he'd been there with Roman a couple times. The influence and money of the Mordvinov's was not something to sneeze at. Course, if the man had known who he was there to meet, he might have called for reinforcements.

Once inside and past the walkway and coat check he was in the main area. The lighted up stage dominated the room, demanding attention. On it, two women danced in time and rhythm to each other, one of them in a red and golden fringed low-cut short-coat that was vaguely familiar- and that gave tantalizing glimpses of flesh underneath, seeming to stalk the other woman in red, who seeing her come for her, would spin about this way and that way, evading her. It was a hunt, with the woman in red's dress calling to the other woman, teasing her, pulling at her, yet avoiding her at the last. Nearly avoiding, as each pass took away more of the red dress, revealing more and more flesh. But the hunt was the thing, the chase, and the tease. And the hint at plump breast, the glimpse of taut thigh and the flash of rounded ass. He watched for a bit, appreciating the difference. This was not his normal strip club, with its promise of immediate sex and exposure. This was tease, atmosphere. It was foreplay.

He was here to work though he certainly didn't mind mixing work with pleasure. He'd looked around immediately as he walked in, taking in plush couches and chairs, tables and stands and partitions, all angled to direct one's attention to the stage. He saw two men at a table and then, on the other side of the partition, there he was, Mikhail. The men were studiously avoiding looking in Mikhail's direction. Bas smiled. He hadn't come alone. The fact that Bas had said something.

He sauntered over to the table and Mikhail stood up and gave him a bear hug. It had been a few years since they'd seen each other last. "Bas, old friend. Good to see you." The tattoo on his neck had been covered by the black turtleneck sweater he was wearing. Mik snapped at one of the waitresses walking by. "Another glass, platinum ice, and lemon slices." He remembered.

Bas looked at the girl- she would have been pretty if not for her too bony shoulders- and said"Unopened chilled bottle of vodka. Top shelf please."
Mordinov was paying. And it was good to look prosperous, which they were- very much. Mik's eyes flicked to the opened but chilled bottle on his table, still pretty full, but said nothing. Bas wasn't so stupid as to drink from a bottle that he wasn't sure of. Neither was Mik, despite feeling insulted. But he didn't say anything.

"You look good. Mordvinov agrees with you, I think." Bas smiled and waitress returned with the glass, lemon, and bottle. He tore off the silver lining and opened it and then poured the thickened liquid into his glass and over his cubes and lemon. The sweat immediately formed around the glass and he took a sip. Warmth spread throughout his body and he relaxed.

When the girl left, he said, "You look good too. Put on a little weight, it looks like."
A wicked smile. "Too many pirogis and too much desk-work, my friend."


Mik's look darkened. But they had never really been friends, even when they ran with the same crew. And now that Mik was with the Stoya family, well...Still, they both were there for the same reason. A dialog between the two. Kolomov was out. The blood-feud between Mordinov and Kolomov was forever. But Stoya and Mordvinov could coexist. Vlad's death and the scrambling of his family had left a lot of vacant territory. They didn't need to fight. Mik laughed though it was a bit forced. "Yes, well. The girls don't seem to mind it." Then he eyed Bas and his look was hard. "And I still have the hammer. I know you remember that."

Bas' own smile showed perhaps a bit more teeth than he'd have liked. A hammer is right. Damn, but that man's arm was something. His eyebrow had swollen up so much that it had had to be cut just so he could see. Course, he got him back later than day. They'd broken each other's noses and bruised each other up enough back in the day. In a way, it's why this meeting was good. They knew each other and what they were capable of. They were fiercely loyal and knew it. And they respected one another. He touched his eyebrow. "Yeah, I remember."
He could see the other men through the partition. He was still careful though.

"I hear that you had a nice chat with Vlad's uncle."
Mik nodded with a tight smile. "Looks like he decided to move out of a few neighborhoods."
He raised his glass in salute.

After a moment, Mik answered. "I heard the same about you." He laughed. "Vlad's family seems to be in a generous mood, I would say." He looked around and then said almost conspiratorially. "Stoya thought maybe we should ask Viktor Kolomov here as well. Divide the city up between the three of us. But I mentioned that after what had happened with Boris and Niko, maybe that wasn't such a good idea."

Bas laughed out loud. No, that wouldn't have been good at all. The feud between Kolomov and Mordvinov went back to Roman almost getting killed. That didn't just go away. And Bas had killed Niko and then Boris in the same day. Course. the official cause of death was heart-attack. "Hey now, Boris was just unlucky. Not like I magically reached into his heart and crushed it until he died."
He laughed. That had been exactly what he'd done. And Ayden had seen and laughed. Damn his luck there! Engaged, of all things.

"I think the two of us will do fine for our families. Kolomov can go fuck himself."
He raised his drink and Mik clinked glasses immediately. He turned his attention back to the stage, as did Mik. There was a new girl up. She took part of his attention. But he was also thinking about what territories the boss wanted and what he was willing to part with. Preliminaries out of the way, it was time to get down to it.

In a minute, anyway. She had the nicest, roundest ass. It deserved his attention.


Edited by Sebastian, Oct 14 2014, 08:43 AM.

Nox hung up the phone quickly, he didn't want to get cold feet. He wasn't exactly sure why he was so nervous, his sister was alive. But Nox really didn't want to do this alone. He called Aria. She picked up and answered groggily, "Hello?"


"Aria. I need to ask you a favor among other things."
She told him to go ahead and he continued on. "I called my sister. She gave me her coordinates, she's alive and in Moscow. I can't do this alone, can you meet me at my place and come with me? We can finish our conversation on the way."
Aria agreed and Nox hung up the phone. She'd be an hour, apparently Aria slept through the day, she had to do the morning thing, he wondered how that worked for her. He gathered that she hunted at night, but he wondered if there was more to it than that. She was a special breed of Atharim. Which made Nox wonder why Sentients were on the list of kill on sight unlike the Furia. Some of the less important, yet important facts had come back to him. But Nox wasn't like his sister, he didn't remember every fact he'd read about the monsters. But to his surprise he remembered a whole lot more than he thought.

There was nothing really to do while he waited for Aria, he could be nervous and such but that wasn't going to get him anywhere. Nox decided a small body weight work out would keep his mind off of things, and still give him a chance to shower before Aria got here. He wouldn't mind keeping her waiting if she got her earlier. He grinned at the possibilities. But he didn't have high hopes, she'd shot him down the first time, she didn't look like the type of gal who was in it for the guys she saved.