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 Posted: Sat Dec 29, 2018 11:07 am
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Roland Baker
- - - - - - - -
Great. Sounds like we have medical malpractitioners and FBI impersonators on this medical campus. But why the goggles and masks? Roland managed to suppress a groan as he silently went over what Sharon just said. He was not a pharmacist by any measure of competence, but vaccines were typically colorless, if what the "doctor" administered was such. Roland pulled out a palm-sized notepad from his pocket, flipping open to the first blank page he could find before he scribbled down multiple lines of notes. A slight scowl was clearly visible on Roland's face, though he did not let his eyes look up from his notepad. "Did the doctor who administered your treatment give you a copy of a paper form? Whenever you undergo medical treatments- vaccinations included- healthcare providers are required to obtain your informed consent on what treatment is to be administered along with the risks, limitations, and payment agreements. 'Something to increase your protection against a virus' is incomplete as far as your doctor explaining the purpose of your treatment options. It seems you were injected with something laced with an amnesiac, to force you to forget something."
Roland's dour lips curled more when he heard Sharon mention receiving a second shot, but his eyes widened in shock as Sharon stopped mid-sentence: Something was not right as far as the Agent could tell if Sharon shut up like that, and it did not help that the conference room's thermostat was set to a rather chilly temperature even in a clerical portion of the building. "Sharon, do you remember anything during or after this second injection you speak of?"
- - -
Mood: Concerned
Company: Sharon
Outfit: Black leather shoes & matching slacks, white tucked-in dress shirt, and a low-profile black armored vest underneath a black winter coat.
Armaments: Standard-issue .22 semiautomatic handgun (Holstered)
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Posted: Sat Dec 29, 2018 4:39 pm
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"Let the song of life guide you to the place you wish to go."
She answered the questions in order. Perhaps thinking about what happened would calm her down after the sudden memory in her mind. "There was one paper, I think." Her brow knitted together tightly. "I do not remember if I had signed it, but in the end, I received the shot. Nothing wrong happened after that." The Agent's comments may be close to the truth, as she did remember the explanation of the doctor was oddly general. There was the feeling of unwillingness on the subject of an injection back then. No matter how she tried, she could not remember the reason why she had accepted that injection.
Despite remaining so calm at the answer about the first injection, she started to shake when she had to recall the images that passed earlier. "There was a lot of red. E-Everything was red." She covered her eyes with her hands, trying to block the scene that kept appearing before her sight. There were screams, the crunching of bones and the pain that radiated the air. More syringes injected into people. People shacked down, locked in cages and being experimented on. It was inhumane, treating living people like lab rats, testing animals. "There were experiments, people being experimented on. They were all in pain. I...was next." She struggled to describe what she saw, the story brought a disgusting feeling from her stomach. The expression on some of the scientist was what most traumatic. There were crazed expressions on those people's face, seemingly to take pleasure from other's pain. Holding her stomach and her mouth, she felt like puking.
Profile
♪ MOOD → Traumatized
♫ OUTFIT → Sun hat with decorated flowers, blue ankle-length dress and sandals
♩ OOC → |
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Posted: Sat Dec 29, 2018 4:40 pm
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Posted: Sat Dec 29, 2018 4:42 pm
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Posted: Sat Dec 29, 2018 4:43 pm
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Posted: Sat Dec 29, 2018 4:48 pm
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Posted: Sat Jan 12, 2019 6:44 pm
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"I only want to hurt you...and what I want, I get.
____________________________________________________________
Location: FC Medical
With: ---
Status: Annoyed
____________________________________________________________
I'm aiming to continue, so consider me a threat."
If you wanted something done right...you did it your ******** self. That was what was running through the mind of the young mob boss as he approached this damn place. Not one, not two, but three failures to retrieve the materials and such that he had requested from some of his men. Of course, the one who spoke a bit more than he should've was dealt with. A personal round in the ring with the dangerous young boss. To say the least...it didn't end well.
He looked around for a few moments, to see if any watching eyes were on him. But suddenly the teenager's body disappeared, or rather, dissipated. He needed to get a few ingredients for his wonder drug that he predicted would perfect it. Some sympathomimetic agents would do the trick. The raise in blood pressure would help with the 'mad dog' effect of the 'Terror T'.
Entering the hospital was no hard feat. In fact, it was incredibly easy when you could turn into smoke. Going through the vents he reformed in an employee's only area, fixing up the tie he was wearing today with the vest before entering under the door with ease. Once he was back together yet again, he began his search for the drugs. He had a lot to go through, but a little bit of this stuff could go a very long ******** way.
Cautious, his eyes kept glancing back towards the door every once in a while. He knew he was on a limited time scale here. It would only be so long before an employee came in here and shuffled up the stuff so he'd have to begin his search yet again.
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Posted: Sat Jan 12, 2019 9:22 pm
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Roland Baker
- - - - - - - -
One month had passed since Roland visited the hospital. It was one month since the bigwigs back in DC ordered the Michaelsdottir Committee's creation. Roland found himself answering calls from Lambert and other senior executives multiple times per hour at worst, but that inconvenience paled compared to the discovery of Michaelsdottir's body- or rather what remained of it. A black sedan pulled up to the main entrance; inside the official-looking vehicle, Roland buckled and fastened his tactical vest, giving his chauffeur no words other than "Thank you," before the Agent opened the rear passenger door and stepped onto the frosty sidewalk. As he stepped up to the main entrance, the events from that godawful day replayed in his psyche: Not only had the FBI agents uncovered Michaelsdottir's deteriorating body in that steam tunnel, but what had possibly been one of the most organized unethical experiments was disrupted- successfully, thankfully- after a certain Sharon tipped off Roland and the otherwise unaware agents about the secret compartment. Needless to say, Dr. Bolaji and what were probably a dozen or so scientists had been detained and taken into Federal custody.
The human male flared his nostrils as he exhaled sharply, his footsteps taking him through the automatic entrance and lobby. Why was he here? Two weeks after uncovering Michaelsdottir's remains, the forensics team attached to Agent Baker's outfit reported the absence of DNA fragments other than those belonging to the deceased. The woman's killer still roamed the streets out there, and Agent Baker could still hear Lambert's words echo in his mind: "I'm sorry to put you through this, Roland. However, we need our best on site, and that includes you to ID and locate the perpetrator. If he's still in the city, only you can find him."
Let's hope I do not prove you wrong, sir. Preferably before another one of us goes down. Smirking, Roland stopped before a padlocked door to his left, turning to try and peek through the frosted glass into the darkened room. Somewhere else in the building, an FBI contingent remained near the murder scene for two weeks after the scene discovery, and Roland silently wished they were still present to provide security. Sighing, Roland continued past the office suites towards a stairwell entrance.
In a minute, Agent Baker emerged from the basement-level stairwell exit: A familiar set of doors embedded into the white cinderblock walls fed into their respective BSL-3 suites, storage units, and researcher offices. The lamp over Roland's head flickered intermittently when the armed Agent stepped up to the first door, rapping against the white wooden surface three times in succession. "FBI. Is anyone inside there? We have written authorization from the hospital board to search this floor."
- - -
Mood: Apprehensive
Company: Unknown
Outfit: Black leather shoes & matching slacks, white tucked-in dress shirt, and an FBI-labeled tactical vest
Armaments: Standard-issue .22 semiautomatic handgun (Holstered)
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Posted: Sun Jan 13, 2019 5:14 am
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"I only want to hurt you...and what I want, I get.
____________________________________________________________
Location: FC Medical
With:Unknown
Status: On Edge
____________________________________________________________
I'm aiming to continue, so consider me a threat."
Of course it was only a matter of time before someone came down here. How easy did he think this was going to be? He himself had just moved in after slaying the former club owner and usurping the position. His men were just settling into their places. Shops, stores, restaurants. They had 'jobs' everywhere. All around the city, all to collect information and send it all back to the teenager who directed them, leaded them. The young prodigy had big plans for this place. And yet, not a single soul knew where he came from. Who he was.
Nobody ever suspected a kid to be the leader, after all. Maybe just a young
lost soul influenced by gang mentality. That was how he got places and got away with things.
"They would make these things annoying to find." He scoffed to himself, now moving to another part of the room and continuing his look through there. This was more tedious than any drug run he'd ever done. Quite possibly due to the fact that he was stealing instead of selling. The latter usually went by quicker, and could be done in the comfort of a place of his own choosing. But hey. You had to go where the drugs were to get them, after all.
The tap, tap, tap of the door caused the young teenager to freeze in his place. FBI? Here? There was a snarl akin to some feral animal coming from the teenager as he turned to face the door, and he reached for the switchblade in his pocket before what sounded like a woosh of movement took place within the room. Saitou could play fair, play nice...Or he could wait and get the drop. Either way, there was audibly someone in this room.
Now in the top corner of the room, Saitou pressed his strong hands against either wall, suspending himself above and to the right of the door, should whoever this FBI agent enter. He could only hope the guy was an idiot, would be like many other who simply weren't thorough. Moving from this particular spot if he'd been spotted wouldn't be hard, no, but the thing about Saitou was him wanting to have the easiest route available. Would he have to dance with this guy? Another body meant nothing to him, of course, but the effort needed could prove quite annoying.
So he waited, the movement within the room ceasing into a tense silence.
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Posted: Sun Jan 13, 2019 11:33 am
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Roland Baker
- - - - - - - -
No response. Well, to be fair, it was morning, and this particular research lab the Chief of Staff authorized for a search was not supposed to be occupied until after lunch time by the pharmaceutical research team. Nobody's inside, thought the FBI agent as he reached for the door knob. He had turned the doorknob a quarter way when he heard a rush of air. The hell is that? Did that come from the lab? Roland frowned, reaching for his black holstered pistol clipped on his belt: The noise was faint, yet it was crisp enough to sound like somebody lurking in the brightly lit BSL-2 laboratory. Somebody was trespassing in what had hardly been cleared as a crime scene half a month ago, though the shitty frosted windows did not make it any easier to identify anything moving about in the room. All Roland could make out were blurs of what were probably fume hoods, Teflon-protected lab tables, glassware, and other biomedical instrument collections used in the University's work; looking from another angle showed more of the same equipment.
Roland rapped his finger three times against the frosted glass window. "This is the FBI. We know you're in there!" When no noise came from the room, Agent Baker sighed: Was he really going to need to flush out whoever or whatever might be lurking behind, say, one of the lab tables? Roland's hands finally readied the firearm from its holster, and the Agent readied his stance in preparation for a well-planted kick.
One... Two... Three!
With a loud smash, Roland delivered one powerful kick into the door just above the copper doorknob. Fragments of paint chips and wood shot into the BSL-2 laboratory as the door swung wide open, giving the FBI Agent a much clearer view of the room from outside in the hallway. Without stepping inside- yet, anyways- Roland aimed his pistol down the research lab as he took leftward steps parallel to the breached entrance, unwittingly moving the man out of visual sight of the unknown contact.
- - -
Mood: Tense
Company: Unknown
Outfit: Black leather shoes & matching slacks, white tucked-in dress shirt, and an FBI-labeled tactical vest
Armaments: Standard-issue .22 semiautomatic handgun (Wielded)
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Posted: Sun Jan 13, 2019 12:20 pm
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"I only want to hurt you...and what I want, I get.
____________________________________________________________
Location: FC Medical
With:Unknown
Status: On Edge
____________________________________________________________
I'm aiming to continue, so consider me a threat."
Silence. Absolute silence. Why was the FBI here, really? He hadn't struck any big strings yet. Hell. He just got within the city not too long ago. His eyes squinted narrowly as he refused to say anything, move at all, or do anything that would give him away. Someone was coming in weather he liked it or not, and the only thing he had out at the moment was his little switchblade. But then again, that was all he needed. He didn't climb his way up the ladder by being fancy, no. Sometimes it took brute force...this seemed like one of those times.
Either way, someone knew he was here and now they were here too, bursting open the door like some sort of maniac. Saitou's eyes darted about the lab, looking for anything else that would benefit him in here. There was plenty to hide behind and around. Plenty of small spots for him, but for right now, the suspended teenager watched the man enter. He was armed.
He couldn't see the guy, but what he could do was muck up the area around what he had already searched. Another woosh of air before
CRASH!
One of the many lab tables was thrown to the ground with a kick, throwing down whatever was on top of them -- including glass, which shattered against the ground. Yes, there was someone here, but this someone had the mentality of a crime lord and a delinquent teenager mixed together. What a combination.
Right after the crash, the room began to seep with an unknown smoke of a deep purple color. It was decently thick, almost foggy too, to obscure vision. Among the smoke, the only thing that could be seen was a pair of bright white glowing pupils. Whoever this was, they certainly were not a normal human.
"Way to crash on my parade, old man." Spoke the voice among all of the smoke. It was young. Childlike almost, but the depth of it gave off the nod of puberty. A teenager. He would toy with him. Edge him on. He only needed the man to breathe in a bit of the smoke, after all. Then he could take him down and continue on with his search before anyone else showed up.
Of course...that could only happen if this FBI agent stepped more into the room. Into the maw of an unknown beast.
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Posted: Sun Jan 13, 2019 4:31 pm
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Roland Baker
- - - - - - - -
Roland felt his pulse through the pistol grip as he conducted a second sweep of the undisturbed space: It was a negative. Another ******** negative on hostile contact with collateral damage to boot. Not only would there be paperwork to file and a possible a** chewing by the higher ups for damaging an informant's property, but the Agent's visit would prove fruitless. This would be true, anyway, if not for the summon commotion which overturned a table and its contents. Roland dropped to the floor, raising his arms to protect his face while keeping a firm grip on his firearm.
"What the ********? Who the hell is in there?" Roland inadvertently shouted from the floor, slowly rising from his prone position until he was crouching before the purple haze lapping at the doorway. A purple haze... Are those eyes glowing in the haze? Agent Baker's stiff upper lip vanished: Nothing except Agent Michaelsdottir's murder compared to this ******** emerging in the basement. There was far too much purple haze for it to be iodine. Suspended eyes without a body also weren't supposed to be a thing... Right? I hope I'm going mad.
"Way to crash on my parade, old man," the smoke seemed to speak in a adolescent voice.
"Your parade? Just who the hell are you, how old are you, and why are you skulking around in a former crime scene?" Agent Baker yelled, standing to his feet, his pistol trained on the two whites floating among the smoke. Roland did not take any steps toward the door frame, but he did not retreat from his position either; if this son of a b***h intended to take down the FBI investigator, he could do so on Roland's terms.
- - -
OOC: EDIT: Finished incomplete sentence.
Mood: Terrified | Pissed
Company: Some precarious fog with white pupils for eyes?
Outfit: Black leather shoes & matching slacks, white tucked-in dress shirt, and an FBI-labeled tactical vest
Armaments: Standard-issue .22 semiautomatic handgun (Wielded)
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Posted: Sun Jan 13, 2019 4:55 pm
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"I only want to hurt you...and what I want, I get.
____________________________________________________________
Location: FC Medical
With: Some FBI punk
Status: Aggravated
____________________________________________________________
I'm aiming to continue, so consider me a threat."
"Crime scene?" Audible confusion could be heard from the smoke. Not that it mattered, though. This was his try at getting what he needed for the Terror T. He didn't give a single ******** about anything else popping up or what happened here before. This was his mission. His goal. And one old guy wielding a gun wouldn't be the end of it. Hell. Even if he had to retreat for now, Saitou would always come back when it was more convenient for him. It was hard to keep this kid from getting what he wanted. And right now he wanted those ******** drugs.
The cloud moved around, now in one large, gassy form with only those two glowing eyes. It went closer, closer to the man, the flare of the cloud going every which way as he observed him with extreme prejudice. "Asking a lot of damn questions for some guy ready to blast my brains out. Go on, shoot. Bring more people down here and I'll make sure none of you ever wake up." It swirled around him, like a gaseous snake ready to strike. Beady eyes never leaving the FBI agent's form. "You wanna talk, scaredy cat? We can talk." It directed, whirring around him before backing further into the room.
What reformed slowly in front of the FBI agent was a tanned skinned teenager. Short, not even 6 feet tall and still a bit of a baby face if you stared closely. Rather long black and purple hair, with a ponytail that seemed to float behind him. Beyond it all, what contrasted the most was those striking, daring grey-white eyes, still stuck onto the man. What was his plan for showing this man his face? Nobody knew but Saitou. He had grown up a snake. Slithering his way through the rough streets while playing coy. He had plans, and at the end of the day, there wasn't a single place he couldn't get to or away from. Turning into smoke made those things easy.
"Listen old man." His voice, while young, had a power to it only brought about by having no fear whatsoever. It was from years of speaking direction, with no room for question. He would see how much it would work on someone not under him. "Put the gun down and I think we'll have a nice conversation, huh?" He stood with his arms up, the small switchblade still in hand, though. It made it apparent that depending on what the man did, he would respond accordingly.
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Posted: Sat Jan 19, 2019 5:35 pm
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Roland Baker
- - - - - - - -
Beads of sweat condensed behind his ears as adrenaline coursed through Roland's system. This punk is going to be my end, I know it. The first round was already chambered since the Agent arrived on scene, though it probably would not do much harm against a ******** cloud of all things, or at least that was his gut talking. Reluctantly and gradually, Roland lowered his weapon until the barrel pointed at the floor two feet before the condensing cloud's position at a vulnerable angle. His eyes narrowed but his aim remained put as the tan adolescent materialized into corporeal form; in addition to this youth's bizarre eye-hair combination and pubescent voice, and that heinous iodine-like cloud he seemed to transform into at will; the apparent absence (to Roland) of facial wrinkles was enough for Roland to clock his age: Kid's got to be no more than twenty-
"Listen old man. . . Put the gun down and I think we'll have a nice conversation, huh?"
Guess I have no choice if I wish to make it out of this scrap alive. I have shot enough kids to skewer my conscience in Iraq. The pistol fell to the floor with a loud CLACK after Roland's fingers released their vice-like grip on the pistol grip. In the corner of Roland's eye, there did not seem to be any dome cameras, though maybe there might be one by the elevator. At least the basement's security footage could be reviewed by his fellow Agents and perhaps ID this suspect if he passed into their field of vision. Raising his hands, palms out, to his chest level, Roland's eyes locked onto the kid's as his lips moved. "Okay. I have put the gun down. Now tell me, again: Who are you, and what do you want?"
As Roland said those words, his mind was already scraping together an escape strategy: This teenager did not seem to wield anything other than that switchblade, so outrunning this punk would not be a challenge except for the fact the elevator at the far end took fifteen seconds to open, at minimum. If this ******** chose to give chase and reached the Investigator at the Elevator, there was bound to be a fight; regardless of whether they fought at the Elevator or right now in the hallway, there was no telling what this supernatural being could do beyond morphing into a vapor. Did he excel in the martial arts as a child? Even Roland's training in Combatives might be outmatched if his fists sunk through the punk in gaseous form, or if he got the drop on Roland elsewhere in the building... Then there was the option to run further away from the elevators and towards the emergency stairwell, though the distance would take Roland four times as long as reaching the stairwell. On one hand, the Agent could potentially outrun this future felon; on the other, this was not a particularly human felon. Then there was the pistol on the floor... Ducking into a full sprint would require Roland to rake his pistol up from the floor, lest this kid turned out to be a half-decent shot. If the kid reached for his firearm at his feet, Roland would need to deliver a quick kick to the face or groin to delay him just a bit; the FBI agent kept his feet relatively close together, twelve inches away from the fallen semiautomatic weapon.
"It seems you have me cornered, Mister... ?" Roland politely began, a corner of his mouth barely curled upward by a millimeter; all that awaited Roland's escape and call for backup was one wrong mistake from this miscreant.
- - -
OOC: Sorry for the wait
Mood: Petrified
Company: Some punk gas cloud kid who stole my pistol
Outfit: Black leather shoes & matching slacks, white tucked-in dress shirt, and an FBI-labeled tactical vest
Armaments: Standard-issue .22 semiautomatic handgun (Disarmed; on the ground)
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Posted: Sat Jan 19, 2019 8:27 pm
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"I only want to hurt you...and what I want, I get.
____________________________________________________________
Location: FC Medical
With: Some FBI punk
Status: Aggravated, but amused
____________________________________________________________
I'm aiming to continue, so consider me a threat."
"Thaaaaat's better. Things are less tense when you listen, right big man?" His voice was one that was like a blade through silk, cutting the air with such a frigid tone that the place threatened to succumb to his icy will. Masaysohi Saitou saw every moment of this man studying him and his features. The way he spoke. How he sounded. It was what police did, anyway. They were trained to identify the perpetrator just in case they somehow got away.
This man's life was in his hands. The boy felt like a god. For good reason, too. His very existence was powerful. A prodigy worth the attention of all. Or at least, that was his belief. Unlike the fear shown on the man who had dropped his gun to the floor, Saitou relaxed, his switchblade finding itself shut and quickly tucked away. "You look absolutely terrorized...it's delicious." he laughed, beginning to pace around like this situation wasn't tense at all. He took out a few peppermints from his vest, tossing one to the FBI agent before popping one in his own mouth, strutting around and observing Roland fully himself.
He was thorough about it, getting quite close, hell, even walking straight through the man, dispersing into smoke on contact like some gas hitting his face before reforming once more. He didn't even bother to lean down to touch the gun. He didn't care about it, or about whoever this man was. One of those tanned hands even slithered up against FBI vest, not afraid of being touchy whatsoever.
"Call me Smokey. Don't call me mister, pops." He said, eventually his hands recoiling back before he stepped a few ways away. He had not a lick of discomfort in his body. What was this man planning to do? Fight him? Escape? He could easily crush him with the nerve gas if he decided to expel it. The teenager seemed to have strange swirls along his body. What was visible was one between his eyes and one on each of his forearms. Tattoos, perhaps? A few more steps and Saitou was leaning against one table that he hadn't toppled. "Sympathomimetic agents." he stated bluntly. "Do you know what those are, police man?" There was a cunning, perhaps even genius brain behind those cold, unfeeling eyes. It held plans. Maybe he could make a friend of this man, even.
"I'm not here to stab anyone. I just want my drugs and I'll be on my way. No need for violence, after all. Not that I even need to touch you to make you writhe in front of me." He chuckled, cocky in his tone. He could down this man...but it would be a waste of his times. Besides, he wasn't too ugly. Maybe the guy had a wife and kids. Or maybe he was just some guy taking the law to seriously. Either way, Saitou would find a way to get what he wanted.If he wanted to stab, cut, and maim: he would. But he didn't feel like making that much of a mess. Blood always was annoying to keep up.
"And who are you, my senior citizen friend?" Seemed the kid really liked making fun of those older than him. Even if they weren't quite old...
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