All The Kings Men... (Dark*Matter IC)

[darkpuppy]

Prologue (March 23rd, 2010)

The letter falls through your letterbox in the morning. Nondescript, in a yellow envelope, with a small insignia proclaiming it is from the "Hoffman Institute" and no return address. Opening the letter, you read...

[Zanzabarb]

Standing at the kitchen counter and still wearing her overcoat, Nguyen reads the letter a third time.

Word has reached them? she thinks, Peculiar.

She takes off her coat and hangs it on the tree. Then she takes the letter to her the other bedroom she calls the study in her small, but comfortable flat. Sitting at her desk she powers on her laptop and lets her eyes scan the letter for a fourth time.

Life had become exceedingly difficult since her return from Africa. It was as if she could not keep her focus any longer. How could she be expected to continue with her studies of the shamanistic healing practices of pre-industrial tribal groups after what she had seen? In hindsight, many of their rituals and sacrifices directly tie into her... discovery. How could she overlook that? And more troubling, if something as strange as those creatures can exist undiscovered in this modern age... what else lurks behind the veil of human ignorance?

An involuntary shiver runs up her spine and shakes her from her revery. She opens a web browser and Googles "Hoffman Institute."

Without funding how can I continue my thesis? Who else will offer me a job without a PhD.? Knowing that her decision has already been made she thinks, Let's see about this Hoffman Institute...

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Computer Op Check - (1d20)[8] +d0

[darkpuppy]

An initial search provides nothing out of the ordinary: A multidisciplinary scientific research organisation, well funded, which donates to many charities and has some names well known to Dr. Thao in Biology and Anthropology working for them... but digging as deep as she legally can, she is surprised to note, in passing, several forum discussions and chat logs where people purporting to be Hoffman agents are asking about paranormal phenomena. Nothing major, but certainly odd.

[Mordaenor]

Michael Huntingbear's mind flashed back to the events of that day as he re-read the letter. The faces of his squad, contorted in terror. Ryan, Baldie, Martinez, Maddix. Seven soldiers in all, gone. Good men.

"Sorry for the loss of your team." They didn't know the half of it. Truth was neither did he. The memory was foggy, Huntingbear still didn't know how he'd survived.

Still, what other choice did he have at the moment. Starving to death before he found the truth wouldn't avenge his brothers. And he would avenge them. He just had to learn how. And the answer were there hidden in those stories of his people.

He tossed the few Kunachakwa scrolls he still had from his childhood into his backpack, along with his knife. He'd have to check his bag. He then headed for the airport.

[darkpuppy]

For Michael Huntingbear, the drive to the airport was excruciatingly long. Trying to remember what happened that fateful day was like trying to pierce a fog of steel. Sure, they talked about Post Traumatic Stress, but... why couldnt he remember?

Deciding to read the scrolls once again, to try and pass the time, to think, he reads a seemingly innocuous passage, and his mind reels:

Of the manitou, one must be most careful of the Ki-nor-ae, the thief of children and the dead, for even in death, the Ki-nor-ae can hold power over the spirit of any brave foolish enough to walk into his clutches.

[Mordaenor]

Huntingbear, or "H-bear" as his comrades had often called him, focused on the words. He could almost see the dark shapes in his mind take shape...

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(1d20)[16]

[darkpuppy]

The image in Huntingbear's mind hits him like a freight train, and he screams at the remembrance.

The claws... how in hell can things like that exist? don't worry about that, just keep running, if they catch you, they'll... no, don't think about it, just think about getting the hell out of Dodge... MARTINEZ, JUST RUN, YOU FRAGGIN' IDIOT! NOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooo!

Everything goes black. When he wakes up, he finds himself in the back of a beat up old Ford Anglia, with a middle aged, muscular blonde man in a suit at the wheel. The blonde looks into the rear-view mirror, and Huntingbear can see his grin...

"Well, looks like you made a great start, recruit, but the psych boys are gonna be poking and prodding you for a few days, make sure you're fit for service and all that. Name's Mike Ashton, and, when I'm not running payload on recruits like you, I'm your friendly Requisitions and Stores manager for the Hoffman Field teams... No, don't worry about speaking yet, mate, you're still a bit woozy. And don't worry, our headshrinkers do have a sense of humour..."

The hearty chuckling of a man who thinks he's made a particularly witty comment is the last thing Huntingbear hears before he blacks out again.

[Zanzabarb]

Nguyen Nguyen closes her laptop, slips it into her shoulder bag, and checks her watch. Running some quick calculations in her head, she mumbles to herself, "'nuff time for tea and a hot shower... still get there before 5..."

Once the kettle's on, she has a go at washing off another day in the dusty stacks in the basement of the University Library (the inevitable and unenviable future location of her thesis should it ever be published). The warmth of the water eases the tension in shoulders, but she knows it won't last. She closes her eyes and tries to focus her mind a bit... Multidisciplinary. Hm. What disciplines, exactly, cover what I saw? Nothing about Cryptozoology on the website. Although if you could believe B1gFo0t_Luv they were up in Devon not a year ago actually asking about the Beast of Exmoor. Still the letter mentioned field research... my two favorite words... given a little more time and more resources...

A shrill whistle from the kitchen snaps her back into the moment. She towels off and takes her tea with well practiced motions. Then she changes into the conservative, but well tailored tweed skirt suit that she has worn to every job interview since her mother sewed it for her. On the way out the door, she piles her long inky-black hair on top of her head in a loose bun and skewers it with the nearest thing at hand, which happens to be a pen-light.

Next stop, Hoffman Institute.

[darkpuppy]

Later... (25th March, 2010, approx 2PM)

The Hoffman Institute London branch building appears to be an unassuming office building like many others on the street, and this impression is confirmed by the normal looking semi-circular pine desk, institute logo behind the desk, drab furnishings, and bored security guard. It appears to speak volumes about his job satisfaction when he fails to appreciably react to the man being helped into the building by a muscular blonde man in a suit. The man being held up by the blonde appears to be recovering from some sort of shock.

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Yes, it's that beautiful time where players slowly come together.

[Zanzabarb]

Nguyen takes a few steps toward the desk and starts an introduction to the guard, "Excuse me, but my name is Nguyen Nguyen Thao and I'm here to see Dr. It--" She stops mid-sentence as semi conscious man is being hauled into the building. She turns, holds her bag to her side, and jogs as fast as she can in heels up to the blonde man.

"Is this man hurt?" She asks. "I'm a..." her pause is brief, she decides to bend the truth for expediency's sake, "a doctor."

Without wait for a response her eyes are already moving, looking for evidence of injuries.

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Perception - (1d20)[17]
Medical knowledge - (1d20)[19]

[Pyske]

A dark-coloured car pulls up out front, and a mildly disheveled man in a nice suit piles out almost before the vehicle stops moving, pausing only to jab a hand in the direction of the driver, in the front seat. His other hand is holding an overstuffed, soft-sided overnight bag.

He bustles into the lobby, pausing for a moment as he sees the commotion, but apparently deciding he doesn't have time to rubberneck. He heads straight to the security desk.

"Aberwyn, to see Mr. Nakami... I was supposed to be here at 2, but the train--"

"It's 2:30, Mr Aberwyn," the guard replies laconically, not even bothering to look up from his screen.

"It's bloody well not 2:30! I'm barely five minutes--"

"Sir," the guard interrupts a bit more forcefully, "your... appointment... is... at... 2:30." He enunciates each word, obviously having decided that Emrys was going to test the limits of his customer service orientation.

"What? I..." The disheveled man seems taken aback, fishing a blackberry out of his pocket with one hand. "It's... oh. Demmit. Right, sorry." He seems chagrinned, uncertain what to do now, and the guard seems disinclined to rescue him from his embarassment. For the first time, he steps back and seems to really take notice of the lobby's other minor drama. "Uh, what's going on there?"

[darkpuppy]

The blonde man seems somewhat taken aback when Dr. Thao rushes forward, but quickly recovers his composure, and begins grinning... "Why, Dr. Thao, while I do agree that you are, technically a doctor, your first aid training isn't up to speed, judging by the look of confusion on your face... poor bloke had a bit of a mental shock on the way here, and, as a man experienced in shocks and all that, I've already prescribed his remedy, which is a nice glass of rotgut or two during your meeting with Branch Director Parsons, and a bit of a headshrinking to make sure he's capable." He then hears the "Dr. Nakami", and he cannot control himself... putting the still woozy man safely on a chair, laughing as he does so, he loses all restraint when he is safely unencumbered, bending over and howling with glee... "Heeeheeeheee oh, boy! Ha... ha..."

Recovering slightly, his grin stretches wide once more, as he gaily comments "Oh, recruits, the same the world over... they read the header, don't bother to see the rest... No recruit meets Director Nakami, and besides, you're on the wrong side of the pond! Oh!" He is about to burst into another laughing fit when a balding gentleman in a similar suit to the blonde's strides into reception from within, and starts tapping his foot impatiently. He is, however, also failing to hide a smile...

"When you're quite finished, Ashton? Thank you. My name is Branch Director Howard Parsons, and I am your employer from this moment on. Dr. Thao, Mister Aberwyn, follow me please... Ashton, if you could quickly run Corporal Huntingbear down to medical, and then send him up." Turning to the security guard, he continues "Peter, could you send Mr. Thorson in as soon as he turns up, don't have a go at him, he's probably had a hellish journey. Thanks.", and, with all his business taken care of, he turns on his heels, and motions for Dr. Thao and Mr. Aberwyn to follow him.

[Pyske]

Emrys manages to mostly suppress a look of annoyance as he trails along behind this "Branch Director", fishing a hardcopy of a letter from his breast pocket as he does so.

As he tries to follow along behind Parsons while re-reading the letter and juggling his overnight, he pauses to let the doctor lead the way. The very casual-looking overnight bag is an interesting contrast against his suit jacket.

[Shhalahr Windrider]

(( And back in Iowa… ))

Isaac can’t help but roll his eyes at what is to him unnecessary censorship in his letter. As he finishes the letter, he takes a moment to reflect on what the agents he met told him and their warning that this invitation would come up. Not so much an invitation, though, from what they said.

He mulls the letter over for an hour or so before picking up the phone.

“Hi, Mom. I got some good news… Yeah, really good… Mm-hm… Yeah, well, I’m going to school again… No, no, it’s not ISU… No, I actually got a study abroad scholarship… Well, of course I didn’t tell you—I didn’t want to get your hopes up if I… Well, yeah… Uh, huh…

“Yeah, about that… I’m, uh, well, there was a little mix-up… Yeah, I only got notice today, and well there’s an orientation I need to go to, but the, uh, the letter was late—I’m not going to have a chance to visit before I leave… Yeah, I know, but I gotta fly into Chicago tonight and catch another plane from there… To London… Yeah, I’m gonna study in England… I know Italy would be more appropriate, but I don’t speak Italian…

“Mm-hm… Well, is Dad around?… No?… Okay, then, I’ll have to try and give him a call before I leave tonight… Well, I’d love to talk some more, but I gotta get packing… Yeah, I love you too… Love you lots… You’re the best mom in the whole world… Love ya… ‘Bye.”

Isaac wastes no time in packing up. Out of habit, he grabs his “Job kit”—clipboards, faked forms and surveys, pens, a few disguise items, and so forth. He packs most of his things haphazardly, only taking any particular care with Sven the Bobble-headed Viking.

As he is wrapping up some of his favorite drawings, he pauses at a few charcoal sketches of a strange monkey-ish looking creature before he folds them up and tucks them between his bed and the wall.

He spends the rest of the day making a number of final arrangements for his sudden, long term trip. He is able to catch his father on the phone and say his goodbyes before leaving for the airport.

“Well, here goes nothing.”

[darkpuppy]

March 25th, 2010, 2:38 PM

The airplane journey was thankfully without incident, although the odd image hit Isaac Thorson as he trudged his way through the streets of London. The Hoffman building... felt strange to Isaac, indefinably so, although it looked no different to any other corporate building on the street. Thankfully not a tall one... entering the lobby, the security guard looks up as if bored... looks down at his desk, and, without looking up... "Three doors down, left hand corridor, Mr. Thorson, you're expected."

Feeling watchful eyes upon him, Isaac sees a young woman, barely out of her mid twenties by the looks of her, staring intently at him...

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Roll yer mind reading, Shhalahr!

[Zanzabarb]

Nguyen clicks along behind the two men, taking three steps to their two longer strides. She is a bit flushed, but tries to control her embarrassment and even manages a wry smile. Well, she muses, I may not have read the letter carefully enough, but they should take another look at my file. I've completed my residency, but I haven't taken the NMB exam or even defended my thesis... I'm no Doctor yet.

[Shhalahr Windrider]

(( That was a fast plane ride… ))

Isaac nods and restrains his impulse to try and get more information out of the security guard.

Suddenly, his eyes lose focus…

[spoiler][roll0]

[Shhalahr Windrider]

Okay, let’s try again

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Mind Reading - (1d20)[13] Ordinary Success

[darkpuppy]

Isaac feels an ache behind his eyes as his "gift" tries to assert itself, but only catches snippets of thoughts before he brings it under control. To his surprise, there is still one voice, loud and clear. Young, female... ahhh, you can hear me! Good! Look back at me... yes, that's right... I'm Dr. Sandra Brigham-West, but you can call me Sandra... after all, why be formal when, after a while, there literally won't be any secrets between us? There is a pause, and then: The Bossman is a little irritated that you're late, but it's nothing you can't handle... he may be a grouchy old bear, but he's got a heart of gold, really!

You hear a coy chuckle within your mind, and both voice and the feeling of being watched subside. At the same time, Sandra stops staring intently, smiles, and strides confidently out of sight down the right hand corridor.

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I'm assuming you make your way to the briefing room, non?

[Shhalahr Windrider]

Isaac stands stunned for a moment—what just happened?—before taking a breath and finding his way to the room the guard mentioned. When there, he politely knocks on the door.

[darkpuppy]

"The door's unlocked, Mr. Thorson, feel free to enter!" calls Parsons. Waiting until everyone is seated, he nods briefly, and begins to speak. He is calm, seated comfortably.

"Since Corporal Huntingbear will not be joining us for at least five minutes while Mr. Ashton takes him to the medical station and back, I suppose I had better begin. All of you have been selected for possible full employment with the Hoffman Institute. This you already know. What you do not know is each other... can't really help that until Corporal Huntingbear returns." He looks a little annoyed as he says this last sentence, as if it is a personal affront that a man should be ill, and then stands, picking up a set of documents from the front of the table, and dropping a set in front of the three present recruits, and a chair for Corporal Huntingbear. Returning to his seat, he gestures toward the documents.

"These, ladies and gentlemen, are the basic Hoffman Research Protocols document, your first (already completed) requisition forms, and the preliminary research documents on your first assignment. It is, to be perfectly frank, a "milk run" of sorts, to test your basic aptitudes and teamwork skills." Shifting in his seat, he looks almost bored as he continues. "It would appear that a livestock farmer living near the Yorkshire Moors has claimed that anomalous animals have been seen on his property. As some of you may know," he adds, nodding distinctly at Dr. Thao, "or suspect, the Hoffman Institute is interested in reports of anomalous wildlife, feeling that they may contribute to zoological research around the world. In this particular case, he claims alligators, although, obviously, there are certain questions, not to mention eyebrows, to be raised at this claim. Nonetheless, recruits, and even new agents, are required to follow up such accounts when requested to by upper management... myself or your Department Heads, and we expect you to be professional at all times, following our research guidelines." Clearly having finished, he smiles grimly and says "I will now give you time to peruse the basic account and research practices, and any questions can be saved until after Corporal Huntingbear has perused the documents also. Informal chat between yourselves while perusing, however, is not only permitted, it is encouraged. After all, we currently have no intention of splitting your team should you pass our little trial period." He then proceeds to sit back and watch you, his keen eyes taking in every move you make.

[Zanzabarb]

While listening to Parsons speak, Nguyen takes a long look at the other two recruits joining her at the table.

What other sorts of people do they have investigating... did he say Alligators? In the Yorkshire Moors? Her first instinct is to raise an objection to this obvious impossibility, but then she recalls her own experience in Africa and says nothing.
Huntingbear sounds Native American, if I miss my guess. The tall blond one looks Scandinavian... Norwegian maybe. I can't place the accent exactly, but the one in suit speaks the Queen's.... I'll have to hear him speak again.

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perception - (1d20)[5]

This is an invitation to post player current player descriptions so we can get a sense of who is in the room with us. First impressions are pretty important after all. I'll start:

Nguyen sits on the edge of her chair with excellent posture. She is a small woman and you can tell even under the dapper gray tweed suit that she is slender to the point of looking frail. Her dark eyes are alert with a probing curiosity and she has a habit of cocking her head to the side in avian way while she studies something (at the moment, you). She wears little makeup and her black hair is piled into a hasty bun and held in place with what looks like a stainless steel penlight. A great deal of it has come loose and the tendrils hang about her shoulders. She appears calm and happy, but perhaps a little over eager to make a good impression.

[Mordaenor]

Michael slowly opened his eyes and sat up. "I feel like I've been hit by an effing freight train." He gets slowly to his feet, and tests his balance. Ashton chuckles "They are waiting for you in the conference room, you psych evaluation can wait until afterward." With that, Ashton escorts Michael up to the conference room.

[Pyske]

Emrys seems tense; not so much trying to make a good impression, as worried about making an error. He had seemed on the verge of making an apology when Parsons launched into his speech, proferring the letter, but has now set it aside as if uncertain whether to remind the man of the earlier faux pas.

When Parsons mentioned the alligators, there was a clear look of consternation as he adjusted his fancy suit... perhaps overly fancy; Emrys doesn't look entirely comfortable in it. If one were a mind reader (and not much of one), one might have caught Emrys wondering what use he would be with an alligator hunt. He clearly doesn't have the outdoorsy look, his prematurely thinning hair and overall build (with a big of chubbiness in the cheeks) saying "accountant" more than "outdoorsman". Whatever he was thinking, 'though, he apparently wasn't willing to bring it up in front of Parsons.

He shifted nervously as he rustled through the papers, occasionally stealing a glance at Parsons or the others at the table. When he had spoken, earlier, his accent was clearly English; there was a hint of a Welsh accent, but only a hint, easily missed. At the moment, though, he seemed unwilling to draw attention by being the first to speak.

[darkpuppy]

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report (Warning, 49Mb!, delete as soon as you've read it! , Should be the handbook, much smaller, but rushed.

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Zanzabarb, I don't need to tell you that was a Good perception result, and, as such, you identify that while he can speak with an almost flawless british accent, Mr. Aberwyn is not english born and bred.

There is a knock on the door as you are perusing the file and the recommended sections of the handbook (large swathes being covered in "CLASSIFIED" amendments.) Parsons smiles, and loudly says "Come on in, Corporal Huntingbear! Mr Ashton, if you'd be so kind as to escort him to his chair... yes, there's a good chap. Now, Corporal Huntingbear, if you'd be so kind as to peruse the admittedly sparse documents on your current assignment, and to acquaint yourself with your fellow team members, then I would be most grateful. I'll give you a few minutes to familiarise yourselves with your team and the documentation, then you can, by all means, ask questions."

He sits back again, watching sharply.

[Mordaenor]

Michael Hungtingbear enters the room. He's a little on the shorter side, maybe five and a half feet or so, and rather muscularly built, perhaps in his early 20's. He has black hair, cut very short, and reddish brown skin. He's not well dressed, wearing a worn out sweat shirt and faded jeans. He takes a quick glance around the room, then speaks in a gruff voice. "Mr Parsons, I presume?" He then crosses to his chair in the room, and begins reading.

[Shhalahr Windrider]

Isaac is dressed in tan slacks and a dress shirt that is a powerful shade of dark red. He has a rectangular face framed by short blond hair carefully combed out of the way. His build is tall and slender—if he lost a little weight some could consider him lanky.

Isaac stays quiet throughout the introduction and while reading. Despite this, he maintains a confident yet comforting smile throughout.

He maintains his silence after finishing reading, waiting for the others to do likewise. He just calmly sits back in his chair.

[Mordaenor]

Michael abruptly sets down the report. "All right Parsons, I'll bite first. What exactly do we do you want us to do?"

[darkpuppy]

Parsons smiles, obviously admiring the directness of the question, "Well, Corporal Huntingbear, as you may have noticed, Agents Numbnuts and Idiot failed to file a proper report, contrary to Hoffman procedures, and, as such, the ball has fallen to you, our new recruits, to fill in the blanks left by this report. You are to head up to this farmer's residence, interview the subject, look around the area, and, if you're lucky, gather specimens." he leans back, steepling his fingers. "Your requisition forms allow you the standard Hoffman agent equipment, the use of one of our vans, and a specimen collection kit. You will also have all the proper interview forms, first examination forms, and equipment usage and expenses forms. I expect them all to be filled in properly, or else you will very quickly find that you will be without further employment in this Institute, or, worse, further employment and having your desks 'audited'. Are we clear?" He looks around the table piercingly "Any further questions?"

[Zanzabarb]

She taps the folder absently after she closes it. Nguyen realizes she is chewing on the inside of her mouth and staring into space. She stops herself and listens to Parsons. When he asks for more questions she asks, "What equipment exactly does the specimen collection kit include?"


"I have a hypothesis," she continues, "that my experience in Africa with vicious bipedal lizards and your hiring me to investigate a seemingly suspect report of of bipedal lizards are not unconnected. If these are the same creatures, or even similar, we will need some extremely powerful neuromuscular blocking agents, tranquilizer guns, very strong restraints and a large cage."