The team flew in together. Nicholas met with the two agents at JFK where the three of them embarked on the long, tiring journey that ended with Moscow. The travel arrangements were first class, but still, first class on commercial airlines paled in comparison to private jets.

The route through customs was usual enough. They weren't a camera crew, so other than computers, technology, and related equipment there was nothing extraordinary to them which needed searching.

Nicholas had done as he promised Agent Abrams and memorized the information which was distributed to him beforehand. And Abrams questioned Nicholas sharply, just in case. There were communication protocols to learn, plans to coordinate, and layouts to manage. At one point Abrams even asked Nicholas if he had any firearms training, and after which, promised to show the man a thing or two once they arrived in Moscow.

The flight in was otherwise uneventful. Once in a while Reed would signal and she and Abrams would separate themselves from their package for a quick chat. Sometimes Reed disappeared altogether, only to reappear at the gate to their connecting flight. Abrams never seemed concerned about her absences, and explained them to Nicholas as only representing the work she carried out. She was in charge of surveillance and protection, of course, and at her direction, changed their dinner reservations at the last minute on one of their layovers.

Finally, luggage collected and no shortage of wear and tear from traveling, they were picked up from their terminal by a Kremlin driver. Reed checked his credentials, then nodded her approval that the group go with him, and mid-morning Moscow, they were dropped at the Ritz-Carlton, Moscow, across the street from the Red Square.

They were shown to the three bedroom suite they would share for the duration of this trip, but Reed left her luggage with Abrams and ducked out. Motioning that she was going to do a casual walk-around, which in CIA language meant a perimeter search.

Their room was the epitome of luxury complete with down comforters, marble baths and Russian imperial style furnishings. A traditional array of tea party foods greeted them, cuisine styled to date back to the 18th century. Prosciutto wrapped asparagus, caviar lined smoked salmon, truffled zucchini, glistening fruits, jams and breads, and decadent truffles were stacked elegantly alongside hand-painted china trimmed with gold edging. Real gold edging.

Abrams told Nicholas he would be staying in the room farthest from the entrance, which placed two CIA agents between himself and anyone which might try to get inside.

He deposited their luggage to their appropriate rooms and soon enough was on his private phone, spinning off into Russian like he were born to it.

His accent was clear then. He was based in Moscow. This was his turf, his base of operations, and Nicholas was caught up in the middle of it.

Age: 24

Origin: Berlin, Germany in Dominance VII.

Reborn God: Yes, he's the personification of Mars the Roman God of war and agriculture. While he is the opposite side of the same coin with Ares, Mars was a revered as a God of Life rather than hated as the bloodthirsty, tyrannical, warmonger that Ares himself was. It is assumed that Mars was the second only in terms of worship to Jupiter.

A young man born in Dominance VII to Susana, a Swedish immunologist and Xavier a retired member of the GSG 9 section of the military police and an ER nurse. Both work at Berlin General Hospital.

Alric worked as a model in his teenage years before joining the D-VII military for a small stint. Using his previous jobs training he was moved into the recruitment side of the military and worked as the poster boy for many of the propaganda the military produced.

After his contract was up he resumed his modelling career. Mainly continuing his work as a model for private security firms throughout the Dominances.


Edited by Alric Xavier Rainer, Aug 26 2013, 04:59 PM.

Before I went off any did anything, I thought I'd ask you guys. Mikey and Tony are both currently free if anyone has any ideas about a thread. Even if you don't have any ideas and just want to jump in a thread, PM me and we can work something out.

I know Giovanni was trying to use the chatroom from his phone and Jax too (not that he cares ).

So I thought I'd post some basic information.

The server we are one is: irc.mibbit.com
The channel we are in is: #thefirstage

That is all the information you need to get into the chat with out going through the app on site.

There are several Android apps you can use. And I'm sure there are several iOS apps too. The supply for desktop/laptop apps might be a bit slimmer, But pidgin is free to use and can be used with IRC with the information above.

I can help with Android and with Pidgin, as that's what I have, but once you get inside your app of choice you'll only need the information above.

If you don't see a way to enter chat from your app just type /join #thefirstage in the text entry field


Edited by Aria, Nov 30 2014, 12:16 PM.

Jaxen’s usual haunt was Manifesto. The place was it. Literally, it, and had been for years. In the fickle world of clubbing, that kind of trophy didn’t sit long on the mantle. Yet somehow Manifesto kept that baby front and center.

Therefore, because his usual haunts were places Jaxen was tending to avoid at the moment, he ended up trying out the not-a-strip-club club known as Kallisti house of burlesque. He gave the place credit. It was a good name. Burlesque? It was catchy, and when reminded of its presence, Jaxen was quick to nod, shrug and hail a cab.

Since splitting from Tony’s shack down by the river, he’d managed to produce a few wardrobe changes without ever having gone home. A guy can’t be expected to run around Moscow threadbare after all. And no matter how much fame, fortune and cash someone threw around, Face Check could ban A-list celebrities from top-notch venues; super models might be told to go home and change if deemed underdressed. That was the kind of humiliation Jaxen was smart enough to avoid with the meager effort of forethought.

Of course, Kallisti welcomed him with open arms. As if there were ever any doubt. On his worst day he was a good looking guy, and on his best, well--suffice to say, he didn’t mind the spotlight. With the fragrance of expense, free cash, and a loose hand - from his perfectly tousled hair, the dot of a black diamond in one lobe, and the supple step of handmade leather shoes, he was the poster child of Kallisti's target demographic.

He landed on velvet and silk. Somewhere with table service, of course, and a top shelf view. Sank back comfortably, propped his feet up, loosened the narrow tie tucked between his purposefully disheveled collar and trend-setting, body-hugging vest and waved himself over some service, the epitome of a king in his own little castle of sin.

Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Aug 22 2013, 10:24 AM.

everyone hates me! *sniffle*

I am bouncing around the idea of stopping in Oriena's -this isnt a strip club but pretty much is- place and see what trouble we can get into. If anyone else is game?

I'll be gone for a couple of weeks. I'll still be able to write posts on occasion but I recommend ya'll communicate with me through PMs 'till it's fixed. Should still be able to get SOME stuff done but as I said, I'll be otherwise gone.

Continued from: Dealing with devils

With the aid of the way-point system on their Land Warriors, the trip back from the Rougarou hideout was much shorter then the time it took to get there. Which was good, because by the end of it, Hood was starting to feel the weight of the body he was carrying, not that he voiced any complaints. It was a good bit of exercise, after all.

They returned to the more familiar tunnels around the safe house, but still a few levels below the surface, until finding their way into a defunct service tunnel, where electrical and telephone cables, and water or gas pipes, ran to the various buildings that resided above. The way point marker led to an old metal service door, the hinges of which showed subtle hints of recent use and maintenance.

The door opened without much effort, and lead to a single large room that was probably a sub-basement of one of the now demolished apartment blocks that had dominated the neighborhood around the safe house.

In the room was a metal chair bolted to the floor, a table, and most importantly four flood-lights like one would see on a construction site, hooked up by a series of cables to a generator that sat beyond an open door into what was once the boiler room. With that door closed, the noise of the generator would be much less eminent. There were also four jerry cans full of fuel, and a case of bottled water and canned stews.

The Rougarou was dumped into the chair and four handcuffs were produced to bind it's legs and arms to the chair, but he didn't remove any of it's other bindings. He gave the wounds a brief inspection, and satisfied that the thing wasn't going to kick the bucket any time soon, he finally let himself relax, glancing at the two women.

"If I can get my hands on them, I will set up a series of signal boosters from here to the surface. Wallets probably won't get too clear a signal down here without them. I had a stereo system down here at 110 decibles, and couldn't hear a thing from the surface. With that door shut, it doesn't carry too far down here either."
He gave them a quick tour, as well of the two closest bolt-holes (easiest ways to reach the surface from there).

"I'll stay here with our new friend, you two can head to the safe house and get ahold of your boss. First aid kit in the armoury should have most of what you'll need to tend those hands of yours. You need a mirror and a shower."
He pointed from Aria to Rune, then pulled a folding chair from against the wall and slapped it down near the Rougarou, somewhere he could see the door and the creature. He didn't bother turning on the generator or the lights, apparently intent to just sit in the dark and wait. No point wasting fuel.


Edited by Hood, Aug 20 2013, 05:47 PM.

<small>From: Signals and shards</small>


Nikolai was not a man of whim. That he was not in his office practicing the forthcoming address to the media was a conscious choice. Depending on the reaction of the American media, his team would make a decision whether or not to make a public speech or simply issue a press release. In the meantime, Nikolai was not about to waste time practicing a talk he may not need to give. Not when there were more pressing issues at hand.

His daily briefings always included an update - if there was one - about progress in the Facility. Details were always skipped. He had no insight as to how many subjects the Facility currently housed. He had no idea as to how many were on staff. From a few sentences to a simple, no update, and short of a breakthrough finding, the leader of half the world devoted a rare amount of his faculties to the topic.

Yet here he toured the Facility for the first time since his initial walk-through two years ago. The front corridors were transformed from what he remembered. The former bunker was cold and sterile now, white and modern, in these common-use areas such as where he was now led. The Facility Director was a stout old man of great prestige, recruited from within the government, and already wielding a great deal of clearance as a bioweapons defense scientist. It was his formulations which coursed the Ascendancy's circulatory system for years now: vaccines and anti-toxin boosters among others. These agents of immunological protection were administered only to the highest level of government: men and women that if they were suddenly lost to bioterrorism, plague or epidemic, the government would fall into chaos. Nikolai hated the very idea of chaos in his regime.

Their progress was ongoing. A long, difficult process to say the least. Mapping genomic function was like charting every individual ray of light to streak across the galaxy from a trillion stars, and in the Facility, each subject was their own galaxy in this enormous, overlapping universe of mystery. Which was why a specialist named West -- or Weston -- was now recruited to their team. Nikolai nodded in approval of the news.

A number of the subjects had died. He could not recall how many, though Director Stephenson had said the number not two minutes beforehand amid an avalanche of other directive updates. Nikolai was not particularly listening. He had another reason for being here.

Their tour of the Facility took them down a level below the main floor. Formerly, these rooms once secured weapons. An arsenal of the Soviet era. Now this sub-basement, so far below ground it would have been fully protected from a direct nuclear strike at the surface, had been reworked for another purpose. Identified by six-inch thick steel doors spaced at even distances apart, magnetically sealed individual bunkers completely contained those waiting within.

At his left, the director continued to speak. To his right his primary body guard flanked. Behind, two more men in suits and synced LW's continually scanned for danger. Nikolai was as safe here as he was anywhere, but neither caution nor manipulation was not the reason he seized the furious power he commanded. The moment he did, his expression darkened, not an evil countenance, but one of menace, aura and confidence. In these moments, his title was so befitting, it could send a man to his knees in respect.

This time, the Ascendancy did nothing with the power he so often used but simply wrestled it to his will, forcing it to fluctuate across his very soul until it cowed to submission. With the enhancement it brought, he stretched forth his mind, and attempted to sense something, anything, as they passed door after door.