World On Fire: Shadow Ops [a Fantasy WWII Quest]

[><] No
[><] Skip to Baker Street

You decide against getting lunch on the road. Baker Street tends to have pretty good food, anyway. Somehow, though, that thought makes it seem longer than the few hours it takes to get to London. Much longer.

The three of you manage at one point to keep up a lively discussion of cavorting about eastern Libya one month, and running like hell from camel herders in the Arabian desert the next. You know, non-classified stuff, stuff you could talk/brag about in any bar in England about so long as there were no spies about, and you were starting to suspect there weren't.

The door to the Baker Street HQ of SHADOCOM is an unassuming green-black door. Little distinguishes it visually from other doors on the street. A knock on the door reveals the only true difference - this door, whatever material it's made of, is far thicker, heavier, and denser than any simple oak door has any right to be.

A handsome (and familiar) young man in an impeccable RAF uniform opens the door with a brief smile. He looks at you, then at Weronika, then back at you.

"Prichard?"

"Prichard," you confirm. "How can you tell, anyway? I thought you were..."

"Do you want to know a secret?" he asks with a grin. You nod, of course.

"I'm Superman."

The moment hangs for several seconds too long. You roll your eyes.

"Superman's from Kansas, Lee."

"That's what I wanted you to think," he says as he steps aside.

The interior of Baker Street, unlike the old office HQ, looks like someone put actual care into designing it to be as upper-crustedly British as possible. Lots of wood and greens and browns, of course, but everything's tasteful, even if it has the same eau de Holmes as the dedicated museum nearby.

"M will be holding the briefing soon," says Lee, "but you probably have enough time to interview at least one candidate for Charlie Company."

Which do you choose?

[ ] Interview a prospective member
[ ] Straight to the briefing

[><] Interview, or, Why OP Doesn't Realize Some Updates Shouldn't Take Very Long Or Cover Much Until He's Started Writing Them

"All right," you say.

"I'll be in the interrogation room," you continue as you head there straightaways.

"Have someone send the first one in," you finish.

The interrogation room isn't very far from any part of the building, which always struck you as odd and probably has something to do with mages. That sort of spatial stuff was more the forte of mages than witches - you've heard of witches managing it, but only after far more focus than any witch would ever really want to focus on such a thing. A mage would create a spell to manipulate space to make a building bigger on the inside.

A witch would build an extension.

You shut the door behind you, or try to, but a black-gloved hand interrupts you.

In walks an esper, with curly hair, cruel-looking eyes, and a steaming hot cup of coffee in an odd, fragile-looking cup.
No, she doesn't have horns. Or a tail. She's also not best girl, which is Justice.
She sets the cup down on the table, and sits down in it, staring blankly at you and the folder on your desk. You could have done what your interrogator did, but you are in no mood for such theatrics today.

"Marian Kipiani, sergeant, Red Army." She moves to a more attentive sitting position as you state her name.

"I assume you came here willingly?"

She nods, after a few seconds.

What do you want to ask her? (Write in)