In Service: A Science Fantasy Quest

(Resolve Roll DC 50: 100+30=130, success, oh jesus
95+30=125, double success, sigh
90+25=115, triple success, welp
87+15=102, quadruple success, okay then
86+2=88)

You take careful steps as you circle each other. Slow and steady are your movements, while his are more relaxed, with a core of iron beneath them.

Your breathing is steady, the previous awkward girl forgotten as a sharp and focused presence makes itself known and banishes all thoughts of fear and worry to the back of your mind. You don't have time to think, all you can do is focus on the here and now.

It's just like in the past, with the ninjas and numerous other things over the years. Time after time have you found yourself in situations you'd rather not be in with insufficient skills to carry the day. Yet, you survived. No, you didn't just survive, you thrived.

(Gain Trait: In Your Element: When the going gets tough, you get going. When in dangerous situations, gain +20 to Resolve rolls.)

And then your opponent moves and pushes off his back leg, long strides closing the distance quickly. A lightning fast, probing jab rockets from his waist, wrist angled towards your jaw.

(Combat Contest:
Sean: 79+15=94
You: 97+10+107, one success, well then
100+7=107, double success, x2 oh no
74+7=81, not quite
You Win)
(Damage: 6d4=18-3d4(Dornálaíocht)=14 Damage+Pin)

You duck, letting the fist whistle by your head as your hand snaps up, snatching his wrist and yanking as you pivot.

Your body twists as you pull him off balance, your free hand gripping his throat as you go to slam his back to the floor.

(Dullahan Unique Trait: Detachable Head Activates!)
(Countered with critical success+Knowledge (Fey) roll!)

Until… his head detaches and you find yourself falling, no longer supported by his body. He's gonna be able to escape your grapple!

Except, you expected this.

You swap grips on his neck, going from a choking hold to a swinging one, and slam the back of his head into his spine with a jarring jolt.

And then his body hit the floor, with you on top of it and his head underneath it. You scramble over his prone form, dodging his kicking body, and secure a pin while smothering his head beneath the mass of meat under you.

(Pin Contest:
Sean: 53+25(Coraíocht)=78
You: 79+15(UpLINE)=94, success
You Win)

You hold down the squirming mass of flesh and bone, somehow managing to keep the much bigger man on the ground. All you have to do is pin him down, force him to stay down, and eventually he'll give in.

(Sean Resolve Roll DC 60: 7+10=17, failure)

After a few seconds of struggling, which consisted of him trying to shove you off or kick you with his shins, you feel the fight leave him and three taps on your back, a non-verbal yield.

The cold, focused feeling withdraws from your mind, leaving the sound of adrenaline pumping in your ears and a Dullahan beneath your body.

Immediately letting up, you help him to his feet. You hear his head gasp, drawing in deep breaths and filling his lungs through magical means.

(Passing Idea Roll DC 50,70,100: 85, double success)

A stay thought enters your mind as you see his body collect his head and plant it firmly on the stump of his neck. Securing it with his hands he turns to you as the thought solidifies.

You can see him start to say something, but you're too busy with this new idea, tapping at your chin as you imagine just how that sort of thing works.

Just how does the Dullahan headless thing work? He can control his body even while his head is missing, much like a remote control. Perhaps if you figured it out, you could make some sort of device to replicate the effects! If only you had your Infragoggles on hand, then you could scan him…

You come back to the present as Sean finishes speaking, a hand rubbing at his spine, yellowed eyes staring at you. He looks at you, clearly expecting an answer as you cringe in awkwardness.

"Uh, sorry," you rub the back of your head, a cringing wince on your face, "I wasn't listening. Can you say that again?"

He guffaws, a baritone thing as he concedes. "Yeah, sure." He straightens up as he repeats himself. "I was saying that you fought pretty well and asked if you studied anything in the past?"

"Ah, I haven't really practiced anything in the past," you think for a second, "until now, that is. I've just sort of picked things up here and there, mostly experiences gained from getting my ass kicked while on adventures."

Sean nods, tossing you a bottle of water which you happily accept. He uncaps his own and takes a swig, swallowing the mouthful of water before continuing. "Well, you fought pretty good." He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Shame on me for doubting you!"

For some reason, that rankles you. How dare he doubt you, you're Itzabella Williams, adventurer extraordinaire!

Just as you open your mouth to give him a piece of your mind, he continues on and cuts you off. "Still, you could use some pointers here and there, as I'm sure I could as well. If you want, I could show you a thing or two here and there. So, what do you say?"

(Obsession (Knowledge) Resolve Roll DC 55: 9+30=39, failure)

Accept?
[X] Yes (Forced by Obsession (Knowledge))
[ ] No

You're tempted to refuse out of spite, but the promise of my knowledge in the form of martial arts training sways your mind. As well as a chance to scan him with your Infragoggles, that too helps make up your mind.

"Yeah, sure. As long as I can get a scan of you." You offer your hand out, which he takes with a laugh and a firm grip. His muscles shift under his cream-like skin as he gives you a good shake.

"Works for me!" The Dullahan says, grinning a too-wide smile.

~~~~~~~~

QM's Note: I'll post the other voted for stuff as soon as I get it done, which should be soon-ish. The reason this is separated from the next update is that it's part of the previous month's stuff and I didn't include it in next month's stuff in an attempt to avoid confusion.
And now you've got a pretty good idea of what combat is like in this Quest. If you can get a pin on someone, the fight's pretty much over unless they can break free.

Each point of Damage on a weapon or technique is 1d4. Each point of Armor or Damage Reduction is also 1d4 that gets subtracted from the attack after damage has been rolled. Each point of AP, or Armor Piercing, reduces the amount of Armor or Damage Reduction by 1d4 before it is subtracted from the Damage.

The equation is something like this:
D-(A-P)=X

D=Damage
A=Armor/Damage Reduction
P=Armor Piercing
X=Final Damage

You've seen that half-troll man around the place, but you'd never had the chance to really sit down and talk with him. Until now, that is.

The half-troll, TJ, is a quiet sort. His skin, pinkish gray and rough-and-knobbly-looking, causes him to stand out from the normal prospective agent that you see around. Not that it would take something as much as that to cause him to stand out, what with his large, hunched frame and big, meaty hands that drag across the floor if he's slumped over too much

TJ's a peaceful sort, gentle and tender with everything he comes across, an unusual sight in a prospective agent. He never hesitates to help those in need, always lending a hand with people struggling in the gym, even when he gets flak for doing so, typically from macho men full of false bravado. Those are the kinds of people that tend to join up and then leave fairly early on in their career. Too much thinking work and not enough punching things, you reckon. Most of the time they never make Special Agent, at least according to the people you spoke to regarding joining up, back when you were considering it.

He seemed to struggle when it came to the learning parts of the training. Trolls aren't exactly known for their intelligence, which he seems to have inherited from his troll parent along with his massive strength. Though, perhaps it's a good thing that he seems to have such trouble with thinking things, because if he were able to fully grasp the combat portions of training, you wouldn't like your chances if he ever went rogue.

Not that you think he'll go rogue, he's much too peaceful and placid for that.

"Hey TJ." You say as you walk up to TJ as he's reading a book on plants. For some reason you feel calm and relaxed when speaking with him, enough so that your normal social awkwardness doesn't really have much of an effect when speaking with him. He doesn't react much, like most of the times you've exchanged words with him in the halls, but he does acknowledge your presence with a pleasant sounding noise. "What're you looking at?"

(Persuasion Roll DC 65: 57, failure)

He shrugs, tapping at the picture of a flower with white petals and yellow center on the cover of his book.

Well, that didn't work. Time to try a different approach! "Can I take a look?" You point at the book.

(Persuasion Roll DC 65: 37, failure)

He shrugs again and schooches over on the bench, giving you room to sit beside him. You take it, sitting next to him as he reads a book on daffodils. He smells nice, you absently note as you read the book.

"Daffodils, huh?" You begin, asking a leading question. "Plants have never interested me much, beyond an academic sense, but do you have an interest in them?"

(Persuasion Roll DC 65: 41, failure)

He nods, turning the page.

(Perception Roll DC 35: 23+10=33, failure)

Well, at least he's not just shrugging anymore. That's a start, right?

Regardless, it doesn't seem like he's in the mood for speaking much right now. Perhaps later you'll be able to get to know him, but right now it feels more like a fool's venture.

~~~~~~~

You crack your knuckles as you take a seat in your little cordoned off section of the Workshop. Rolling your neck, you take a look at today's project laying on your worktable, your Infragoggles.

Right now, it can only see into certain spectrums like heat and electromagnetic. It can also, with the guidance of a wizard you met during your travels, slightly see into the magical spectrums, but only a little bit. And if you want to be able to properly study Sean, you'll need to be able to see what an experienced magic user does.

So here you are, in your workshop with your Infragoggles, looking to improve upon it as best you can.

(Optimize Roll DC 80*,100*,20** (Increased DC from Magically Inept): 95+15=110
56+10=66, failure)

A maddened screech rips from your throat as you throw up your hands in exasperation.

Fucking magic!

"It's okay, Mistress!" STEVE attempts to console you as you rage over the sparking remains of one of your Infragoggles. "That dastardly magic won't elude you for long, not if me, your ever loyal servant, has anything to say about it! And if it does, I'll be sure to destroy it utterly!"

You sigh, coming down from releasing all your frustrations. "I'm fine, STEVE." You say, better calm him down before he does anything too disrupting. "Just…" you take a breath, "really, really annoyed with magic."

"I'll bet, Mistress! You can't seem to get it at all!" You wince. He probably didn't mean anything by it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt a bit.

"Thanks, STEVE."

"I live to serve!" He cheerily reminds you.

"I know you do."

~~~~~~~

(What happened in your past to cause such a fascination to develop? 1)

In the bored din of your mind, that always seems to come about when you try to meditate, your thoughts turn to your past, your early, early past. Specifically, the circumstances of your conception.

You frown, slightly disgusted by the memories surfacing in your mind. Your father always had a strange fascination with recounting the tale of your conception. He never went too in depth on the act itself, but more the circumstances surrounding it.

You mentally sigh as the soft beats of the relaxing music cycle through the room. According to your father, your 'mother' never contradicted it, so it's reasonably likely it happened the way he told it, but, according to your father, you were conceived on an ancient Mayan altar in the ruined city of Chichen Itza.

Why they thought to do that, you're not entirely sure. They probably just got 'in the mood', as it were, after a particularly intense adventure in the ruins of the Mayans. Apparently, they had been stuck in the middle of a diplomatic incident between the Mayan and Aztec gods down in the Lower and only managed to survive by the skin of their teeth.

You shudder, shoulders shaking as you think back to some of the stories your father told you of his dealings with the Aztecs. Human sacrifice never sat well with you, well, except for that one time during your megalomaniacal phase, but you don't really like to think about that. You never actually did anything requiring it, but you probably wouldn't have batted an eye if you had needed to either.

But, regardless of your feelings on the matter, the choice to have sex on an Mayan altar ended up with you existing.

Goodie.

Well, it's probably going to be fine. But, even as you think that, you can't help but feel a sunken dread crawl up your spine. Deep in your heart of hearts, you know that the circumstances of your conception are rather auspicious and that something is going to come of them, whether you like it or not.

(Gain Trait: Gaze of the Mayan Gods: Because of the actions of your parents, the gaze of the Mayan gods are centered firmly on you, expect them to attempt to influence your life.)

~~~~~~~

It's around evening time and you're currently walking through the halls to a class on mental resistance.

Your feet beat a steady staccato through the empty halls as you make your way to the class. One after another, your shoe-clad feet hit the tiled floors as your bored mind flitters about, chasing thought after thought and then discarding the inane idea once you catch them.

(Perception (Auditory) Roll DC 75: 77+10=87, success)

Your eyes narrow as your footsteps don't sound quite right, like there was a single step late by a quarter-second. Somebody's following you.

You pivot on the spot, whipping around to face your pursuer with your fists raised slightly and your body tensed. Your narrowed eyes widen a fraction as you take in the appearance of the man following you.

(Perception (Visual) Roll DC 45: 75+10=85, success)

He's a very tall and lanky man. Dead, shallow, and slate gray eyes meet yours as your eyes drift up to his face. Hair more salt than pepper rests atop his head, cut short with a certain carelessness that, upon closer inspection, appears purposeful in design. His face is pockmarked with small cuts and scars, a tapestry of injuries over the course of a long and eventful career. Deep-set crows' feet frame his dull eyes, just another sign of his age.

"Miss Itzabella Williams?" The agent, for what else could he be, asks. You guess that he already knows the answer to that specific question.

"Yes?" You reply cautiously, something about this man, particularly his corpse-like gaze, has you on edge.

His eyes seem to brighten, whatever that means on a face like his, as he hears your confirmation. A smile, if you could call it that, widens his mouth. "Good to hear." His voice is a hoarse husk, like he spent far too much time with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

You stand there, looking at each other. You get the feeling he's not the most comfortable in social situations, something that you understand well.

"I was wondering something." He begins before pausing, his voice a barren hill. He seems uncertain on how to continue, on how to properly word his next sentence. His face darkens, perhaps an unhelpful thought came to mind as he collected himself. "I am looking for an understudy, someone to pass on my knowledge and experience."
"Are you interested?" His old eyes gaze into yours, searching for an answer.

(Resolve Roll DC 55: 30+30=60, success)

You resist your first impulse, to accept the offer and damn the consequences, and start considering your options.

You only really have two of them, yes or no. But what do they mean for you?

If you go with yes, you'll be able to gain invaluable firsthand knowledge and experience from an old man in a young man's game. Of course, that comes with the possibility of stumbling into rather dangerous situations, if the scars decorating his face are anything to go by.

If you go with no, you'll miss out on firsthand knowledge regarding who knows how many cases. But you'll be able to dodge the danger that comes with learning from an old man in a young man's game.

"Before I make my decision," you start, "I'd like to know the name of the man who offers this opportunity."

"Damien "Carrionbird" Rhodes!" If it was possible, you'd swear that his eyes grew even more dull as the young-sounding voice called out from nowhere.

As the sound rings out, echoing in the empty halls, a being manifests next to the so-called Damien Rhodes. She, if she is a she, is about the size of a small child, perhaps a 9-year-old girl. She's dressed in a long white dress, more a night-gown than anything actually practical. Long, coal-black hair drifts down to the small of her back, a contrast to the porcelain color of her skin. She has a mouth full of knife-like teeth spread in a too-wide grin, eyes the color of a forge's fire gleaming out at you.

"And that's Zerada-Kil," he has a long-suffering tone to his voice, "the Arming Devil that I bonded with in my youth." Her smile only grows wider as he continues. "Don't pay any attention to her, she lives to annoy me."

At your expression, Zerada-Kil bursts out into laughter, floating back as she rocks midair. "Oh, I just know this is going to be great!" She acts as if your decision is a foregone one.

What is your decision?
[ ] Yes, take Damien Rhodes on as your Mentor
[ ] No, forgo the opportunity

(Damien Rhodes added to Character Sheets)

~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~

QM's Note: Alrighty, here's the proper update. Voting will be called tomorrow at 6 PM CST

"So, uh, where are we going exactly?" You ask, slightly short on breath thanks to having to keep up with Senior Special Agent Rhodes' unfairly long legs. "Senior Special Agent Rhodes, sir, I mean." You add as a hurried afterthought.

It's your first day as Senior Special Agent Rhodes' understudy and already things are getting weird. Well, weirder than they already were, which wasn't super weird by your standards but it doesn't really matter much.

You're walking through halls that look a lot more used than the training ones. Agents—proper, actual agents, stride through the halls with their heavy-looking greatcoats slung over their shoulders. Not all wear the coat—in fact, most don't. But the more hardened of the agents sure do, clutching their, oftentimes, battlescarred and armored piece of clothing tighter around themselves.

No matter their choice of dress, they're each moving purposefully, not a step wasted in pursuit of their unknown goals.

"Please, call me Damien." Senior Special Agent Rhodes—or, you suppose, Damien requests as he guides you around a corner. You barely feel the brush of his hand on your back, his touch is as if a feather drifting in the wind lighted upon your shoulder. "And we're going to the Archives."

"Archives?" Your ears perk up as you hear the good news. Knowledge, sweet wonderous knowledge, soon to be in your grasp!

"Yeah, Archives." The Senior Agent confirms absentmindedly. Two fingers reach up to his mouth, grasping the lit cigarette that you're half-certain wasn't there a second ago, and hold it steady. He inhales, the cancer stick quickly burning away in a scant few seconds, its narcotic contaminants disappearing into his maw. Smoke, gray and acrid, billows from his mouth and nostrils, giving him the visage of an irritated dragon as it obscures his face. "On your left." He unleashes small clouds as he speaks.

And he speaks the truth, as there is indeed a set of doors to your left. These doors, unlike the spartan aesthetic of most of the facility, are wood with what look to be letters of Ancient Greek origin marking them.

(Knowledge (Ancient Greece) Roll DC 30,50: 87, double success)

Your fingers brush against the carvings, ever so gentle as to not disturb what spirits may or may not reside within the wood. Damien has another cigarette in his mouth, though he's taking his time on this one as he watches you. Just what could it be that's causing him to be so, well, you're not sure.

(Perception (Visual) DC 75: 50+10=60, failure)

"See anything you recognize?" Your Mentor's voice, slightly distorted by the cigarette in his mouth, is as husky and hoarse as ever as it draws you from your internal musings. It's like the voice of a long-time smoker, which, given his current activities, might not be too far off from the truth.

"Yeah." You stand up, hands clapping against each other, a habit you picked up from dealing with many dusty artifacts. For a moment, the standing figure of Damien is replaced with your father's, a torch-bearing hand raised as he lit the way in that Egyptian tomb. With a hasty shake of your head, you clear it of unpleasant memories. "Lotta mentions of oracles." You point out the passages.

He nods, a sign for you to continue.

"But," you hesitate, rather dark memories of your time in Troy resurfacing in your mind's eye, "the Oracle Cassandra appears more than any other." As you finish, your thoughts turn back towards then, in those days of war an-

"Checks out." Damien announces, tearing you from your spiraling mind with a gruff word. "Come on, we've gotta introduce you to the Librarian."

(Intuition Roll DC 35: 65+10=75, success)

You grimace as he opens the doors, from his tone it would seem that he has history—or rather, history with this librarian, if the way he's chewing on the cigarette is anything to go by.

~~~~~~~

"Damien." A cold breeze of a voice brushes past you as it travels to the tall man next to you.

The Librarian is a short woman with a sort of plumpness to her. A set of glasses perch on the end of her round face, chains stopping them from falling clean off her rounded nose. Eyes, gray as the surface of the moon, glare up at Damien—who must have at least three feet on the hands-on-hip woman before you.

"Helen." Damien answers, sounding more tired than anything. Her glare deepens as she spots the cigarette in his mouth, which had ignited upon the conversation, if you could call it that, starting. In a lightning-quick motion, she plucks the cancer stick from his mouth and crushes it in her palm, lit end and all.

"No smoking in the Archives!" She tucks the crushed cigarette away in his pocket. The Senior Agent looks, well, he looks like he normally does. So vaguely sad and tired. Another cigarette appears in his mouth, though you do catch a glimpse of his hand returning to his side this time! It's not lit, of course.

"Sorry." He says in lieu of an actual apology. "Have you got the binders?"

"Of course I've got them, do you know who you're talking to?" Helen sighs, rubbing at her glasses lens with the end of her pink shirt, a white cardigan over it. "They're over there." She points the glasses towards a long table, stacked high with ten over-bulging binders. Your ears catch her mutterings as your legs start moving of their own volition. "I don't even know why I try so hard to get him to stop, I've seen that nothing will come of it…" She goes on, but your mind is rather preoccupied with the binders in front of you.

You can feel your mouth start to water at the sight of them, frankly, you were vaguely disappointed with the Archives up until this point. There hadn't even been a single book in the lobby! What sort of farce of a library is this?!

Damien slides the first binder over as he takes one for himself and sits down across from you. He immediately starts reading, eyes zooming across the page.

The title of the binder, written in especially neat handwriting, is Concrete's Influence and Impact on Post-Unsealing Fae Culture, Volume I.

Well, you open the binder to the first page, at least you'll learn something!

Oh hey, there's a small preface.

Hello Itza. What the fuck. I know this will be boring, just stick with it. I promise it'll be useful. Well, that's not a good sign. Good tidings, Helen. You twist in your seat, turning to where the… librarian's… supposed to be.

Which is where she isn't.

Great, creepy librarians, that's absolutely wonderful.

~~~~~~~

You're in a library, specifically, the Chicago Division Archive. It's a rather impressive name for what is, essentially, a repository for reports of both the field and research nature. Of course, this place would normally be completely off limits for someone like yourself, a trainee in the Service who hasn't even cut her teeth yet. Well, cut her teeth while doing her job. Because, well, let's face it: you've killed before. Kinda hard not to when you've been on all sorts of adventures. You don't take any pleasure from it, it's simply just a fact of life for the discerning adventurer.

(Resolve Roll DC 20,30,40,50,60: 15+30=45, triple success)

You pore over the thick binder in front of you, bulging with information and nearly overflowing from how stuffed it is. Glorious, glorious knowledge lies under your eyes, begging your brain to pick it apart and store it deep within the dark recesses and brilliant chambers of your mind.

But alas, even with the font of new findings before you, you can't quite muster up enthusiasm for Concrete's Influence and Impact on Post-Unsealing Fae Culture, Volume IV. The first two were fine, they held your interest for a good long while. But, after you muddled your way through the third volume, which spent over three quarters of the allotted pages on Pixies, specifically the Devonian Pixie, you're starting to feel it. The author must have had some grudge or personal hang-up over the Cornish variant, as Research-Agent Albert, the writer, doesn't seem to like them very much. The only time they're even mentioned is in brief footnotes and short end-of-paragraph lines that contain little to no information.

"Urgh." You gurgle out, sliding down the stiff, wood-backed chair in the library until your chin rests at the tabletop. Damien spares you not even a mere glance, his attention rapt as he turns a page in his copy of the binder. "Why am I even doing this?" You force out, arms and legs working in tandem to pull you back to a sitting position. "What possible reason could I have for knowing how the Devonian Pixie utilizes fragments of concrete to construct houses?"

He turns a page, steadily scanning in an unending tide of focus. An unlit cigarette hangs from the corner of his mouth, teeth rolling it this way and that as he reads on. If he could get away with it, you reckon that he'd have lit it by now, but, with the librarian from hell showing up out of nowhere to yell at him whenever he does it, you can understand why he's not. That doesn't stop him from chewing the nicotine-tobacco combo and getting it that way, of course. Perhaps that's why he can keep on task while reading the most droll garbage you've encountered in quite a while.

It's then that he decides to speak. "Iron." And it's only the one word, nice. What are you supposed to do with one w-

(Intuition Roll DC 40: 97+10=107, success, well then
90+7=97, double success, that was a close one)

By the power of Science, you feel like an idiot right now! Cold Iron. Cold fucking Iron. Devonian Pixies' are immune to Cold Iron, meaning that they like to build their homes from it as a defense against other Fae. Rebar is in concrete as a supporting structure and that's made from iron. And what is iron? Cold Iron.

So that's why the author barely mentions the Cornish Pixie! They stay far away from human settlements in the hearts of forests. There's very little reason that they would interact enough with concrete so there's very little chance that their culture would be affected by the rebar at all!

These binders weren't about the effects of concrete on the Fae's culture, not at all! They were telling you about potential locations of Cold Iron while in the 'wild', as it were.

…probably, at least. They do have a weird amount of, mostly, irrelevant talk on concrete throughout it, so maybe you're just reading into it too much.

…Nah, you're totally right.

~~~~~~~

"Hey, Damien?" Your words sound like thunder in the comfortable quiet that's fallen across the two of you. It's been a little while since you first encountered him, about a week and a bit and he'd started going over some of his old cases with you. Going over how things went down and diving deeper than the reports go, much deeper.

He nods, sipping from his coffee. "Yeah? Figured out the snatcher?" And that's the other part of it. He doesn't tell you what he did, only the events that happened and pieces of evidence. It's up to you to figure everything out.

This particular case was centered around a snatcher, a nickname given to those crazies who snatch people off the street to do experiments on, typically mad science, but mad magic isn't as rare as you'd think. It's probably even more common than mad science, actually, what with contacting greater beings being a decently big part of certain kinds of magic.

"Not quite," though it's totally the gardener, "but I, uh, was reading some casefiles in my offtime and couldn't help but notice that you were involved in one of them… and I also had the idea to ask you about Fallen Angels." You grin sheepishly—more a baring of teeth, really, as you rub at your arm. Damien blinks as he processes your word vomit, setting his coffee on the table.

"Well, let's start with the Fallen Angel first." He replies as he readjusts his sitting position. Zerada-Kil emerges into existence next to him, hands steepled as she leans on the table.

"So, yah wanna know about Fallen Angels?" The grin that adorns her face could only be described as 'predatory'. "Well, you've come to the right Devil for that!"

"Ignore her." Damien sighs, fighting the urge to plant his face in his palms. "She's not old enough to know any actual Fallen, only the copy-cats."

"You're not old enough either!" He ignores her as she cackles.

"But, regardless of any peanut galleries-" Zerada-Kil blows a raspberry "-I have had some experience with Fallen Angels." Damien wipes some spit off his scruffy-bearded cheek. "So, what do you want to know?"

"Can you give me just a basic rundown, please? General properties that the public probably wouldn't know."

"They're still Angels, regardless of the name." Like a switch flipped, the man sitting across from you turns from a socially awkward middle-aged chainsmoker and into a hyper-competent master of investigation. "Fallen Angels are simply Angels that have left the service of the City of Heaven, for whatever reason. They don't tend to live long, Heaven takes a dim view on those that would shirk their duties and hunts them down. The ones that do live long will have several key differences to a normal Angel, changes they've made to their physiology in order to survive without any backing."

"The first," he holds up a finger, "is their stronger wings, allowing them to fly unburdened by their more durable feathers. Their feathers are hardened, allowing them to bounce even point-blank slugs, though a high enough caliber rifle will punch through one, especially if it's an armor-piercing round. Of course, feathers are stacked ontop of each other, meaning that they are essentially bulletproof."

"They also make great knives!" Zerada-Kil helpfully adds, a six-inch-long rigid feather appearing in her hands as if it were made from mist. She twirls it in her fingers as she grins. "With edges as sharp as a Heaven-forged blade, there's no wonder they cut so well."

"Is that… one in your hand, there?" You point at it, the feather not really looking like you'd expected. For one, it's not black. It's instead a silvery color, almost a metallic gray. It doesn't have the fluffiness that you associate with feathers either; it looks as if it were forged from metal into a solid mass.

The smile widens. "Nope!" The half-formed request for more to study dies on your tongue. "It's a knife." She says by way of explanation.

Damien sighs and takes it upon himself to go a bit more in depth. "Zerada-Kil is a Knife Devil, meaning that she can use her natural form to create knives and knife-adjacent things." Thank you Damien.

(Knowledge (Hellpits) DC 45: 98+15(Knowledge (Lower Realm))=113, success
74+13=87, double success)

You've learned quite a bit about Arming Devils just by being around Damien and Zerada-Kil as a consequence. For one, her name means 'Dancing Edge', which STEVE approved of greatly. Arming Devils' are weapons, it's where they get their name. And you don't mean metaphorically a weapon, they literally are weapons—tools that one would hold in their hand.

You haven't really seen Zerada-Kil's knife form yet, though you suspect you'll see it plenty when you get to the physical training section.

"But moving on." Your Mentor resumes speaking, adding another finger to join its sibling. "Fallen Angels are, as a consequence of typically residing in magically deficit places—a concealment strategy, less magically powerful than their Heavenly counterparts. Though that doesn't mean that they aren't powerhouses, not at all. They're still fully capable of turning you inside out with a flick of the wrist, they just can't do it as much. As such, they are oftentimes significantly stronger physically than normal Angels."

"He's got that right!" The Arming Devil chimes in, the feather pointing straight up, the slightly rounded tip stuck in the wooden table. "Fallen Angels are toughies, through and through!" Her normally schadenfreude-filled cheer sours, her expression darkening as they brush upon some dark memory. She shivers and Damien grimaces, his counting hand drops to comfort her. "Fucking Ophanim." The normally overly cheery and slightly grating voice quiet as she whispers in an empty tone.

"I-I-I'm sorry." You blink in shock as the pair across from you glance your way, your mouth having blurted out your thoughts. Well, you made your bed, time to lay in it. "I-I shouldn't have brought it up…" Your words trail off, not sure where to go from here. Dammit, this is why you don't interact with people!

"Aw it's alright!" And just like that, she's back—bubbly as ever. "Just a little bit of trauma, nothing to worry about!" Damien's hand falls away from comforting Zerada-Kil and a third finger rises along with the others.

"The third isn't physiological, at least not entirely so." Are… are you supposed to just ignore what just happened? Zerada-Kil's still got tears in her eyes, dammit! They're just brushing past it… is this what awaits you in your future? An existence so jaded that you're able to just… pick up where you left off? "The higher grades of Angels can also become Fallen, even if non-Angel Fallen are exceedingly rare." His face darkens and his voice gains an odd growl to it. "So rare that they apparently 'forgot' to mention them to us… If you should be so unlucky as to meet a Fallen Angel stronger than an Archē, run and do not look back." His voice has an utter seriousness to it that leaves no room for dispute.

Ah shit, with your luck you're gonna be running into one of those eventually. Great.

"So, uh, can I ask you about that case I came across?"

He breathes in, holds it, then releases. "Sure, if I'm not too tired out." He cracks a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "I am an old man, I need my sleep."

"It's called 'The Mystery of the Bisected Sun God'." You retrieve the document from your bag, looking up just in time to catch the look on his face. It's not a pleasant one, to say the least. God, you're just stepping in traumatic landmines today, aren't you?

(Is he in the mood to keep on talking? DC 90: 91, success, apparently he feels like digging into his trauma today)

A breath hisses through clenched teeth as you lay the file on the table. His hands clench, twisting tight to avoid… something. Zerada-Kil comforts him, having to stand up on the chair to do so. Slowly, infinitely so, he breathes out, seemingly deflating as he does, the diminutive woman next to him patting his pack all the way.

Resignedly, Damien opens his mouth. "...yeah, yeah I can talk about that one, for a little while at least."

"Thanks." You're not entirely sure what to do or say right now. But, whatever you did, it seems to work as it draws a quiet laugh from the pair across the table.

"I'm gonna keep this brief, to avoid any unnecessary… Well, I'm just gonna cut to it." Helen, coming from nowhere as she is wont to do, leans over the table and lights the unlit cigarette hanging from Damien's lip. He thanks her, puffing away as she smiles warmly. She has a sad smile, like she's seen a lot of bad things happen. It's a smile that the veterans of this place seem to share. "It was a good plan, just with the wrong people to carry it out."

"I was a newbie at the time, the previous case I was on was my very first—and, coincidentally, was also the one I met Zera on." He indicates the Arming Devil next to him, who has returned to sitting in the chair. "The Service being as young as it was, I was one of the stronger Agents they had on hand." He glances at his hands. "Still am, really."

Shaking his head, the Senior Special Agent carries on. "And so I was selected for back-up when things inevitably went tits up. A colony of Amazons had recently been established in what the Atlanteans consider their part of their ocean—before they got all psycho and claimed all that is wet, and we'd decided to insert ourselves into the discussion as mediators seeing as they were nearby to Hawaii. This was back when it was still in our hands."

He fixes you with a stare. "Our first mistake was sending any men at all on the mission, the second was not immediately calling for help when we realized the problem with sending men to a bunch of Amazons. Not that we had Agents to spare, but that's beside the point."

"Obviously, with relations already strained between the historic enemies, the appearance of a bunch of outsiders would've complicated things, let alone a bunch of outsider men." Damien brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a deep pull, his eyes far away from the Archive. "They threw a god at us, half of one at least. It didn't end well." He rolls up a sleeve, revealing a bandaged forearm.

Slowly but surely the wrappings fall away as he unveils the gnarled, cherry-red burn covering the majority of his forearm. You blink, silencing the nausea building in your throat. It… it looks fresh, like he just got it a couple hours ago, which can't be true—he looks at least 50 and he's talking about a case when he was just starting out!

"This is an Everwound, something that beings of sufficient power are capable of doing. It never heals and never fades, always as painful as the day I got it." He makes no outward reaction as he begins layering the wrappings back on. "It takes a substantial amount of power to do something like this, but if you piss something off enough that won't matter."

(Resolve Roll DC 70: 13+30=40, failure)

"My advice?" He pulls the bandage taut. "Kill it before it gets mad enough." At the look on your face he continues. "Very, very few things are capable of doing something like this." He gestures at his arm. "So don't be too worried about it."

"R-right." You hope your voice didn't convey how shaken you are by that, but that's a long shot if the look he's giving you is anything to go by.

(Gain Trait: Teachings of the Crow: Damien "Carrionbird" Rhodes himself decided to mentor you, passing on many of the lessons and experiences he's had throughout his career. +15 to Intimidation and relevant Knowledge rolls and +10 to Contacts (Underworld) rolls. In future cases, you also gain a chance to recall additional information from the lessons.)

~~~~~~~

In the limited time you have to yourself, you find yourself slaving away in the Workshop.

Specifically you're working on designing that Accelerator Bullet idea you had a while back.

(Design (Craft (Super Science)) Roll DC 40,70: 77+15=92, double success, nice)

Stepping back from the drafting table, you grin to yourself. Finally, after months of work, you've done it. You made a way for bullets to accelerate by themselves, though making them is gonna be a bitch. …sort of. The bullet sure flies faster, but not as much as you were hoping, oh well.

But hey, you also got that other possible idea for it planned out, so there's that. It involved messing with the accelerant itself. By the looks of things… it could probably also be ingested by organisms such as yourself.

Now all you need to do is come up with a name for them!

What should you call the Accelerator Bullet?
[ ] Accelerator Bullet
[ ] Cutter Rounds
[ ] Zoom Boom
[ ] Write in

What about the other design, the Zoom Powder?
[ ] Zoom Powder
[ ] Sniff-n-Whiff
[ ] Go-Fast Rub
[ ] Write in

(Gain Design: Cutter Rounds (Named for how the bullet 'cuts' through the air when fired. It acts as a hammer and chisel, breaking open armor. It also moves pretty fast too))
(Gain Design: Zoom Powder (An ingestible powder that, when consumed by living things, makes them go fast. Also can be added to gunpowder to make bullets go faster.))

~~~~~~~~

Alrighty, the next turn is going to be the final exam. You'll have a partner for it and you can leave who it is up to fate or choose yourself. Choosing a random partner will give you the chance to get someone you haven't interacted with as your partner.

Partner?
[ ] Amelia Raegin
[ ] Jess Farrow
[ ] Sean McCullen
[ ] TJ
[ ] Leave it up to fate

~~~~~~~

QM's Note: Voting will be called tomorrow at 6 PM CST

A heavy churning feeling rests in your gut as you and Damien approach the briefing room, where you'll receive your final exam.

Oh Christ! Why'd you ever think that joining the Service was a good idea?!

"You are fully capable of passing the exam." Damien says as you walk the halls, heavy greatcoat trailing behind him like a great mass of armored cloth.

"Have any tips or tricks? Hell, do you know the exam?" You ask, only half joking on the last one.

"You know I can't tell you the contents of the exam, other than it being a practical one."

You roll your eyes, inwardly thankful for the distraction. "Obviously, but can't you give me a hint?"

"Not on the contents, but I will give you some advice." A puff of smoke filters from his nostrils as he turns to you. "Solving the case isn't the only way to pass. Take your time but don't waste it.

You furrow your brows. "Solving… the case?"

He cracks a grin, a glimmer of mirth in his normally blank eyes. "Said it was practical, didn't I?"

Oh. "Oh."

He chortles, a chuckle on his lips. "It won't be very hard, not like an actual case. It's more of a mock-up than anything real."

"Okay," you breathe out a sigh of relief, a weight you weren't aware you were carrying is lifted from your shoulders, "that's good."

"We're here." And he's right as on your left there's a door with a plaque reading 'Briefing Room C'.

With a deep breath, you reach for the metal door handle.

It opens with an unceremonious click, a little underwhelming for the gravity of the situation. You feel Damien gently pushing you forward, a nod to you as you look over your shoulder.

As the door clicks shut behind you, you take in Briefing Room C.

The room itself is illuminated by a set of ceiling lights situated directly over a long, oblong table. Office chairs, cheap ones, surround the table, all facing towards the screen hanging from the far wall.

You plod across the carpeted floors and take the only open seat available. Glancing around, you only recognize four of the five other occupants of the room.

There's the gentle half-troll TJ, who looks like he's especially nervous right now. There's the toned superhuman Jess, who looks like she'd rather be sleeping right now. There's Amelia, the half-elf looking as imperceptible as ever as she sits neutrally in her chair. There's Sean, who grinned at you as you entered.

But, there's one other person here who you don't recognize.

(Perception Roll DC 70: 39+10=49, failure

He, as far as you can tell, is a human of average appearance. He's got a thick, black scarf on and has it wrapped around his neck and lower face, his eyes covered by a pair of dark sunglasses. A throwing dagger, a kunai, flips through the air as he tosses and catches it.

If you were to make a guess, you'd say that this is a ninja of the American variety.

Which does make sense, seeing as you haven't seen him before. That seems like the sort of thing a ninja would do.

Although, he could also be a ninja of the Japanese variety dressing up as an American ninja.

You scowl. This is why you hate ninjas, they always do their weird little tricks.

It's tense in this room. You can feel the near tangible nerves of everyone, save Amelia and the ninja.

And then the door opens, and another familiar face walks in.

"My name is KT Agent Daniels and I will be your instructor for the final exam." The tall Android steps in, having to duck underneath the door frame as the floor trembles under his heavyset footsteps. He looks crispy, the ends of his greatcoat lightly blackened and the tips of his synthetic hair singed, like he'd just been in a fight with a fire and won.

He reaches the back of the room, the switched-off screen behind him, and plants his gloved palms on the table with a heavy clunk. Six pairs of eyes are glued to Agent Daniels as he begins speaking, his brassy tones demanding attention. "This is your final exam, pass and you'll move on to field work under a mentor. Some of you," he nods in your direction, "have already found a mentor. But if you haven't, you will receive one upon graduation."

You feel eyes on you as he singles you out and feel the urge to shrink in on yourself.

(Resolve Roll DC 45: 95+30=125, success
74+25=99, double success, that was close)

But you scowl and shake it off, you've come too far to give up now.

"If you fail to pass, you will be given three options." Agent Daniels holds up a finger, you can barely make out a faint whirring as he does. His dampeners must be damaged. "One, you wash out and become a civilian."

"Two," a long and thick finger joins its brother, "you join as a normal Agent, which typically involves background work and rarely, if ever, see the field." That doesn't seem to fit well with the others here, though TJ seems to be ambivalent on it. "You also receive this option if you pass, just in case you realized that field work isn't for you."

"Three," another gloved finger rises to meet its siblings, "you retake the course. One of you here has tried twice before to pass, failing both times."

(Perception Roll DC 95: 38+10=48, no luck)

Your eyes dart across the room, landing on each of your fellow trainees' faces. But you get nothing, nothing other than a wall of stoney determination—or a blank face in the case of Amelia and a cloth-covered one in the case of the ninja's.

KT Agent Daniels raises his left hand and clicks the remote that had appeared in it. The screen behind him lights up, his frame obscuring the picture until he steps out of the way.

"This," he points at the series of photos appearing on the screen, "is Waterhaven Elementary School. Abandoned in 2063, when a dimensional portal leading to the Hellpit was torn open in the gymnasium. Service Agents at the time cleared it of Hellish infestation, but were unable to save the lives of an estimated 380 students. The school never recovered from the incident."

The screen swaps to another slide, this one of documents and reports of 'strange noises' and 'eerie lights' coming from the building. Each is dated within the last three months. "Normally, these wouldn't be enough to qualify for Agents, however—with Waterhaven's history with the Demonic, it was deemed necessary to deploy Agents to the scene."

The screen swaps again, this time with a layout of the building. "Waterhaven has three wings, two stories each, all connecting from a central rotunda to the gymnasium. You will be split into groups of two, with each group assigned to a wing. You will search your wing for any evidence of Hellish infestation, or any other group. Should you discover Hellish influence your next objective is to eliminate all Devils or Demons on site and secure the source of the presence."

A new image appears, this one of a wider map. A large red dot is placed over a street corner, a few blocks away from Waterhaven. "If there are Hellspawn and they prove too much for you to handle," you catch a small, minuscule grin on Amelia's face, which you realize has been there since the words 'Hellpit' was mentioned, "my Kill Team is on standby." He fixes you all with a heavy stare. "Calling in my team should be a last resort as we will not be gentle with clearing the infestation and will scour the source away—leaving nothing behind to study for evidence of who put it there."

As you all nod in confirmation, he moves on to the next topic—namely, the teams. "Amelia Raegin and Ryan Tuckenburg are Team One and will take the North Wing." So that's the ninja's name, Ryan. "Itzabella Williams and Sean McCullen are Team Two and will take the East Wing. Jess Farrow and Troth-Joi Smith are Team Three and will take the South Wing."

He spreads his hands in an inviting gesture. "Are there any questions?"

"What equipment will we have at our disposal?" That comes from Sean, who's rubbing at his chin in thought.

"Good question." Agent Daniels nods in acknowledgement. "You are allowed what you qualify for from the S3's armory and whatever you desire to bring from your personal supply."

"Are there any others?" He offers the floor to the rest of you.

Do you have any questions? You may ask as many as you desire.
[ ] Write in

~~~~~~~

With the Q&A session completed, you're led to the Armory, where you're given leeway to select what you desire. After, of course, picking up your uniform.

The suit itself is, frankly, surprisingly comfortable. It's also remarkably flexible, allowing you to fully stretch in just about every way you can think of—save for some of the more involved yoga poses you're aware of. It's black, jet black, for style and you can feel light armor fiber woven into the material, giving you a degree of protection. It won't save you from firearms, but most street weapons are going to have trouble getting through it. It's pockets are a bit lackluster, though that's not really its job.

Apparently, both the tie and the belt can serve as a multitude of things. From garrotte wires to zipline hooks, they truly are a remarkable piece of equipment.

The greatcoat is a marvel of personal equipment. Fire retardant, hydrophobic, and acid resistant? As well as serving as grounding for electricity? What's not to love?

The weight, for one. It weighs, at least, eight or nine pounds. Which might not seem like a lot, but it does get a bit heavy when you're wearing it eight or so hours a day. Especially when you're doing physical stuff, like fighting.

It makes up for this by having a good reason for the weight, namely, the armored panels located in the coat. You're pretty sure that most common weapons aren't going to do very well against it, if anything they'll just bounce off. It's also got very deep pockets, as you tested with a pair of longarms that you slipped underneath your arms and inside your greatcoat.

"So, how're you findin' it?" The hollow and slightly echoey voice calls out to you as you emerge from the changing rooms.

"It fits well," you reply, "though I'm still getting used to the weight."

Andy, the skeletal armorer, nods—as if he was expecting you to say something along those lines. And yes, Andy is a literal undead skeleton. How he got a job as an armorer, in the Service no less, you're not entirely sure. He's certainly good at his job, if the way the glowing blue lights in his hollow eye sockets determine sizes and fittings with a single glance is anything to go by.

"So, have you made a decision on the equipment?" He asks, a boney hand waving at the selection of Service weapons out for perusal.

"Hmm…" You mutter, biting at your lower lip.

What would you like to take with you? You can take as much as you can carry on you and you may select things twice. (12 Tiny Items-6 Small Items (2 Tiny Items=1 Small Item) and 2 Medium Items. You can carry one Medium-Large Item in your hands)

[ ] Standard Agent Loadout (Service Pistol, Service Knife, Handcuffs, Investigation Equipment, Lockpicks, Rubber Gloves, and Evidence Baggies)

Or you can make your own by selecting from these:
(Gain:
-Service Greatcoat (Armor 2, Fire Retardant, Hydrophobic, Acid Resistant, Grounding, Warm, Heavy, Deep Pockets (8 Tiny Items-4 Small Items-2 Medium Items), Outerwear)
-Service Suit (Armor 1, Fancy, Hydrophobic, Pockets (4 Tiny Items-2 Small Items), Bodywear))

~~~~~~~

QM's Note: In the future, you'll be able to just select from your own default loadouts, but right now you're stuck with going with either the standard agent loadout or making your own.

You're not likely to face anything that requires heavy weaponry in Waterhaven, but if you want to take explosives you can. I'll update your character sheet in a bit, I'm not really in a place I cna do that right now.

Voting will be called on Saturday, Jan 22 at 6 PM CST. Thank you for voting and apologies for the delay, school's started back up again and I'm only now starting to get back into the swing of things.

"How big is each wing and how many rooms do they have?" You ask the first question of the mental list you made, leaning forwards in your chair.

"Good question." KT Agent Daniels clicks the remote, the visuals swapping back to the blueprints and layouts. " The North and South wings each have two floors, 20 rooms each. The East wing has 10 rooms on each floor, not including the gymnasium—which you are also expected to clear."

"Can we use the files from the previous cases of Waterhaven?"

He nods. "Of course, the files will be provided to you on the way there."

"Has anything strange or uncommon happened or happening currently in the vicinity, outside of the school?"

"Nothing beyond reports of strange lights, weird noises, and the odd flicker of movement."

"Was the portal closed or just sealed? Displaced maybe?" You ask.

"Very good question." He eyes the rest of you. "It's important to make the distinction, especially when writing up the report." Agent Daniels pauses, checking his notes—presumably. "But, to answer your question, it was only sealed. The Service of the time was in its infancy and was a great deal more lax in its standards then it is now. On account of having to deal with exponentially more situations than we do now."

"Why wasn't it dealt with once everything calmed down?" Jess adds, her muscular arms cross as she furrows her brows. And she has a point, why didn't the Service clean it up afterwards?

"Bureaucracy, unfortunately. While Helen has many talents, clairvoyance is not one of them. She does a good job with sorting the labyrinthine files of the archives, but sometimes things slip past. This was one of them."

"Damn paperwork." Sean swears in a half-joking manner, a grin on his face.

"Affirmative." The Android nods in agreement.

"If there is something a team can't handle, can we somehow signal the other teams or the kill team—if we can't escape?" You receive a couple snorts as you keep on going.

"You will be provided Communicators, guaranteed to put you in contact with TOC and other agents in all conditions—barring severe magical interference or super-science jamming. Or not being present in the same dimension, it is difficult to send a signal through to another dimension when said dimension is filled with cosmic horrors." You get the feeling that he's speaking from experience here. And, given that he's still here to talk about it, you should definitely pay attention to what he has to say.

And you arrive at your final question "Was the building in active use or was it abandoned since the last case?"

"Fully abandoned, save for a few foolhardy urban explorers or ghost hunters. It tends to be difficult to reopen when 400 kids died—few parents or guardians will trust it."

You nod, done with your questions.

~~~~~~~

You slide the pistol, safety on and chambered in 10mm, into the holster resting over your heart and strap it in place—fastening the button to lock it down.

"A good choice," Andy's bones click as he speaks, his lower jawbone swinging in an approximation of speech, "small, discrete, effective for most foes, not overly threatening to a witness when being questioned."

The armorer nods, jaw flapping. "A good choice." He asserts, patting you on the shoulder as he carries on with his unending work. You shake your head, a wistful sigh escaping your lips. It must be nice to be undead and not get tired––you'd get so much work done!

A little while later, after you pack everything away in their respective pockets, you follow KT Agent Daniels as he leads you to the transport. Seeing an opportunity, you take the time to check what the others are bringing along.

Sean is the focus of your observations, as he's to be your partner for this training endeavor. The Dullahan, perhaps predictably, has a spine-like whip coiled on his right hip, over the greatcoat flowing by his legs. He likely has forgone lockpicks or a prybar, given his people's ability to unlock things just by approaching them.

(Perception Roll DC 60: 25+10=35, failure)

The easy grin on his face as he strolls along repels your efforts to figure him out. A shame, as you'd like to get a read on how he's feeling right now, well, beyond the facade of easy-goingness he's currently putting up.

Amelia's next on your list, given that she's likely had some experience against the demonic with her background being what it is. She's dressed, well, much the same as she always does—with the exception of what appears to be a load of various holy objects.

(Perception Check DC 85: 81+10=91, success)

She hasn't given so much as a hint of dropping that small smile on her face—the subtle upturn of the corners of her mouth is all the evidence that it even exists in the first place. If you were to harken a guess, you'd say that she's feeling genuinely happy about this.

Your gaze drifts down to her hand, following the flow of the twice-blessed fabric, to where she fingers the rosary in her pocket. Every few minutes she shifts to the next bead, slowly making her way through the prayer.

Probably a good decision, given where you're heading.

Done observing the more important trainees, you turn your attention towards the others. They're dressed much the same as you, a suit and greatcoat—with subtle changes based on the individual. Ryan, the ninja, has a shotgun on his shoulder and is carrying his sword by its sheathe. Jess has slipped on a pair of brass knuckles and is currently flexing her fingers around in them, getting used to their feeling on her hands. And TJ, a shock to you, is lugging around what appears to be a mounted gun—guess super-strength comes in handy. Or, well, it probably isn't really super-strength as it's a natural part of his biology. Trolls, unlike a lot of beings, don't have magical enhancements to their musculature––it's all natural for them.

(Passing Idea Roll DC 50,70,100: 50, bare success)

Oh wait, what if you could make some sort of… muscle enhancing fiber based on his biology? You've had experience with muscle suits in the past––your father having grown a few biological ones in his lab, but you've never had a chance to work with one until now. What good providence!

(Idea Gained: Troll-Muscle Fibers)

But, any ideas you've got rattling around in that big noggin of yours is gonna have to be put on hold as you've reached the transport.

It's… well it's a van. An armored one, much like the van that KT Agent Daniels picked you up in. All black sides and tinted windows, the letters "SSS" written on the sides in big blocky text. A larger vehicle sits beside it, two of them in fact.

These vehicles are much bigger than the van, with each of them having turrets mounted on the roofs. There's no mistaking these for anything other than a machine built for one thing and one thing only: violence. And ferrying Kill Teams to their destination, judging by the armored agents––about fifteen of them in total, milling around the backs of the opened APCs.

And the agents themselves, well, there's no mistaking them for anything other than a Kill Team, all black and blue armor and faceless masks. Bulging pouches adorn their armor, equipment hangs from webbing. You squint, is that a can of MSB-10? Yeah, yeah it is!

"And this is where I leave you," KT Agent Daniels says as you climb into the back of the van, "I need to see to my team, make sure Peters isn't screwing around with the gas grenades again." He mutters that last part, robotic eyes staring at an armored agent as he stands inconspicuously beside a box of, presumably, grenades. "Good luck, not that you'll need it." He turns and stalks towards Peters, his long legs carrying him half the distance in a blink of an eye.

The van door closes as you hear muffled yelling. And you're off.

~~~~~~~

It feels weird, you realize as you clamber from the van, to not be in the HQ. You've spent five months, nearly half a year, there and it really doesn't feel like it. It feels more like you've been there only a couple weeks, but… But this is it, the final test and then your career can really begin.

(Perception Roll DC 35: 63+10=73, success)

Waterhaven Elementary School looks… foreboding. Tall brick walls once a cheerful cherry red now leer at you with tan malice. Wind whistles from broken and boarded up windows, shards of glass littering the ground underneath them. The ground bears an impact crater, where the asphalt playspace in the front of the school used to be––evidence of something big falling here.

The reports had mentioned a secondary portal opening, though that one was permanently closed when the agents on site blew it to hell. Literally.

You frown as your eyes dart over the asphalt field and the darkened sky. There's something… wrong here.

"Hey, Sean." You prompt as he climbs out. "You notice anything weird with this place?"

The Dullahan looks around, eyebrows furrowing as he makes the same connection as you. A frown crawls its way across his cream cheese face. "Yeah," he begins, glancing at you, "it's dark here, too dark for how long we were travelling here."

"I was thinking the same thing." You nod, pulling out a pen and paper to make a note of it. "Well, we'd best get going." You say as the rest of the group piles out.

And you do so, passing through an empty door frame and entering the school. The mostly-tiled ground is littered with deep gouges and the occasional empty casing that a scavenger missed. Overturned tables and cracks in the walls––a hole in the ceiling would let in light, had the sun been up at the time.

Together with Sean, you head into the East Wing, your greatcoats billowing behind you as you walk.

~~~~~~~
(Do You Find Something? Or Does Something Find You?: 2, well that's an odd one)
~~~~~~~

(Perception Roll DC 15: 18+10=28, success. Your rolls today are weird, ngl)
(Sean's Perception Roll DC 15: 66, success)

You're emerging from the seventh room you've checked, a science room, and are in the process of heading towards the eighth when you freeze, as does Sean beside you.

In the near absolute quietness of the school, where the only noise is the whistle of the wind and the thumping of your own footsteps, the loud talking coming from down the hall is like thunder to your ears.

The sudden glaring light coming from down near the main entrance isn't helping much, either.

"Hey guys," the loud voice begins from down the hall, speaking towards a cameraman, "and welcome back to another one of our exploration streams."

You and Sean share a look as you process the words, dawning horror on your faces as you realize what you're looking at here.

"Today, we're taking a look at the old Waterhaven Elementary School, in good ol' Chicago. Yes, chat," who the hell is chet?, "I am talking about that Waterhaven, the one where 400 kids were whisked away to the depths of hell." His voice sounds like a well-oiled machine, like he's practiced this many times before.

You sigh, as does Sean. Pulling out your communicator, you call up the other two teams. "Team Two here, we've got what appears to be a…" you look at Sean, who mouths the word 'streamer' at you, "streamer? A civilian in the school, we're gonna go escort him out, over"

"Team One received, over." Amelia's curt voice answers, a thrum of emotion in her voice that blows all previous encounters with her out of the water.

"Got it, stay safe. Team Three received, over." Jess confirms she got it as you turn to Sean. You open your mouth and start discussing how to do this.

How do you approach this?
[ ] Just get them outta here with whatever force is necessary.
[ ] Approach with words and reason, perhaps they'll understand and leave easily.
[ ] Write in

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: wtf, my sense of time is so screwy. Days just keep blending together! Sorry for the lateness. Voting will be called tomorrow at 6 PM, CST. Thanks for reading and voting.

"Let's just… I dunno," you exclaim, an exasperated huff punctuating your words, "go up and ask them to leave? Politely, but firmly."

"Right." Sean bobs his head, the characteristic smile of his peeling its way across his face––he's got some mischief planned, "and maybe we'll give them a little fright while we're at it." And with that, you approach the streamer and his crew.

"H-hey Magi?" One of the crew, the boom operator, asks as he points a shaky hand at the darkness. "W-what's t-that?"

"What are you talking about, MaARK!?" The streamer springs back, clearing at least three feet as a body stumbles from the darkness clutching at its throat.

"He-help m-mee…" The figure takes one, two steps before the head tilts forwards––gurgling all the way as it hits the ground with a clatter.

"O-oh my fuc-" Somebody says, all eyes glued to the decapitated body.

"Apologies for my partner, he can be a bit of a jokester." You say, stepping from the darkness. The cameraman immediately pans to you as you, in one smooth motion, scoop up Sean's head and hoist him up by his hair.

He grins, the smile peeling back far further than a human mouth has any right to. "You gotta admit, it was funny." Judging from the pale looks––and the nauseous expression on the boom operator, they don't exactly agree with him.

"Ah hahaha…" The streamer tries laughing it off, but only manages an unconvincing stammer. He keeps glancing at the camera, making sure that he's somewhat in it at least. "What a great prank!" He exclaims, smiling as the camera pans back to him. "Who are these strangers? Chat, is one of you squatting here and didn't te-" You push past him, the camera zooming in on you

(Chat Recognition Roll DC 95: 100, success, you have got to be kidding me
86+0=86, double success, auto succeed in getting them out)

"But seriously, you guys can't be here." You try explaining, but he's having none of it. "There's an ong-" He pushes in front of you, cutting you off.

"Says who? It's been abandoned for thirty years!" He demands, scowling at you.

"57, actually." A crew man adds, correcting his boss.

"Close enough, Jordan!" The streamer waves him off. "Regardless, there's nothing and nobody saying I can't be here, just that I shouldn't."

Sean's body climbs to its feet and plants his head back on, wiggling it around to make sure it's on properly. "You know," he says, walking into view, "you're wrong about that. There is something saying you can't be here."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Us," the Dullahan pulls out his ID and flips it open, "the Service."

"Fuck me running." A goblin crewmember, the light operator, bites out––wincing all the while. He'd had a contemplative expression on his face the whole time, only putting two and two together right before Sean revealed his ID.

Similar expressions flash across the gathered crew. If the Service is here… well, that means something else is here too. And given the things that they deal with… a streamer and his crew wouldn't put up much of a fight. Unless one of them was something that could stand up to it, but you find that rather unlikely.

"Right, now that that's out of the way, why don't we get you out of here nice and quickly?" You say, grabbing the streamer by his arm and placing a hand at the small of his back. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt, after all."

He stares at you, something akin to realization dawning in his expression as you half-drag half-lead him along. "Hey, what a second…" He starts, brow furrowing. "I recognize you! You're Itzabella Williams, right? The singer?"

You stop dead in your tracks, mouth agape as you gawk at him. …How the fuck? No seriously, how the hell did he know that? Moreover, how the hell did he know you for your short-lived music career and not the whole 'daughter of a pair of ultra-rich parents' thing.

He awkwardly half-shuffles in your grasp. "I, uh, I'm a big fan of your work. I use it for my, uh, streams—'EyeoftheMagi' is my handle." That does explain the 'magi' comment from earlier. You catch a too-wide smirk from Sean in the corner of your eye—you're gonna suffer that for some time, you reckon.

You nod, not trusting your voice to stay cool as you direct him to the exit.

"Are you gonna do more music?" He asks, somewhat hopefully.

You wince, it hadn't been a skill issue that caused your career to sink… "Not likely." Especially since the record label dropped you after some random supervillain took a potshot after they signed you on, apparently. You doubt that was the real reason, but it's not like there's anyone to ask about it now.

"Oh," he looks away, the camera catching his face flushing bright red from embarrassment.

Knowing the internet… shit. Double shit.

~~~~~~~

Chatlet1: STEP ON ME
ImperialFister: He's blushing!
Eyeless: not arrested peepoHappy

~~~~~~~

Leaving the streamer and his crew with a unit of Kill Team Agents, you return inside the school. But not before checking up with the other two teams.

(Team One's Roll: 52, Gaze of the Mayan Gods Triggers!
Team Three's Roll: 35, Nothing special)

"This is Itza, Team Two, we escorted the civilians out of the school with minimal difficulty, how's it faring for you? Over." You talk into your communicator, located on the lapel of your greatcoat.

Team Three radios in first, the speaker crackling as Jess speaks. "This is Jess, Team Three, haven't encountered anything of note other than some ectoplasm, which we took a sample of. Over."
And then Team One calls in, a slight static effect coming through as an almost rusty sounding voice comes through. "This is Ryan, Team One, we've encountered an object with a significant spiritual signature in room 247. The object is a mock-up of an Mayan Shrine, likely from a historical project. Moving to investigate, over." He's very matter of fact as he conveys the events. You frown at the mention of a Mayan Shrine, something that Sean catches.

"Hey, you good?" He asks as he steps closer to you, a concerned look on his face and his arm extended.

"Yeah," you say, shaking it off with a shudder, "just… some bad history with the Mayans, nothing that'll jeopardize the mission." You add hurriedly.

(Does Sean Push? 2, no)

He looks at you, eyes searching for something before, after a few moments, he nods. "Alright, just, don't be screwing up out there."

"Don't plan on it." You return with a small smile.

And that's when an explosion rattles the building, shaking dust from the off-yellow ceiling panels. The thunderous sound deafens you for a moment as you find yourself stumbling, vertigo overtaking your senses.

(Resist (Physical) Roll DC 45: 80+5=85, success)
(Sean's Resist (Physical) Roll DC 45: 1, well shit)

"Holy hell!" You cry out as you stumble into a pinboard-covered wall, propping yourself up with a toned arm. "What was that!?"

Sean, unfortunately, is unable to answer as he's currently staring at the floor in complete silence. Following his gaze you spot the issue: a large fissure right underneath him, a widening one. His gaze snaps to you as the ground releases a heavy groan. "Well, shit."

"Don't mo-" Sean disappears, swallowed by the ground. "Dammit!" You dive, sliding across the floor for his hand.

(Athletics Roll DC 75: 25, no dice)

Your hand grabs air as you slide to a halt, Sean having slipped by just before you got there. You slam a fist into the ground. "Damn!" You swear, spikes of pain radiating from your hand.

(Perception Roll DC 35: 30+10=40, success)
(Resolve Roll DC 55: 14+50(In danger)=64, success)

Skittering sounds of claws on tile echo around you as you scramble to your feet. You breathe heavy as you glance around, searching the now dust-filled corridor for the source of the sound. Dammit, first Team One, then Sean, and now this?!

Today is just not your day.

Pulling yourself together with a shake of the head, you get to thinking on your situation. You've got a couple options, though you're going to have to pick quickly, as the skittering noise is drawing closer.

What do you do?
[ ] Jump in after Sean, well, carefully climb down after him
[ ] Head towards Team One, that explosion seemed to come from their direction
[ ] Wait for the skittering noise to close in and prepare for a fight (Knowing the background of the place, it'll likely be a pack of imps or, possibly, the lingering souls of dead children)

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: Alrighty, I got this one out quicker than the last, though I've been muddling through vertigo for the past couple days so it wasn't as quick as I would have liked. Voting will be called tomorrow at 6 PM CST, thanks for voting.