[M&M 2e] Black Ops IC

[Vespe Ratavo]

It's funny, you don't recall ever getting to the base. Or going inside. Or why you feel so sleepy and why there's a needle mark on your nec - oh.

You wake up in a conference room. The room consists of a large table, a viewscreen, and a podium. Standing at the last is a tall man, wearing body armor, a trilby hat, and a full, black beard. There is also a coffee maker. This is probably important. As soon as everyone is seated (or at least not actively attempting to destroy the room) he begins to speak in a lovely Liverpudlian accent.

Right, good morning, lady and gentlemen, my name is Captain Hoyt, and I'll be your waiter today. I trust you slept well, and if not, you can sleep on the plane, because we've got work to do.

He clicks a button on his remote, activating the viewscreen. It zooms in on Russia, firing off text information at a rate much too fast to read, and displaying two pictures. The first is of a blond man in his early 30's, scowling at the camera, the latter is of a slightly happier looking man, with a small mustache.

We've received a report from one of our moles in Russia - that's him on the right, his name is Alexander Borovan - that this guy, Major Dimitri Zakhar - that's him on the left. Left, bad guy, right, mole. Anyway. Mr. Zakhar intends to assist a group of terrorists in stealing a nuclear warhead from the Russian government. For obvious reasons, we're not going to let this happen.

The screen zooms out, and over to that wonderfully vague area known as Eastern Europe.

To avoid any Russian surveillance, the actual meeting between the organization and Zakhar will take place in Matvei, capital of Elbonia. Your mission is simple. Get over there, stop the meeting, and preferably ensure Dimitri never does this again. As this is your first mission, it's also sort of an initiation, and an opportunity to let us see how you handle things. We leave the execution entirely up to you. Any questions?

[RdMarquis]

Carver yawns, taking her lack of worry at how she had gotten to her new workplace as a sign she had been at this way too long. And she wasn't even 30, yet.

She takes a look around to find her backpack under her chair. She reaches inside for a notepad, a pair of glasses, and a hairpin.

"Nachthexe" puts the accessories on, then visibly cringes as she pulls out the needle. She does not say anything, preferring to keep up the appearance of one of the staff and watching the others. She didn't have any questions before the planning phase, anyway.

[Mr. Moon]

Slumped in his chair, a man with implausibly long, red hair begins to stir. Muttering, Beckett rubs a hand over his face, wiping sleep from his eyes and a trail of drool from the corner of his mouth. He rubs his neck, working out the kinks from sleeping in a chair - why had he been sleeping in a chair? - and freezes as his hand reaches a sore spot, the sensitivity circular in pattern, about the size of a Canadian loony. His green eyes open, and he cranes to get a look at the site of the wound. No luck on the visual, but he didn't need to see it to recognize the tiny round prick of a needle mark when his fingers brushed it.

Beckett stiffens, suddenly alert. Fingers, toes, arms, legs, each is wiggled and examined. Nothing seemed to be injured or broken.
Alright.
Now he becomes aware of a weight on his left shoulder - a faded green strap. The green strap supports a messenger bag, the storm flap labelled with a red cross on a darker green field.
That was odd. The last time Beckett had seen his old med kit, it had been tucked in the back seat of his wife's car. He'd put it there as he was leaving to pick up the kids from school. Just as he was leaving, he'd been approached by two men in black suits, one of whom he recognized from his years in the army, claiming they were representatives of an organization called CROWBAR...
...
Oh, right.

Beckett shakes his head, pulling his mind to the present. He knew who he was with, but where was he, and why? Green eyes look around warily, observing the others in the room - they seemed to be waking up as well - as well as the man standing at the front of the room, next to a blank screen. Almost as soon as Beckett lays eyes on the man, he begins to speak. The medic leans back in his chair, listening.
...
Wait.
Did he say Hoyt?
...
He did say Hoyt.
But... that couldn't be...

Blinking, Beckett forces his attention on the briefing, but as the captain finishes explaining, and asks for questions, the coreman can't help but find his hand is in the air.
"Hoyt?" He asks, slowly, in a Boston accent. "As in, Vincent Hoyt?"

[RdMarquis]

There's her cue. Carver walks gingerly over to the waking medic, glad that she is the first one up.

The first words out of her mouth are carefully chosen, as well as practiced to resemble the late Elizabeth Hartman playing Mrs. Brisby (from her favorite movie since the age of ten, although she would never admit it to anyone). That is, her voice is timid, quiet and not at all appropriate for anyone Crowbar employs for jobs more intense than light filing.

"Excuse me...sir? May I please have your name?"

[ChronicLunacy]

Rudy "Maniac" Brandt

The next person to wake up looked like he'd just jumped there from the nearest passing army plane; windswept hair and all. He wore no rank or any kind of decal declaring his unit. In fact, it looked like he'd never actually worn the olive drab "ARMY" tee-shirt, camouflage pants, and combat boots that he was dressed in before. It wasn't that they didn't fit him; far from it. He filled out his clothes with a muscular physique and seemed at first glance to be every bit the soldier he appeared, but they were just a bit too clean to be ones that he had owned and wore before.

He woke up like something had bit him and slapped the back of his neck where that telltale circular welt was located. He hissed at the resulting pain and looked quickly around the room, his blond head and blue eyes swiveling to and fro to take everything in. "Uh..." he cleared his throat loudly. "Well, that was different." he commented before the man up front began talking. As the briefing went on, it seemed to occur to him what had happened, but he still kept looking around like he was trying to understand what kind of drunken, idiotic behavior had landed him there.

At the end of the briefing, the man raised one of his arms like a school-child, even throwing in a couple of "Ooh! Ooh! Pick me pickmepickme's!" for emphasis. When Captain Hoyt turned his attention in his direction, he said, "Yeah, I think I was dishonorably discharged from the Army this morning, but it looks like I'm not going to have to worry about getting another job just yet. Thanks for that. Anyway, you mentioned a plane. What kind of plane? I'll also need a helicopter and a 1970 Plymouth Hemi-Cuda if we're going to do this right. You can get me those, can't you?"

[Vespe Ratavo]

Hoyt's demeanor seems to change, dropping any pretense of formality he might have had, relaxing his posture considerably and leaning against the podium. One and the same, Mr. Beckett. Just like old times, eh? Except now I've got a beard. And it seems I'm your superior officer. And I don't compulsively say "sir" every five seconds. So it's really nothing at all like old times. He grins.

His brown eyes pan over the others, briefly wondering why Ms. Carver is acting so strange, then over to Rudy. Ah...you're welcome. Your plane is an MC-130, try not to blow it up, your helicopter is good as done, and...I'll see about the car.

[Cuaqchi]

Arthur "The Mask" Grimsby

An older man dressed in tweed suit leans back from the table, his right hand moving reflexively to his chin as he speaks. "May I ask who exactly our Russian friend is planning on selling the material to? Although my tenure within the department seems to have come to screeching halt; I would assume that if we are here it was deemed a matter too costly for MI6 or the CIA to deal with and as such the involved parties are fairly well known."

As he finished asking his question, the man noted the slight deformation in his tie from slouching to the side and as absent mindedly as he had stroked his chin he straightened in his seat and readjusted the silken neck tie.

[Mr. Moon]

Before Beckett can get his answer from Hoyt, he's interrupted by a woman to his side, peering down at him with bespectacled eyes. "Um... Mathew." He says, then remembers that he's supposedly not around civilians anymore. It was amazing how fast he'd gotten used to introducing himself by his first name. "Beckett. Mathew Beckett." He tacks on, hastily.

Now, normally, the coreman would show proper manners. Offer a handshake, ask the woman her own name. But you'll have to pardon him, because Beckett's facing a rather startling surprise. A grin spreads over his face as he leans forward in his chair, his hands clasped together. "Well, I'll be damned. Looks like the yeahs" (it should be noted that this is his accent coming into play: Beckett is not implying that Hoyt has gained super-confidence by agreeing with people a lot) "have been good to you, Hoyt. Ah, Sah now, I guess." He grins again. "You'll have to tell me what you've been up to latah." Later, yes, because right now they have more important things to do then reminisce over old times. Like stopping Russian people from destroying the world.

[Vespe Ratavo]

Heh. "Sir." That's a good one... Hoyt clicks his remote again, bringing up a list of various terrorist groups (some of which are rather "famous," for lack of a better word, and others that you've likely never heard of) next to Zakhar's portrait.

Unfortunately, we don't know who, exactly, is interested in the nuclear warhead. We can narrow it down a little based on location... The names of a few Western groups are stricken out with red X's. But your guess is as good as ours. I suppose that would be your secondary mission, gather any intel you can on the group. So do try and keep at least one alive.

And...as to your second question. As you may be aware, Elbonia is currently, politically speaking, in a car dangling off the side of a cliff. The Krasnaya and Goluboy parties are very powerful, very wealthy, and would like nothing more than an excuse to blow each other up. A team sent by the government of a foreign country would be the ultimate scapegoat. And in the worst case scenario, you all could fake being a ragtag group of scamps on a crazy adventure, or something.

[RdMarquis]

Her reply to Beckett is almost a whisper. "Thank you."

Jacqueline Carver returns to her seat, scribbling little notes about everyone present. Well, none of the new members seem immediately crazy (Carver's doubts about her own mental health notwithstanding), especially considering her old outfit. However, she wonders under what circumstances the army discharged Mr. Brandt, and more importantly, whether the conversation so far has told her anything of use.

"The people currently attending the meeting are experienced professionals." Yeah, that's brilliant and insightful.

What if something snapped them out of their calm? Say, the sound of a pistol being cocked? Carver lacks any weapons at the moment, but she had an unlimited supply of noises.

On the other hand, best not to disrupt a meeting in a field of work where getting fired could have a literal meaning. She decides to hold off until later, when she will have free reign and a clearer escape route.

[Cuaqchi]

"Do we at least know if the meeting is secret or secret?" As he asked the question, Arthur performed a small quote gesture with the second mention of secret. "If it is the latter we may be able to enter as interested buyers, scope out the location and take names that way. There really shouldn't be a reason to do more at the meeting unless we are ready to threaten our mole."

OOC
For those who don't know, the differance between secret and "secret" is that the former is known only to the 2 parties, whereas the latter is known to those related to the type of operation. In this case that would be numerous terrorist groups.

[TheWickedKing]

Roderick

A man quietly sitting in a corner. He's listening to everything being said. Getting names, remembering faces, putting names on faces. He's still wondering how he got where he is. He thinks to himself, a barely audible whisper, with a slight French-Canadian accent, commenting on the task at hand:"On est pas sorti du bois." (meaning: we still have a long way to go)

He clearly has a strange look on his face when the sneaking in proposition is made. Stealth is definitely not my forte. The louder the better, except when lives are in danger. For some reason, he looks quite nervous, tinkering with a gauntlet on his left arm at the mention of sneaking and getting lost in his thoughts. What did I get myself into this time?

[Vespe Ratavo]

I don't think they're really advertising it, but word does get around about these things, and Zakhar is more interested in money than any one cause. That could work.

OOC
Or, "sure, let's go wih that." Can you tell I didn't really plan this out yet?

[Cuaqchi]

Scanning over the list of possible buyers Arthur takes note of the expected parties before asking, "If I may have the floor? I have an idea for which group we may be able to impersonate. Given the information we have been presented they likely will not be present, and their portfolio seems appropriate for such a contact."

[ChronicLunacy]

Rudy "Maniac" Brandt

"If I could interrupt you there for a minute, chief. I'm not really a 'infiltration' sort of guy... Couldn't we just storm the meeting and arrest anyone still standing when we're done? I could run down any escapees with my shiny new attack helicopter. We'd be in and out before the locals knew where the explosions had come from." he grinned as he put his booted feet up on the table with two heavy thumps.

[Vespe Ratavo]

Hoyt shrugs. If this were up to me, I'd just go for the biggest boom, but that's for you all to decide. Part of the initiation, and all that. Floor's open, just keep in mind the clock is tickng, and the meetng is tomorrow. With that, he sets the magical plot remote on the table, and takes a seat.

[Cuaqchi]

"I thank you, sir." Arthur says, nodding to Captain Hoyt. "For those that don't know: my name is Arthur Grimsby, and until a few days ago I was a member in good standing with MI5. Which for our less socially aware members would be like the FBI in jolly, old England.

Activating the display screen a picture of a fairly non-descript Caucasian male appeared on screen. "Meet Francis Gagnon, a French Canadian seperatist and devoted marxist, his organization, roughly translated as the People's Army of Quebec has been a thorn in the side of both CSIS and through certain IRA links both MI5 and MI6. I propose that we meet this Russian as members of the PAQ and strike a deal to channel his illicit goods to a more reputable organization, namely, us."

Arthur shook his head whilst motioning for Maniac to remove his boots from table, "Now for those of us who would like to take a direct approach we could perform a multi-pronged attack. With those seeking a less violent encounter performing the reconnescience and having an attack on stand by if things get out of hand."

[RdMarquis]

Carver is quite relieved to hear Grimsby's idea. She knows how to use a gun, but hates fighting. In fact, she likes the plan enough to cast her vote for it, so to speak.

"If we're going to pose as a terrorist group, you'll need more than just guns." Her slouch disappears, and she removes her glasses. She traces a line in the air with her fingertips, drawing a humanoid figure, which soon becomes Francis Gagnon. He speaks with her voice. "You'll need to look the part. I can't disguise any of you, but crouch low, and you all will be a modern version of the Trojan Horse."

Carver sounds confident now, but inside, she is praying that she doesn't regret taking a chance on these people. "My name is Jacqueline Carver, and I'm what you would call a psychic. I'm sorry for my bit of...acting, but I've learned from experience that you should have a look around before giving any information about yourself."

[ChronicLunacy]

Rudy "Maniac" Brandt

"So it seems I'm higher than I thought. Anyway, if you guys get off on roleplaying then, by all means, you have a ball." he grinned. "I'll drive the car or helicopter and wait until you decide that you want to take them down, then bash the door down like I was going to in the first place. I think it's all a little unnecessary, but I guess tactics aren't my strong suit. I'm going to have to find some way of entertaining myself until I get your call, though...and my commanding officer used to say that's when the evil happens. I'm not sure what he's referring to, though. Might be the property damage, but who's to say?"

[Cuaqchi]

Arthur looked suddenly wary after the woman's response, her abilities might come in handy but the idea of someone peering into his brain was not what he wanted. Looking to her directly he asked, Are you a psychic or an illusionist? I am only wondering if you can actually read minds, or whether it is merely a matter of making images for others to follow blindly."

He had a short pause before continuing, "Regardless, I have my own ways of making a disguise, which won't be quite as easy to pierce if something happens that disrupts your images. For now we might as well determine which part of the strike each person shall play; so far we have two for each."

[RdMarquis]

Carver thought carefully about her response. "In that I'm actually affecting your mental processes, I am a psychic. But, I'm unable to read anyone's minds. As you said, I create illusions, which I'm sure will help with reconnaissance."

[TheWickedKing]

"As far as I'm concerned, I would really like to go with the boom, but I don't think that's the best option right now. Roderick Balthazar, ex-cop, and explosives expert. My guess is that it will be well protected. What we know is that there's going to be a secret meeting tomorrow. We know where it will take place. We can assume there will be other civilians. Airstrike is out of the portrait, so is a long-range bombardment. Putting the building down is almost out of the question too, unless we make it implode. In that case, we need a lot of explosives. Even then, controlled explosions take about a month of planning, and it can go up to six months. Considering the situation, the subtle approach seems like the best one, and you can count me out. I am a not good with that acting thing. We can still have a guns blazing approach in reserve in case something happens, and I believe I'll be more useful in the worst case scenario. Unless you want an explosive diversion..."

[ChronicLunacy]

Rudy "Maniac" Brandt

"Oh, right. I'm Rudy Brandt. Just call me 'Maniac'. Everyone does." Maniac interrupted with a belated introduction. "Anyway, I'm up for Arthur's plan. Is it just me and Rod in the loud crowd?"

[ChronicLunacy]

(Performs CPR on thread.)

[Cuaqchi]

"The Mask"

"Very good," Arthur says, smiling to those that had stayed alert, "It shouldn't be too difficult to impersonate the required individuals, and so long as our exit is secured by the heavy guns, we should be able to complete this mission with little threat of exposure."

Then turning to look at the woman asks, "Ms. Carver, I trust if you are taking an espionage role that you can speak French, and I would hope that you are up to date on Marxist philosophy."

[RdMarquis]

She frowns slightly in response. "I can speak French. But unfortunately, my knowledge of Marxist philosophy doesn't extend far beyond my classes back in school." Nachthexe's specialty did not lie in pretending to be another person, but part of the background. For example, a crowd of passerby or a handful of mooks who only knew how to follow orders.